My story: How getting a puppy has helped me through trauma.

This is my story, often traumatic and it’s not an easy read but I felt compelled to share this. Especially as I now have more confidence in my self than ever. (Hope it lasts, dammit that doesn’t sound very confident!) 

It’ll be a long read, well for me anyway as I’m a ridiculously slow reader! 

The more we share, the more others are aware.

(Not sure if this is a KVB original, but I’m claiming it!) Jan’21

As those of you that I’ve met are aware, I was born in Holland, I think I mention it every now and then!

I moved to Exeter, England in August’99 and started secondary school there in September. To move country just as you start high school is extremely difficult as it is but to also do so in another country, culture and language is even more difficult.

Especially as I went from attending a €1 Million brand new school in Holland with a non-uniform policy to an old dilapidated school building whilst wearing uniform (green jumper, black trousers and shoes, awful combo!). 

Despite there being similarities within Dutch and English culture, it felt very different. Not being able to speak English fluently also made it more difficult to start with.

On top of all this, a few weeks in to the new term, I had to deal with what was at the time the most horrifically traumatic event of my life.

This will be difficult for some to read, so please stop if you feel you need/want to.

My dad attempted to commit suicide.

I returned home one day with my mum and sister and my mum found blood everywhere in the bathroom and my dad was missing.

Police were called and a search and rescue was initiated.

It got to the evening and as I walked towards the kitchen area near the front door, I saw a figure near the front door, it was my dad.

He was close to collapse and could barely stand up, I opened the door and had to use all my might as a 12 year old to stop him from collapsing on the floor. The ambulance was then called, he was taken away and my mum went with him and I had to stay at a neighbours house who I’d only met briefly. (I won’t mention my lovely sister as I feel it’s not my place to share her side of our lives and to respect her privacy)

Despite everything that happened, I still had to go back to school after a week or so.

At times I felt incredibly numb and terrified, which is why I was at times very sullen and quiet. (Now you know why, old school friends.) I now know I was suffering from severe anxiety but didn’t have the tools or the support to recognise that at the time.

When I think of anxiety or depression, I see it as a tsunami. All your thoughts, fears and life experiences are in that wave. You can’t fight it, please don’t fight it. You have to run for that hill and when you get on top, and you will get there, you can take stock and survey the situation you’re in. Most likely what you need is the most basic things in life, to be loved and cared for, to make sure you eat and drink well and to be in a ‘safe place’ whatever that may be.

As the weeks and months continued things gradually got back to ‘normal’ (it was by no means normal!) and life just carried on. However, the fear of finding my dad dead on return from school never left me.

What saved me from slumping into a permanent state of fear and despair was finding a football team!

Before leaving Holland, I was part of an amazing team (JSV U12’s first team) and represented the Dutch FA at regional level.

I was so sad when we left Holland and wanted to join a football team straight away. Once I found one (St Martins FC) I gradually started to feel better but that fear and anxiety never quite went away.

The years went by and I completed my GCSE’s (not as well as I should’ve done, but just to get there was an achievement!)

I then went to Exeter College, which I found very difficult and I was constantly anxious and worried as I found a safe place at St James School and that was now taken away and I had to start again.

After my first year, I was due to start my second year, which I did, but half way through my dad got a job in Southampton and we suddenly had to move. I couldn’t transfer to another college at that time so had to wait until the next academic year to finish my course.

This triggered all my anxieties and I felt alone and quite frankly depressed in Southampton. As before, the one thing that helped me was finding a football team.

The move again came at the ‘worse’ time, I’d previously played for Exeter City and represented Devon (the only non pro-club player at the time) as I played for Beacon Knights FC. What a team we had, we won everything, I mean literally everything.

I got scouted by Plymouth Argyle, West Ham United had shown an interest earlier in my career and ended up on trial at Yeovil. At Yeovil I got a reoccurrence of a serious ankle injury I received after being deliberately injured by an opponent (Pinhoe Spartans the team was). I later found out the manager had told the player to target me. I will never forgive him.

At a Yeovil training session I suddenly felt a sharp pain in my ankle and I simply couldn’t carry on. I ended up not being able to play for a number of months and I’ve never quite recovered from it. Still feeling the affects to this day. I’m not giving up though, I’m still playing football!

Then came the move to Southampton...

I attended College and passed my BTEC in Sport. I then had a choice to make, stay another year or try university. 

I went for the latter and basically didn’t attend and ended up drinking, a lot.

