The Box

I wonder how many of you live with a box in your head ? A box of difficult memories , feelings and fears. Your box maybe open and therefore easy to deal with, your box maybe padlocked tightly shut for fear of the things inside ever coming out.

 The lid on my box is loose. I could let everything in there out in one whirling explosion but I'm not sure that's the best way for me. At the end of the day it's my box and only I know what is inside it. I feel everything in it has shaped and strengthened me to make me the person I am today. Some may not agree but hell this is my reality. I don't look in the box very often, not because I'm afraid or avoiding it but because I am happy and life is balanced .

Somethings in the box I will readily share,hoping my experiences help others with their emotions, grief or situation. I'm not going to share all the contents with you, not now. Probably not ever in such a public way but on a one to one, a need to know I will share every content in that box. There is nothing in there to be ashamed of , just some memories are just for me.

Of course you all know the main thing in the box is Eloise, her diagnosis with viral cardiomyopathy. The date 23/05/2002 is etched into the box. Thinking your child had a chest infection then finding out infact they have heart failure and they are unlikely to survive the night, a huge shock, a life changer. I remember the day quite vividly in colour if that makes sense. I remember when I was told, the echo that was performed in front of me, fainting, telling my parents and Steve. The long painful talk with Dr Martin in the quiet room on PICU. Seeing Eloise on the ventilator lying on a cooling mat that made her feel like refrigerated meat not my child. It's all still with me. That and all the agonising days that followed. I planned her funeral, it feels wrong that I gave up on her but I guess I was trying to imagine the worse so everything else seemed a little better than that. So in the box is everything from Eloise being in Bristol to her transfer to Newcastle, her transplant and her return to GOSH. I can talk of this time with any of you and not become upset but I don't want to feel this pain everyday hence the need for it to be bubble wrapped and boxed. I guess a lot of the first year or so was painful, hard to digest , a perfectly well child now life limited with a statistical time scale of how long she would live also etched into the box. 5 years, 5 short years that is what I was told to expect , 10 if she was lucky ( she was lucky ) I feel selfish or greedy now that so many little transplant friends didn't even get those 5 precious years.

Another thing in the box is my miscarriage , I guess for the reason I don't want to forget that pregnancy  totally. Society expects you to move on I have 4 children and Henry arrived after this miscarriage. I totally appreciate if pregnancy number 4 had continued there would have been no Henry, what a thought ! But at that time I planned that potential child, he had a future. I had dreams, I think you do from the time you see a positive test. I happily went to my 12 week dating scan to be told after a lot of prodding around that my pregnancy had ended 2 weeks previously. I ended up needing a surgical procedure to remove the pregnancy and of course me being me this didn't go entirely to plan . I ended up back in hospital after haemorrhaging at home. Anyway that's Chip ( his nickname) as a mother I won't forget this although everyone else will which is fine. Again more than happy to talk about this, more people should it's good for women to talk about this subject.

Also in the box, the Suicide of a friend a dear friend , my confidante , my rock. I do believe suicide is painful for those left behind. So much "what if " and why didn't I notice . He was my friend , his parents son, a brother, a nephew the list goes on. None of us were enough to keep him here, his demons too strong.

So that's some of the contents in my Box, certain days make me take a peep inside , anniversaries I guess, or seeing a certain photograph or hearing a song. I guess that saying what doesn't kill you makes you stronger is true. Although at the time the grief can floor you.