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!

Edward - The boy to bring peace

With everything that happens in the world, you’d be forgiven for thinking we live in an evil race to the bottom. Sickness, death, tragedy, misfortune… it surrounds us, with the potential to consume us.

Bad news sells and corrupts our view of the world.

There is plenty of cruelty in the world but come with me on a trip that starts with an innocuous encounter and ends with one of my favourite moments ever.

I was cycling home from work when a car ahead of me slowed to let me pass before turning left in my wake. I waved my appreciation and smiled at their simple yet caring move.

My mind then wandered back to Sicily in the summer of 2008. I was looking after children, mainly French and Italians. Most weeks I was charged with the 4-5-year olds. It was an endless cycle of feeding, cleaning and trying to understand what could possibly upset a French child so much that hyperventilating became an all too common occurrence? My awful French accent probably didn’t help.

This routine was finally broken as a new week began and respite came in the form of a transfer to work with the 8-12-year olds.

“Can you look after my son this week?” asked a rather anxious English mother.

“If he is between the ages of 8 and 12, I don’t see why not.” I replied

“Your boss won’t take him, she said no.”

“Eh, well… why not?” My confusion almost matching her level of distress.

“Edward has autism, but he is fine. If anyone could bring about world peace he will. He loves to hug; he just wants to make friends. But he can’t talk. He will be fine, I promise. His sister will be there too, she knows what to do…” She said, almost without a breath.

I was stunned. I opened my mouth to reply but was interrupted by the sound of barking, loud and full of life.

I looked around to see who had brought their dog on holidays and was met, not by a canine but, by a fair-haired boy, with cherub cheeks and a pristine smile.

Nothing out of the ordinary here, except he was holding a toy dinosaur in each hand and he was making them bark like nothing I had ever heard... from a human!

“He will be fine, I promise.” His mother’s desperation dripping from every word. Edward was oblivious as children scuttled to “safety”.

“Non!” my boss was adamant, “We cannot. It will be too difficult”

“Please, he will be no trouble and his sister will be there too if anything happens.” His mother argued.

This went back and forth until amazingly I was given the casting vote.

“Yes, let’s take him. His sister will be there sure…”

“Thank you!” The relief on the mother's face was all too clear as her features softened.

“OK, but if anything happens, it is your fault.” My boss was clear, I was on my own!

No matter the country, the continent or situation, kids will be kids… searching comfort and scared of the unknown. Edward joined the group with a smile on his face and dinosaurs in hand but everywhere he went the other kids moved away and giggled behind his back.

Every activity we took on it was the same, Edward playing on his own because the other kids didn’t understand… Then we went to play football.

The resort had a glass structure similar in size to a squash court with small goals at either end. It was perfect for two a side. Myself and 14 kids headed off to play… now someone had to play on Edward’s team.

We settled on teams of two, the first to score two goals won the match and the winner stayed on.

The action kicked off with four on the inside battling it out for the glory of their peers, who were outside banging the glass and cheering every touch. Edward was no different, loving life, his life.

When Edward’s turn on court came, he chased around, worked up a sweat and ultimately left on the losing team. The kids on the outside did little to hide their laughter. It was time to have a little chat.

The next time Edward was on court and out of earshot, I gathered the other boys around and did my best to explain Edward’s outlook on the world… in French.

I jumbled together something akin to “Edward is a kid like you guys. He loves to make friends and have fun. Unfortunately, the world isn’t as easy for Edward so he needs us to look out for him. I need you to help him.” The giggles were gone and what looked like genuine concern seemed to have taken its place.

I continued, “Let’s make things better for Edward. The next time his team are playing I want you to allow him to win. You can score the first goal against him if you want but please just let his team have one victory.” The togetherness with which they laughed at him had now been replaced with scheming an unlikely victory for him.

As my impromptu speech came to an end, Edward’s team left the court defeated once again, not realising my pidgin French may have been about to create something very special.

The games continued until it was time for Edward’s team to take to the field once more. It was different from the beginning. The boys outside banged the glass and shouted his name. His face lit up; he was still beaming from ear to ear as a shot flew past him to put his side 1-0 down.

“Never get too high with the highs or too low with the lows”, they say. Edward epitomised this and kept smiling as the crowd chanted his name.

Within minutes Edward’s team were back on level terms as his teammate took out his frustration on the ball and it nestled in the corner of the net. Edward went wild, chasing after the young lad to celebrate. His face was bright red, his teeth glowing as he laughed and smiled at their unlikely turn of events.

The game was on a knife edge. If Edward’s team conceded the cruelty in the world would be there for all to see… if he scored, we could continue to believe in the good in people.

Chances came and went. Edward, forever distracted by his newfound fame, was having a hard time concentrating on the task at hand and we were in danger of having to call the game a draw. There was no drop of the shoulder required to go past Edward, he was enchanted by the sound of his name and gravitated towards his fans.

Then it happened, truth be told I can’t remember how but the ball ended up in the back of the opposition net and Edward’s boot was the last to touch it. He had scored a goal, won his team the game and created scenes never to be repeated in a glass box.

