3/11/2023 0 Comments Madison reyes![]() You'd think something like that would have been cause to hit the off switch given my state. There they were, singing about ambition, dreams and living in the moment. The metal rock edge to the guitar, the upbeat pop band vibe. The fictional band Sunset Curve were the first to grace my TV. Brand new and shiny, flashing across the screen. ![]() I doubt it was anything but the simple fact that it was just there. A young girl dealing with the loss of her mum with the help of her ghost boyband besties but in all honesty I don't remember what it was. I could make something up and tell you that the synopsis drew me in. The lights were low, the covers were high and I must have been flicking through Netflix. It was just one of those moments in the day where I had exhausted sleep and was looking for a way to pass the time until my body shut down again. I wasn't looking for something to cheer me up. ![]() I don't remember how I came across Julie and the Phantoms. Once the procedure was done I melted into the sadness, wrapped myself up in my duvet and became stagnant. Almost a month of being in the thick of grief. September 4th, almost a month after I'd been given the news. Anyway, I couldn't: my broken, beaten body just couldn't naturally miscarry and so I had to have the operation. My hope, however, faded with every lost pregnancy symptom and the spotting which came and went. What if they were wrong? What if they still lived? Admittedly it was less fear than exhausting hope. I hadn't wanted them to reach inside of me and remove my babe, out of fear. This sadness drifted into September as I waited for my baby to naturally pass from my body. It was a catch-22 of wanting desperately to escape the pain while fearing what it would mean if I did. I wanted it to weigh on me like my baby laying their head on my heart. I didn't know how to climb out of this depression, nor did I want to because feeling better meant getting over my precious little one and so I wanted to keep this sadness so close to my chest. There's no other way to describe it.Ī sinking, heavy kind of sad. I went from feeling numb to pain to despair and back around again. My 13-year-old wandering in, face full of concern, to check on me was like vinegar all over my hurt but even for her I couldn’t pull it together. Every time one sleep cycle ended and I had to do this waking thing all over again. It was so acute and loud and sensitive, like multiple exposed nerve endings. I wanted so desperately to escape the pain of miscarriage. I wasn't tired but still it wasn't enough because it had nothing to do with rest. I couldn't tell you how many hours I'd already slept. Passionate may even have been too enthusiastic a word. Me, the reliable overachiever with a zealous love for Christmas – and the only thing I was passionate about was sleep. ![]() I'd been signed off sick from work for the first time ever in my life and I didn't care. But there I was, in early August 2020, laying in bed mid-day trying my best to just sleep. Especially not during Christmas In July.Ī Yuletide summer is a big thing if you work for a long-lead magazine (which I did) and are Acting Head of Food Testing (which I was), leading a team through the festive taste-test period for the UK biggest women's magazine smack bang in the middle of a pandemic. Not that I wouldn’t take a sick day if I needed one, I just… didn’t ever really need one. I used to pride myself on never being sick.
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