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Just like the Foxglove,
Stand tall,
Never cowering, rise above.

Everything around one seems so serene,
calm…green.
Yet inside her beauty awaits a poison, dorment, still, not intentionally mean.

Cups full of love,
Deep and intricate,
Smothered by nettles,
Does her colour fade the sting?

Purely wild,
Unpredictable at night?
Or is she wondering if she were to receive a hug, would it release her poisin and fit her fearful heart like a glove.

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Written by Francesca Shaw

Walking in Newmillerdam 2nd July 2021

This image may shock those that know me because many have never thought of my life like this. This is me around age 6/7. House full of pets, no carpets and yes, that is faeces behind me. No food in the house and a mother in bed that was having a difficult mental breakdown-she still does suffer with severe mental health. This was my reality for several years, I had lived like this from around age 5. It is no surprise that I was shortly after taken into foster care, many people including school, family acquaintances and neighbours had reported the peculiar behaviours my mother had displayed. Sadly the system wasn’t as conscious of the long-term effects of instability for a child in 1996, I was rehabilitated back to my mother and removed from her a further 3 times- over a space of 4 years. By the age of 10, I had an array of abandonment, rejection and distorted relationship ideologies and mental behavioural patterns embedded.

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Contact centres and taxis with escorts were my after school activities and meetings with guardians, therapists and court hearings were my norm. Now without going into catastrophic detail my purpose for this blog is to highlight that despite being a product of the care system and being left tussling life long PTSD and emotional difficulties, there are positives about foster care! There are not only positives but there are things that I believe helped shape me as a parent myself today. I get asked frequently “do you wish you had being adopted?” If I am totally honest yes, for when I was 6 and removed for the first time If I had being integrated into a suitable family and being given what all children need which is love, food, warmth and security then I probably would of escaped a lot of the mental struggles I still feel today. The abuse continued because I still had contact with my biological family and be it in the letters they sent, fortnightly supervised contact or the phone calls, despite social services attempts to protect me, the shielding wasn’t enough. Truth be told know one want’s to adopt a child by the time they are near on 11 and they said I had, had too much contact with my mother in early years to be adopted, so instead they said they would save my baby sister and had her adopted off instead. Ironically lumbering me with another ton of guilt, rejection, unanswered feelings and loss, but… never mind aye!

Fortunately for me there was something called long term foster care which meant the last family I was placed with had the opportunity to go to court and apply to look after me until I was 18. This meant less moving around and instability which is a positive in itself. It offered some feeling of acceptance and a sense of belonging to something. Human nature is to be together as one, a family.

Being with a family long term gave me 5 years of insite into the formalities around functional relationships and behaviours. I witnessed the routine of a working 2 parent family and how boundaries were in-bedded around discipline, respect and discussion. All these were alien to me because I had come from a 1 parent family with no structure and where I was the parent to the adult!

Long term care gave me holidays that I had never experienced before, travel is so important and as a parent now myself, I fully appreciate how special it is when you take your children abroad. Without foster care I wouldn’t of experienced that in my childhood, I am not saying every child in care is lucky enough to get this opportunity- this is simply my story.

Long term foster care allowed me to jump back onto the railway platform of education. Observe educated people and listen to the possibilities of university and courses something that members of my own family had never explored. Despite missing nearly three years of primary school I was able to catch up and that is most definitely a positive. I was able to socialise normally and make friends, some to this day I am still lucky to have.

Yet despite these positives the stigma of underachieving still lingers and occasionally creeps out in the words passed by other mouths

“Oh wow you went to university and your a care leaver”.

Phrases like this categorise you immediately, segregate you from fellow students and send your mind into pool of swirling questions like,

• Why can’t I go to university?
• Why does know one expect me to do well?
• Why are all care leavers expected to fail
• Why is it even a shock that I wanted to further my education
• Am I automatically deemed stupid because I was in care
• Why am I getting special treatment and grants because I was taken away from my family? No money can replace the pain I feel!
• Did I get those grades because they felt sorry for me?
• Did I get on the course so they could tick a box?

Despite the odds I did educate myself highly, three degrees and around 10 courses in various topics and interests which far outweighs and excels any stats about care leavers. I did this alongside being a teenage mum ironically, which is where I would, tick a box. Care leavers are more likely to end in teenage pregnancy. I would then argue that I didn’t repeat the cycle of being an abusive parent because of the positive things I had learnt in log term foster care. For example how to keep a clean and happy home. How to have discussions without physical fights (you may think isn’t that an obvious family trait) My biological family used violence on each other frequently if they didn’t get there own way. How to make celebrations special and exciting like birthdays, Christmas and so forth.

