13 Miles of Reflection - Run Killarney Half Marathon

This past Saturday, we got to take part in the Killarney Half Marathon which takes you from Molls Gap down to Killarney with stunning views along the way.

We have always had a strong connection to this part of the world but even more so ever since we adopted our first sheep in Patrick's memory back on Easter Sunday 2011. Sproggy the sheep died from pneumonia this spring and we ended up adopting two more and last we heard both Kerry and Clare are thriving.

The day started early and wet but conditions improved and the route down the mountain was absolutely stunning. Having driven this road so many times before, it was a privilege to run/walk it and get to appreciate its amazing scenery.

13 Miles turned out to be a long time. Time to get lost in ones thoughts as well as take in the views and curse the midges. I thought about Patrick, the blessing that is Eoghan, our Kerry sheep and the loss of now two babies in early pregnancy. Every time I look at a positive pregnancy test I cannot help but immediately figure out the estimated due date and from there it snowballs. A spring baby; will it be a boy or a girl; wonder who he/she will look like; Eoghan will be so happy to become a big brother; cannot wait to tell him.

All these random thoughts start entering your head and you find yourself mapping out this potential little life. Then, without much ado, the universe decides otherwise. God only knows why. Is it you? Are your eggs past their sell by date? Is it a another fluke? Natures screw-up? Who knows. I know this was just a cluster of cells trying to become something but to us it was our baby; right from the moment that second line appeared. A baby with a million possibilities ahead of him or her.

Baby loss is a funny thing. It continues to be rarely spoken about and the phrase "I'm sorry for loss." is still one that few will be offered in that situation. I choose to speak up - because I feel these little beings deserve to be remembered and their parents loss likewise deserves to be acknowledged. They did exist, no matter how briefly. Their loss is felt by us, their parents. We are strong. We won't need constant minding or hand-holding or will cry into our Cheerios morning after morning for the rest of our lives. We carry on living and enjoying life but will always hold a special place in our hearts for all our children; those here on earth and those who shine as stars.

It does not take much to acknowledge such a loss... A card, a bunch of flowers, an offer to babysit so the couple can have some alone time, a simple "I am sorry, this sucks." or suggestion to go out and get absolutely (umn, responsibly) pickled. Simple things but things that make a couple feel cared about and less alone at a lonely time. Even if some cannot find words, their actions will help and be much appreciated.

We're grateful to have people around us who made us feel that way. We know nobody can fix these things for us but all the little gestures of compassion and care we have received have made us feel a million times better.

I am also grateful that I was able to go through with the run as it had only been a week since we lost that little bean. It was a welcome change of scenery and a good way of acknowledging him/her as well as our loss. A time for Pat and I to reflect, spend time together and heal (with a little help from the Irish Whiskey Experience in Killarney!).

I guess there are less tiring ways of doing that than a half marathon down a Kerry mountain but where is the challenge in that? :)

Thanatology - Death Cafes - And Compassionate Cities

Four months ago, I embarked on a new journey. I packed my backpack, pen and notepad and headed over to Milford Hospice to attend the introductory evening for a 14 week pilot program called:

Thanatology - an Introduction. The study of death, dying and grief.

I am sure some of those who heard about this were wondering what in the name of God I would be doing a course like that for. Sure, isn't it all a bit morbid? (Actually, no, it is not really. :))

Well, I guess my initial reasons for signing up was that I might learn some more about what I have been through and may still be going through in my own personal grieving process. Knowledge is power and being better equipped might help me deal with more difficult times still ahead.

In the end, I got so much more than that. Yes, I learnt a lot about myself, about death, dying, grieving and how different cultures deal(t) with these things throughout time. I learnt about the wonderful work hospices do, about palliative care, the Compassionate Communities and Death Cafe movements and the importance of thinking ahead; to have those conversations about what our preferences are when it comes to end of life care or in the event we can no longer decide for ourselves and to have them in a relaxed setting, when there is no urgency.

