Our Miscarriage

 

We never met you, but you rocked our world. You taught us so much without ever setting foot in our lives. We worried about you, we built a life for you, we loved you. We changed our lives for you, stopped eating cheese and drinking alcohol for you. Our minds wandered with you.

Pippa held her hand over the little window that would reveal your presence. I was sure she already knew because when she pulled her hand away you were there, two little lines, changing our lives. We hugged and kissed, sat down, and had lemonade.

Nothing changed immediately, I thought about COVID and work and whether Winston was ok. But little by little I thought of you, calling you Corona for fun, working from home with you sleeping behind me and Winston licking your face. I didn’t try, it just happened.

You made us so happy, so relaxed and content. Happy to do nothing, just change our behaviors and wait for you to arrive. I thought of badly teaching you languages, of showing you worms in our garden and cheering on Klopp.

You’d cry and make noise, but I’d never complain. We’d live in some kind of harmony, where I still played football twice a week and Pippa would swim and do yoga whenever she wanted. We’d head off in the car on little trips with young Winston beside you keeping you safe. You’d fall and get dirty, roll around in the mud. I’d laugh and play relaxed even though I’d worry inside.

We needn’t have worried because you never arrived.

With bleeding and scans the awful news was confirmed. Outside the hospital I waited for Pippa to come out. We hugged, and we cried, surrounded by mothers smoking outside. Back home on the couch, with no one around, we cried, and we cried, Winston hopped up to give us all the comfort he had.

We told our family and I told some friends. The more people we told the more sadness unfolded, as one in four said they’d been through exactly the same. So many people, I never knew had suffered the pain.

You’re a part of us now, woven into our lives. The lessons you’ve taught will stay with me for life.

Life can be cruel, unpredictable and sad. Lidl’s Big Baby Sale was the week we got the news. Not their fault, not ours, just an unfortunate reality. We sought distraction in Netflix, The Fall had us gripped, then Sally Ann had a miscarriage. Life can be cruel.

You taught me to cherish what we have, to not get caught up in the future and what hasn’t happened. I was waiting for a friend the other day and instead of losing myself in my phone I spent the time watching the trees and listening to the birds. I won’t pretend it was amazing but I wasn’t wishing away that time.

There was so much about pregnancy and miscarriages that I didn’t know because I never asked. How fragile you are, how luck plays its part, how there’s nobody to blame, sometimes chromosomes don’t blend. You taught me to ask questions because knowledge will help, to ask friends if they’re ok because sometimes they’re not.

You taught me to dream and look to the future, because in spite of the above there’s plenty of good. Remember the worms, the football to watch, the laughs to be shared and a life to be lived.

We spent last weekend planting bulbs to flower in the spring. There’s a special collection in a pot dedicated to you. I’ll sit and watch the flowers grow, the bees coming and going and the world going by knowing that you’ve played your part making our world a better place.

The Most Impressive Thing I Have Seen

It was a Monday morning and Rachel sat opposite me. We covered the extent of our rather mundane weekends quickly and just as I was about to turn my attention to our Monday emails, she stood bolt upright, groaning as she did so.

I was about to begin a lesson in bravery, that would last for years to come.

Initially I thought she had been stung by a bee but as she toppled over, I knew something wasn’t right. She left my line of vision and came to a rest on the floor on the other side of my desk. I sat motionless, in stark contrast to Rachel, who shook violently on the floor, an electric current seemingly coursing through her body.

Debs sprinted down the office, cleared everything from the immediate area and ushered everyone away. I did as I was told, with no idea what had happened.

Ah… epilepsy.

The same epilepsy that Rachel had told me about. What it does to her, how we should react, who to call and that everything would be ok. Interestingly, sitting motionless wasn’t one of the things she had encouraged me to do.

Rachel went home and a couple of days later came back to work, happy out.

I had no idea what to say, thankfully Rachel had been through this before and was well versed on on the reactions of people around her.

“Once it starts, I cannot stop it. Sometimes I think it is coming but most of the time it just starts and that is it.”, she explained.

What happens once it starts, I wondered. “It is like being in a gym session for 24 hours, where you work every muscle in your body. During a seizure, every one of them contracts. I am stiff as a board afterwards, great for my abs though!”

And after…? “Imagine your computer, you’re working away and then suddenly there’s a power cut. When you turn it back on it will take a minute or two to come back to itself. It’s the same with me, my brain takes a while to recalibrate and for my memory to return.”

“Catch me!” … her response to what I should do if it happens again.

Challenge accepted.

Over the years working together, I lost count of the times I caught her. I’d hear the initial grunt, sprint around the table, break her fall and lay her out on the floor. Then I’d wait, firstly for the seizure to pass and then for Rachel to regain an understanding of what was happening.

“You’re OK, Rach. You’re in the office. It’s fine, It’s me, Philip.” I’d begin as calmly as possible.
“Where? Who are you?” would be the bewildered reply.

Another couple of minutes would pass and I’d try again.

“It’s OK Rach, you’re in the office. It’s me, Philip.”
“I know who you are!” The accompanying eye roll would always catch me. At least I knew she was back.
“You’ve had a seizure.”
“A WHAT!?” Back to square one, not quite ready for that bit.

