I’m afraid of dogs. I’m also afraid of telling people I’m afraid of dogs. Many people really don’t understand. They can be indignant- Why don’t you like dogs? Dogs are awesome! They can also be defensive. Their dog is obviously the best dog ever, and there is no reason whatsoever to be afraid. But I am. That is me. And I don’t really tell people because I’m embarrassed. I’m well aware that I’m ‘supposed’ to like dogs. I don’t want people making a fuss- putting the dogs away in another room and mentioning it the whole time I’m there. But I also don’t want dogs to come near me either, so if my body language doesn’t give me away, I usually have to confess.
For the most part, my fear of dogs is irrational. Most dogs really won’t attack me and in case you’re wondering- no, I’ve never been bitten by a dog.
And so this is why post natal anxiety sometimes needs to be put on a leash.
My anxiety is like a dog. Always there, somewhere. Thankfully in another room, away from me most of the time. But every now and then, I’m in a park. And I’m surrounded by dogs with careless or thoughtless owners. Dogs that are sniffing by my ankles and jumping up at my legs. Some dogs are even barking. (more…)
When I was eight years old, I got stuck in a lift in Malta. It was a really old, rusty, shuddering lift with plenty of previous ‘incidents’ under it’s belt, so it really should not have come as any great surprise. I was alone. I’d convinced my parents to let me run up to the hotel room by myself to get something- I don’t remember what- and I’d promised not to use the lift. But I really wanted to use that lift! I really wanted to prove I could do it. I was brave enough. I was prepared. I’d seen my parents jam their fingers on two buttons at once to get the lift to creak and groan it’s way to the next floor. I’d seen them step down carefully, avoiding the inner mechanisms of the lift shaft. I was more than convinced I could do it too, should the lift stop for me. Which I was sure it wouldn’t.
But it did.
Standing alone in that lift, the lights started to flicker a little before pop! All was dim and still. It was daytime, but not inside that lift. An emergency light may have come on at this point, as in my memory the light in the lift was a dull green. I quickly pressed the alarm button, and then two other buttons at the same time, expecting the lift to carry on it’s reluctant journey to the next floor. It didn’t move!
I suppose being eight years old, my perception of this situation was a little out. Immediately, I was terrified. Nobody answered my alarm call. The lift was stifling hot- air conditioning wasn’t on the agenda in Malta in the early 80s. The lift was silent and imposing. The small space around me was growing smaller by the second, and I was all alone. I started to cry, to shout for help. My finger pressed down on the alarm button again and again, but I had no way of knowing if it was even working as all I could hear was an eerie silence. The odd crack or groan from the wires that held the lift, and me, suspended in mid air. Was the lift going to fall? Would the doors open to reveal a gaping black hole of nothing? Would anyone ever come to rescue me? (more…)
It’s been an amazing year. Despite the crushing lows there have been dizzying highs. Despite the sleepless nights that seem to drag my spirit along the ground. Despite the hospital appointments and stressful workload. Despite this, its been amazing. Because this year I found my voice, and I decided to make it count.
This year I made it to the finals of two different blogging awards. I made as a finalist in the Inspire category of the BIBs2015 and as a finalist in the Best Pregnancy category in the MADs2015. At the latter, I also made it to the finals of the Outstanding Contribution category, and for this honour I was given a trophy to take home. Amazing. And last night I received an email that actually blew me away. I’ve been long listed in the Seraphine Mum’s Voice award at the Tommy’s Awards. (more…)
The doppler on my belly, pressing into my skin, sliding on the jelly.
The sounds, almost alien like. The swooshes, the ticks, the chirps.
The CTG. The dips, peaks, dips peaks. Numbers that change but mean nothing to me. The paper that crinkles silently to the floor, folding upon itself as though it’s given up too.
The hand on my belly, waiting.
The check ups.
The appointments, one after another after another after another. (more…)