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Copyright and Use of Images
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Wednesday, 3 February 2016

My Hospital Bags Are Packed


I guess they'd better be too because I am now 37 weeks and 5 days!! :)

They're actually been packed for a fair while now. I packed a bag for me at around 25 weeks and then started pulling baby's bag together from 30 weeks. They've been sitting here next to the wardrobe in our bedroom for a while now, I just haven't blogged about it. I'm being a terrible blogger!

So i'm not going to bore you with a list of exactly what to pack in your hospital bags because it's been done and done on the internet and Google will quickly give you a thousand different options for bag packing combinations for a ton of different types of births.

What I will do though is give you my top tips.

1. Pack as if you're going to have a c-section even if you aren't planning one. 

I know that for most people having a c-section isn't their number one choice of birth. It certainly wouldn't be for me, but I have no choice in the matter. My uterus just wouldn't stand up to a natural birth having been sliced and diced a total of four times already. I have looked into a VBAC and as much as some ladies might risk it, I just don't feel comfortable with the level of risk involved for my personal history.

So anyway, you're planning the usual vaginal exit strategy, but this doesn't always happen. Even if you have had previous vaginal births and have no reason to believe this one will be any different, every birth is different and it's better to plan for a longer hospital stay than end up sending your other half into a panic trying to find the right extra big pants when you should both just be chilling out and enjoying your newborn.

I would highly recommend you pack your usual bag for labour and a short stay, but also pack a second bag containing additional nighties, nappies, maternity pads, big pants etc etc. for if you have to stay longer. Trust me, it's easier to pack your own extra maternity pads than send your other half to Tesco to be stood scratching his head in the feminine hygiene isle.

2. Pack your own bag weeks in advance of baby's bag.

This is my history of unexpected hospital stays while pregnant speaking here. Again, not something we would hope for, but sometimes we have to stay in hospital on our own for monitoring way before baby is due. I'd pack a bag for you and do it from 20 weeks onwards. Then if the worst happens you're prepared, but also if you just need to go in for some checks there's one less thing to worry about.

3. Leave a note on where to find the extra things you can't physically keep in or with your bags. 


I'm talking about your baby's feeding pillow, extra clothes you don't want to pack because you know you will wear them, your camera, make up, car seat etc. Even if it seems the most obvious thing. If you go into labour, or go in for your c-section you will have baby on the mind and not much else. The list just helps if your other half has to cobble together the extras, or if you send your Mum to go looking for things.

4. Keep a back up stock of things you might run out of or want to be brought to you at some stage. 

I have a wicker basket at the bottom of my pile of bags and that just contains my breast pump, maternity pads, nappies, breast pads and other such things. Again, saves him indoors having to rummage round in various places or make special trips to the shop. Just grab and go!

Even if you have a straight forward delivery and get home quick this will be useful as a one stop shop for additional supplies.


So there you have it, those are my top tips for things to take to the hospital with you. Do you have anything else you would add? Anything you found to be useful that I could stick in my ensemble last minute? Tips welcome!




Monday, 11 January 2016

New Year & Nesting




Happy new year!! Okay, so I am aware that it's already almost halfway through the month, but you've not seen me for a while, so I am allowed to wish you a happy new year at this late stage.

You may know that I am pregnant, but did you know that I am booked in for my c-section in exactly five week's time? Yup! I have five weeks in which to get the house nested, organised and baby-ready. Everything seems to be pretty last minute because all I kept on telling myself was "wait until Christmas is out of the way" and "wait until I start maternity leave." Well, Christmas is well over with and my last day at work is THIS Friday! How the heck did that come around so soon?!

In some ways it's actually pretty good timing, because it's saved me plenty of money buying baby things as I have utilised the January sales for many things I need. I have ordered my cot and moses basket in the sales and also got my dream pram and pushchair by shopping the sales and looking for voucher codes too. More about my cot etc. later because I have been working on trying to fit the baby and all of it's expected accoutrement into mine and Scott's bedroom since we only have a three bedroomed house.

In the meantime here's a photo of my pram, which is a Stokke Crusi. I got the carry cot section at a HUGE reduction in the sales from Kiddicare. I think Stokke must be discontinuing this red colour, but I love it!


The chassis seen above and with the older baby seat unit below came direct from the Stokke website. I looked online for a voucher code and stumbled across one for 15% off. Win!


