Nine years today we lost our son, Isaac.
If you had asked me 10 years ago how I would have pictured my future, I can honestly say I would never in a million years would predicted my present. I had always thought that in my 40s I would have established the life I want to lead. I’d be living in a lovely, tidy (!) house. I’d be successful juggling my dream job with chaotic children running around me. About now, I would be getting ready to holiday in an exotic destination. With my mum coming with us, I would have a babysitter on tap so going to the gym and nights out we’re not a problem. (Okay, may be the gym was a long shot!) Happy ever afters don’t really exist though and my reality turned out to be something very different.
I could never have imagined my mum would have passed away. I would have a horrible accident that would leave me disabled. The world would face a global pandemic and as a shielder I’d become a prisoner in my own house. I would struggle with PTSD and anxiety every day. And, that I would face every parents nightmare: the loss of a child. Even listing those things shocks me. But, I know this past decade has brought about horrors for others who are close to me too. I have watched with sadness and disbelief too many times.
I have often lived in a land of ‘what ifs’ regularly, especially with Isaac. It’s sometimes much easier to shut your eyes and let time pass you by rather then live with the reality. But reality has a way of pushing you forward. My reality after Isaac wasn’t pretty. I didn’t talk to anyone. I couldn’t swallow food. I thought I would choke and die if I did. Not really sure what my logic was there, but it kind of made sense in my head to protect myself. I was desperate for my baby; and desperate to try IVF again, even though I now know I wasn’t ready. I saw the looks of concern from friends, family and especially my husband as I pushed on with this. But another baby wasn’t going to bring Isaac back so ultimately I would never get what I desired. And I had so much anger; so much hatred for North Middlesex hospital who caused this great tragedy.
But this is not an ode to the life I wished I had, or a pity party for the life I’ve got. It’s more an acknowledgment of what has happened. I do believe it’s a good job we can’t see in to the future. If I had known this was all ahead of me I’m not sure how I would have coped. Quite frankly, I would have had panic attacks on a daily basis! But, the survival instinct kicks in and you lean to cope. Not very well sometimes. Not without battle scars. And certainly not without the help and support from the professionals, friends and family I have around me.
I had to learn to admit I needed help; something completely out of my nature. It started gradually. Two friends who had lost their own child reached out. They made me realise I wasn’t alone. They understood and I could talk openly to them. This led to me opening up and speaking to my friends and family who had sat patiently waiting on the sidelines for me to speak to them. They were a source of comfort and hope for normality. St Thomas’ hospital where Isaac and I were transferred to reached out after Isaac’s passing. We met Molly, our bereavement counsellor and I learnt to channel the anger and shock I was feeling through talking. Our consultant at this hospital also reached out and we slowly learnt the truth about the mess and negligence North Middlesex hospital had caused. This eventually led to the six year fight for justice. It also led to the charity work we started which ultimately led to us becoming ambassadors for the hospital. My GP reached out and found me a CBT and trauma counsellor who gave me back normality and control. He helped me learn to eat again and cope with the anxiety; he still does. Even the IVF clinic reached out and eventually gave us our rainbow, Isla. She was not the substitute baby that I had craved for, but an addition to my family who has brought back happiness, hope and joy. All these people saved me and gave me back my life. May be they even gave me the strength I would eventually need to cope with the future events that followed.
And now, especially through Covid, it has never been more important to come together and support one another. I learnt how to do this the hard way. Without those lessons Isaac’s passing has taught me, I wouldn’t be here now. There is still no ‘happy ending’, but I know that Isaac wouldn’t want me to suffer. I know he would want me to keep going and face whatever comes our way with the strength and love he showed us in his short life. But I wouldn’t have that strength or love without the hope Isaac led me to find.
Thank you Isaac. 💙
