I’m sure at least some of you are aware, the answer to that question is a resounding NOPE! As such, I could use some help from any local folk who happen to be reading this. I’ve recently decided to look for work again after a very long period of self-employment followed by some maternity leave. I am still involved with my coffee business but unfortunately I am no longer in a position to be able to work there full time. With the added financial pressures and responsibilities of looking after a toddler and a six-year-old, I am also looking for a degree of stability that I cannot get from entrepreneurship.
As I dive into the job search in Regina again, I’d love it if you could keep your eyes open for people I could connect with and positions that might be a fit for me. Below is a bit about my background and what I’m looking for, and if anything related comes to you please keep me in mind!
As a serial entrepreneur, my self-employed experience spans the last decade; I have opened two coffee shops – one in the UK and one here in Regina, I also had a mobile coffee van in the UK and I currently run a coffee cart business using my bicycle on Regina Farmers’ Market.
With over 12 years experience in small business development, I’m looking to translate those skills into project management in the creative industries.
My biggest strengths are my creativity, and my research and communications skills that I developed during my social science PhD.
What I’m Looking For
A full time, (salaried) and challenging position in a creative environment where I am encouraged to use my initiative.
Project management, communications, marketing, and anything that involves writing.
Some flexibility with work hours would be wonderful!
My Humble Request:
Even if nothing comes to mind at the moment, I would be grateful if you could keep your eyes and ears open, and even forward this message to any companies you hear may be looking to hire, or who could benefit from my rather unique skill set.
Thank you so much for taking the time to read this and for keeping me on your radar!
I am in a wide open space…. There is a great deal of snow-covered nothing out here. Carl is driving us back, 300km of dead straight roads stretching out ahead of us and not another car in sight. Its almost eery. They even put rumble strips running up to the few junctions to wake you up in case you’re using cruise control and forget to turn!
There are many jokes and stereotypes about Saskatchewan, most of which I have ignored because they don’t really apply to Regina.
“In Saskatchewan, time stands still” (no daylight saving time)
“In Saskatchewan, you can see your dog running away for two days”
There’s also plenty of Corner Gas references that I can’t comment on having never seen it, and then there are the less kind comments about marrying your cousin and so on….
In comparison to the UK equivalent, Regina is a small town, barely a blip on the map and certainly not a “city” in the more generally understood sense of the word. To my mind, a place is not a city unless you can walk for more than half an hour without running in to someone you know. After nearly 4 years here, i am pretty much guaranteed to see a familiar face as soon as i leave the house. This is not just because the population is tiny but also because everyone is so friendly. But outside Regina, in rural Saskatchewan the likelihood of running into anyone, whether you know them or not, is distinctly remote.
The Parents are here for Christmas, and this year we decided to go adventuring and booked a log cabin in the woods near Greenwater Lake, which is about 3 hours north west. It was gorgeous! Much more snow than in Regina, and Proper Trees! I didn’t realise I missed trees, but it was oddly pleasing to wake up surrounded by them again. We were the only people in the campsite, and got to play around in the snow, take Miranda toboganning and march across the frozen lake completely undisturbed. No phone signal and no wifi either – actually quite lovely, At night it was pitch black and utterly silent, to the point where Miri woke up st 1am wanting her bedside light on because she was scared of the dark. She’s not used to it!
