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Friday, 1 June 2018

Amy Cole Has Lost Her Mind by Elizabeth McGivern #suicide #miscarriage #inspirational #books .@MayhemBeyond .@rararesources

Amy Cole Has Lost Her Mind 


Elizabeth McGivern

Amy Cole is a stay-at-home mum and a woman on the edge.
After a very public breakdown and failed suicide attempt, Amy finds herself trying to make it through her everyday life as a high-functioning zombie. 
Amazon UK | Amazon.com  
Elle De Bruyn is a force of nature ready to shake Amy back to life whether she likes it or not.
After a fortuitous meeting, the two embark on a journey together which will change them both and help them find out exactly what they’re capable of when rock bottom is just the beginning.


This extract is a flashback to the events which start the book in motion. Amy suffers a miscarriage and the fall-out of it causes ramifications for her and her family from the hospital right through to the present day:

  I woke up bleeding on 10th December. I threw myself out of the bed and ran into the bathroom. Even before I saw the blood I knew what was happening.
  What is it about being pregnant that makes you think that love and sheer stubborn will can protect your child?
  I gripped onto my stomach, feeling the start of the piercing pain ripping in my womb. I sat on the floor with hundreds of thoughts going through my mind.
  Some relevant, others not.
  Ben was in England on business and the boys were still asleep. My eyes were burning and I ached to cry but I couldn't give into tears, not just yet. I decided that I could save this baby. I knew if I just got to a doctor then I could save my little girl.
  I packed up my children, who were still fast asleep, and left them with the child-minder. To this day I don't know how I kept it together that entire day. All I knew was that if I let one tear fall, it was as good as admitting defeat and I didn't know how to do that. My daughter needed me.
  After a very terse conversation with a GP receptionist, I was told to go to the hospital.
  By the time I got to the emergency department's reception I was shaking so badly I thought I was going to faint then and there.
  They must have noticed the panic on my face as I was seen by a doctor quite quickly. I answered the obligatory questions and blood was taken for testing. I was asked to sit back in reception and I would be called soon.
  The wait was agony and every time I went to the bathroom to clean more blood away I was getting more and more agitated. I didn't understand why no one was grasping how urgent this was.
I spent the next eight hours sitting on an uncomfortable plastic chair waiting for someone to give me words of comfort and tell me that the bleeding was normal.
  I watched countless people come in and out. I imagined their stories and gave them names and tragic backstories - that way I could comfort myself knowing that by the time I was seen by a doctor and told everything was fine, I would go home feeling lucky. I was certain that the doctor would give me some sort of tablet or injection to stop the bleeding and I would go home to take it easy.
  I decided that I would take months off work and sit on my ever-expanding arse until my daughter was ready to make her appearance.
  I knew it was a girl. A mother knows these things – one of the many bullshit things I convinced myself of during those eight hours of waiting.
  Eventually, I was told they had lost the blood samples but they had finally located them around 9pm.
  After the briefest of examinations, I was informed that my baby was gone. They told me to go home and let "nature do its work".
  I was offered no words of comfort or an explanation, something I so desperately needed.
  Still, I did not cry.
  I picked up the kids, on autopilot, and returned home to a quiet house. They had fallen asleep in the back of the car and I was tempted to wake them up just to have some distraction or company. My phone had died hours ago and, no doubt, Ben would be anxious to hear from me, but I couldn't find the words to say it out loud.
As far as I was concerned, I had failed. I had lost our baby.
  I hated that phrase.
  I hadn't ‘lost' anything. My body had let me down.
  The body that I had finally grown to love after years of shallow self-loathing had become my enemy once again.
  It had killed my daughter.
  The numbness carried on for weeks. My family thought I was just being stoic and getting on with things – while those around me offered gems like:
  "Sure, it was early days anyway so it wasn't that bad."
  This was a direct quote from an ill-informed, but well-meaning aunt.
I had an easy to remember go-to response for when I was asked how I was feeling; I simply shrugged and said:
  "These things happen."
  People seemed satisfied with this, but to be honest I had no idea what that even meant in a situation like this. I knew they were all waiting for me to cry, but still, no tears came.
  I tried a few times but it was as if every attempt to find my heart again was futile. I was a high functioning zombie.
  Six weeks later I started to hear her; the hideous version of myself that rejoiced in my failure. I hated her, but unfortunately, by this stage, I was in no shape to defend myself against her onslaught of visceral abuse. It didn't take her long to gain more and more ground and soon I was lying awake night after night, listening to a new list of insults.
  It was around 3am on a Wednesday that she first planted the seed.
  If you go to the lake, all this will stop. I promise. Your family will be so much happier without you. Deep down, you know that's the truth.
  After weeks of feeling shame and continuous mental and physical pain, I felt like I had an answer on how to make it all go away.
  I wasn't scared or feeling guilty about who I was leaving behind. I believed her when she told me they were better off without me.


Picture credited to
Jess Lowe 
Elizabeth McGivern is a former journalist turned hostage-in-her-own-home surrounded by three men and a horrible dog named Dougal. 

In an effort to keep her sanity she decided to write a parenting blog after the birth of her first son so she can pinpoint the exact moment she failed as a mother. 

In an unexpected turn of events, the blog helped her to find a voice and connect with parents in similar situations; namely those who were struggling with mental health issues and parenting. It was because of this encouragement – and wanting to avoid her children as much as possible – her debut novel, Amy Cole has lost her mind, was born. 

Elizabeth lives in Northern Ireland although wishes she could relocate to Iceland on a daily basis. To witness her regular failings as a parent you can find her on: 

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