When it all arrived I built it all up to check that everything is there, but I have packed it all away again now until the baby gets here. We just don't have the room to have it hanging about! I am super pleased with it though, I have thought about nothing other than this pram for months and in the end although it totally wasn't a necessity, because I still had Korben's pushchair I decided to go for it. I have to push it around a LOT so I want something I love. I love the height of the carrycot / seat and I love the sheer size of the shopping basket. It's a pleasure to push and as long as I treat it well it should hold some of it's value for resale, so I can recoup some of the cost when this baby becomes too large.

Anyway, I must go. Pregnancy insomnia has kicked in and last night I got to sleep finally at 3am - just four hours before Korben woke me up for the day. I have actually not felt all that tired today, so I didn't nap. I am just hopeful that when I go up to bed now I will just drift off instead of running through my "to do" list in my mind and fantasy shopping for baby items and storage furniture.

Call back in soon, I will be updating on how we reorganise our bedroom to be able to squeeze in a whole 'nother person for the next twelve months.

Sunday, 8 November 2015

DIY Minions Initial Art


Just a quick one. I had to show you these Minions prints I made for Korben's room. Like probably most five year old boys he absolutely ADORES minions - thinks they're hilarious!! I have been looking all over for some Minions artwork for his walls for months to no avail.

Well, the other day I thought sod it I'll just make my own! I had bought some frames already for the cheapo price of £1.99 each from Home Bargains. All I needed was some patience and a free vector image downloaded from Google.

Korben is thrilled to bits with his new bedroom artwork and to be honest so am I!



Wednesday, 2 September 2015

Week 3


I am now almost 16 weeks pregnant. This post was written when I had just found out. 

I'm going to have a baby! It's at this moment just a tiny ball of cells that has literally only just made it's way into my uterus, but it's there and it's growing. I have taken a few pregnancy tests and seen that amazing second line pop up. There is nothing like the excitement of finding out you're pregnant! 
Now this will be my third take home baby if I am lucky, but I have had four pregnancies. If you have read my blog for a while you will know that we have two babies who died before being blessed with our two trouble makers. One day I will make a page just for them on this blog, but I need to work up to that. Maybe on their birthday's this year. 

So, because I have two children already I need to be awfully organised with this pregnancy and with my life in general. I'm going to use the time I am pregnant and the inevitable nesting urges I will get to make sure my home is purged of clutter and baby-ready by the time this little addition arrives. I want everything to be ready and all my ducks in a row to make life as stress free as possible. 

My estimated due date is 22nd February, which means I will deliver sometime the previous week by elective c-section. Given our previous losses I am of course cautious, but I'm going to try to enjoy this as much as I can, because this will be the last baby I will ever have. 

No one knows about this yet, which means that these posts about my pregnancy will not be posted to my blog for a while yet. It's kind of nice having this secret to ourselves for a time. 


For those of you who are POAS (pee on a stick) addicts these tests are from 10dpo (days past ovulation). Top is FRER and bottom is Superdrug.... but of course you will have known THAT, right? ;)

Monday, 13 April 2015

So Why Would I Ever Go Back...?




After reading my last two posts you might wonder why we chose to go back to the same hospital to deliver our "take home babies". The truth is that we discussed our options and made a decision based mostly on cold, hard logic. I thought about paying for a private delivery, but it was way outside of our budget. Of course, if you're putting a £15 - 20,000 price tag on a healthy baby there's no question, but paying for private care doesn't guarantee a happy outcome. Nothing does.


Everyone knows you can't buy a healthy baby. We were perfectly aware that just because the universe had shit on us from a great height twice before, that didn't award us any protection from it happening again. The things we survived were statistically unlikely. But they were just as likely to happen to us again. We actually found solace in statistics. After all, if 1 in 4 pregnancies ends in loss then that means 3 in 4 are successful!

With regards to choosing the same hospital, pragmatism won out. The other options were too far to travel and they didn't know our story there. With loosing two babies I had gained the benefit of extraordinarily careful treatment. They were taking no chances! This gave us confidence.



We also had gained confidence in OUR ability to stand up for ourselves - to ask questions and insist on investigations if we felt we needed them. The hospital were great and let us know that we could go down and i'd be put on the monitor whenever I liked, for no reason at all other then reassurance. I was also given additional scans, which we also supplemented with private scans by the wonderful Chris Griffin and his team at MUMS in Solihull .

My last two posts came from a place of bitterness. They were written after the initial intensity of feelings has given way, and after having time to ponder each event over the years. The dust has settled and allowed me to pick apart my experience to be able to view the collection of mistakes with clarity. Back then I was more interested in trying to keep my sanity, struggling to keep myself together and just generally getting from one day to the next.

I spoke of the brushing off very infrequently with my husband, and we certainly never allowed ourselves to become overtly angry. We both agreed that pointing fingers and trying to lay blame was futile and could only lead to more upset and pain at a time when all we wanted was to try to heal.

There were many amazing times during my care with Ada, Lyric and Korben and it would be unfair to read my last two blog posts and understand them as the be all and end of of my care.



The midwives at my routine appointments were incredibly sympathetic during my appointments with Ada. When I went in to see my midwife and she couldn't find Ada's heartbeat, she tried and tried for what felt like an age even though she knew she was making her subsequent appointments run late. The kind, sweet lady even came through to the hospital after her shift and waited to see me when I came round after the anaesthetic to make sure I was okay.

I already mentioned the doctor who delivered Ada without needing to do a vertical incision.

All of the nurses who fed my husband and allowed him to stay when we couldn't bear to be apart.

The ultrasound technicians who took extra time to show me my placenta with Lyric and did every check painfully slowly and carefully so that I could feel reassured. They often gave me more photos than they were probably allowed to and never charged us.



My amazing consultant who looked after me when I was diagnosed as having borderline gestational diabetes. She was a perfect combination of professionalism, empathy and straight down the line honesty and I really appreciated her.

When I had delivered Lyric she was a little bit "grunty" in her breathing, so she was taken to the special care baby unit. As much as it pained me to be separated from her and it reminded me of being there with her brother in so many ways, I really appreciated that they were taking no chances and she was back with me by tea time.

I am sure there were others who I haven't mentioned that helped to make pregnancy after a loss so much easier to bear.

So you see, considering that it started as a decision based more on being "better the devil you know." It ended up being worth it for many other reasons too. Nothing is ever black and white.


Sunday, 5 April 2015

More Frustration, but then Gratitude followed by a Final Brush Off.



After having Zane I wanted to be pregnant again as soon as I could. I researched all I could find about being pregnant after a c-section. I learned that having a horizontal incision was a good thing, because it heals much quicker and I devoured anecdotal accounts of women who had found themselves pregnant soon after having a caesarian.

My life felt like it was on pause. My favourite description of the time was like I was at square minus one. Not only was I right back at the beginning without a baby, but I was also unable to even be pregnant yet. I was living, but only to pass the time, spending my days obsessing about when I could try to conceive again and trying to find evidence to support my desperate need to try again soon.

There is no feeling on this earth like the ache of empty arms following the loss of a baby. Your body has been growing and developing, your life has revolved around the planning and anticipating. There isn't a moment that passes where you aren't daydreaming about, planning for and looking forward to holding your baby. To giving him his name and seeing his face. Proudly showing him off to everyone in your life.

Then when you do have your baby finding that you can't breastfeed him. You can't even pick him up. Instead of making decisions about what to dress him in for his coming home outfit, you're deliberating with your husband about whether to turn off his life support. Instead of gushing over his nose and his little fingers you're talking about how much brain damage it's likely he will have after being starved of oxygen for so long.

I felt confused mainly. They don't like to tell you that your baby is definitely going to die, but by the time the doctors have told you, "he's a very poorly boy." in a certain tone of voice a few times, the realisation kind of kicks in.

My daydreams about holding my baby for the first time mainly consisted of me having been in labour, lots of pushing and lots of pain. I imagined being passed a slimy, wet bundle of newborn to place on my chest straight after birth while my husband looked at us both proudly.

What I hadn't imagined was being completely unable to pick my baby up for the first 36 hours of his life, followed by the agonising, yet obvious decision to withdraw care because his organs were failing. I didn't once imagine that the first time I held my baby boy would be while I was watching him die.

When my husband and I finally had a moment alone to examine our son's fingers and toes he was already going cold. When it came time for the nurse to send my boy to the mortuary I had to tell her to take him from me, because I couldn't bear to give him up.

Then I retired to a hospital room on the maternity ward where I took a pill to stop my milk coming in and listened to the sound of other people's babies crying through the night.

I have heard that some people can't imagine being pregnant again after suffering a loss. I certainly felt that way after loosing our second baby. I sat with her in the mortuary and told my husband that there was no way I could do this again.

But after Zane it was all I could think about.



We were lucky enough to fall pregnant less than six months after loosing our son. It was the month after returning from being married in Las Vegas, so we nicknamed the little fetus our "Vegas"

As much as I was terrified, I was also happy. Being pregnant again just felt so right, and our little baby girl made us feel like we were on the right track again. We decided on her name pretty early on, because Ada simply means "happy" and that was how she made us feel. Our little metaphoric light in the dark.

At 18 weeks I had booked an appointment for my anomaly scan. I went to the hospital only to be told that my name wasn't on the list. They had made a mistake and I wasn't booked in for a scan that day. As I am sure anyone would appreciate, it takes a lot to go in for a scan after a loss. On the one hand it's all you want to do, because you need to make sure your baby is still okay. But on the other hand, it's a scary proposition given that you could find out something is wrong.

I remember talking to the doctor who was there that day. I told him about my fears that I had Vasa Praevia again, and that I was worried about the location of my placenta. He couldn't have been less interested. He told me that the condition was rare and that no scan I could have would be able to tell me whether I had Vasa Praevia at that stage or indeed any stage of pregnancy.

He was cold, uncooperative to the extreme and incredibly lacking in empathy. I left the hospital without a scan and in floods of tears.

Usually I am not one to complain, but I felt that I had to write a letter about the treatment I had received. I wrote to the Head of Midwifery outlining what had happened that day and explaining why I felt it was so important to me that I not only received the scan I was booked in to receive, but also be checked over for Vasa Praevia.

When I finally received a scan we discovered that I had a complete placenta praevia. So my placenta wasn't just low like it was in the beginning with Zane, it was sat in the bottom of my uterus completely covering my cervical opening. Apparently this isn't a huge cause for concern, but of course anything out of the ordinary was cause for concern for me.



After being unable to locate a heartbeat at a routine midwives appointment when I was 25 weeks I discovered that my baby had died inside of me. There was no explanation and a post mortem showed nothing to blame it on. She just slipped away as so many babies do.

It's a very weird and heartbreaking time, knowing that the child you have been growing is dead inside of you. Willing it to move, but knowing that she won't. Hoping against hope that you will feel something nudging you from the inside to prove that there has been some horrible mistake. But all you feel is stillness. Your belly is still round and full, and when you touch it you can feel the outline of a hard bit here, a pointy bit here. But she's no longer the living, moving, embodiment of hope she once was.

My immense gratitude will always be to the wonderful lady who performed my c-section. I wish I knew her name, so that I could write to her and tell her how much she saved me.

Of course, having a complete placenta praevia meant that the baby simply couldn't get out of my uterus without being cut out. The lovely lady doctor came to my bedside and explained how at 25 weeks the baby was too small to be delivered by a usual c-section, and so she would have to be taken out by cutting me vertically.

Now, I had researched c-sections and being pregnant after a c-section and healing after a c-section til I couldn't possibly hold any more information on the topic. I knew as soon as she told me that a vertical incision meant cutting through my abdominal muscles, rather than parting them. It meant a much longer and more painful healing time, a worse scar and no chance at all of being pregnant this side of a year from then. After managing to hold it together quite well until that moment, I completely broke down.

Thankfully she was compassionate. Basically, because Ada had already passed away they didn't have to be quite so gentle with the operation and this wonderful, wonderful lady managed to deliver her by performing a horizontal incision.


There are literally no words to describe how grateful I am to this doctor for the chance she gave me. For the scarring she saved me from, for the additional and more painful recovery I didn't have to endure thanks to her. Her willingness to work outside of what was normal for a delivery at that gestation is more valuable to me that I could possibly say.

Once again I woke to find myself in the Forget Me Not Room. And once again I took pills to stop my milk coming in and tried to sleep in a room on a maternity ward surrounded by the sound of other people's babies crying.

While I was in hospital this time the Head of Midwifery came to see me. She visited me along with the doctor who I had complained about. The man who had left me feeling dismissed and uncared for when I turned up to my wrongly cancelled scan. She explained that they had received my letter of complaint, but that under the circumstances it was probably best if I dropped the matter.

My second baby had just died and I was about as vulnerable as a person could be. I was in no position to be agreeing or disagreeing with anything she said, but I went along with it none the less.


Saturday, 4 April 2015

Well I Guess I'm Bitter. . .


I didn't realise I was that way until tonight. I'd always thought I felt quite sympathetic towards the midwives that saw me on the day I went to the hospital to welcome our first son into the world. I suppose I do feel that way. I am ambivalent. I just didn't realise that my feelings leaned quite  so far towards bitterness as they do.

My friend posted a very innocent status on Facebook about being proud to work with the team she works with. She had noticed a post on another Facebook page which gave only positive and glowing references to the midwifery team she is involved with and was proud to share that with her Facebook friends.

Ordinarily I would have known not to piss on her bonfire - so to speak. I am not normally so overtly negative all over something so positive. But, something inside of me thought, "No, I cannot allow everyone to think that everything they did ended up so well!" It was like my story - my son, who is to so huge and real in my life was being denied.

If that team of midwives have only had shining complements and pretty tales spun of happy endings and humorous labour stories then where was my little man? Why was his story lost? Those happy endings are the normal turn of events, but they are not the whole truth.

So I replied.

                               "I'm sure they're all usually lovely, but they did brush me off and not really listen to me when I told them i'd had a massive bleed when I went in with Zane. When you bleed all over your bed and all in the toilet and bathroom floor its not really a common bloody show. I hope they pay more attention now to what their ladies are telling them  All lovely people that never meant any harm I'm sure, but I wasn't just another neurotic pregnant lady."

...
...

                               "Like I said they were all so nice and have been incredible afterwards. They just didn't listen when we told them how bad it was and left me to bleed again."


I probably shouldn't but it made me feel better. Now and again I have to stand up for my son. His life was so brief and he hardly gets a mention now. He would have been 8 years old. Maybe part of it is just taking the chance to talk about him. I felt like I was defending him. Maybe even defending my inability to keep him.

I have a page in my notes on my phone where I jot down ideas for blog posts. There are five ideas on that page and all of them are about my angel babies. Someone asked me if I blog about loss anymore and I told them no. I would have thought that after all this time there wouldn't be so much to write. Then I look at that list and wonder why I haven't made use of my old catharsis.


My bitterness comes from being brushed off and ignored. Midwives are human beings and no doubt they endure night after night of clueless, worried and distraught pregnant ladies pumped full of hormones and sick of waiting for their babies. But I wasn't one of those.

Waking up in the middle of the night I felt a gush. I put my hand under the duvet and in between my legs and when I brought it back out and looked at it in the dim light I saw it was dark with blood. It was my first time. I thought that my waters had broken, but was puzzled as to why it looked so much like a horrific accident. I went into the bathroom and sat on the toilet and a second gush landed in the bowl and on the bathroom floor. There was so much blood.

Despite the blood I was excited. I think Scott phoned the hospital to tell them I was going in, but I don't remember. I sat on a folded towel in the car. There was so much blood I knew a pad wouldn't suffice. The journey was quiet and pensive. It was not how I imagined the journey to the hospital would feel. I wanted to feel excited, but there was the memory of all that red. I was sure I had read somewhere that amniotic fluid was straw like in colour.


By the time we arrived at the maternity unit some 30 minutes later there was no more blood. I later discovered that a newborn baby has only the equivalent blood volume of 1 can of coke in their body. But he was still alive. They hooked me up to the monitor. I later learned that the monitor was running at the wrong speed. The paper should run at something like 2cm per whatever measure of time. My monitor wasn't. Whatever speed it was running at was telling them that our son was okay when he was fighting for his life.

In our debriefing the consultant told us that the monitor was the wrong speed. That since Zane they had taken measures to ensure this didn't happen again. The next time I was pregnant I noted a typed label stuck to the side of the monitor they used on me saying something like, "make sure this machine runs at 2cm per blah blah blah." By the time I was having Korben I couldn't find that label anymore on the machines they used. I just hope it's because they were newer improved ones with safety measures in place.

The midwives I spoke to told me that I had experienced a bloody show. It was common. Did I have a pad to show them the blood? "No." I said, "It was all over my mattress, bathroom and toilet." I knew they didn't take it seriously. I could tell that they thought I was exaggerating, and I was probably one of many overdue ladies that had arrived that night. But I'm not someone who likes to impose. I'm not a pushy sort of person. And after all - they are the experts.

They left me. They kept me in since I was almost 42 weeks pregnant and probably going into labour. I am sure they checked me over and I was monitored with the incorrect monitor speed, but they left me.

Once more I woke up to another bleed. In those hazy moments it took me to come around from being asleep I distinctly remember thinking that I knew if I moved I would make a mess and I didn't want to cause a fuss. I did move though, and I bled all over.

Some things get imprinted on your memory. The vision of the midwife who found me and the doctor who dealt with me after. Their faces are burned into my brain forever.

The midwife saw the blood. Her eyes went wide and she said, "Oh you're in a right mess aren't you?" She made me sit up and as I did I felt another gush. I am not saying gush for dramatic effect.

Later on, after an eternity of trying to find his heartbeat on the doppler and being unable. Of wheeling me into a separate room and finally finding our boy's incredibly slow heartbeat on the monitor. There was the doctor.


Now I know I had Vasa Praevia. Now I know that the last thing anyone should have done in that situation was break my waters. Breaking my waters broke my membranes. My son's blood vessels - his umbilical cord - literally his lifeline - was running through those membranes. He had already bled and tried to recover. Then bled and was trying to recover again. The poor baby had spent the last 24 hours trying his hardest to keep on living.

Then one doctor stuck a hook in me and all hell broke loose. HIS face is the one face that flashes before me when I think of the panic in me. I was laying there after believing my son was dead, then finding out he had a slow heartbeat and was hanging on. I remember my thighs were quivering. Have you ever been so terrified that your legs have shaken uncontrollably? After all this I trusted the man - The Doctor who said they needed to get my son out quick and the only way to do that was to speed up labour by breaking my waters. I distinctly remember how uncomfortable it was having him rummaging around inside of me. And I remember the pop and release of my waters. I watched him look down at the floor and then quickly look at me. I looked straight in his eyes and I saw his instant horror and regret.

Now I know it's classic Vasa Praevia signs. Why would they do that to me? They had the ultrasound machine right there! I had reported a huge bleed. They had SEEN me bleed. All they had to do was turn on the colour doppler and see the blood flow in front of my cervix before plunging ahead and sealing our fate.


So they cut me and got him out. They didn't have the right kind of blood that they needed to hand. The consultant told me that this showed up in their investigations when I was at my debriefing appointment. It might not have mattered, but he needed a transfusion at birth and the delay of getting the right blood may or may not have made a difference.

I woke up in the infamous Forget Me Not Room. Scott and I have since joked about that room in the dark way only survivors of terrible events can. I have said during both my happy ending pregnancies, "If I wake up in that f*^£king Forget Me Not room again....!!!" Basically it's a lovely room, separate to everyone else where they put the parents of babies born in difficulty. I don't know if it's officially called the Forget Me Not Room, but it's what we called it.

Anyway. I woke up to excruciating pain. The nurse explained my pain relief. Because I had a crash c-section I hadn't had a spinal epidural. They had knocked me out. I'd received a suppository, but the bulk of the pain relief was the morphine. I was instructed to press a button when I needed the relief and the morphine would be released. I could press it as much as I wanted, but the dose would only be released every 5 minutes at most.

But the pain was so bad! I was fuzzy from the anaesthetic, but the pain was overwhelming. The caesarian wasn't kind. They needed to get him out quickly, so they cut me practically from hip to hip. When I tried to get the morphine it wasn't helping. I was coming round more and more, but the pain was just getting worse and not better.


I don't know how long I was like that for, but they eventually discovered a pool of fluid on the floor next to my bed where the morphine had been leaking from the unconnected tube. Each time I had pressed the button the drug had been delivered onto the floor instead of into my IV. It hadn't been connected.

The thing is I am a realist. I see things as they are from every side of an argument and I like to think the best of people. I know for a fact that no one wanted my baby to die. No one was intentionally careless and everyone was doing the best they could under the circumstances. Midwives, doctors and nurses are human and as such they make human mistakes.

I forgive them all for it, and when I think of them I think of them with empathy. The midwife who brushed me off will have berated herself for not believing me, I know. The Doctor who broke my waters might have the memory of my frightened face burned into his brain as much as his face is burned into mine. And I know that whoever left me to wake up to the pain I did by not connecting my morphine properly will have felt guilty. I just hope that they learned from it. That's all I want.

My bitterness is undeniable and real. And as much as I see the string of errors for what they were, I have a right to be angry. I have a right to defend the memory of my son, and I have a right to be the voice of the statistic.

On the original Facebook thread that started it all, only the people I know as friends - including the original author, bless her, have acknowledged my outcry. The rest of the replies are made without reference to my outburst. I guess people don't really know what to do with the information. They are the lucky ones... and oh how I envy them.







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