What is frustrating is the stigma also attached around being a good parent and being a care leaver. I have had many conversations in the past with health visitors, housing, medical professionals or therapists where they are surprised that “you’ve never had Social Services involvement”. It’s like it’s unheard of to be a care leaver and have children without repeating the cycle. I am the first to admit the anxieties I have had around them ever being in my life again have being unpleasant but that is no disrespect to social workers, it is purely inbuilt from my childhood memories.

If I were to turn back time and to be given the opportunity again to stay or to be taken, I would choose again to be taken. It isn’t ever going to be easy inside my head nor is it ever going to all make sense because a lot of the trauma comes in flashbacks and the 13 files I requested at 21 (10 years ago) I never read because it was to scary to re live. However what is positive is that I was able to use that trauma to propel myself into achieving. That little girl above in that image birthed an inner determination from being in care and it’s stayed with her ever since.

Written by Francesca Shaw for a friend that is studying at university and needed a case study on a care leaver 26/10/2020

  Growing up I was exposed to many stories with sexualized vocabulary.  By age 6 I was aware of the birds and the bees and found it quite easy to discuss with my fellow school age peers. Unbeknown to me it wasn’t actually deemed appropriate to share stories quite so explicit and vulgar as my primary teacher explained. I was only repeating what I had openly being told from my mother and heard in arguments or films.

Progressing into my teenage years I was mostly left to learn about my blossoming womanhood independently. I was never given the opportunity to have open discussions about the changes my body was going through be it on a physical or emotional level. Starting my menstrual cycle was daunting, my friends had all begun before me and I had felt like a late developer. Upon the day arriving in January 2003 I was 14 and I remember being told to “get on with it, the pads are in the bathroom draw and women are to carry on as normal. You can still go swimming and participate in P.E without making a fuss”.

Looking back I really wish I had questioned this more however I did just get on with it. The unfortunate thing for me was I was a very vulnerable teenager with an array of attachment and unhealthy relationship ideologies. I desired love and quickly developed a perception around my heavy menstrual cycles that love was shown via sex.

Sex was a way to be held, touched and become someones priority for a short while. Having lived a childhood of sporadic homes, dysfunctional separations and witnessing unpleasant violence-some sexual. I had always found it hard to ask for hugs from care givers, however with intercourse I didn’t have to ask. I became fickle in my naivety and bounced from partner to partner at the tender age of 14-16 which inevitable ended in teenage pregnancy.

This manifested into sinister unhealthy relationships. Long term emotional, mental and physical violence, even lead on to being high risk domestic violence. By the time I was 27 I had still failed to realise that sex could be used to control and manipulate.  It was only when I came into my 28th year did I learn about something called Mizan and Shamanic Womb Clearing. I was introduced to Mizan therapy after my fourth child, my hypnobirthing practitioner recommended I had a trial after birth. Being an extremely open minded individual I embraced the holistic therapy with open arms and what I learnt has changed my life!

Women seem to have forgotten how important their wombs really are.

women seem to have forgotten how to treasure, respect and take time to listen to their wombs.

I had never ever even realised my womb was connected to mother earth and if the moon can move the ocean then surely It can move me emotionally – given I am 90% water! Why wasn’t this discussed in science lessons like biology or when we learned about the planets? The moon is so significant to a woman’s cycle yet it’s never really discussed and if it is, your instantly a hippy! Anyway back to Mizan, Mizan teaches you a variety of things physiologically around taking care of our womb space and allowing ourselves to rest and listen to our biology. For anyone wishing to learn more about themselves in this way I highly recommend the book 4 seasons 4 weeks (image at the top). Mizan is relaxing and performed by a trained practitioner that performs an abdominal massage for around 45 minutes. This massage is able to help realign your womb if it’s tilted (this makes sex painful sometimes) yet so often us women just put up with painful sex like it’s normal! Why? Why should it be painful, this isn’t just about practicalities ladies it’s about a planetary shift as we have spiralled so far away from our divine centres that we unfortunately hardly ever resemble our emotional, mental or physical original design.  Mizan is able to assist with the list I’ve written below, these conditions are constantly thrown around at women like they are the norm to be diagnosed with now, 

• Endometriosis 
• Polycystic ovaries 
• Prolapse 
• Painful periods
• Hormone imbalance
• Tilted womb
• uncomfortable intercourse 

These are now common knowledge and yet every month we suffer or our sister or best friend suffers, or our friend at work suffers and they continue to suffer most of the time in silence questioning their ability to be a woman.  We have lost so much of our power with regards to our monthly flow and the very thing that ignites our earthly feminine being.