At the same time I was still living at home and my parents were going through a divorce which is difficult enough in itself.

(I won’t mention my mum in this for the same reason as my sister. All I will say is, it’s remarkable my mum is the way she is after leading a trauma filled life herself. I love her dearly and she’s an inspiration to me.)

I’m crying now, where was I.... Oh yeah drinking...

I continued drinking a lot but joined a local men’s team and a lot of the players there took me under their wing. I will be forever grateful to them, without realising they helped me so much. Especially my close friend David B, thank you David.

The year went on and I was living with dad and then met a girl, I won’t go into too much detail but she was lovely, funny and great to be with.

However, that relationship ended and I subsequently started work as a support worker with some of the most complex service users in the Hampshire area. It was an extremely challenging but rewarding job, I think I did it to hopefully use my experiences to help other people in need.

I did this for a few years and moved out to live with another Dave, Dave H. (Yes, I do have friends not called Dave!) I also met my now wife Alice, who I love ever so dearly. (Alice will feature more later)

Subsequently, my dads health started to deteriorate again and my sister and I made the difficult decision to admit him to a mental health unit. It was an horrendous place, old, stale, dark, simply a place not fit for purpose. How can you possibly support people who are at their lowest eb in a place like that? It will literally have the opposite affect on them!

My father was admitted, and my sister and I had to juggle our jobs, lives and visiting him all at the same time. We did this day in, day out for months on end. It was essentially a race to keep him alive as he was extremely suicidal.

After a while he returned home but clearly wasn’t ready. I found him ordering pills on the internet and he was re-admitted to hospital.

The same pattern continued a couple of times before he suddenly showed signs of improvement.

He came out and appeared a lot better. Sadly, this was a false dawn. 

I went away with work for a few days, taking two people with learning disabilities on a few days break in the U.K. Upon my return, I was told by my sister and Alice that my dad had gone missing. I started to frantically search for any clues as to his whereabouts. After a number of days doing so I somehow managed to log into his computer by guessing his password, I still to this day don’t know how I did. Don’t worry if you’re reading this, I won’t be able to hack into your computer!

On his computer I found he’d bought train tickets to Manchester and booked into a department hotel.

I immediately called the police. It was then a waiting game...

Manchester will therefore always have quite a surreal place in my heart. I can’t quite get the courage to go back there yet. 

One day, one day...

Later that evening, two officers arrived at the flat I shared with Dave H and it was immediately evident they were there to confirm the worst. They told me his body was found in his room after police arrived and the hotel manager opened the door for them. That must’ve been such a traumatic experience for that manager. I would love to meet them one day.

The aftermath is quite simply a whirlwind, my memories are blurred and I can’t quite coherently put together a narrative of what happened in the proceeding months.

I later quit my job, I actually felt incredibly unsupported in hindsight and lost all respect for one of the managers of the company.

Alice and I then decided to go travelling, we went to Australia, New Zealand, Argentina, Bolivia, Brazil and Peru.

It was an unforgettable experience and the memories will last a lifetime. Sadly, we had to cut the trip a bit short as Alice’s grandad was dying.

As we returned, we slowly settled back into ‘regular’ life. We bought a house (I used my inheritance for my share) and Alice went back to nursing and I applied to become an SSA at a Special School for boys with social, emotional and mental health problems. I can literally write a whole story on that in itself (I might do that one day, if anyone reads this!). All I will say is, these boys are pretty much all completely misunderstood by wider society and are remarkable in their own way and the vast majority have experienced severe trauma themselves at a young age. Oh blimey, they make me laugh sometimes, all their personalities are so unique.

If you’ve come this far, the story now is going to change into an even more traumatic one. Yeah, I know, as my lovely friend Sarah always says, “that’s not ideal!”.

My lovely wife and I have unfortunately had two pregnancy losses within the last year. 

I use 'we' not through male ego arrogance as I'm aware my wife has to physically go through everything, but she likes to use the term 'we' are pregnant.

In May 2019, a few days before the 12 week scan, my wife went to the toilet and after a while I could hear here scream. I ran to the toilet and she opened the door in tears and I could see the blood. It was immediately clear that we had suffered pregnancy loss. It was without doubt, at that time, the most heartbreaking feeling I had experienced. I don't know about others but as soon as we find out we were pregnant, we felt like parents already, you feel responsible for the babies well being straight away and play out things in your mind what's going to happen in your future. I certainly felt strong paternal instincts and was fantasising about what kind of dad I was going to be and how amazing a mum my wife was going to be. In fact, you are essentially a mother and father as soon as you find out about being pregnant. We started thinking about names and what we'd do with the spare bedroom, what colour to paint, should we have carpets or floor boards, shall we buy new curtains?