Of course, this also meant that there was no food. We’d read online that there was a cafe in the provincial park, and so hadn’t brought much with us. It being Christmas week and the park being empty apart from us, of course the café was closed, and so we had to venture out to “nearby” Porcupine Plain (25km away) as soon as Carl started looking hungrily at the squirrels. There were only two places that did food in Porcupine Plain, and both were just about to close at 8pm when we finally arrived. The first was WEIRD. Funny little cafe with chunky white diner mugs, and a group of old men who just stared at us without saying anything when we went in. There seemed to be no one behind the counter and no one interested in serving us, and also nothing that looked like food, just the diner mugs full of stewed coffee. So we turned around and walked out again, and still the men didn’t say anything. Next door (literally), was much more friendly, and despite us arriving two minutes before closing time (sorry!) we were soon presented with enormous burgers and small mountains of chips. Yum. As we left, I read the community notice board: a house for sale for $45,000 complete with its own well on site(ie: no running water), a poster for the Christmas Eve service at the church, and an ad for “Firearms training”…
On route, we’d stopped in Wadena, and encountered our first Coffee Row. I’d vaguely heard about this little ritual: small cafes in tiny communities where people gather with their coffees on one long table to chat and discuss the world all day, every day. It may sound simple enough, but it is a very distinct cultural phenomenon in small town Saskatchewan. From what we heard it was mainly about what was on TV last night and the weather, but my parents rather reluctantly got into conversation with the old man next to them, who was not only fiercely proud of being Canadian, but also a devoted Christian. After makinng sure we understood the true meaning of Christmas, he fortunately turned back to his friend before he really noticed he was addressing a bunch of liberal godless cynics!
Those cafe experiences were glimpses of Real Saskatchewan for me: remote but friendly, conservative but well-meaning, flat and cold, but beautiful and certainly a very very long way removed from the grey, miserable mass of humanity in Britain where we were last Christmas!
…I’m just saying that no-one has ever seen me and Wonder Woman in the same room at the same time.
It has (as usual) been a very busy few weeks – nay, months and I haven’t had time to do anything other than The Immediate Project, Dr Coffee’s Cafe. No blog posts, no poetry nights, no beer club (although that is also the fault of pregnancy), no letters to friends, etc etc. Saying that though, I do feel like I’ve achieved quite a lot.
For a start, I quit the day job. This is MASSIVE. An achievement in that I stood it for so long in the first place (or as my dearest friend Rumble would put it: “I can’t believe they haven’t fired you!”), but also in leaving a job whilst still feeling relatively good about the place. I had more than a few run-ins with our immediate supervisor, I didn’t have a lot of respect for his ‘management style’, shall we say and worse, I’m sure he was well aware of that, but it didn’t stop me making some very good friends there. Whatever else I can say about the place, it was a very stable job with a great team of colleagues, and provided me with a steady income and benefits when I needed it most, in return for very little effort on my part. Dealing with the tedium of the work was harder than the work itself. Leaving at this point (on Friday 13th, no less) was either very brave, or very stupid. Had I stayed, I would have got the very generous Canadian one year maternity leave on full pay. Now of course, I get diddly-squat. Was paid mat leave worth hanging around being bored to tears for another few months and passing up the opportunity to open the cafe? I’d like to think not!
Oh, it was my birthday just before I quit work. I am 32, and I couldn’t even have a beer on my birthday. Worse, a few weeks later I got an invite to a Highworth School reunion – we all finished school FIFTEEN YEARS AGO. Somehow that doesn’t feel like something to celebrate!
Not having the office job has meant “plenty of time” (ahem) to work on Dr Coffee’s Cafe. However, it definitely has not been as easy as just me setting the place up. In fact, my newly-retired parents came out here for a whole month, to help me work on it as well. Dad naively thought he would run out of things to do in a month and so even got me to download “historical walking tours of Regina” maps in case they got bored. Those maps really do exist, I kid ye not.