Here is me having Mizan and regaining my power and learning about my womanly organs.

Entwined with my Mizan treatments I begun my Shamanic journey. Shamanism and shamanic healing is used for many things such as soul part retrieval which I have had several times. You must be thinking what has this got to do with Mizan? Well quite a bit because when we choose to have intercourse we exchange our energies with the person we make love to. I call it Sacred Energy Exchange you perhaps know it better as SEX. Therefore If we are heterosexual and having sex with a male partner they are offloading their energy (ejaculation) into our womb space. Wombs are one of the main areas of the female body that we as women hold all our emotion, also known as the base or root chakra. Inevitably this energy that has being exchanged sits within our womb and can be passed on to our offspring. Consequently if that partner you have being with is holding on to their own trauma or toxic energy from drugs, Chakra blockages and behavioural patterns this is often then passing down to generations of children if it is left unhealed by the parents.

When I heard this and reflected on my own past relationships I knew that I had to delve into this area deeper. I had experienced a traumatic and toxic past, so I too, was highly likely to have womb space trauma and negative stagnant energy.  I choose to do my own research in shamanic womb ceremonies and I strongly urge you to go away and do the same if this is something that interests you. I hope that this small snippet of information is enough to enlighten and make people aware of what is out there, below is an image of the Native Navajo marriage basket that is used in the ceremony and placed upon the womb space. During the ceremony you will do things like extract negative emotions and partners energy from your womb space and have an opportunity to welcome back your new womb intentions. 

                           

Throughout my spiritual journey I regularly earth myself outside in nature, by this I mean submerge myself in the ground bare foot and take time to just breathe in the fresh air around me. This helps to connect the body and mind to the earth and re charge energy levels that perhaps feel depleted and tired. Just like our disconnection to our menstrual cycles we often disconnect mentally. We are mostly all guilty of too much TV time and abuse of our phones, laptops or social media platforms, earthing is a free and natural way to ground ourselves and take time to just be. I recommend earthing on the 1st day of your period if you are female along with a vaginal steam! Yes I did just say that, It’s fantastic and so relaxing- sisters honestly your missing out, be brave and give it a go! I’ll explain how its done below with the images of the kit!

 

 

So it starts with purchasing a Vaginal steam and these are between £5-10 usually. One lasts me several steams so it’s well worth it. Each pack contains beautiful petals of rose, lavender and beautiful smelling herbs blended together and dried out. You simply boil the kettle and pour a full kettle into a glass bowl preferably a Pyrex dish. Then lift the toilet lid and place the bowl in the basen of your toilet. I then lower the toilet seat and sprinkle the ‘vag steam’ into the bowl and then simply sit on the toilet as you normally would. Sit back with a book and relax for a good 20 minutes. I often sit on the toilet rim as I like the steam to be very hot, that’s personal preference, the closer the bowl is to your vagina the warmer it will feel. The heat simply rises and you relax! I sometimes light candles in the bathroom and make it quite ritual like -again personal preference. These little steams are fantastic for women that struggle with bacterial vaginosis or thrush. They help relax you on the first day of your period and I have found for me, it’s benefit is, it eases my period pain.

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Written gradually by Francesca Shaw over 2020 after at least 5 Mizan sessions and 1 Shamanic Womb cleansing ceremony.

Firstly I’d like to give thanks to Halsay your lyrics to “You should be sad” were released the week I said goodbye to my baby on a physical level and helped me sing out my pain. My favourite lines are,

“Got no anger got no malice just a little bit of regret,

Your not half the man you think that

you are!”

“I had no warning about who you are!

I’m so glad I never ever had a baby with you”……But lets be honest I did you just made me terminate it on my own!

“You will never ever touch me again! I feel so sad, you should be”.

 

I can still remember the laughable excuses you gave “Don’t hesitate to ask for my help”

And

“I didn’t come to the clinic because I didn’t have transport”

And

“Why should I have to be at appointments for a baby that’s a mistake”.

I remember crying to the Marie Stopes lady over telephone and saying why do men always find it so easy to detach from responsibilities. Yes this baby was a mistake and not planned but I didn’t ask for my coil to come out attached to a Durex! Why should I have to go through this process on my own.

