Tag Archives: Faith

What I Learned About Resilience After The Worst Year of My Life

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TW: baby loss.

We all have fears in life and if we are lucky enough we don’t experience them. Although I have experienced anxiety in my life I thought I was one of those lucky people. It was November 2019 and I lived my life in a cosy bubble. Bad things had happened in my life, and I had lost people I loved, but I felt happy and lucky.

Two months earlier my husband and I had decided to try for a third baby. I was thirty-five but I got pregnant immediately. I was over the moon and slightly smug. Geriatric pregnancy my arse. Later, I was exercising and I felt something weird happen in my body. Like a pop. I immediately stopped and put my hand to where the weird pain had happened. Then I brushed it away.  There was a weird uncomfortable pain in my entire body. It felt like a balloon was filling up. I couldn’t sit down properly. Then when I went to the bathroom there was blood. The blood was very dark and it freaked me out. I went to A&E. They didn’t even scan me and sent me home. Despite the fact I could barely walk and was in a lot of pain. I have a high pain threshold and I felt like they didn’t see that I was suffering enough.

The next day I went to the early pregnancy unit and they thought the pregnancy was an ecoptic pregnancy. I’m not going into detail about all of it in this piece because it is an entire article in it’s own. I started feeling the pain on Monday and it was Friday afternoon when I finally got my ’emergency’ surgery and one of the first things the surgeon said to me when I come to was that they caught it ‘just in time.’ My fallopian tube had ruptured and I was bleeding internally. I had been walking around bleeding internally for days while being told to ‘go home.’

There are snapshots of this time that haunt me: the registrar stroking her very pregnant belly while asking what I wanted to do with the remains of my baby, the fear when they sent me home that I would die in my sleep. Waking up and not being pregnant anymore. Notably the fact that they kept sending me home and eventually, days later, I refused to go home and made them scan me again. On the day of my surgery I almost passed out numerous times and the nurse kept bringing my back with oxygen, refusing to let me faint on her watch.

Mostly I remember the grief. There is no pain like losing a baby. I always thought people who killed themselves before that were selfish, now I know they are just in so much pain that they want to leave their bodies. I was completely and utterly broken. The only thing that brought me through were my other children. I figured if I could just put my feet onto the floor every morning and then get out of bed, I could survive. I only had to put one foot in front of the other.

In the blur of everything I took care of my children and tried to make sure they couldn’t see my pain. I didn’t want them to suffer, and I refused to let them see their mother depressed or spending days in bed. I knew that I had to structure my days. I had to get out of bed and smile at my children. Play with them, read them books. I took up Spanish and started doing yoga. It helped that we were moving house and I had to pack up and deal with all of that.

Just as the surgery scars started to heal a little I got ill. really ill. I had this continuous cough that wouldn’t go away. I spent boxing day with my mother-in-law and my husband’s aunt, uncle and their children. I had to find an emergency doctor’s appointment and fainted at the pharmacy getting antibiotics. I somehow managed to walk home although I have no idea how.

A few days later I was going to take my children to bed when I felt a sharp pain in my chest. It took my breathe away and then I couldn’t breathe. I was on the floor crying, barely able to breathe, begging my husband to help me. He called an ambulance and long story short I had double pneumonia, just as rumours of a SARS like illness started in China. I was unable to eat anything or lie down flat. I spent the next six months recovering as the world went into lockdown.

It was now July and my world started to come together again just as I noticed my period was late. I took a test and I was pregnant again. The happiness I felt was like nothing else.  But then weeks later I started bleeding. I made my way to the hospital, desperate to hold onto this baby, only to lose another one.  A few of my amazing friends told me they were pregnant and I didn’t want to tell them about my miscarriage because I didn’t want to scare them, or take away their joy. I would see pregnant women on the street and feel a bitterness that made me not recognise myself. I was full of hate and pain. I found women who were pregnant with their third child, or who had one, especially triggering. The pain of a miscarriage is hard to describe. It wasn’t as tough as the ectopic pregnancy, but the emotional pain of waiting for your baby to pass through you is sharp and brutal. The loss is acute.

I got up, homeschooled my oldest until 2pm and then focused on my toddler for a few hours. Then I forced myself to write three thousand words a day. I started another novel which I finished in six weeks.Then one day I walked out into my garden and the world seemed so beautiful. I sat down to take it in and I saw dew on the blades of grass. I thought about how cruel it was that my baby never got to experience a moment of this world, and yet I knew the world was still beautiful and that life went on. Even if the pain never really goes away.

I started to hate who I was becoming so I stopped. I decided that I didn’t want anyone else to feel this pain that I was feeling. I wanted to put positivity and love out into the world. To spread nothing but kindness. In this I finally found myself again. There is nothing uglier than bitterness or hate and my refusal to let it consume me was a turning point. I donated to charity and did everything I could to spread community and love. I kept writing and I started submitting my novel to agents and publishers. I went after every dream I had and I worked hard.

It has been two years now since my grief threatened to swallow me whole and I look back at that time and it still hurts, but I’m proud of myself. My Spanish is still mediocre and my yoga is not great, but I got a book deal and my novel Ember published in March 2022 to great acclaim. Ember has a character in it who had a miscarriage in the past and the lead character is also an obstetrician. I almost abandoned the book after my ectopic as I found editing it so painful, I put all of my pain into it. It was like therapy. I persevered and I’m proud I did. More importantly, in June 2021 I had my gorgeous and beautiful rainbow baby who I am grateful for every day. A little boy who is sunshine personified.