We then went to the Emergency Department and onto the pregnancy unit. As is customary in these situations, they took a scan. I was facing the screen and could see the fetus and they confirmed it wasn't alive. I'll never forget seeing that on the screen and found it hard to take that image out of my mind. My wife and I looked at each other and felt immense sadness, despite knowing what was coming, you still held out some form of hope that it might somehow be okay.

Following the scan a decision had to be made, to either take a pill or have surgery to remove the fetus. Taking a pill seemed to be the 'worse' of the two options as my wife felt that because it doesn't work around 20% of the time and the process can be prolonged further as you’ll then require surgery anyway.

So she decided to go with the surgical option. Post surgery it's so hard to know what to say and do and you feel an immense sense of loss, do you have a funeral or ceremony? We didn't know the sex so felt we couldn't name the baby and decided not to do anything ceremonial. It certainly took a while for us to return to any sense of normalcy. 

Later in the year we decided to get married, 

we've been together for 12 years and previously felt marriage wasn't necessarily for us, well that was more me but I won’t dwell on that!

I think the pregnancy loss changed that.

Unbeknownst to us my wife was pregnant at the time of our marriage as we found out she was pregnant again not too long after getting married. We were cautiously happy, but had that trepidation in the back of our minds. It certainly takes a lot of the 'joy' out of the pregnancy process having had pregnancy loss previously. I personally often felt anxious and was scared every time my wife went to the toilet. Which is not ideal, as she pees a lot! 

We had a 10 week scan privately, and everything was perfect, this was confirmed at the 12 week scan. This certainly puts your mind at rest slightly, but you still always have that fear in the back of your mind. The weeks went by, and up to the 20 week scan all was well. 

The 20 week scan was done and we were told all was fine and as it should be. You always get told, get to 20 weeks and the chances of pregnancy loss are minimal! So this again adds further weight to feeling a bit less anxious. 

That week passed and it got to the following Saturday. For some reason I felt uneasy and when I looked at my wife I just felt 'something' wasn't right. She said she felt a bit 'funny' and had a bit of cramping. We visited friends and she said she felt the same but nothing too serious. Later these feelings intensified and we phoned the midwife, who said some of the symptom seemed common and to keep an eye on it. Unfortunately the cramping intensified and we made the decision to drive to the pregnancy unit. My wife was checked by the doctor and it was clear that things weren't good. A consultant then came in and we could see from the look on her face that it wasn't going to be good news. My wife was in labor and there was essentially nothing that could be done. 'We' were 22 (+1 day ) weeks pregnant. We were given the prognosis and it was essentially that there was a minimal chance of our baby surviving and if the baby somehow did survive the birth the likelihood of survival with any quality of life or it being prolonged was almost zero. We were advised to take the 'comfort care' option and after talking about it that felt the best option. It's the most devastating thing to hear. Following this decision, my wife still has to go through the process of giving birth, all the way knowing that our babies chances of survival is almost zero. The feeling of helplessness is immense, I can't do anything to help her apart from being there by her side all the way. It took around 4 hours for our baby boy Albie to be born. He was immediately taken to the side and to a machine, but after a short period the doctors turned around and confirmed the inevitable news. 

It’s the second period of my life where for some time I have no idea what was said or done, a complete and utter blur in my mind.

You then have another choice to make, they ask if you would like to hold the baby or if you want him to be taken away without seeing him. It was explained some people simply can't bare to see their baby and others like to stay with their baby. We decided to stay with our baby boy, and held him for a long time. He felt like a tiny little water bottle and looked so incredibly lovely and sweet and perfect. 

You then get asked what you'd like to do, stay the night with your baby or they'll take him away. We again decided to stay with Albie and were moved to another room, with Albie in a cold cot. It seems incomprehensible to people not having experienced that you'd sleep next to your dead baby but the alternative is to leave him and we felt that spending the night with him was right for us. For others this wouldn't be and people shouldn't be judged either way in my opinion. It's an extremely complex and emotional time and it's hard to comprehend what's happening.

We spent the night with Albie and were 'ready' to say goodbye to him in the morning. It didn't 'feel' the same as the night before. This is very difficult to write, but Albie had gone from a little hot water bottle to a cold one. All that initial warmth and life that he had had been drained from him.

