Proud of me, proud of us all

So many women complain about pregnancy, labour and childbirth, yet they come away from the end of it all with the greatest prize. A little bundle to love, hold and cherish for the rest of their life.

I never complained about my pregnancy, and I never complained about my labour - even though it took days to progress. I was confused, yes, as to why it was taking so long. But I did not complain. So much so, I put up with three days of on and off contractions, not going back to the hospital for fear of being a nuisance and only being told to go home again. And in the end, after Hope's heart stopped beating, I did not complain about my childbirth. The only thing I had to complain about, was not being able to take my baby home. Burying her, instead of raising her. I don't think I'll ever stop complaining about that.

Plenty of women have walked this road. And plenty will walk behind me. But still, we are the odd ones out. This is still a relatively rare thing to happen. Most of the time, this is not how a healthy pregnancy ends. To a young and healthy mother. So the few of us who are out there, who walk the streets and who are barely recognisable to the rest of society for having been through the worst that life can offer, we really should be proud of ourselves.

Given I've been doing so much whinging, moaning and complaining of late, I'm going to stop to pat myself on the back today. To say I'm proud of myself for surviving what I thought was not possible to survive.

For continuing to breathe, in and out. For carrying on, as best as I can. For loving. For living.

It just hit me all of a sudden yesterday at the supermarket. There I was, walking up and down the aisles, packing the trolley full of (healthy) grocery items and I just realised I was out and about, participating in life again. Just doing ordinary stuff. I was out and about and I was proving to the world, you can survive this.

I looked like a normal woman. Albeit a bit dishevelled and tired, but normal. For all they know, I was just suffering from a post festive season hangover.

If someone had said to me six months ago, this is how it was all going to end up for me, I'd have told you I would die as well. From a broken heart. And if not, I would have told you I would have never left my house again. I would have said I'd probably be highly medicated somewhere in a straight-jacket. Institutionalised and locked away from the world. The crazy lady gone mad with her grief.

I mean I gave birth to death, not life. My body produced a dead baby instead of a live one. We had to tell people about her funeral, not her christening. My sister had to phone all of my friends, all on the edge of their seats waiting to hear my news hoping to hear: "It's a girl" or "It's a boy" but instead got the news, "Sally and Simon lost the baby". We drove to the hospital already knowing the outcome. That the baby would not live and I'd go home empty handed to be plunged in to darkness. I did not get congratulated for the precious little arrival (even though that is still what happened), instead we received messages of condolence. And I am still alive. It is incredible.

So the fact that I'm not yet five months out from our unimaginable loss and I'm taking part in life again has to be a good sign.

But I know full well I have a long way to go. I still only see who I want to see when I want to see them. I have not been to any parties, celebrations our social outings. I really only see my family and a very small handful of friends and I can still burst in to tears at the drop of a hat.

There is also still a lot I am avoiding. Like work, paid work that is, of any kind. Like going back to my old dentist and hairdresser. And yoga classes. Like looking at photos of friends' babies. Those same friends who barely had a bump when my Hope arrived. Sometimes I really can't believe how much time has passed, even though on most days I wake, it feels like it just happened yesterday.

So today I am proud of me. I am amazed at my own resilience and strength. I'm stillbirth warrior, and a survivor.

And for that, I think I do need to be congratulated, we all do.