The lectures were informative and very thought-provoking and the discussions passionate.

Above all though I feel extremely privileged to have been allowed to spend the last weeks with an incredible group of people - as diverse as they come, each with their own story. We laughed together, we shed tears at some of each others stories and we grew together during those Wednesday nights.

Last nights presentations, which formed part of the course work, displayed an incredible level of talent and depth of thought. We were allowed to catch yet another glimpse of each others true selves and saw strength, vulnerability, faith, happiness, sadness and much, much more.

Thanatology - an Introduction...It has taught me as much about life and living as it has about death, dying and grief.

Death is inevitable and part of life. Not discussing it won't make it go away. Discussing it, accepting it and connecting with it, helps us combat our fears and draw out our own wishes and preferences. We grow comfortable enough to open this conversation with our loved ones. I believe that this ultimately will make us better at making decisions with confidence when the time comes. It means we know that our own wishes are known and will be taken into account. It will make us better at offering compassion and support when someone we know goes through loss (of any kind) and or critical/terminal illness because we will have a better understanding of what to do or say.

The course made me also appreciate that loss comes in many guises aside from the obvious.

Loss of a relationship
Loss of a job
Loss of a friendship
Loss of ones faculties/body parts through illness
Miscarriage
Infertility
...

Each requires its own grieving process and we, as a society, can do so much more to support each other through these experiences, removing stigma and improving somebody's quality of life as a result. That is why I am supporting Limerick's bid to become the world's 3rd Compassionate City.

"A Compassionate City is one in which citizens can feel supported in the face of illness and loss – in schools, workplaces, cultural and spiritual forums so that the personal and social costs of these issues – such as loneliness, depression, anxiety and physical illness can be reduced."  

I am grateful to have been given the opportunity to do this course and to have been introduced to so many new experiences and wonderful people.

"Love the life you live. Live the life you love." - Bob Marley

Campaign for Separate Baby Loss Facility at UMHL - Our Experience of Pregnancy Loss at UMHL

We're no strangers to loss. We lost our first born to SUDC when he was only 22 months old. We were lucky enough to have our second a mere 9 months after that horrific day. He brightens our darker moments, he lights up our lives and he sometimes drives us to insanity and back but we will be eternally grateful to have him.

In November 2014 we were delighted to find out we were expecting again, a little brother or sister for our second born, a living sibling. I was confident and happy, ready to tell the world...Sure, what could possibly go wrong? We'd done this before.

Then, at 8 weeks, Thursday before Christmas 2014 and a week after seeing a tiny heart beating, I began to experience spotting while home minding our Chickenpox-y 3 year old. Concerned, I went to our GP who tried to reassure me that spotting can be very normal in a pregnancy. She nonetheless called the EPU at UMHL for a scan. The first available appointment was Tuesday afternoon - pretty much 5 days later. I went home and continued to keep an eye on things.

Unfortunately, by Friday afternoon it had gotten worse and I called Admissions at UMHL. They were very kind and told me to try and hurry in before everyone in the scan department would be gone home for the weekend so I called my husband, we bundled our son into the car and drove over as fast as we could. My husband dropped me off and went back to home to wait for a friend to mind our son before coming in again. 

Meanwhile, I was in Admissions and was asked to provide a urine sample before being taken down to the scan department. The lady scanning me was incredibly kind but told me what I knew in my gut...I could see the little bean but whereas the week prior there was the distinct flicker of a teeny heart, the screen was still. 

In a daze I went back up to Admissions and waited for my husband - bawling my eyes out. Why? Why us? Had we not had enough heartache already? But I guess, why not us?

My husband was allowed to come into Admissions with me and we were led into one of the rooms just in Admissions to have some privacy while waiting for the doctor. Our chart had the picture of a snowdrop stuck to it. 