I was about to endure endless phone and clinic consults on my own along with 2 weeks of work unpaid and surgery, not to forget the telephone counselling for 2 months afterwards (having to take these calls around my 40 hour working week in the staff room) when I was well enough to return. So from my perspective I am not sympathetic to you feeling sorry. I think it’s cowardly that you felt that this life was a mistake and you feel that you tried really hard to be there. In fact the only thing I am sorry for is that I ever thought you were mature – I was wrong and I am really angry at men!

I’m not going to sugar coat this topic for there is no sweetness around ending a life. This dark side to female emotions and brutal body butchering is ongoing and it isn’t just ongoing its happening every hour of every day and it feels like know-one gives a shit.

My first frustration is associated with a WHY?

WHY don’t men take contraception? They are so quick to joke about women that should get on the pill, I’ve seen many social media statuses before around our apparent “need” to get on the contraception before we open our legs! However crude and small minded these cocks are that write this trash, i’m sure it takes two to create a life! I feel an angry injustice around sexist expectations and morals still lingering in our ‘lets love all and promote equality and life’ society.

WHY do men run away? Cowardly deflect, detach and hide like ants under a rock scurrying from left to right unable to rationalise the right thing to do? Yet only 1 week previous to my journey into termination he was eating out on my bank card and purchased his child a newborn outfit.

My next frustration is HOW?

HOW can you go from dating me casually for 3 months and then not even send a text to see if i’m OK, When I’m carrying your child?

HOW Can you tell my family that you want me to keep the life and that you will come and help out in the night when I text you? This is a life not a toy that you respond to like it’s an electrical devise! Clearly you are no oil painting and after those few months of dating your parasitic truth squirmed out. I was left purging your poison and with your larva growing inside me. Wounded like an animal ready for the slaughter I begun the gruelling process of killing my baby to protect myself but more important my other earth side babies.

Did I believe in abortion- Unless it was certain circumstances, NO!

Did I always protest against it in religious education lessons in high school, Yes!

Did I contemplate abortion ever with my other four earth side babies? No!

Did I support pregnant and postnatal mothers for 7 years as a peer supporter and facilitator within the community? Yes!

Have I always being maternal and loving? Yes!

Yet I was about to spend the next few days and weeks in the most difficult mind, body and soul space I have ever been in. Given my life experience if you’ve read any of my previous blog’s this is testament to how severe abortion is.

The process begun on the 30th Dec 2019. My independent Midwife attended my home to discuss my options. I had already in my mind come to the conclusion that It was inevitable what I had to do. However discussing it and verbalising it is a different sort of acknowledgement all together. Deborah (The Midwife) Had held my hand during the labour of my 4th child and given me security know other medical professional ever has before. Her presence is that of an earth angel and I will refer too her as Debbie. I respect her time dearly and trust her with my life. During these difficult conversations she gave me informed choices of what steps to take to begin the journey of a termination.  It all sounded quite straight forward however my experience was much more sinister.

As soon as Deborah had left  I called Marie Stopes as I have mentioned above and sobbed through my attempt of justification for needing the appointment. The lady on the other end was kind enough and probably used to those kind of conversations but for me the shame had only just begun. She asked me if I could attend the next day, New Years Eve 2019 to Bradford for what they call “a medical”. This includes a scan of the baby, to show your gestation of pregnancy (I had, had an emergency one at 9 weeks so I new I was approaching 12 weeks).  A blood test and full STI check, blood pressure and urine along with verbal consultation. I agreed to attend and she booked me in for 10:30am. The days were long and I was struggling to cope with day to day necessities such as eating and showering. Having already carried 4 term pregnancies and having 2 natural miscarriages my stomach muscles are understandably easily relaxed. I was already showing and had being wearing hoodies to disguise the miniature bump from work colleagues and friends. I couldn’t bare to wash myself and feel my stomach knowing the impending events. Trying to disconnect your brain from your body is probably one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to do especially when your reminded every second by symptoms, smells and tastes relating to pregnancy.

