So, this is a post about two things. Firstly, miscarriage. And secondly, about violence in teenagers. They are totally different topics, but both have a common theme for me as I’ve experienced both. Although my two miscarriages and being beaten up on the way home from school happened at very different stages in my life, both have had a profound effect upon me.
In a case of mistaken identity, I was pushed to the ground, held there and kicked by Bob (not her real name) on the way home from school when I was 14. I remember so much of it now, so vividly. I also remember my Mum’s reaction, and her calling my Dad, and telling him he needed to come home from work there and then. Bob’s mate had a boyfriend – who I’d never even met, let alone been able to be in a compromising position with – and as a result of the chinese whispers of teenage life, I somehow found myself limping home, crying, praying that someone would see me and make it better whilst also wishing that no one saw my shame, bloodied face and tears as I hobbled along for the 10 minute walk to my house from the bus stop. I feel cold even now, thinking about it. I was scared to go back to school – would she start on me again? would there be more people watching? how should I react – to take it, or try and fight back? what if they held me down again? God. It was awful. Nothing actually happened to the perpetrator because it wasn’t on school property and the police said that I didn’t have any witnesses so it couldn’t be pursued.
For several months afterwards, I was shocked and scared and frankly, broken by the experience. Then Sarah came into my life. Sarah was from Westhoughton and I met her through the weekly clubbing night for under 18’s at Wigan Pier. She gave me confidence and eventually, coaxed me into explaining why I wouldn’t use the downstairs toilets when Bob was there. Blimey, I can’t write properly about it now. I thought I could. But the outcome was, that Sarah helped me to say to Bob, that if she wanted it, she could come and get it, but one on one, and without other people holding me down, or with the element of surprise. Suffice to say, Bob never came back to me again and the threats died down. The whole experience really shaped me at that point – initially, it made me want to never speak to a soul again and then, it made me feel strong. It gave me the opportunity to see it for what it really had been – someone using the element of surprise, and getting assistance from others, to inflict violence on me in a way that was entirely inappropriate and unjustified. I decided from that point on, that no one would mess with me like that again. And no one has. It defined and shaped me for some time, but eventually, I turned on it, and shaped for myself, what I wanted from it.
Fast forward to 2007, September. I’m laid in a scan room in the Rosie maternity unit, with Elliott being just 7 months old and my best friend, Mother Rouse, jiggling him and trying to being quiet outside the room, on the phone to my Husband – Lovely Bloke. I think the phrases were something like “I don’t care about train delays, you need to get back from London now. She needs you”. And it’s true. I did need him. Because I’d just been told that the bean inside of me, was not to be found in my womb. That my HCG levels were rising and as such, this meant that the bean, the much wanted, second, precious Weston baby, was not going to arrive in 9 months time as we’d hoped. He or she would not only not make it, but they would also rupture one of my fallopian tubes, rendering it useless for helping me make another baby. It’s fair to say that I was rather upset at this point. I remember Lovely Bloke laying on the floor of a gyne ward with me and Elliott in the bed – I stood firm when they said he had to go home – “I’m a breastfeeding Mum and I am not being separated from this baby as well”. I remember telling someone that, or feeling that I heard someone say it and being surprised that it was me. So, Lovely Bloke slept on the floor and we waited, patiently, for the pain that would come from an ectopic pregnancy.
But the pain didn’t come. We waited for 48 hours, and nothing happened. The Rosie said that as we lived so close by, we should go home and wait for it to happen, on the agreement that we’d come straight back, once I was in pain. We came home. And I waited. And waited. Nothing happened. Fast forward a week, and another scan – and there He / She was, there, nestled in my womb. It was William Thomas Weston. Of course, we didn’t know at that point whether it was a boy or girl. But still. He / She was there. And so wanted, and so precious. I had let the previous miscarriages define me and my thinking, my expectations and really impact on my experiences of pregnancy. And here He / She was, confounding them day after day, by growing healthy and strong inside me. In the end, William arrived weighing nearly a pound heavier than his brother – despite being 8 days less overdue than him, and has been full of life ever since.
I don’t know. I’m kind of out of words in some ways. Sometimes, I have to go with what life throws at me and do my best to roll with it. Sometimes, I have to fight what life throws at me. And then other times, I kind of feel that I have to let life do it’s thing, and know that in time, I’ll get perspective on it and ensure that I don’t let the heartbreak of the mistaken identity, miscarriages or the ectopic pregnancy that never happened define me permanently. Because we all have our own shit to deal with. And because we all have more living to do, so I figure, that I may as well live the life that I do have as vigorously, in full colour and take as much from it as I can. That’s the only way to not let what’s gone before, and will no doubt come in the future define me permanently.
I’ve written this tonight, when I should be finishing an awards application for a client, because a dear friend has a relative who might benefit from reading this post. So, Fred, if you are reading this – I don’t know you and you don’t know me. But I want you to know that you are not alone. You are loved. Bad things do happen to good people. It’s pants. And whilst it’s going to affect you for a while to come, you have the power to decide if it’s going to be weeks, months or years that it affects you for. You have a commited support network who are rooting for you and will be with you in the days, weeks and months of wibbles and fears to come. I promise, that in a month’s time, you’ll have a bit of perspective on it. And in six months time, you’ll have even more. And hopefully, in time, you’ll be able to look around it, this experience, and see it for what it was, one experience. Don’t give it the power it craves. Take the power for yourself instead x
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