The doctor came and he was very kind, offering his condolences. He said we would need to come back Monday for another scan to confirm...just in case...but told me to come in fasting in preparation for possible medical intervention. He explained what to expect, in what event to call and we were sent home with a pamphlet for information.

The weekend came and went with cramping and bleeding. The small hot water bottle a friend had given me as a Secret Santa gift came in very handy those few days. I felt sad, in shock, gutted.

Monday morning another friend came over early to mind our son whilst we headed in. Our experience that morning was quite different:

In Admissions they were puzzled as to why I would be coming in fasting even though the doctor Friday eve had told us to do so. My husband was not allowed into Admissions with me but accompanied me down for the confirmation scan. There was nobody in the scan waiting area and nobody behind the hatch. Confused we thought perhaps we had to go via the Ante-natal clinic to get some attention. As I walked in, I spotted someone we knew and backed out as fast as I could. 

Running into someone we knew was the last thing I wanted at that time.

We went back to the scan waiting area and eventually got someone's attention and a second scan. The lady scanning me said it looked like I had miscarried completely myself already and there probably would not be any need for medical intervention.

???

I had watched everything like a hawk the entire weekend and it felt a bit like a blow that I should have missed my baby miscarrying! I know I was only 8 weeks but it still felt so wrong. 

We went back up to Admissions and were told to wait in the main waiting area outside until the doctor could see us. 

And we waited...and we watched the telly with infomercial about UMHL with smiling couples and tiny babies...and we waited...and we watched people leave with the newborns....and we waited....and we watched women in labour coming in....and we waited...and we watched women with big bumps heading out for a smoke...and we waited some more...all the while trying to keep our heads down in case there was someone we knew.

Eventually, I went back into Admissions to see if the doctor would see us soon just to be told that he had just gotten there and to hop onto one of the beds so he could have a word with me. There was no time to get my husband. I felt vulnerable and alone there without him. The doctor came in, not too much in terms compassion as I can recall, perhaps a little unsure how to deal with a totally emotional woman who had just lost her baby. He explained how long I could expect to bleeding for and said I could go home alright when I asked him. Then he looked over my chart and became very interested in my blood pressure readings. I get extremely anxious at the best of times, so those were never going to be great at that particular time. At that point he said I would have to stay in hospital for as long as I was bleeding.

What now? Had he not just told me that I could go home as there was no need for me to stay? Tired of having to explain myself all over again, I asked him to ring my consultant who could confirm my story re the BP. I overheard the midwife outside telling him too that she had seen my home readings (because of what BP is capable of in doctors offices and hospital surroundings, I always come prepared!). I do understand that he wanted to cover himself but it really felt, at that moment, that my loss and total heartache was completely secondary to a number on a chart. 

In any event, he spoke to my consultant and said I could go home. Home is where I wanted and needed to be - especially in light of not needing any medical intervention.

I went back out to a husband who had wondered where I had disappeared to for that long as after all I had just gone in to get an idea of when we would be seen. He told me the person we knew had left with her mum and not seen him...for which we are glad.

We left UMHL sad, grieving and without much information regarding aftercare or contact information for someone to talk to.

I guess I did not know how to deal with this type of loss for a long time. Society deals with it so differently than the previous type of loss we had. The support is not the same. There is a reluctance to talk and listen.

My way of dealing with it all was to put all my effort into trying again. 2015 went in a bit of a blur of cycle after cycle...without success to date.

As much as we wish for a living sibling for our second born, we do not want to put all our lives on hold in pursuit of something that may or may not happen. I am not trying to be negative or give the impression that I am giving up. I simply need to get to a point where I am at peace with either possibility because life is too short and precious to not be lived to its fullest

Over a year later I am now seeing a counselor and joined Pauline Gannon's Facebook Group of ladies who have gone through pregnancy and baby loss also. Counseling will help me deal with the unresolved grief surrounding this little bean. I am hoping that it will also help me make my peace with our current issues conceiving again and both possible outcomes of that.