I contacted one of my close friends, who I now call a best friend, she is called Kelly. I don’t have a large support network and very few new what I was going through, nevertheless I needed someone to go with as I new I wouldn’t cope well. I didn’t sleep a wink that evening and I slumped in my bed fully clothed until the 31st January arrived. Upon my next door neighbour arriving to babysit as typically this was happening in the school holidays I awaited Kelly to arrive. Unexpectedly Marie Stopes called to change my appointment time to 12pm, this wasn’t an initial issue however it added to the anxiety around attending, it takes balls, ironically, to walk into a place like that. We finally set off and arrived into what was like a normal doctors waiting area, my name was on a scrap bit of paper behind the desk with a receptionist and I was told to be seated. Within 45 minutes there was several other women in the room with a look of uneasiness like myself lingering across their faces. Between myself and them a subliminal smile was passed between us, we all new why we are there and a smile didn’t make it any less awkward but in a unusual way it helped lessen the anxiety for a split second. An hour and a half passed and two women had being called before me, frustration was escalating as my childcare was on a time schedule. I awaited the next women to be called and butted in,

“Excuse me, sorry to interrupt but I’ve being waiting an hour and a half and you already changed my appointment time once today”.

Nurse- “What’s your name, I’ll go and see what I can find out”

I gave her my name and she scuttled off leaving me and the other lady a little bewildered. Shortly after she returned and called me through to a corridor. I left Kelly in the waiting room and was taken into a room with a scan machine and computer in. I broke down, I love scans, I love seeing my babies and I know how much my baby will have grown since the emergency scan. The nurse sat me down and asked if I was ok?

Me – “No I’m not I don’t want to kill a baby, I shouldn’t be in this position, I had the coil, I don’t kill babies and I’m a good mum but I don’t want to raise a 5th on my own, MY ex husband cheated on me when my 4th was 4 weeks old, I can’t do this alone again. She passed me a tissue and said

Nurse – “I don’t know whats happened Miss Shaw but we seem to have had a mishap with your appointment today and we are not going to be able to carry out your medical”.

Me- “No, that’s not possible I can’t wait I need this surgery now, I am passed the tablet stage! I am practically 12 weeks you need to help me. It’s growing inside me I will have flutters soon, I felt all my others early please, I cant go home and keep being in this state in front of my children…..Sobbing. I can’t look after a 5th on my own.” (I corrected myself) “I can but I shouldn’t have to! I have proved to the world I am a good mum I do everything”.

Nurse – “I am ever so Sorry but your going to have to call this number (hands me a piece of paper) and call them to rearrange another medical.”

I stood up in what I can only describe as like an out of body experience, I couldn’t hear my sobbing but only feel the sensation of my chest cavity caving in from hyperventilating. Stumbling back through the waiting room door I mumbled to Kelly “they won’t do it” and headed for the exit. Upon approaching the car I was evidently unable to drive and swiping snot and tears from my face as I heaved myself into the passenger seat. Disorientated I tried to pant through words to explain to Kelly what they had been said and scroll through my phone book at the same time to call Debbie. Kelly begun to drive us both home and I just sobbed into my phone.

Debbie – “Hello”

Me – “Sobbing, it’s me”

Debbie – “Fran, breath…Fran, try and calm down what’s happened?”

Me – “They fucked up my appointment and have told me to call another number and it could be several weeks because I had a PPH (Post Par tum Haemorrhage) with Elliot so they might need GP notes to see if I am safe for surgery.”

Debbie – “This shouldn’t be happening, It’s hard enough as it is for women to go into these places, I am so sorry sweetie”.

Me – “I can’t go on, I can’t do this, I feel like I am going to be sick…sobbing”

Debbie – “Try and concentrate on your breathing Fran and get some water, If I can help in anyway I will, be it speaking to them directly or your GP. You had a Home birth following a PPH you were fine, Perhaps get a GP appointment and request any notes ASAP”.

Me – “Ok, I’ll try, Thank you, Sobbing. ”

We pulled into my drive and I sat, I roared from my soul, I deep maternal sound erupts, similar to the noise I made in transition during labour. Loosing a part of your soul can happen at many points in ones life and often it is during excessive trauma and significant events. I am very rarely vulnerable in front of people and Kelly witnessed me the most broken I have ever been in my life. I eventually calmed after around half an hour of constant tears and called the number on the paper. The new operator was extremely accommodating given my hysterics and booked me in for the Friday 3rd January 2020 at Leeds Marie Stopes for a new medical. She advised me to access my GP notes and apologised for what had just happened. I stumbled back into my house after this call and relayed to my neighbour of 8 years what had happened. She was so supportive and has been a very good friend to my family, She made me a cup of tea and sat with me as Kelly had to leave. You would of never of known it was New Years Eve, for after my cup of tea I heaved myself back into bed in the same clothes- I had been in for 3 days and laid there like I was already dead. This evening is meant to be full of laughter, joy and friends. I was laid alone, frightened and sobbing words of apology to my unborn baby, disguising to my own youngest children the truth and pretending I was just poorly with a stomach bug.