It’s absolutely harrowing to have to admit that to yourselves. That you simply had to say goodbye.

Foot prints were taken and we said our goodbyes to Albie. That was the last time we saw him.

Saying goodbye is meant to be a way of getting some form of closure. 

I’ve never felt that myself. I still think about that moment every day. I will always wish I never had to say goodbye.

Albie being taken out the room by the nurse is without doubt the hardest thing. 

Watching him being taken from us and there’s absolutely nothing you can do. That’s hopelessness right there, in a nutshell. Complete and utter hopelessness.

You’re then left in the room by yourselves for a while. We simply felt complete emptiness, there was just nothing we could say or do, apart from somehow attempt to contemplate the severe trauma we just experienced. All we wanted to do was leave the room and go home but it took what seemed like hours for us to be discharged.

My thoughts turned to my dad dying. It’s apparently very common when you’re experiencing trauma for it to reignite past traumas.

I never realised previously how much the trauma of my dads initial suicide attempt and then death by suicide affected me. It’s so hard to acknowledge this yourself, especially when you’re young. Suicide has always been a taboo subject and ignorance reigns when it comes to people’s understanding of it. It’s therefore not talked about often and other people’s awareness of how to support someone who’s gone through such trauma is minimal.

The affects of significant trauma are so damaging. I always felt anxious, always lacked self belief, am and was always distrustful of people, have low self confidence, endless self doubt and fear of failure. Things that appear insignificant to other people or some things that other people simply don’t even see can have an immediate impact on you. Lots of things can trigger the trauma, things you experience in day to day life. It’s something beyond your control. However, recognising that that’s what is happening is always a good first step. 

I have no idea how the trauma of Albie dying will affect me in the future. It’s essentially a waiting game.

The one bit of an advantage (if I can call it that!) I have is that I now have more tools and am far more aware of what I’m experiencing. I’m experienced in trauma. Hopefully this will stand me in good stead. 

We spent a few days sleeping and during this time things were developing with the health emergency. A few close family members came to see us before 'lockdown' was imposed but after that we weren’t able  to have any close contact with any of our family or friends. There's been no sense of 'normality' and no way to distract ourselves. It's been without a doubt the most harrowing experience of our lives. 

After a month, we had our baby Albie's funeral, but only the two of us attended, as there could only be six people in total and social distancing would have to be adhered to, we felt it was best to not invite anyone else. It would have felt very strange not to be able to hug anyone and would've added to the surreal position we found ourselves in. 

The funeral directors and crematorium staff got pretty much everything wrong and there was a distinct lack of any care and compassion. They didn’t have the music sorted that we requested, we asked for a non-religious ceremony but they forgot, the reading they did was awful so I ended up just reading from a book. At that point you do wonder if anything will ever be okay again.

Then followed grief. Oh grief, you complex bastard. 

Grief is so varied and is very different for everyone that experiences it. It’s organic and takes shape if and when it feels like it and then continues to mould into different forms.

My initial reaction was an overwhelming need to help people, so I distributed flyers for the local mutual aid group that was set up. I did shopping for a local elderly couple and got medication for a lady who was seriously ill and couldn’t leave the house. I delivered food to foodbanks and created an initiative called #Fridays4Foodbanks with my football team. The concept was simple, you spend a week from Friday to Thursday raising money or collecting food or both and then donate it to a local foodbank on the Friday. Afterwards you nominate another team and the cycle continues.

Around £4,500 was raised and I’m so immensely proud of that.

It’s such a hard thing to say “I’m proud of myself.” I’ve never been able to say it until now. Boy, it feels good. It’s a lovely warmth you feel deep within you.

After a while, I think I hit peak exhaustion and simply couldn’t function. I couldn’t stop my anxiety levels sky rocketing, I couldn’t focus and cried. A lot.

At times I just sat and watched tv or was on the laptop for hours and zoned out and removed myself from the world.

It becomes a cycle and hard to break away from. When you’re exhausted it seems the easiest thing to do. Exhaustion seemed to last for months. I was so tired all the time, I couldn’t sleep at night, my mind whirring and churning about countless thoughts past and present.

Depression then ensued or was it happening already? It’s hard to tell sometimes.

In hindsight, I’ve probably been depressed before but simply didn’t recognise it as that. 

I certainly did now!

I didn’t want to get out of bed. I was tearful and on edge 24/7 and didn’t want to face the world. I felt nothing would ever go right for me (us) again and that another trauma was waiting around the corner. 