Anyway, the Parents were both wonderful and Dad single-handedly built both the front and back bars in the cafe space, learned the layout of Home Depot, Rona and Lowes blindfolded, got thoroughly frustrated with a malevolent spirit level, and achieved more in 3 weeks than our idiot contractors did in 3 and a half months. Mum and I painted (a long task given I can’t bend or lift things or stand on ladders too often and she can’t kneel at the moment) and organised things and cleaned and we got it soooo close… but not quite finished. It was incredibly disappointing not being able to get it open before they had to leave, but we certainly wouldn’t be anywhere near opening day without them!! They did see the full range of Saskatchewan winter in that month as well, which seemed to amuse them. They arrived when it was still 30 degrees below zero, saw a snow storm or two, appreciated the crisp icy sunshine, Mum even mastered winter-driving, and then they saw The Melt, followed quickly by The Floods. Fun and games! We also managed “day off” trips to Moose Jaw spa, a snow festival in Fort Qu’appelle, a trip around Lumsden to see if it had sufficient hills for them to consider moving there, a night out at the Globe theatre, tobogganing with Miri and a mini-not-quite-launch-party at the cafe. I really hope they enjoyed themselves! Here’s some pics:
The New-Human Growing process is going fairly well so far as well- I am feeling slightly less sick and disgusting now that I’m over half way, the giant boobs are back, it is booting its giant feet about in there happily and as far as they could tell from the scan (where it was hiding and refusing to cooperate) – she is a she. On that basis, Carl and I have nearly decided on a name already. But I’m not telling what it is. Miranda, and Granny and Grandad all managed to come with me for the scan, and Miri was utterly agog, blown away by seeing inside Mummy’s tummy. She desperately wants a sister, and actually wants me to “put it back” if it’s a boy… uh oh.
So, quite a bit going on. I’m exhausted, I feel like I’ve not spoken to my friends in ages, I’ve completely forgotten about some social engagements, and I’ve not been anywhere except the cafe for weeks. BUT, I feel like I am coping remarkably well given the circumstances. Getting a brand new business off the ground is stressful anyway, especially in a new country where you don’t understand all the regulations, let alone whilst pregnant and with a very loud nearly-five year old in tow, and when both the husband and business partner are working full time at other, completely unrelated jobs. We may not be open just yet, but even Wonder Woman needs a nap sometimes, I’m sure.
I have never seen that show. Ever. Is that a bad thing?
In other news:
This is VERY exciting, especially after the miserable summer. I’m 14 weeks now, feeling very sick and lethargic (still), we’ve had a scan and all seems to be well in there. I’m due at the end of July, which of course is going to complicate cafe matters no end, but something will work out, it always does!
What’s this got to do with Little House on the Prairie? I hear you ask. There is a tentative connection, I promise. I have a friend who is also pregnant now, and we’ve been discussing all sorts of things baby-related, including nausea, the cost of giant bras, exhaustion, how sympathetic are husbands are(n’t), the lost art of sewing, hospitals and midwives, and restricted diets. She misses wine. I miss wine too, and watching Carl drink beer over Christmas was not particularly fun at all.. grr… but actually I am usually too sick to contemplate the idea of alcohol anyway.
But why can’t I have wine? She wails. “In medieval times, they drunk beer and wine all the time because the water was too dirty, and they all had babies quite happily….” A good point, though I am doubtful about the “happily” part. I also pointed out that not only was the beer much, much weaker, they also used alcohol as one of the few forms of painkiller, despite high infant mortality rates they had no way of diagnosing foetal-alcohol syndrome anyway, and a great many women died in childbirth too. Apparently, this means I am no fun.
I have been having random attacks of creativity recently, and I am wondering whether this is part of the “nesting” instinct – I certainly haven’t been filled with the desire to clean my house or anything. But I did attempt to sew a baby sleeping bag and ‘upcycle’ an old t-shirt into a swaddling blanket for summer. Neither attempt was particularly successful. This is how we got on to talk of Little House on the Prairie. I’m not sure exactly when it is set, but Pregnant Friend was saying how the family had to cope with the horrific prairie winters with little food and no coal, and how overjoyed they always were in the spring when the train finally arrived again and brought fabric so they could make new clothes.
It is a fairly safe assumption that neither of us would cope at all in those conditions – if the enormous trains running behind my house actually stopped and brought fabric supplies in the spring, we still wouldn’t know what to do with it. Though I think I might have the edge over my friend, especially when she says things like “I’d just curl up and DIE if I had to walk to work in the snow while pregnant” – erm, welcome to my world, dear… First world problems, indeed.