I lay I pray,

I say I am sorry 1000 times

I lay some more,

numb to the core.

I cry so much my heart feels like it bleeds,

If only my womb would,

clock strikes 12,

I am entering 2020 in emotional Hell.

 

Wednesday 1st and Thursday 2nd January 2020 I hide, I ignore the texts of Happy New Year from friends and wallow in self-pitty and intense frustration. I only left the house briefly on the 2nd for a GP appointment. He gave me a printed letter from the notes he had on file regarding the labour that ended in a PPH and a 2 week sick note for work. I remember thinking I hope this is enough to convince the nurses tomorrow that my body is capable of coping with surgery.

Friday 3rd arrives and a work colleague that new I was pregnant (as I had being deathly poorly in the weeks running up to this) had offered to take me to this appointment. I still hadn’t managed a shower but I was calm on this morning and I new what was to be expected of me today. The same babysitter arrived and we set off early around 10am for the medical. Upon approaching the Leeds Branch there were protesters outside, signs saying that it’s murder and that babies feel pain. Being a mother to four I am quite well educated on pregnancy and fetal development. I found it quite unfair that given my circumstances I was being emotionally guilt tripped upon entering a building I had never imagined in all my life I would be entering. Those protesters didn’t know me or what I had already being through. Who are they to judge, how much more guilt must I feel?

This waiting area was much busier and yet the discreet looks and smiles were still passed from woman to woman. My wait was just as long as before but my medical went ahead. I will never forget the name of one of the nurses, Channel she was called and she sobbed with me whilst they did my scan. I have never not looked at my scans, this was the first one I didn’t. The nurse kept pausing to let me breathe as I tried to hold in the sob’s, I didn’t look but I knew what my baby would look like, I had seen its tiny hands and feet 3 weeks previously. Upon finishing the medical the nurse went to book in my surgery.

Nurse – ” 14th January is that OK?”

Me – “No, I’ll be nearly 14 weeks then, that’s too late, I can’t continue like this, I can’t function at home.”

Nurse – ” OK, let me see what we have elsewhere.” Checking the system for appointments as far as Manchester and London there was nothing.

Me – ” Please, I can’t mentally stay like this, I now know why there were back street abortions, I need this baby to stop growing inside of me It’s torturing me”.

The nurse looked at me and said she was off to go see her supervisor. Myself and Channel sat in anticipation of her return, She reassured me that everything was going to be OK and I am not a bad person for going through with this.

Nurse – re enters ” Tuesday 7th January can you get here?”

Me – ” yes, I will be here, Thank you”.

I left weeping but with a momentarily sigh of relief. Potentially only a few more days to go. Then I remembered I had a Tarot card reading the next day with my sister, I had booked it in 18 months ago at a place called Tranquillity in my local area.  Perhaps some guidance and something to pass a day. Saturday 4th Arrives and I regain an ounce of power and manage to change my clothes and wash. I recall driving to collect my sister and thinking I cant quite believe that I booked a reading  and the waiting list has been 18 months and it has fallen on this weekend, the weekend I am making a life changing decision- What are the chances? The readings went very well and I was given a lot of comforting support from spirit and reassured that my surgery was to go ahead despite revealing nothing to the medium. I remember crying again throughout the reading and asking my father to look after my baby when I send it to him as he has being in spirit for around 4 years now. Leaving the reading we went for lunch and I decided to go buy some beautiful crystals to aid my healing after surgery. Some may of thought I’d of gone for a stiff drink however I still believed in giving my baby a healthy time in the womb even if it wasn’t going to be it’s long term home. £104 later I had bought a beautiful Sodalite crystal and large Celinite lamp. These were to bring clarity, calm and release guilt from the throat chakra post surgery.

Two more days passed and despite my efforts the children had begum accustom to my crying. It’s bad enough feeling broken but feeling ashamed of your parenting, now that’s a pain! Pain that cuts deep, feeling so worthless because you’ve had to show the most precious things in your life your vulnerabilities and lick your wounds in the shadows of those that see you the most.

Tuesday 7th 2020 the day my baby will no longer grow.

8:30 am I took my children to school and pretended I was fine.

A mum I had supported at my Breastfeeding group for many years had offered to take me for surgery as we had become recently closer. It seemed easier to turn to someone who hadn’t always known me for support than some of my closest and longest friends. Rachel came for 9am and had arranged childcare for her own children and taken a day of work! I am indebted to her kindness forever.