Thankfully my boss at work arranged for me to have sessions with a counsellor. I will always be grateful for that as it certainly helped my recovery.

Just to have someone recognise and acknowledge how you’re feeling and that it’s okay and common to have all these thoughts is a relief in itself. It gradually made we feel better in the proceeding weeks and after taking anti-depressants for a short period I fortunately was able to function again. I have not taken any medication since then.

There is very little on the male/partners perspective on pregnancy and baby loss that I have found. The trauma they face is significant, obviously not physical, but certainly mental. This isn’t to detract from from what women go through, as that’s objectively far more difficult and complex but it’s important partners grief gets acknowledged.

Functioning grieving people are the best actors in the world. They deserve BAFTAs and Oscars!

Alice and I are somehow still 'functioning' and have supported each other through this time. Despite not being able to see anyone or be in close contact, we’ve still been very fortunate to have had support from our closest loved ones. We can certainly be grateful for that. 

My wife is unbelievably strong and I love her dearly. It still amazes me every day how she's managed to get through all this and still be standing.

Currently...

The situation has again taken another twist as the new variant of Covid-19 is having a major impact on everyones lives across the country.

Inequality is rife, the poorest people are dying and in my opinion the elite aren’t caring about the vast majority of us. Schools are said to be closed when there’s not a single one that is. They will continue to open, just at a limited capacity.

More than a 100,000 people are reported to have died.

That’s a 100,000 families that will be grieving and that would have experienced some form of trauma.

During the proceeding years there has to be significant focus on mental health support. It’s going to be absolutely vital.

The worlds being run mainly by narcissistic men, to me this isn’t just a random thing. It’s almost like it’s part of the fabric of human evolution. It’s been 1,000’s of years in the making. Those inner egos have been fed far too long. Let’s starve them (not literally obviously!). We need to change the conditions in which they thrive. 

I have spent far more time during this pandemic looking into things I believe matter. 

I have a sincere belief that it’s time to dismantle the elitist structures, systematic patriarchy, the way we are governed and to rework the entire system using a collective and collaborative approach that includes people from ALL backgrounds.

I’ve never previously taken any form of interest in politics, especially due to the fact that I can’t vote as I hold a Dutch passport.

I don’t affiliate with any party and simply don’t believe this way of governing works in any way shape or form.

Now on to the positive bits. Phew! If you’re still here, thank you it means a lot.

My wife and I got a cockapoo puppy called Nellie on the 1st of January’21 and it’s fundamentally changed my outlook on life and has brought out my inner confidence that I knew was there but was clouded in fog.

The fog has now cleared and that’s mainly because of Nellie. She has taught me so many things already. Firstly that the basic necessities in life should be a safe living environment, to have access to healthy food and safe clean drinking water. It should be surely be non-negotiable and written in law.

Nellie has all that and she’s an incredibly loving and happy puppy. This would be the same for every child in the country if we had the structures in place to provide that.

Nellie has taught me that it’s great to show loved ones you love them and to great them with pride and joy. 

She’s taught me it’s okay to rely on others for support.

She’s taught me it’s okay to cry when you feel you need looking after.

She’s taught me that you need self-care and to have time alone.

She’s taught me that being part of a healthy, loving and caring social group is absolutely bliss.

But most of all she’s taught me to be confident and to love myself.

The reason for writing this blog is not for recognition in any way shape or form. Oh god no, I’m inherently shy and don’t like to be the centre of attention.

I wrote this blog not because it will prevent trauma, or loss, or anxiety or depression as that’s simply not possible as every living cognitive being experiences this. 

I wrote this because I want people to recognise that it’s okay to speak openly about trauma, it’s okay to seek help, it’s okay to feel like life is unfair, it’s okay to want to simply hide away for a little while, it’s okay to be sad, it’s okay to want and long for better days, it’s okay to have fear, it’s okay to cry, definitely cry, it’s okay not see people, it’s okay to comfort eat every now and then, it’s okay to always recognise how you feel, it’s okay to avoid, it’s okay to not get changed for a day or two. It’s simply okay, to not be okay.

If you’ve come to the end, thank you so much for reading, it means a lot to me.

Please take care of yourselves, your loved ones, neighbours and your wider community. Together we’ll get through this and one day we’ll all be able to have a hug again. Oh god, I miss hugging people.

Love, 

KVB 🧡

In Loving Memory of Albie Van Betlem 🧡