Three weeks on

Today is three weeks since we found out our baby Beans had died. The scan was at 10am, so it was about this time we got the heart-breaking news where the floor disappeared from beneath us in a matter of seconds. It feels like so much longer - almost a lifetime ago, as cliched as that sounds. So much seems to have happened since then and I think we have been through every emotion you can experience. Every day really has been different - some have been far better than anticipated, others have ached far more than I could have ever imagined - although I feel I am generally getting stronger. In some ways it's hard to believe it's only been three weeks. I couldn't have imagined then that I could have survived the hospital procedure, two weddings, being back at work, and being able to function in the way that I am. When I think back to that scan and those first rushing days of panic and grief, I can see I have come some way since then - even though it doesn't always feel like it.

Yesterday was definitely one of the more difficult days and I shed a few tears on the walk home from work with the Boy. We had a quiet night, sorted out some dull but necessary jobs around the house, had a simple dinner and spent some time cuddling and talking about our days and our feelings. The two weekends away had taken it out of the Boy too and we welcomed the quiet time together to recover.

We were both tired so went to bed before 9pm, and we both read for a while, before more cuddles, and then we were intimate for the first time since all this happened and this dreadful nightmare began. It's taken quite some time for the physical after-effects of the miscarriage to subside and last night was the first time we were able to be this close. I think we were both a bit nervous, and while there was delight and comfort in being able to be intimate as we have both really missed that, there was a sadness there for both of us, and we were very gentle and tender with each other. I felt much more settled and safe afterwards, lying in the comfort of the Boy's arms. I think looking after each other in a quiet, understated but secure way is absolutely vital over the next few weeks. More nights like that will help us work towards mending I am sure. I already feel a bit stronger for some time in the sanctity of home.

I had another very disturbed night's sleep filled with horrible nightmares - a series of garish dreams involving strange, dark oppressive figures who, in some format or other, were chasing me and I felt very anxious and in peril. It always takes me by surprise the extreme emotion you can experience in a dream - how frightening they can be - and I recall feeling terrified at some points. The Boy woke me up at one point as I seemed so turbulent, tortured and restless. But I imagine this is to be expected and my dream life is helping me out by working out some of the thoughts and feelings that I can't manage in my conscious just yet.

Three weeks on. It's been quite a time from here to there. I feel I've aged a decade, and my view of the world has changed. My eyes see differently now. There have been moments when I didn't think I could manage and in those first few dark days I definitely lost all hope which is a very distressing feeling. I felt empty, and found the world devoid of meaning. I wouldn't say I was suicidal because that's too dramatic - and too simple. It was more complicated than that. But all I knew was nothing made sense or had any point, existence was futile and fruitless. It reminded me of that W. H. Auden poem Stop All the Clocks, especially the ending: "The stars are not wanted now: put out every one; Pack up the moon and dismantle the sun; Pour away the ocean and sweep up the wood. For nothing now can ever come to any good." I had been completely unaware of, and unprepared for, how much miscarriage can hurt and how it can cut so deep into your heart and stab at your soul.

But amongst those torturous days when my eyes have been swollen, hurt and rubbed raw for the amount of tears that kept falling, there have been better times. Some days have been quite bearable, and family, friends and colleagues have been amazingly kind and supportive. I've already laughed so much my stomach has hurt - and I could never have predicted that. I've been taken by surprise by the Boy and I - we are more resilient, stronger, braver and bigger than I ever could have known, and we can endure this. And our relationship has been the most amazing comfort I could ever have anticipated. As painful as it is to take the steps, I can go forwards, wrapped in the security of the most amazing and comforting security blanket anyone could ever feel - the Boy's love.