The T-word

I feel as though my creative inspiration has been somewhat lacking since the last piece of writing I did. It was a pretty hefty reflection, emotionally speaking, so perhaps this time to recharge has been necessary. But I’ve been lured back to my laptop, with hands poised expectantly over the keyboard, by something that has been haunting me for weeks now. Something which has had almost the same hold over me as a phobia might. Something that it has been seemingly impossible to avoid - jumping out at me with unpredictable frequency.

I can’t truly call it a phobia though, because it’s not fear that it triggers in me. Instead it’s a nauseating combination of mostly jealousy, partly sadness and perhaps, if I’m honest, even a little anger. It’s a concept which for the best part of last year was my biggest source of pride, excitement and happiness. But now, the T word brings on waves of feelings that, if they were physical, would probably best be described as throat-burning bile. Dramatic huh? I know. Embarrassingly so. But twins, even as a word to type, causes deep and automatic reactions in me that I’m worried I’ll never be safe from.

The first awareness I had of this was during my first lone trip to Tesco, round the corner from our flat, after MJB’s funeral. Going out at all has been hard work generally by the way: OK if accompanied by both S and JD, hard if leaving S and JD home together, pretty much impossible under any other circumstance. Similarly, I’ve only been home alone in the flat once since that pivotal Monday morning - when S took JD for his second lot of vaccinations while I fell apart in an almighty panic attack whilst on the phone to a close friend who just so happens to be a psychotherapist, so least likely to freak out at my messy mental state. On a brighter note, I’m making good progress being home alone with JD - who is my near constant companion (except when carrying out ablutions and on Saturday afternoons when S sends me out to have time off to myself, usually spent pretending to be a foreign spy sat alone in a coffee shop or at the park).

I digress. The first time, about 10 seconds into my Tesco's trip, I just knew that somewhere in the huge store there was a double buggy containing gorgeous baby twins and I could not lift my eyes from the floor for fear of seeing them. Only the very real potential that I might walk into someone/something made me address this gripping anxiety in a counter-instinctive way. I decided that instead of avoiding the twins, who I just knew must be there somewhere, I would purposely try to find them. My reward, if I could successfully spot them and survive the involuntary emotional turmoil that I knew it would cause, would be a treat of my choice. Whatever I wanted, something I wouldn’t otherwise have bought. Of course I didn’t see any twins then, and made it home unscathed. But on the second trip I made to Tesco, a week later, sure enough a double buggy containing a girl and boy of about a year old, entered from the opposite side of the first set of automatic double doors at exactly the same moment that I did. I saw them, my throat constricted, my heart pounded and my eyes welled - but thanks to my forethought plan, I went straight to the magazine aisle and bought all of the interior design publications I could find. (My sister and best friend are both on the cusp of moving home and I thought they would provide a fun resource for planning.)

After that, I didn’t hang about at the risk of seeing them again. But I was pleased that I’d effectively distracted myself from having a full-blown emotional breakdown in the midst of all the poor unsuspecting strangers. Since then, other twin-crisis-response-treats have included espresso tassimo pods for my dad, 2 new books for JD, a vegetable spiralizer for my cousin and a pair of work-out bottoms and trainers for me and numerous pastry-based treats to share with S. Problem with these things though, is that the rate of twin exposure has outgrown my imagination when it comes to buying stuff that a) I can responsibly afford, b) won’t add to my insecurity regarding my ridiculously expanding waistline and c) I want. You may have noticed that the majority of my ‘treats’ were subliminally bought for people other than myself. And those that were for me were either adding to, or punishing me for, my unhealthy comfort food dependence of late. I’m aware this is probably to do with the fact I still have a lot of work to do when it comes to being gracious, as opposed to guilty, in my perception of myself. But also, as grief does, I just genuinely struggle to find pleasure in much other than just being home in my comfort zone with S and JD.

It was shortly after the realisation that my crisis-management plan was neither sustainable nor effective that I was hit with one of the hardest days since S had had to return to work. He’d worked late the day before, arriving well after dark to a frazzled wife and baby. Then after a very unsettled night with JD, was off again for another full day at work while my mum and brother came to keep me and JD company. My brother is one of the most genuinely lovely people I know - however, without realising, he held out his phone to casually announce that his friend from school had just had baby twin daughters and had posted happily grinning proof all over Instagram. I jerked my head away, quietly trying not to give away how distressing that news had felt, while my anxiety that my emotions might spill out in unkind and destructive way grew and grew until suddenly, once he had left a couple of hours later, I blurted out to my mum just how traumatising my awareness of other twins had become.