I didn’t let my pain break me or change who I was. The worse things got the harder I reached for the best. The negativity made me search for the positive. Faith and love helped me reach the other side and I know that life is always beautiful and precious. I promised myself I would always live my life to the full and never take it for granted. I won’t break it.

The Charity Chic Series Brings You The Charity Shops of Lyme Regis

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FAITH, HOPE AND CHARITY  by Wendy Breckon

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I’ve got an addiction.  Can I share it with you?  Charity shops.

Even writing the words, makes me want to wiz round the room faster than a small child on a red scooter.

Something happens when I catapult myself, bottoms up through the door, clutching the bag that can hold everything.  “I’ve got a theory. Have you got a minute?” Maybe, giant magnets inside the door suck us in, rendering us incapable of rational behaviour.

“Can I help you?” says the volunteer looking down with curiosity at my jellyfish like movements and inane grin. Yes, there is no place I would rather be than rifling through the bits of material and matching buttons in the bin at the back.

Some people dismiss the idea of charity shops with a bit of a sniff, (although less so these days) so why don’t I?  It is probably FAITH that when I turn up at five to five the volunteers will take pity and usher me in. HOPE that the dress I wriggled into yesterday is still there, in my size today and CHARITY; do not forget when you are searching for a bargain that sliding money over the desk is helping those less fortunate.

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Charity shops can test the fragility of personal friendships.  Take for example, “one husband and a leather jacket”.  One morning when browsing in one in Hertfordshire, my other half tried on a brown jacket that he really wanted.  Slight problem. He didn’t have enough cash so put it back on the hanger.  Later on we went for a walk and spotted the very attractive brown jacket moving towards us.  Guess what?  His best mate was wearing it.  But… hey… whatever, they are still good friends.

We have two charity shops in Broad Street, Lyme Regis, Dorset.  Both are in the perfect position for a saunter down to the sea afterwards with the smell of coffee following your path.

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Today I am visiting the Tenovus charity shop.  This is a British charity committed to the control of cancer through quality research  / education counselling and patient care.  It was established in 1943 by ten business men, (hence the ten of us).  Tenovus scientists have been recognised for their pioneering work.  They have a free phone cancer support line (0800 800 100), free counselling and benefits advice.  Check out the official web site – www.tenovus.org.uk.

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It was bitterly cold outside, but beyond the door there was a friendly welcome from Sam Green the manager and her two volunteers Sue and Rosemary.  Vibrant colours, great displays and lots to buy at excellent value.  I needed very little encouragement to take home the papier mache rocking horse that was part of the window display.  Now it rests gently on the ledge beside my stained glass window.

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 So what is my passion? Jugs, all sizes, shapes, chipped not a problem.  Bit of a history, fine with me.  No holes in the bottom, even better.

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Old frames, where I remove the print inside and replace with photographs and a funky surround.  Wallpaper, wrapping paper, shells or fossils.  All you need is a trusty glue gun.

Now let us not forget the magical world of the charity shop bookshelves.  Faded paperbacks, celebrity hardbacks, pop-up or pop-out books. How To Make Sand Candles Or Origami Figures, One Dark Night In Lyme Regis or a Funny Thing Happened On The Way To The Cobb.  I’m an avid reader and love them all.

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After a good night’s sleep dreaming of my purchases I awake refreshed.  The thought that the money spent is playing such a vital part to the relevant charity, is never far from my mind.  If you have any spare time, why not consider volunteering, or at the very least, buy some fantastic bargains from them.  Whenever we go through the door we can make a difference to someone’s life.

 

 

 

 

The Fighter's Ballad Preview {Film}

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Films set in London can’t help but resonate with it’s residents and ‘The Fighter’s Ballad’ opens with various shots of London and it’s landmarks so from the start I expected it to portray some of the characteristics and problems of present day London. And I wasn’t disappointed. Set and filmed in St Leonard’s Shoreditch Church, round the corner from the hedonistic playground of the youthful and trendy that is Hoxton, a world weary Reverend (Clive Russell) carries out his mundane day to day duties to a dwindling congregation.
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St Leonard’s is also the setting for the television show ‘Rev’ and has been described as “one of the country’s most bleakly beautiful buildings.” It’s name might be familiar from the nursary rhyme ‘Oranges and Lemons’ and Shakespeare is said to have worshipped there but these days the flock is the homeless and drug addicts.
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The plot continues when a violent, desperate man breaks into the Church bringing with him the anxiety and anger of contemporary society. This is The Fighter (Peter Cadwell) and as his name suggests he’s violent. He’s also a soul in turmoil, seeking meaning in life, faith and redemption.
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The Fighter’s Ballad is an adaptation of an original stage play written by Peter Cadwell who plays The Fighter. Although film is very dialogue heavy, the performances were strong enough to carry it off. Russell’s portrayal of Reverend John was natural, utterly convincing and at times very moving. Russell’s grand stature (6’6″) didn’t prevent him from coming across as a vulnerable character. Cadwell, more used to the stage, brought an energy to the nameless fighter that’s not often seen on a screen. The Fighter’s dialogue being lyrical and almost rap-like, the extra energy came in handy bringing the angry, troubled character to life.
The film is superbly shot, if a little dark in places, on digital SLR cameras. They make full use of the dereliction of the building and the features inside.  A grand piano covered in water stained dustsheet says everything about this supposed sanctuary surrounded by gritty inner London.
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The Fighter’s Ballad was screened at Bafta on 30th September and will continue to go on to bigger and better things.