I have had similar discussions with other Mummy friends, some of whom are considerably more “naturally-minded” than I am. Some of them sew. Most Upcycle – (a word I believe has no place outside Pinterest) One had a water birth. There were doulas involved. Some even go as far as using all-natural, home made, environmentally friendly cleaning products. Crusty parenting, basically, though in Canada it is adorably called “crunchy”. Of course I respect their choices, and to them I must seem like a heartless cynic, but my real issue here is just the loose and liberal use of the word “Natural”.
I have a midwife now and I have every intention of breastfeeding, and I like using slings. (Babywearing to me, sounds like you have skinned your offspring and are using it as a scarf or something) This is about as crusty/crunchy as I get. However, I WILL have a natural birth, but I am not living on the set of Little House on the Prairie. Natural is not the same thing as “traditional”, and just because we always used to do it one way, doesn’t mean we should continue. It is 2015. Natural, for a white, Westernised woman living in one of the richest countries in the world, means hospital birth with medical experts on hand and as many free drugs as possible!!
Apparently turning this tablet on to “airplane mode” also turns off the bluetooth keyboard… argh! First world problems…
We are on a plane returning home via Toronto, from Heathrow. I still like saying Home, from Heathrow. Gone are the days when landing in London signified the end of a trip! The Canadian adventure continues. However, I am still sad to be returning home, because we have had a wonderful two weeks with The Parents and rushing around all over the UK trying to catch up with friends and more distant relatives. Worse, it’s New Year’s Eve and British Midnight will happen for us in mid-air between Toronto and Regina during our internal flight tonight. Canadian New Year will happen at what we’ll think is 6am tomorrow morning. I doubt we’ll be in a fit state to celebrate either!
Seeing Granny and Grandad for Christmas was lovely, and it was nice to see all the new weird constructions and eccentricities in their garden, including the newly finished, 24ft high grain elevator (sans grain). My cousin Ol, good friend Hannah and Honourary Auntie Cathy all visited the weekend before Christmas and it was a lot of fun having a large houseful. Ol has already been commissioned to design them a suspension bridge to join the bank to the top of the grain elevator tower, as you do. Hannah was enchanted with everything in the strange parental abode, from the gargoyle that looks like Ol, to the politically correct snowman on the tree to, for some reason, Mum’s 30 year old dinner plates. The mind boggles. It was very, very noisy! Hannah insisted we go out for a walk to find a stone circle on the top of a hill. Whereas I will admit it wasn’t actually raining and wasn’t nearly as cold as Saskatchewan, it was wet and muddy and blowing a gale and a thoroughly unpleasant experience for everyone involved except perhaps Hannah, and Miranda who complained and wanted to be carried until she found Interesting sheep poo.
We really trekked all over the place too. The first trip was to Redcar, via Sheffield to deposit Ol. Poor Carl had to quickly relearn not only the route through the twisty little lanes out of the hills where The Parents live, but also how to drive on the left, change gear, negotiate roundabouts and do hill-starts, none of which are necessary skills for Prairie driving. He got the hang of it again fairly quickly, but didn’t seem like he enjoyed the experience. Sheffield was quite hellish though, a lot of pre-Christmas traffic and all the roundabouts have changed again, or so it felt. It took us over an hour to get in to the city, and a further 30 mins to escape again. We did get to meet Ol’s new house mate though. (“What’s she like?” “She’s vegan.” “Oh.”) We collected Grem and new girlfriend in Richmond a good deal later than planned. Next stop was Redcar: featuring the local speciality, the Lemontop icecream, stunning views of the offshore windfarm, nuclear power plant and steelworks, a desolate stretch of beach on the north east coast, a 99p store (now closed down)a usefully located Wetherspoons, and most importantly, home to the wonderfully welcoming Chapmen clan. The girls are now much bigger and more Northern sounding (Miri, with her neo-Canadian accent, amusingly stated that Ione “sounds silly”, in fact, “everything is silly here” according to her!) The kids stayed with poor Rachel who had to endure watching Frozen AGAIN, while we headed to the Wetherspoons to meet as many Northerners as we could find. We got 8 together eventually, and it was great to see everyone again after nearly 3 years. We’re just sorry it was such a short evening!