To own up to such bitter, resentful feelings to someone whose own grief journey is so dependant on the progress of mine felt awful, however kind and empathetic her reaction was. Only when S came back from work did I really allow myself to cry freely and wholeheartedly onto his chest as he held me firmly under one arm, with JD sleeping comfortably under the other. Once the tears ran dry, we carried on, as we have had to do so often, with resolved determination to get on with enjoying our evening at home together. It was then that my phone beeped in my pocket. I glanced at the buzzfeed app notification and read, ‘Beyonce announces pregnancy with…’

I clicked the link and, as the page loaded, turned to share the news aloofly to S. I quipped ‘God, imagine if it turns out she’s expecting twins…’ with a wilted smile, which, as I turned back to the loaded screen, cracked immediately into a fresh bout of renewed angst. I ate the remaining 3 quarters of a tub of Ben and Jerry’s after that. About half way through the sweetness hurt my teeth but I couldn’t stop - becoming more an act of self-destruction than consolation. I hated myself for being so pathetic. I resented the world for continuing on with happy, insensitive announcements as though any of it could still matter. I raged with envy at the happiness and novelty and attention that Beyonce and her family would be indulging in. I physically ached to have that same happiness back for me and mine. I mourned my precious son who was so much more than just a gimmick or headline to us - who was the very making of us. I went to bed that night sore with the hurt the T word had become.

Since then, it’s as though God has been taking a tough-love approach to making me deal with this crap. Almost comically so, at times. A big turning point came when a woman from church got in touch, out of the blue, to ask if she could come over for lunch. I’ve always liked this person, but circumstance has provided little opportunity for us to become anything much more than friendly associates. I’d been uncomfortably aware, while pregnant, that she and her husband had been trying for their own baby for some time and so for me to so quickly end up expecting two, there was a natural sensitivity between us. I didn’t expect to share these feelings with her, but as I described the exhausting distraction that dealing with other people’s twin-related happiness had become, she looked so knowingly at me. I realised that however tricky it was to predict the presence of twins, how much harder it must be if just babies in general have been your achilles heel. I don’t know if she’ll ever realise or find out just how inspirational her own demonstration of strength and grace are to me, but I’m so grateful for that random lunch with her.

Whether on TV, in films, as the feature of gossip about friends of a friend, at the slimming group I joined... twins seem to be everywhere I look at the moment. Not even in the pursuit of a hearty breakfast can I escape them. I kid you not: this happened the other day…

Yesterday I found out The Clooney’s are also pregnant with twins too. So now that’s 2 pairs of babies it’ll be impossible to avoid seeing without giving up all social media and celeb-centred news stories. If I have to look at that offensively inaccurate portrayal of twin-pregnancy that Beyonce has published of herself again, sat like a serene goddess under a flouncy veil, I might scream. I know bitterness is never an attractive trait, but I (not so) secretly hope she is suffering all the same undignified symptoms and stresses I did with mine - and then some! Bring on the reflux and profuse sweating and acne, I say! It’s not like she doesn’t have the money to buy all the extortionate lotions and potions for coping that must exist.

Just as I never expect my grief or sadness and longing for MJB to end, I now realise that jealousy of the joy that twins are to other people will always taint my life, to varying degrees. But when I think of all I have, that other people might justifiably want and envy, it’s easier to tell my inner demons to pipe down. To have lost my first born at such a young age, but not have to face the horror of returning to life without a child, is something JD will never know how grateful I am that he has saved me from. I know from first hand accounts of good friends how fortunate we are to have been spared that pain. Reading other people's stories of loss and life ongoing always helps ground and inspire me. This website, in particular, has been a strange and unlikely comfort at times when my own mental willpower fails to distract me from the injustice and self-pity of my own loss - www.oncomingalive.com. Like the rest of my journey of grief, this aspect looks as though it will permanently be a work in progress -but hopefully that progress will bring with it a few encouragements along the way.