Forced To Face Them: The Triggers That Remind Me Of Trauma

I'm sitting by a window, overlooking the City Harbour. On the opposing bank on the skyline, I can spot the cluster of buildings in the direction of Charlie's hospital. I Google Map the direction to make sure and the little yellow man icon pops up so I drop it down next to his hospital. I virtually walk up the path towards those all too familiar sliding doors and feel as if I could just walk inside, traipse the halls, go up the lift to level 4, hearing that dreary dismal lift tone that drops down into a minor key at the end, press the intercom buzzer on the NICU, wash thoroughly at the disinfection station and pop around to Charlie's crib. Spray the sanitiser, rub together and put my palm flat on his little shiny belly. Except I can't.

I've visited the city six times this year. I grew up close to the city but I'm not a city girl. Crowds stress me out. The buildings seem overcrowding. The views, advertised as 'stunning,' just seem like a mass of concrete blocks. This time, we had to come here for my husband's back surgery; a lumbar fusion. It's at a different hospital but it involves a four night stay for him and for me, in and out of the hospital. I underestimated how triggering this might feel. Throw on top PMS symptoms which at the moment come during ovulation and before menstruation and literally send me into a teary, deep, gritty slump. Then, there's the guilt I feel for trying to cope with being in 'Charlie's space' as well as the noises, the smells, the medical vocabulary, whilst feeling unable to be super compassionate towards my husband that has just been cut open. (Even though this blog is about Charlie, Bradley's operation was a success and he is already recovering well.)

I was talking with a close friend of mine the other day. She was with us when Charlie was born and has had to deal with the trauma and the grief of his birth and death from a geographical distance to us. We opened up about triggers. 'Sometimes it's not even a thing.' I said. 'Sometimes it's just a sudden rush of a feeling that makes me think of him and his birth and death.'

Except a lot of the time it's a thing. And it can be the things you don't expect. Over the last three days, here's a list of all the things that have felt hard to sit with:

• Hopping out of the shower and noticing I am still producing milk. No wonder my body is so sad pre-period.

• The nurses checking Bradley's tummy and saying, 'Oh good. It's not distended.' Distended being the wording Charlie's nurses used to describe his tummy.

• The vascular sonographer doing an ultrasound on Bradley's abdomen and playing his heartbeat, joking out loud that he was pregnant and that we were hearing a baby's heartbeat. Laugh awkwardly, inwardly cry.

• The nurse sanitising her hands before she did checks. Thankful that private hospitals use different hand sanitiser.

• Constant ambulance sirens.

• Nurse's buzzer goes off and she has to run up the hallway. An emergency. I think back to the night Charlie nearly died.

• Hospital food and sandwiches in the kitchenette. White bread. Low gluten diet.

• I enter the bathroom in Bradley's ward. All hospital bathrooms feel the same. I remember trying to do my first poo post 3C tear, late at night on my own.

• The nurses having to move Bradley's wires and tubes so he could get up.

• The nurses quickly changing the bed sheets whilst Bradley was up. Just as they did in Charlie's crib during my first hold, whilst he was up.

• Watching the morphine administer. Start disassociating.

• Pressing 'level 4' to go up to see him. Quickly. Escape the lift.

• Sitting by an empty bed when Bradley was late to recovery.

• The nurse asking me how old my children were.

• Going to the Lady Gaga concert and there being a section where she dies and there's a heart monitor sound that then flatlines. Take your brain elsewhere.

• Seeing a baby in a pram that would have been Charlie's age. Arms ache.

• Walking into a gift shop and seeing all the cute baby things. Just beeline past. Don't look.

Of course, there are also the moments that are triggering but mostly beautiful. That remind me that he's there. That he loves us. That I love him.

• Looking up at the stars and feeling as if he's somewhere in that space.

• Feeling the sunshine on my skin.

• Seeing a sunflower embroidered onto the shoulder of Bradley's hospital gown just before he went into theatre.

• Seeing kookaburras everywhere as I'm gift shopping.

• A chill on my skin as if someone or something is with me.

• Having milk come out of my boobs- I'll be oddly sad if/when it stops.

• Just being in Sydney. It feels like I've come to visit him.

Anyway, it's been a huge week. And I think that's enough city for the year. I will be pretty content to be home to see my beautiful girl and a proper 'stunning' view of our small coastal town. But also, hopping in the car and driving away from here, feels so reminiscent of that day we had to numbly climb into the car and drive home with his seat empty. If I think about it though, how much stronger I feel now in doing so. How much better I am at being able to notice when I am being triggered. That I'm beginning to shake. That my throat feels tight and tears are brimming. That my heart rate is rising and my mouth is getting dry. How much better I am at noticing those physiological experiences and acknowledging that maybe I just need to give myself a little extra compassion.

Sometimes I forget that Charlie's death and the trauma that that time held, was never going to be easy. So when it's hard, I don't always remember to but I sometimes can say, 'this is hard. But look at where you've come from.'