Rachel had told me she could be angry or rude when she comes around. I’m glad she told me.

I’d try again. “It’s OK Rach, you’re in the office. You’ve had a seizure… but everything is ok.”
“I KNOW! Where is my jumper?” It was never warm enough for Rachel.
“I have it under your head”
“WHY WOULD YOU PUT IT THERE?!”

There was a memorable time where Rachel hit her head during a seizure and a bump developed. One of our colleagues arrived with a bag of frozen peas (no idea what they were doing in an office) and proceeded to place them on her head.

“WHAT ARE YOU PUTTING PEAS ON MY HEAD FOR?”
“You’ve bumped your head Rachel.”
“SO, WHAT ARE PEAS GONNA DO?”

An unwelcome peas offering.

Gradually Rachel’s memory would return, and she’d be faced with the harsh reality that she was lying on the office floor surrounded by colleagues trying to look busy and not at her.

We’d phone Paul, her recently recollected boyfriend, and he’d come to bring Rachel home. Then the slow walk through the office would begin and Rachel would take a day or two off work.

“Hey! How are ya?” was often the first question Rachel would ask on her return.
Me?! You’re the one that has had to recover from a seizure and return to work, not knowing when it will strike again.

I’ve seen you have a seizure while mid-sentence on a conference call, with colleagues you’ve never met before. I’ve seen you collapse under the chair of a colleague, who was too terrified not to follow the “continue as usual, Phil knows what to do” guidance. I’ve seen you snap at senior colleagues as you return from your post seizure state, and you’re wondering how I am?

That’s brave. You walk tall, back into the office, knowing what people are like. Some will become closer, while others more distant. But you remain yourself, positive, optimistic and honest.

It’s impressive and in a lot of ways, the most impressive thing I have seen.

Why I Murdered My Wife

“Sonic”, that’s what they used to call me at school. Not on account of my speed, non-existent, or my tendency to curl into a ball, that was once, but because I was obsessed with the hedgehog of the same name.

My youth was filled with Sonic the Hedgehog and SEGA. There was nothing those Japanese gods could create that I wouldn’t love. In my pre-teen years, Sonic adorned my duvet, the posters on my walls, my lunch box and even the clothes I wore. It wasn’t long before my haircut became as spikey as my attitude.

In secondary school, my collection games decorated by SEGA and Sonic grew along with my obsession. Etched into my rucksack, and by extension my memory, were all important dates. None that I would be quizzed on in the Leaving Cert but ones important to me.

“Sonic the Hedgehog (16 bit) – 1991 – Mega Drive
Sonic the Hedgehog (8 bit) – 1991 – Game Gear…”

It went on as I became a billboard for SEGA and their most successful franchise.

I left school and my childhood home, leaving behind my posters but bringing with me my Game Gear, Mega Drive and Sonic. Sonic did not come up in conversation with my peers and outwardly my interest dwindled, but internally it burned brighter than ever.

Friday night sessions would roll over into Mondays and Tuesdays, as I quickly burned through any sick leave allowance. Bleary-eyed, I would return to work dying to relay my latest conquest on “Sonic the Hedgehog 4” but knowing deaf ears were all it would invite.

My head was filled with Sonic and my body was begging to share the passion. Three Sonic tattoos and enough Sonic boxer shorts to last me two weeks, revealed my true colours to anyone lucky enough to experience my partially disrobed self.

Speaking of luck, I didn’t have much success chasing Tails, but one evening that changed and I was 1UP. We married and while she knew Sonic was close to my heart, about 3 inches, she showed more interest in me than my hero… and that was fine.

Game over arrived one Christmas. We had been together for a number of years and for some reason this year the usual monotony of gift giving had been replaced by some excitement on her part. I shared that excitement, presuming I was in for a treat. Try treachery.

I ripped apart the wrapping paper to reveal a SUPER NINTENDO CLASSIC MINI?!

SEGA may have sold out to Nintendo, but I wasn’t about to.

My final words before her game ended? “SEGA bye Tails!”

My Most Stupid Moment

I sat alone, surrounded by heroes. Stig Bjornebye, Robbie Fowler, Patrik Berger… action photos plastered on my bedroom wall. The light above my bed went out.

Being the resourceful kid I was, I headed downstairs in search of a replacement.

On my return to my teenage sanctum I set about replacing the bulb. I took the old one out and tried to place the new one in.

It wouldn’t fit.

Not to be deterred I twisted it, turned it, stared at the bulb and peered into the light fixture. I couldn’t figure it out.

One thing stuck in my mind, “There must be something causing an obstruction in the light fixture.”

There had to be, sure I had tried everything else.

Without a second thought, I jammed my two fingers into where the light bulb should go.

Immediately, I was sent soaring across the room. Lights out, for me and the house.

A couple of minutes later, light and life having returned, I lay on my bed assessing my idiocy and my Dad appeared at the door.

“You ok?”, he asked.

“Yep, all good.” I lied.

Obviously, this was a pretty stupid moment, is it my most stupid though? Only time will tell!