New Year

I had a miscarriage. I was only seven weeks pregnant anyway and I think that the baby had been dead for a while. It is 11.00 o'clock on New Year's Eve. The weird thing is that I didn't know it is New Year's Eve. I only found out an hour ago when my husband told me. I'd thought that New Year's Eve was tomorrow. This makes me realize how totally cut off my husband and I are from the rest of the world. We spent the morning at the hospital being pitied by pleasant people who can do nothing for us. I spent the evening lying in bed next to my son, bleeding and listening to a Narnia audio CD. My husband stayed downstairs and drank wine and listened to the radio. Somewhere not far away there are people having parties and letting off fireworks. My husband and I haven't been to a New Year's party since our daughter died. One year we did go away together to a hotel and I enjoyed that. I suppose that we could put the radio on and listen to the New Year being rung in. But I don't think we'll bother.

The Medical Profession

I'm all right as long as I don't have to deal with the medical profession. In the doctor's surgery a cheery lady on the reception desk said, 'Congratulations? When is the baby due?' I walked out of there in tears. Then a midwife from the local maternity hospital rang me. She wanted me to go in to the hospital so that she could talk over all sorts of details about the pregnancy. What kind of tests I might want, which hospital I want to have the baby in ...... She was pleasant and she was just doing her job but I told her that I'd ring back ..... And I haven't rung back and I'm not going to. I really don't need any of that stuff. I also got sent a cheery little booklet covered in photographs of smiling mothers and babies. It had a helpful little calendar to tell you what you should expect at what time. That went straight in the recycling. It's not that I'm negative about this but I'm just not thinking beyond tomorrow. When I get to eight weeks, I'll go and find out if there's a heart beat. Until then I'm not dealing with the medical profession. And anyway it is just before Christmas. Christmas is quite hard enough without a visit to a maternity hospital.

On becoming an urban myth

We've all heard those stories about women who tried for a baby for ten years, who tried IVF but failed, who were in the process of adopting .... and then found themselves pregnant. To be honest, I was always a little doubtful about those stories. But now it's happened to me. I'm 42. I've lost the last four babies (if you include the stillbirth). IVF failed. I had given away everything in my house that had anything to do with babies ..... And now I'm pregnant. I don't know what to say. The Big Man in the sky does like a joke, doesn't he? And I'm not sure his jokes are always in very good taste. But of course, I'm glad. Even if I have another miscarriage, I'm glad. I know that the odds are badly stacked against us but at least something has happened .... At least I've got another chance. Now that I've got over the shock, I'm doing OK. Just getting through each day. Trying not to think about it all too much. I'm a Quaker and Quakers don't pray. Or at least they think there is only one prayer which is worth anything and that is - 'God grant me the equanimity to bear the outcome well - whatever it may be.' Quakers also say - 'I pray not to change God's will but to align my will with his.' Actually, I stopped believing in God a while back (during the IVF, to be specific) but still that's the approach I need right now.