Don't weigh me down

Grief would be easier to process if it weren't for the constant feelings of anger for other people's ineptness.  For instance when someone who should know Freddie's name and should also be aware of the need to hear it,  doesn't.   When someone doesn't acknowledge my loss when I've outlined it to them.  When someone reads out from an NHS database that my next of kin is Freddie Bean.   This list is by no means exhaustive.

Grief is a heavy backpack, it is rocks in your shoes,  it is a heart made of concrete.  When someone gets things wrong who shouldn't,  it adds weight.  It clips an added ball and chain around your ankles and extra longing in your soul.   We know people will get things wrong,   we wait with clenched fists and anxiety knowing an unfortunate comment will fly our way at some point.  But for some reason when professionals chuck an extra stone in our rucksacks,  we are caught off guard and vulnerable.

Disempowerment scares me deeply.  The idea of being powerless at your most pivotal life moments - and doctors and hospitals do just that to me.  I find myself speechless in our follow up consultants meeting when he tells us "you were lucky that it happened between shifts as we had double the staff to deal with it".  Define lucky, my son was born brain damaged and subsequently died.  This consultant never once referred to my son and never once said "sorry for your loss".  I find myself desparately trying to convince an NHS out of hours doctor who hasn't bothered to read my notes that I'm not pregnant.  By the time my appointment has finished I'm wondering if I am pregnant and if I just don't know myself at all - despite the fact we use contraception and despite having a period the week before.  And finally, amongst a catalogue of unfortunate comments by professionals, a hospital receptionist asks me to "confirm that your next of kin is Freddie Bean".  How hard can it be to not put someone's deceased child as their go-to contact in an emergency.   But instead of asking to see a manager - instead of making an immediate complaint, I am too ill, I am too tired, I am too shocked.  Another day where my luggage gets heavier thanks to the incompetence of those I place my health and mental wellbeing in the hands of.

To people with power, to people in charge of my health:  grieving is baggage enough, be mindful in all you say and do so as not to make it impossible to bear.