The Loneliness of the Celebrity.

Celebrity seems to be to be a peculiar thing. I’m not sure I’d want it, despite the fact that I am a Hello! addict. I am definitely much too Cherie Blair to be any good at dealing with photographers, not necessarily in looks, you understand. I am, however, candidate most likely to be dressed in snot-spattered pjs when answering the door to the postman, have her skirt tucked in her knickers, or indeed just looking knackered and spotty, just as the paps jump out from behind the bushes. Even in my smartest moment, I still fall way short of Red Carpet Glamour.

So I cannot imagine what it must be like to have to deal with a tragedy in the full glare of the public eye. I truly feel for Lily Allen, following the sad news that she has lost her baby at 6 months. It made DH and I both hug our precious babies a little tighter when we put them to bed tonight and remind ourselves how lucky we are to have them both. Not least because we have personal experience of miscarriage.

Both my miscarriages happened early in pregnancy. The first was a week after I found out I was pregnant and the second before I even knew. They were both incredibly painful, physically and mentally, and I carry them with me still. It meant that there was a little less joy when I successfully fell pregnant, since there was always, at the back of my mind, a seed of doubt that it would be a successful pregnancy. In fact when I ended up in hospital at 8 weeks with the Pocket Dictator with a suspected Ectopic Pregnancy, I was genuinely surprised and overcome to see a tiny heartbeat on the scan. DH, who wasn’t allowed at that particular scan, had to wait until the 12 week scan to see our Pip. I think it was at that point that we felt we could start planning for her arrival. Likewise with Dimples, having suffered another miscarriage in the interim, I remember being nervous waiting for the 12 week scan, sure that there would be nothing to see on the monitor. In my mind, I saw the scan they gave me during the first miscarriage, a black void amidst mid-grey where a baby should have been. And I am not the only one. As I have met people, particularly those with children, I have come across many women who have had similar experiences, and heard many more stories of ‘friends of friends’ who have lost babies well beyond the 12 week point. It is surprising how often miscarriages happen which, though desperately sad, is also reassuring. Because it is a very lonely experience. As much as I love and adore my DH, all he could do was hold me whilst I cried and suffered and blamed myself for the loss of such a much-wanted baby.

I confess that during both my pregnancies, there was always a seed of doubt in the back of my mind that everything would turn out well. And yet, at every midwives appointment, at every scan, at every consultants appointment, I was given confirmation by a medical professional that all was well. Which somehow counted more than the incessant kicking from the baby who, I assume, was perfecting her Dictator style even then. I am so grateful for it, because slowly I began to believe that I would actually become a Mamma. And I did, twice. Both of my babies are so much more precious because of the loss that came before.

How hard it must be to feel like you are going to actually be a Mamma, only to find that you are not. And how much harder must it be to have to do it all in the glare of the media. They do seem to be respectful of her need for time to grieve at the moment but this loss will always be something that is referenced when talking about Lily Allen. She will always carry it with her. I don’t imagine she’ll need reminding. And therein lies the burden of celebrity.