Writing the book has brought back a lot of unpleasant and troubling memories, one of the most significant being my miscarriage. Before I start, I acknowledge that miscarriages are common and that it is not some tragedy specific to me, so it may come across as being very self-indulgent. I have discussed miscarriage with my friends/colleagues who have sadly experienced it and the reactions are different for each woman. Strangely, when I was writing about hospitalisation, I completely forgot about having to call an ambulance when I was miscarrying my second child. Again I was with my poor Mum (so sorry Mum for all the stuff you have witnessed) and had been told the previous day that the baby had died at 9 weeks. I had been so happy to be pregnant again as I knew that I was not going to repeat the mistakes I had made pre, during and after my first pregnancy… when I first saw some blood I did not panic as I had bled with my first child. I called my doctor and went for a scan when we returned home. My ex-husband was shopping in the supermarket opposite the clinic when I joined him at the cash till and I just shook my head. And that was it. We walked out and went back home and I got drunk and went back to work. End of that… only it was the start of my real journey into the bipolar abyss…

A much later random visit to a spiritualist miles from home, told me that there was a little girl and that she was fine and happy and well looked after. I have never forgotten this and never will.

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