On the way back, we stopped near Pontefract to meet Carl’s family, none of whom I’d never met, and most Carl hadn’t seen in 30-odd years either. They all thought Miranda was wonderful, and took great interest in Carl’s now pretty extensive family tree he’d been researchjng. It is very very wide. He has a LOT of cousins. Ah, the joys of Facebook and Ancestry.com. Perfect for emigrants!
After a day to recover, we headed to Birmingham to meet Julie and deliver her Canadian ex-pat care package of Goldfish crackers and strawberry Twizzlers. Mercifully, we opted to take the train rather than drive, because the city was packed with people. Miri was rather excited about her first memorable train ride, too. In true Christmas spirit, we went skating! It was an artificial rink obviously and extortionately expensive particularly when we’re used to Regina’s lovely free one with free skate hire back home. It did have large plastic penguins that you pushed around that helped Miri stay upright, and Birmingham being a very multicultural city, we also got to witness a woman on skates pushing a penguin round, while wearing a full burka. Not something you see too often in Regina!!
Christmas itself involved the usual festive gluttony and cheeriness and manymanymany presents were received!
(thank you, all!). The problem is, we received a greater volume than we gave out, and so we had to borrow a suitcase off the parents and pay an extra baggage fee to get them all home! Unpacking them will be good, because I’m sure Miranda got so many she didn’t even see some of them.
As soon as we’d recovered from the festive food comas, Mum drove us all down to see my nan and family in Sussex, via a short stop at my aunts on route. There were very long traffic jams… Nan couldn’t put all of us up at her house, so Carl, Miri and I stayed at a Premier Inn down town. Comfy enough, but with an oddly smelly hallway. Also, if one of us left the room with the key, the others were left sitting in the dark, as you needed the key card to keep the lights on! Bizarre. On Sunday we visited my step gran, my uncle and then another aunt fed us in the evening. Miranda charmed her honourary great uncle and big cousin Paul into playing Hungry Hippos all evening which was fun (from a safe distance!). After that, we took a double decker bus into Brighton (another touristy thing that got Miri very excited!) and went round the Sealife centre there which she thoroughly enjoyed. She even got to meet Kwazii the Octonaut! (If you don’t know what that means, I shall spare you the explanation!). Brighton was also very busy and we struggled to find somewhere to sit and eat cos everywhere was full up! Best of all though, I got to meet up with Mice, a friend from school, who I haven’t seen for over 7 years. She’s doing well, still recognisibly Mice, and we’re hoping it won’t be another seven years before the next get together.
Finally, on our last day we went up to London on an eyewateringly expensive, horribly early train, to take Miranda to the Natural History Museum and the Science museum in South Kensington. The museums are both free, but it being school holidays, the queue was round the block even though we’d arrived before the place had even opened! There were more queues inside to get into the dinosaur exhibition, so we may well be the only tourists in history to tour the museum with a child and not see a single dinosaur. Instead, Miri LOVED the volcano section and had two goes on the earthquake simulator. I guess this is what happens with a geologist for a father.
Speaking of geologists, we’d arranged to meet Carl’s friend Paul (also an earth scientist) that afternoon, along with two more of Carl’s cousins. Unfortunately, meeting them involved navigating the tube system to Covent Garden with an extremely overtired Miranda in tow. The tubes were PACKED. We were wedged in so tight, Miri sat on my foot clinging on to my leg to avoid being trampled. I’m only glad we didn’t have to attempt that with all our luggage, or worse, a pushchair still! Miranda, unsurprisingly, slept through the entire afternoon in a pub with the others, woke up once, glared at Tanya, ate a slice of sausage then went back to sleep, drooling quitely on to my knee. Two of the tube lines were closed on the way home, so we missed the train back to Newhaven. Instead, we got on one to Lewes intending to change, but then missed the connecting train as well. Argh. By this time, I was wiped out, so we had to mournfully phone Dad and get them to come rescue us. They picked us up quicker than the train could have done anyway, and we went back to my aunt’s house juuuust in time for sticky sweet Pavlova. Yum. Miri had woken up again by this point and “entertained” my cousin and the rest of the family, very loudly for another few hours until we forced her back to the hotel to bed…
So, right now we need a holiday to get over the holiday again, but sadly I have to work on Friday. Uuurgh. Of course, we sought out as many friends and family as we could over these two weeks, (most would never have forgiven us if we hadn’t!) But the whole trip felt Uncomfortably Peopley. I love my People, but it’s amazing how quickly you get used to the relatively sparse population density in Canada. Getting stuck in 3-lane traffic jams heading south, driving in hopeless circles round sheffield, waiting for tables in greasy fish n chip shops in Brighton, queuing and playing sardines on the London underground all came as rather unwelcome culture shock having got so used to small-town-big-space Saskatchewan. We had a total of two sunny days the whole trip, the rext of the time it was wet and miserable or extremely windy and grey, and there was no snow for Christmas either…. I miss the parents and my friends and family, i miss being able to take Miri into cheap pubs, and I miss Cornish pasties and pork pies, but I really do not miss England it seems. We are still far better off where we are!
I am tired. VERY tired. Life is, as usual, hectic and only going to get busier! So much so that I haven’t posted on here for ages. Since the last post, I totally failed to get a promotion that I had high hopes for at work, we saw Rocky Horror (fantastic!) Halloween happened which was great (I was the Starbucks Siren, the most evil creature in the universe. At work. Wearing a cardboard corset. All day.), I started writing a Zombie novel for Nanowrimo, the Farmers’ Market moved to its indoor winter location, I went to the CBC Tweetup, met the host of the Morning Edition, Shelia Coles properly and won a CBC coffee mug, I got a new ferret tattoo, Amy, Jen and I had a wee bit too much to drink in the new pub and sangmurdered a few songs at Karaoke, and I helped paint Miri’s daycare green and orange. Also, I found out the Irish Poutine is a Thing. AND, we’ve booked our flights back to the UK for Christmas! So, life has been generally good.
However, I am finding that I have to slow things down a bit to fit the important things in (and I don’t like it one little bit). Something BIG this way comes, which will remain cryptic for now, but this Happening is taking up virtually all my spare time and energy – and it needs to. Recently, I resigned from the exec of the beer club, and from the CVAF (arts festival) planning committee – fortunately both groups were very understanding and very excited for me! I haven’t gone to Word Up Wednesday for months (the poetry slam) and I haven’t even written anything for it either. I was swearing and stressing about my Nanowrimo novel until both Carl and my parents gently reminded me that I was supposed to be doing it for FUN, so I gave up on it – and I really found that difficult. Nanowrimo is my THING. I love it, and I really wanted to develop my plot this year. I got to 15,000 words and actually feel guilty about it.
With the advent of Winter – by which I mean about 20cm of snow and minus-ridiculous temperatures already – we decided to gracefully retire Wheelie Good Coffee from the Farmers’ Market until the Spring. We did manage a few weeks in the new indoor location, but we were still having to pedal the cart across town, and that made the cart grumble (and us too, to be honest). Snow and extreme cold take their toll on rubber and we had two blown tyres in 3 weeks, then as the first snow fell, the pipes in the cart frozen absolutely solid, and we had to take a fan heater to it to defrost it. No serious damage was done fortunately, but we didn’t want to risk anything irreparable happening. Plus, we both really enjoyed having the whole weekend off work. It’s been ages since we could do that.
Unfortunately, all this means I am seriously beginning to resent my day job. The people there are still awesome and nothing specific has got worse, I just don’t like it taking up all my time when I have other, far more exciting and fun things to be getting on with. I cherish my independence, and as such, I think I’d feel the same about any job right now: in simple terms, I just don’t want to work for other people. Ever. I spend more time with work colleagues than I do with my husband and daughter. I drag myself out of bed for it at some ungodly hour and walk to work in -28 celcius while it is still dark, and leave just as it is getting dark again. It brings in enough for us to be financially quite comfortable, but what’s the point of having money if you have no time to spend it?
The BIG, cryptic Happening on the horizon may dash any hopes of financial security for quite some time. But it will be sooooo worth it, and I am madly excited!!
One month of Blog Silence has passed, but so much has happened I don’t know where to begin writing it all up. And I don’t really know how, either.
I have been writing recently, but in purple biro in one of my many expensive notebooks. And what I wrote does not really bear re-reading, let alone publishing. I was thinking of turning it in to some sort of slam poetry piece, but unlike many others, I Don’t Do Emotion at those events. My default mode is Flippancy and that is where I am most comfortable. However, to misquote someone academic: “The cutting edge is never found in the comfort zone, but it isn’t necessarily in la-la-land either.” La-la Land does sound quite appealing right now though.
The fact remains that something happened to me, to us, that rarely gets talked about. So much so that nothing could have prepared us for the experience, even if we had been fully aware of the possibility. I had no point of reference to frame an understanding of it all. But I know I am not alone in experiencing this, and so for that reason I shall endeavour to explain, perhaps more for my own sanity but hopefully for other people’s as well.
In brief terms, I was pregnant, and now I’m not. I had a miscarriage at 12 weeks in.
We actually found out when we were in Edmonton, I took the test the day after Miranda’s birthday. I suspected anyway, but Carl was a bit shell shocked that it had happened so quickly as we hadn’t been trying very long at all, and of course Granny and Grandad were over the moon about it. We kept it quiet, only told our nearest and dearest and I didn’t mention it on the blog, just in case the worst happened. Oh the irony!! I had my first ultrasound at 11 weeks in because I had a few symptoms of Something Being Not Quite Right – but baby was there on the screen, with a tiny heartbeat and about the size of a Timbit. So at that point, we got incredibly excited and told *everyone* – my work, all our friends, and I even sent cryptic little postcards to everyone back in the UK about ‘spilling the beans’.
Those postcards took a week or so to arrive, and by the time they did, I was back in hospital being told to horrible news that Timbit hadn’t grown at all and no longer had a heartbeat, and all the while getting congratulatory messages from my friends as they read their snail mail.
The doctors tried to comfort us in the hospital by pointing out quite how common miscarriage is. 1 in 3 pregnancies end in miscarriage before 9 weeks in, and 1 in 5 at 12 weeks. We had got through the first hurdle, but were in amongst the unlucky 20% at the second milestone. Of course I was aware of the possibility, (which is why you’re always advised to wait to tell people until you’re in the second trimester), but One in Five is A LOT. I had no idea at all it was that many. But, as I made tearful announcements, so many of my friends suddenly came out and told me about their miscarriages, or about the someone they knew who’d had one and so on. It was astounding.
I am apparently at the age now where most of my friends also have kids, usually more than one now as well. My friends also usually fall into the category of loud, unreserved and open sort of people, unafraid to share even the most gruesome details. We talk about Poo as a normal topic of conversation, or leaky nipples, or discuss ways to actually have a sex life without traumatising the kids who won’t sleep through the night, graphic, gory birth stories around the campfire, that sort of thing. But nobody ever mentions miscarriage. Never. It can be gruesome, but it’s not anyone’s fault. It’s not shameful, just heartbreaking. And it seems to happen to an awful lot of us. So why the silence?
Knowing that it does happen so frequently is little comfort – my brain still wants to know “why couldn’t we have been in the lucky 80%? Why us? Why now?” or worse, “what did I do wrong/what’s wrong with me?” and there are no answers to any of those. Timbit just didn’t want to be, and it has taken me a long time to accept that and process the experience. I think maybe people don’t talk about it because not having the answers is still as scary as the physical experience itself. Knowing that you have no control over your own body makes you very, very vulnerable, and no one ever wants to admit vulnerability. But knowing that I’m not alone, that other people, friends have been through the same thing – that does help, a little. So talk about it I shall, to anyone who needs to hear it.