His teammate ran to him and hugged him as he jumped in the air, the boys outside banged on the glass and shouted his name. He left the court and was mobbed by all the kids… “bien joué!”, “Quel but!”, the boys had done good.

Edward was on cloud nine as he savoured his moment. The boys milked it for all it was worth, reveling in their planning and execution.

As the week went by the kids remembered Edward, saying hello in the morning, including him in their games and running after him when he wandered off.

And I remember it 11 years later as an example of the power of concentrating on the positives. It doesn’t make the pain of illness, death and loss go away but if it brings a smile to your face for a moment, and makes you think of your own happy memories, then I'll take it.

Booking the trend

Her sense of adventure drove her Ford, Focus was not her strong point. It often drove her to Distraction, the packed arcade she hated. Realising her errant journey, she slapped her face hard. "Girl, that Mustang!", muttered a passerby. 

It snapped her back to reality and off she went. Leaving civilisation behind, she headed for a place long forgotten but with many stories. She abandoned her car and walked the rest of the way. 

Moving between the reads her eyes scanned the fallen trees, beaten to a pulp. They danced across the tall tails huddled in this most ordered of worlds. Then she saw it, a young buck, the one she came to see. She reached out and grabbed its spine, it lay in her hands as she gazed upon her trophy.

She brought it to be checked, out in the open, away from the shelter of the columns of scribes. It was her first time and a bead of sweat crashed to the floor. She instantly regretted wearing her most prised possession. She’d torn her grandmother’s sweat infused pearl necklace from her dying grasp and worn it as her own.

The pearls scuttled along the floor, past the sections marked “Wild” and “Winter” and came to a halt, atop a fallen sign, “Wisdom”. 

She collected her pearls off "Wisdom" and her aquatic marine mammal. She walked with real porpoise towards the bespectacled gentleman to make his mark.

“ISBN expecting you”, his strong Italian accent caught her by surprise.

She stood in silence, not sure how to respond.

“Check you out!”, his gaze dropping below her face.

She stood in silence, not sure how to respond.

“Your book, Ma’am.”

She placed it on the desk and within seconds his scan was complete.

She reached for her new Tennant, Emma smiled at the man. He held on a little too long and whispered “If it’s late, it’s a fine”.

"GRAZIE!" 

“What a nice man, a little odd” she thought, “wait, ‘it’s a fine’?”

Pixie & Pals

“GET AWAY FROM THE ROSES!”, the gruff voice startled Pixie so she fled for cover among the trees. Terrified, she scampered up the bark to the safety of branches. Catching her breath, she peered down as Mr. Jones shouted, “You’re a nuisance squirrel, a right nuisance!”.

Pixie smiled to herself and wondered if Mr. Jones was always this angry. Did he wake up and think his milk was too milky, his water too watery and squirrels too squirrely? He needs to wake up and smell the roses? That’s all Pixie wanted to do, she loved starting her day among the beautiful colours and delightful smells.

Once Mr. Jones had become distracted with the boys and girls playing too close to the daffodils, Pixie skipped down the tree trunk and off across the green grass to find her friends. The grass was still wet with the morning dew, so she picked up her pace. She sprinted towards the pond and slid on her bum along the wet grass.

“WHEEEEEEE!” she shouted.

“PIXIE!”, three yellow ducklings cheered as they saw their favourite squirrel arrive on the path beside the pond.

“Hi guys!”, shouted Pixie as the ducklings splashed and crashed towards her, eager to be the first to hop onto her bushy tail.

“One at a time guys. Polly, you first.”

Polly danced as she realised she could jump on before her brothers. Pixie lay her tail on the ground and Polly crawled on, excited for what was to come.

“1,2... THREE!” Pixie swished her tail forward with all her might. Polly flew through the air, she flapped her little wings and soared higher than she had ever been. She could see over the park wall, out across the train track and over the waves in the sea.

Seconds later she landed face first into the pond, the cold water made her shiver but she smiled with delight after another Pixie catapult.

“AGAIN!” she shouted, as her brothers landed in the water beside her.

“Ducklings, I need your help. Mr. Jones is always angry, I think he needs to smell the roses. They are just so beautiful, it might help him relax. Wouldn’t it be great if he was our friend?” said Pixie.

“We love friends!”, the ducklings shouted, “We’re in!”

Pixie was excited and explained her plan.

“Tomorrow morning, before the park opens, we’ll meet at the bandstand. Percy, Polly and Patrick, you can’t be late. Once you hear the first train along the tracks, that’s our signal that we have to meet.”

“Ok, Pixie, but what do we do then?”, Percy asked.

“I’ll catch Mr. Jones’ attention and make him chase me to the roses. I’ll hide among them so he can’t see me. This is where I need your help.”, said Pixie.

“Great, this is exciting!” Patrick shouted.

“When I am between the roses, Mr. Jones will bend down looking for me. He will use his eyes to search for me, his ears to listen for me... and the silly man might just try and smell for me too.”