9:40 am we arrive at the Leeds Clinic- No protesters this time should I be thankful?

10:30 am we are still waiting and the waiting area is crammed, it shocks me how full this place is, all the time. This Morning is on the TV, Phil and Holly are on and everyone is laughing at there discussion of phallic drawings parents have sent in from their children. Holly Willoughby is laughing over drawings of cocks on Peppa Pig Pictures- Yet I am surrounded by women all in the same waiting area as me because of cocks! How Ironic.

11am – “Francesca Shaw please”

Another consult, paperwork and a hospital wrist band. I can feel my self disassociating, I weep silently to make sure the nurse doesn’t detect any un-certency in my choice.

11:10am I returned to the laughing room of ironic women.

11:20am “Francesca Shaw”

11:25am A new room with a seat and an a small IKEA Bucket

Nurse ” Put your shoes in hear and put the socks on please”

12pm Another room and 8 chairs, no curtains and a desk with 3 nurses on duty. No privacy and radio 4 on in the background.

I sit and wait to be called by the matron which isn’t long. She gave me 2 tablets and told me to hold them on the inside of my mouth in my gums for 20 minutes. She explained that this would begin to soften my cervix and I may experience cramps. She would come and tell me when to swallow the tablets.

12:30pm Women are wheel chaired in from theatre, a room directly next to the 8 chairs. You can hear practically everything. some cry, some make jokes, some are silent.

12:40pm Radio 4 is discussing Donald Trump, Iran, and rape and all topics of rape. I harshly said to the matron “Can we change the radio please can you imagine if a woman is hear because of rape”. In all fairness it wasn’t her fault and she did apologise however they are so monotonous in there routine they don’t realise the sensitivities around the day for their patients.

12:45pm Women all around me shivering, shaking and giving those awkward smiles. Heat packs given out and paracetamol, I am told to swallow my tablets.

12:50pm I breathe through my early contractions, nothing like my last labour but the hypnobirthing skills I learned around mentality definitely helped.

12:55pm Nurse – “Francesca Shaw”

I was called into theatre- If you can call it that! A bed, half a bed with stirrups and a computer.

Nurse – ” Date of birth please, Are you sure you wish to go ahead with this?”

Me – ” Yes, of course I do”

Nurse – “Why are you crying?”

Me – “Because it’s sad” I remember looking at her and thinking how can you not find this sad? My speech had become robotic, just unplug me from reality. I nod at her with reply’s as her voice becomes silent to my ears.

1pm Back to the IKEA bucket and chair “Put your pants in hear and I will give you a moment to put this sarong around your waste.”

SARONG! Like its a fucking holiday. I start taking my pants down with tears dripping into the bucket. I begun saying the lords prayer to my father as I place my garments into the bucket and keep my purple jumper on.

1:08pm Nurse – “Are you ready? Just sit your bottom on the edge of the bed and lift your left leg up”.

Yes I was put in stirrups before being put to sleep. I remember saying to the nurse,

Me – “There is no dignity here is there”

as tears tumbled down my quivering cheeks and pooled into my mouth. The last time I had my legs put in stirrups I was having a PPH and nearly dying post labour. A PTSD trigger was not what I needed to contend with right at that moment but it looked like I had no choice.

Nurse – “Right leg in”

1:15pm  Anaesthetist “Right Francesca I am going to give you a strong drug now to relax you and then the anaesthetic to send you to sleep”

I reply with a nod,

I cry and repeat “I’m sorry I’m so so so sorry”

BLANK

1:45pm Nurse – “Francesca, Francesca, your awake now it’s time to sit up”

1:55pm Wheel chaired back to the 8 seats with no privacy, no curtain.

I howl,

sarong still on,

I cry shouting “I don’t kill babies, why me, why me?”

Nurse – “It’s ok sweetie” (comes and holds my hand and listens to me)

I justify,

I apologise to the young girl sat opposite me awaiting her turn. Why am I apologising for my grief? Why, because this god for saken place gives you no privacy!

2:05pm Nurse – “Would you like a cup of tea?”

I sip, hyperventilate, sip.

2:30pm Nurse – “Francesca (Hands me a blue tablet not the medication type the electronic type!) Would you mind writing me a review when you’ve finished your tea?”

In my head I am screaming at her, I remember thinking surely my face is telling her to fuck off! Review? Really! This isn’t a day out at the theme park, I have just ended my pregnancy and you want me to write about the experience half an hour after my surgery! Bewildered I reply “Ok”.

