And then I fell down really quite hard

Item: Hell Boy II inadvertantly set off a rather large bomb in the May household.

Item: Spoiler alert.

Item: There’s a bit where it is posited in heart-felt seriousness that Hell Boy needs a reason to live, and that reason turns out to be impending fatherhood. Which is well and good, and H squeezed my hand very tightly for that bit.

Item: Incidentally, the plot of that film is all over the place. Seriously. It lurched from non-sequitur to McGuffin to nonsense. Also, Luke Goss makes a startlingly good pissed-off Fairy Prince. And I still enjoyed it rather a lot.

Item: So where was I? Oh, yes. Bomb chez May. H and I were discussing the movie, as you do, and, after a pause, I casually asked if the hand-squeezing had been on my behalf or H’s own behalf. And H said ‘For me…’ – and I thought, oh, thank God, thank God – ‘But mostly for you.’ And I burst into tears. And H couldn’t for the life of him work out why. Can you work out why? I ended up sat on the top of the stairs (prime howling location) bawling that I felt so alone and that I was the only person who cared that I’d had a miscarriage or remembered it. H pointed out quite firmly that he did care. I demanded why he didn’t show it then, sob sob. H stood there looking bewildered. Because I had enough to deal with without dealing with H’s grief as well, of course.

Item: At this point, I was crying so hard that a small calm inner observer was pointing out that I had pretty much stopped breathing, and that going blue about the lips and sliding to the floor unconscious was certainly one way of getting out of the argument. Am I the only woman afflicted with a small calm inner observer who treats any and all ongoing dramas like a good episode of Blake’s 7?

Item: I explained, I think, to H, that actually, I felt that as I was the only person who minded about Pikaia, I daren’t forget her or stop grieving for a second. Because I had an anembryonic miscarriage, because there was not and never had been an embryo. That all the existance Pikaia ever had was in our hearts and minds, and if no one cared, Pikaia would not only no longer exist, but have never existed at all. And I couldn’t bear that. And I had been trying to not think about it while I finished my dissertation, so I could finish the sodding dissertation, and yet not daring to put it out of my mind, see above, and no one else would take over the minding for me. In fact, were putting me under pressure to forget about her.

Item: At least, that’s what I meant to say. I highly suspect that what with the howling and failing to breathe, all that was coming out was a succession of bubbling noises.

Item: Anyway, end result, H does care. And is very sad and frustrated. And was trying to spare me. So. Much hugging and kissing and blowing of noses on both sides.

Item: I suspect I shall be a lot calmer hereafter. I hope so. Because that sucked. Hugely.

Item: Satsuma is working her way v-e-e-e-r-r-r-r-y s-l-o-w-l-y towards ovulation. OPKs each ever so slightly darker than the day before’s, but so far not actually positive. Satsuma herself increasingly owie and pingy. Temperatures trundling along below 36 C. And so on. And H and I are nobly and determindly carrying on with the Plan. This being day 17 of the cycle already, we’re, well, still surprisingly enthusiastic. Good for us.

Item: Going on holiday in a week’s time. And clearly not before-time.


6 responses to “And then I fell down really quite hard

  • Hairy Farmer Family

    Not familiar with Hell-boy. Have only seen posters. Must watch. It’s not scary, is it? Can’t do scary. Or jumpy. I hid behind the sofa for most of Jurassic Park, FFS.

    Very familiar with small calm inner observer. I get annoyed about it sometimes, as I would occasionally like to Lose My Shit Properly, and just can’t.

    VERY familiar with keeping the miscarriage torch burning brightly, on account of feeling like the only person left who remembers how to light the fire, or cares about the warmth disappearing. I’m so sorry, sweetheart. I really, really am. On top of the raw, uncomplicated grief of loss, there’s the complicated misery of mentally ensuring that you give your unfinished baby the honour that is emotionally due to their arrival and departure. It’s hard to know if other people are inwardly cherishing the memory in the way that feels right to you. Because if they aren’t, then… it’s all up to you. And if you forget, then it’d be like… like not visiting the metaphorical grave. SOMEONE has to mow the grass and bring flowers. It’s the right and respectful thing to do. And I found that, really, only Husband-misery counted as contributions towards my concept of a collective quota of proper remembrance and grief. And the thing with chaps and miscarriage… they tend to protect first and suffer second. And in the case of my particular hubby, not to overtly dwell on things. Which left me squarely as the one who had to do the Lest We Forget bit. And it’s damn important to do it. How else can you show your fleeting child they were, and are, loved? That you’d have carved holes in yourself to have bought their continued precious existence?

    It must all be pretty difficult for blokes to know what to do or say for the best, really. I’m so very sorry that the incoherent bubbling happened – albeit some good nose-blowing is always a marital highlight. Hubby has a large snout, and I can drown out the QE2: you should hear us.

    This IS going to happen for you, May. I know it. Hoping extremely hard that this cycle is the right one, and all the planets are aligning as we speak. Go Satsuma! Gather your loins! Give it all that you got!

  • Aphra Behn

    Are you related to Schroedinger at all?


    Nothing of any *use* to add, though my own inner persona always knows better and tends to call me ‘girl’. She’s the only person who does, these days.

    I’ll go before I start rambling, but never forget that there are wierdos out there that care.


  • Xbox4NappyRash

    Jesus I’m sorry.

    We really have no clue how to handle all this stuff.
    We often do our best to manage ourselves and try not to upset ye.

    We often fail!

    I’m as certain as certain can be that hubby is as borken hearted as you are, but he has no idea how to show it.

    If it were me, I would be utterly useless, despite best intentions.

    Take care of yourselves, good luck with this cycle, and enjoy the holiday, we are also off after this week…

  • Jane G

    I would agree with everything Hairy Farmer said above. I think men and women grieve differently. I remember after one of my miscarriages nearly feeling like shaking John and saying “Why aren’t you bloody well grieving, WHY NOT?!”. But I had to understand that different people grieve differently and I just had to accept that.

    Your reaction to the movie reminded me of when we watched Shrek 3. I never thought I’d feel jealous of two cartoon ogres, but when Princess Fiona told Shrek there were little baby ogres on the way, I couldn’t help but think, Jesus, not them as well :o(

  • Jane G

    Just thought of something else. We planted a white cherry tree and two holly bushes in remembrance of our lost little ones. It might not be for everyone, but it’s one way of remembering them.

  • womb for improvement

    Bloody Hell Boy! And then the extra kick in the guts in the end. Bastard Del Toro.

    I don’t quite subscribe to the men are from Mars theory but they do react differently. And the grief I gave the husband for forgetting my hospital appointment is nothing compared to how I would feel if I felt unsupported after a miscarriage. But it is their way, and why we love them.

    Have a well earned rest (after the ++ OPK).

%d bloggers like this: