On the third of March, 2007, three years ago today, I had a miscarriage. It's something I've held very close to me since, never even having told my parents, or more importantly, my grandad. Yes, it was an unplanned pregnancy. I was seventeen.
I remember the day I found out, I remember the exact moment. It was strange. I'd spent my whole life answering the question, "What do you want to be when you grow up?", with, "A mammy!" and now that was gonna happen... But I wasn't grown up.
I burst into tears. I was scared, but I never really saw it as a negative thing. I mean, sure, I was in college and I wanted to be a psychologist, but I'd only wanted to do that for a while. I'd wanted a baby for as long as I could remember.
I suppose, due to the fact that I grew up without that motherly bond and affection most people have, I always wanted to experience it in some way. As a child, I even wrote myself notes, things to do when I had my own baby. I figured when people got older they were only interested in money and boring things. I found the book I wrote in a while back. "Don't get boring, don't talk on the telephone, play Barbies". I think I would have been a pretty cool mum!
On the second of March, 2007, I woke up and went to the bathroom. I was bleeding.
Holles Street. Sat around for ages. I don't remember much of what happened really. My boyfriend and his mum were there. They were both trying to keep me positive. I tend to zone out and build walls when I fear I'm about to get hurt though. I closed myself off completely from them. Don't think I said more than two words in all the hours we were there. I was sent home, and given an appointment for a scan the next week.
That night, I collapsed in the bathroom. My boyfriends brother rang an ambulance. All I remember is lying on the floor, with blood everywhere, while Mark stood at the door, in utter shock and stated his reason for calling an ambulance as, "My brothers girlfriend, she is bleeding... From eh, the vagina". (Have to laugh at that now!)
I was in hospital that night, all by myself. Seventeen, miscarrying, scared and alone. I didn't sleep one wink. I lay there listening to 'This Woman's Work' by Kate Bush on repeat on my i-pod. I kept thinking, "Maybe the baby will be ok", or, "Maybe the baby is alive still and these are the last few moments I have". So I stayed awake to hang on for every second.
The next morning, during an examination, the doctor said I could be discharged. No one had actually told me I'd lost the baby so I said, "Is everything ok, then?".
"Did no one tell her this wasn't a viable pregnancy?", was his reply. He didn't even speak to me.
You know how people sometimes say, "Oh, I can still hear his voice". Well, I can still hear his. I remember the smell of the sheets on the bed I slept on. I remember the ultrasound, no flickering heartbeat, just black and fuzzy, like a television with no aerial. I remember lying in bed for the next few days and although my boyfriend was curled so tightly around me, he might as well have been a million miles away. I build walls, and even though they're invisible, sometimes I think they must be stronger than any walls anyone could ever build with brick.
It's kind of hard when no one really knows you though, so this is me breaking a wall. I'm letting you in. I'm remembering, and I'm grieving, but I'm not gonna do it alone again.