four years today.

This is a very difficult post for me to write. And it may seem strange that this is how I begin this new blog, however I want this to be a space to be honest, even when honesty is brutal, or painful, or makes people uncomfortable. Because these are all part and parcel of what it is to be human.

There is no filter. Real life is imperfect. This is not a space to come for air-brushing.

I’m not sweeping feelings under the carpet here. 

Today marks the anniversary of the worst day of my life. Four years today I was rushed into emergency surgery to remove a live ectopic pregnancy. 

It was a day that both seems clear enough to recall every detail, yet still feels like a bad dream. I remember in the weeks and months that followed wishing I could talk to anybody or connect with someone who could understand how I felt, knowing those feelings were valid would have helped me and that is the purpose of this post. 

 

Four years today

Four years today.

I woke up an expectant mother.

I went to bed an empty vessel.

Four years today.

The pain unlike anything I’d ever known.

The pain of a life, of a future, mine and theirs, fading.

Four years today.

The joy of seeing a tiny heart, still beating, still fighting on the monochrome screen.

Hope.

Then the words, “In The Wrong Place”, ringing in my ears.

The pain in my chest.

Silent screams in my throat.

Too weak to make a sound.

Uniforms with sad smiles and kind words.

Four years today.

I signed the form, they took my blood.

Kind smiles and sad words.

Saving my life, but not the life that never had a chance.

Four years today.

They held my hand and told me to sleep.

But I knew that sleep meant it was all over.

Dreams would not come, they’d only be taken away.

 

They took away the broken part of me.

And my baby.

Tiny heart still beating. Still fighting.

Four years today.

I woke up. Empty.

The knowledge that you’re lucky to be alive, but wishing you were dead.

Agony. Numbness.

My heart left shattered.

Broken pieces, too weak to gather them up.

Four years today.

The guilt of not being enough. The shame of being broken.

Four years today.

I fell asleep weeping, grieving. Holding my stomach, in the hope you were still there.

I still do.

Four years today.

And I only just feel ready to write this.