Pauline has done amazing work in getting this campaign off the ground. UMHL desperately needs a separate unit/rooms for baby loss/scares. Whilst ours was not one of the worse experiences in UMHL, I fully support this campaign for separate facilities:

You do not want to sit in the main waiting area of the maternity when you are experiencing a scare or pregnancy loss.

You do not want to see the hospital ad playing on the TV in that waiting area showing off newborns and happy parents whilst trying to hide in case anyone walks in whom you might know.

You most certainly do not want to lie in the admissions room listening to the sound of other babies hearts beating away when you know or suspect your baby's has stopped.

You do need your husband/partner with you at all times. In fact, he will want to be there and not be left out!

You do need privacy.

You do need compassion and acknowledgment of your loss. 

Common it may be for those who work there but for you and the dad common it is not. 

Baby and pregnancy loss is a sad and traumatic experience for both  (!)  parents and deserves to be treated with the utmost compassion and care. 

Please show your support for a separate baby loss facility at our local maternity hospital. 

https://www.change.org/p/pauline-thedynamicdoula-com-campaign-for-separate-baby-loss-facility-at-umhl?recruiter=297735913&utm_source=share_petition&utm_medium=facebook&utm_campaign=share_for_starters_page&utm_term=des-lg-no_src-no_msg  

St. Patrick's Day

Conversation with your little brother this morning:

Me: "Do you know what day it is tomorrow?"
Eoghan: "Yes." takes another spoon of cereal and responds in a muffled fashion: "St. Patrick's Day."
Me: "And do you know what St. Patrick's Day is about?"

(Expecting to hear about what he learnt at pre-school.)

Eoghan: "Of course. It's about my (brother) Patrick!"

It certainly is a day that you are even more in our thoughts, Sproggy-pops. For Daddy, Eoghan and me, St. Patrick's day has become a day that Saint Patrick gets to share with you. Isn't he one lucky saint!? Not many get to do that.

Hello Sunshine

The days are getting longer and nature seems to slowly awaken from its Winter slumber; giving way to Spring. I love this time of year. There is new life all around us...And plenty of little lambs. Very important, that!

Today was one of those days:

Blue skies, gentle breeze, birds singing and SUNSHINE.

It felt warm and gentle against my face as I was walking at lunchtime. The warmth of the sun reminds me a bit of special Sproggy-hugs and the mild breeze feels like sloppy kisses blown from above.

These little moments are bitter-sweet but I treasure them because they make me feel closer to our little boy.

I really just love the way the Spring sun feels on my face and soak up that feeling as much as I can - out in nature; walking; just me, the sun and "the birdies" I carry Patrick in my heart.

As the saying goes.

"Turn your face to the sun and you will leave the shadows behind you."

Memories

Lately and from time to time, I think about how different our memories of January 25th 2011 are. Not just between myself and my husband but for our friends, family, colleagues.

I sometimes wonder what went on in their heads. How they felt. What they thought. How it affected them. Where they were when they heard.

I know how I felt on the day and those that followed. I have an idea what Pat went through. But we've never really spoken about how that day was for others around us.

In the ensuing chaos, there were friends and family making sure word got out and people got told; making phone calls nobody wants to have to make - amidst their own shock and tears, no doubt. There were people trying to help others organise flights..."keeping it together" for us. There were people keeping us fed, organising lifts, preparing music for Patrick's funeral. So many people did so many wonderful things for us at that time.

While I have heard bits over the last 4 years, I think I'd love to hear their stories some time...If they felt ok to share them. And I want them to know that I do think about how that day affected them and how grateful we are for all they did for us.

Perhaps it is Patrick's 5th anniversary looming large in the not-so-distant future that brings my mind back to this.

5 years. Half a decade. A life-time that has flown.

The length of time you are classed as "newly bereaved". Can we have an extension please because we still have not, nor will we ever get used it. The head understands but the heart never does get around it.

Well, I think you know who you are. If you feel you can, tell me; by whichever medium you like.