I wrote that review because of one nurse, Channel. She was supportive at the scan, kind during the surgery and she wheeled me out of surgery and helped me to the toilet. However the award for the most insensitive and morally wrong marketing goes to Marie Stopes!

2:45pm Nurse – “Francesca It’s time to get your pants back on for discharging darling”.

The bleeding had begun already and they had given me a pot of painkillers to take home along with some antibiotics and an aftercare booklet. By 3pm I had being discharged back into the waiting room where Rachel was still waiting for me.

I walked out into the car park in sheer shock, I am no longer pregnant, Iv’e just ended a part of my own life, a part of me, I am numb. That was so exposing, demoralising and mechanical. I want to scream and tell the world what Iv’e just witnessed. This is NOT OK! How and where do I begin? I thought about how to share this experience with others all the way home, it was easier than thinking about facing my mum when I returned home as she was minding the children and had called me a murderer because she thought I should of kept the baby. It’s easy for her to say that, she kept me after she was dumped at 8  month pregnant with me. However I then spent three quarters of my childhood in foster care, so she never really had to look after a child long term. Despite explaining to her I already had four of my own with very uncooperative or supportive fathers and that having a 5th would be unfair on everyone involved she still couldn’t keep her opinion to herself.

3:30pm Arrive home, When I walked in she looked at me like I was vermin, Mother that is, she had made the children sandwiches after school and then said “you will have to go to church Francesca”.

4pm After pains

5pm Painkillers

6pm Antibiotics

6 weeks of menstruating the remainder of the pregnancy and 2 random text messages from the father.

Said Father – “Are you alright?” I replied “Your child died today”.

Said Father -“I’d of come if I’d of had transport” This was his best line, I asked him if he had ever heard of a taxi or a bus then I erased him from my phone and life.

After my 2 weeks off work I handed my notice in and decided to make a fresh start by moving house with myself and my four children aged 5, 10,13 and 14.

To this day I still cry, I still feel sad about what I went through but I have made peace with the decision I made. I took myself for some shamanic womb cleansing and realised that this pregnancy taught me to say NO. NO to men owning my womb, No to men having me raise their offspring unsupported. This experience however painful allowed me to propel myself into the next phase of my life – Me Time.

I hope that whoever chooses to read this can take some comfort in knowing they are not alone in termination. That this subject needs discussing and that women are left grieving in silence and expected to go back into society as if nothing has ever happened. I hope that anyone reading this can see the sensitivity around the blog and only comment accordingly where appropriate.

I would like to give thanks to the Counselling telephone team at Marie Stopes they helped hugely after surgery and the NHS for funding my treatment. My friends that attended appointments and that supported me long term after surgery and my Midwife.

 

Written by Francesca Shaw 21/07/2020 My estimated due date.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

When these days creep up on me they are bad, there is no other way to describe it other than black.

The heaviness of my heart overwhelms me to be brink of suicide. The thoughts flood my neurological rational and I see no other way out.  I backtrack these thoughts to childhood, probably around age 6. An intense urge to flee and hide, hurt myself, hate myself the utter extreme- kill myself.

Why? How can someone perceived to be so strong feel so brittle and have know one to turn to. Know one to see the depths of the heaviness for yet everyone says “I’m hear for you”. I ask where are they now?

It’s mothers day and I hate everything about today, I hate that I don’t have a normal relationship with my own mother. Why wont this heartache fuck off, I’m 31 I know this will never change. Be grateful you have a mum people say cherish her but they don’t know her or what she says.

I hate that I barely talk to the woman I called a foster mother for many years, I miss her, sometimes think of contacting her- rejection hurts so I don’t.

I hate feeling jealous of all the other mothers that get recognised yet all I have done for 14 years is be a mother – and on this superficial global day know one says thank you for raising my children to me. It hurts- Un-appreciation hurts and festers like sludge.

I hate that I hate all this and I hate that even on mothers day my teenage son argues with me and just wants his father. It pushes me to the edge, I stand at the visual cliff, just one step and I can end this. Float into the unknown and let this heavy heart float away just like a balloon, POP.

The blackness is weighted, a loneliness to the core that know one feels for they are not me. These times will pass as it always does. It may last an hour or it may last a day. Come the moon or a new born day I rise again, wipe my teary deceitful eye, for one looking in, would assume I never cry.

 

Written by Francesca Shaw

22nd March 2020

very dark day for a mum- but I will hold on a little bit longer to that rope