“You don’t smell Pixie!” said Polly.

“I know, this is when we will get him to smell the roses. When the wind blows their smell is stronger, I think it is because the roses are dancing and they want everyone to know how wonderful their scent is. We need to make the roses move.”

“Are you going to make wind, Pixie?” Percy giggled.

“No, that would be very difficult. You guys are going to move the roses. I’ll hide between them, Mr. Jones will be down looking for me and you guys will pull one rose to one side and then let it go. Once it swings up it will send all the lovely smells towards Mr. Jones and he will see how beautiful the roses smell, he will definitely relax and then thank us for helping him. We’ll have a new friend.”

“THAT’S A GREAT IDEA PIXIE!” screamed the ducklings.

“Thanks guys. Now, let’s get some rest, and remember, when the first train passes in the morning we must head to the bandstand.”

The next morning, Pixie’s ears picked up a rumbling sound in the distance, the train chugged into Blackrock station and the screeching of the brakes told her it was time to put her plan in place.

Pixie quietly left her sleeping parents in their burrow and headed for the bandstand. As she got closer she could see three tiny yellow shapes shivering on the steps. Her friends were ready.

“Morning guys!”

“Morning Pixie!”

“Are we all set? Do you know what to do?”

“Yes, we have picked the best rose and we know our muscles are ready.” The ducklings flapped their wings to show their strength.

“Great! Let’s go.”, Pixie gave the order.

The ducklings waddled off across the path towards the bed of roses. They wiggled their way in between the thorns and found their place beside their favourite rose.

“Let’s practice before Mr. Jones comes so we can get this right.” said Patrick. The ducklings agreed and decided to make a duck tower so that they could reach the petals of the rose.

Patrick crouched down and Percy hopped on his back, then Polly climbed on top of Patrick too before jumping on top of Percy. Their tower was ready. Polly’s wings reached out and pulled the rose a little, it swayed nicely letting out the lovely smell they needed.

While the ducklings practiced their plan, Pixie ran up the hill to the main gate and hid among the leaves.

It wasn’t long before Mr. Jones appeared at the gate. He took out his big metal key and stuck it in the lock. With a clatter he opened the huge gate, shoved his key into his pocket and growled at the little bird singing in the tree.

“Don’t worry Mr. Jones, we’ll make you smile.” Pixie whispered.

Mr. Jones walked to the little black and white house just inside the park. He opened the door and put on the kettle for a cup of tea. Pixie stood watching at the open door.

“WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE, SQUIRREL?!” Mr. Jones shouted.

Pixie didn’t move, she just grinned. This made Mr. Jones mad, he moved towards her and swung his big boot. Pixie was too quick, she jumped between his legs and pulled one of his shoelaces with her teeth.

Mr. Jones bent down to grab her, but cheeky Pixie jumped up and gave him a kiss on the nose instead. This made Mr. Jones furious. He chased Pixie out the door, his big boots thundering after her as she lead him down the winding path.

Pixie slowed down so that Mr. Jones could stay close and not give up. He grumbled and muttered and shouted at her but Pixie stayed ahead. Pixie lead Mr. Jones down into the open space where the bandstand was. She looked to her left and saw her friends among the roses.

The ducklings were getting scared now. Mr. Jones was getting closer to Pixie, he was running as fast as he could, bending down at the same time with his hands out wide to try and catch her.

Poor Pixie was getting slower as she moved towards the roses.

“I will eat you once I catch you squirrel!”, Mr. Jones roared.

“QUICK PIXIE, QUICK!”, the duckling tower was beginning to shake.

“Get ready guys, I’m coming!” Pixie shouted.

Pixie bounded into the rose bed and scuttled between the stalks before she found a nice hiding place.

“GET AWAY FROM THE ROSES!” roared Mr. Jones.

He bent down looking for Pixie, he looked left, he looked right. His eyes scanned the rose bed and his ears listened for any sign of brave Pixie.

“NOW!”, Percy gave the order and little Polly graabbed the rose. She moved the rose slowly backwards before letting it go and it popped quickly forward, just like they had planned.

“UH OH!” Pixie knew something was wrong straight away.
Poor Polly was now flying through the air. The thorn on the rose had caught her little wing and threw her forward.

She was heading straight for Mr. Jones’ nose.

Pixie and her friends looked on helplessly as Polly smashed into his big, squidgy nose.

Pixie raced in to save Polly as she dropped from his face, catching her with her tail.

Mr. Jones grabbed his flattened nose, “MY NOSE! OWWWWWW!” squealed the huge man like a big baby.

He looked towards the pond and saw Pixie bounding through the grass with three ducklings hanging onto her tail.

“That was fun!” Pixie shouted as she used her tail to fling the ducklings back into the water.

Percy, Polly and Patrick landed in the water with a splash. The four friends sat on the edge of the pond and laughed about their morning adventure.

“Is he our friend now?”, Percy asked.

They all laughed.

“Not yet”, said Pixie “we will need another plan!”