I can't stand it.

I can't stand it.

I can't stand it that I can't sleep at night.

I can't stand it that I still forget everything.

I can't stand it that I still can't focus on anything.

I can't stand it that I have nothing to do.

I can't stand it that when I have something to do, I am overwhelmed by it.

I can't stand it that I don't know what to do for the rest of the day, let alone the rest of my life.

I can't stand it that I am 110% dependent on Craig for everything.

I can't stand it that everyone else can put my children away from their minds.

I can't stand it that my babies are all dead.

I can't stand it that everyone else's babies live. Even if it's their rainbow babies.

I can't stand it that this is the rest of my fucking life.

I can't stand it that there was NO CHOICE.

I can't stand it that there still is no choice.

I can't stand it that people sometimes assume that "it" will get better. (It won't.)

I can't stand my life. I really can't. I'm just treading water. And I don't know why. I really don't.

What is the point of it all?

There is none. There is no point.

Thoughts

Lots of thoughts have been going around my head lately. I thought maybe writing them down might be helpful to me.

:::

Newsletters. When did it become "fashionable" to send a family newsletter to everyone you know?

Today we received two. One from my cousin S, and one from Craig's cousin J. The newsletter from S was in electronic form and came via email. The newsletter from J was in paper format and was (thank goodness) only one page long.

S has four children. The youngest is probably about 10/11 and the oldest is a teenager. J has two children. The youngest is 14 and the oldest is now probably about 17/18. Naturally these newsletters were all about their children. Naturally.

To add insult to injury, S visited my youngest sister earlier this year and met her youngest child. She wrote about this visit in her newsletter. She wrote in her newsletter about how "special" it was meet my sister's new child. I have no contact with this sister. I have not met this child. This child was born after Kees died and before Jet was conceived. My youngest sister has four children. I have no contact with her for various reasons (see earlier posts).

So, back to the newsletters.

What could possibly make these cousins think that we might be interested in reading pages (yes, the newsletter from S was many pages long) and pages about their children? Doesn't it occur to them that it might be insensitive to send a newsletter about their children to us?

Quite frankly, I think it doesn't. I honestly think these people don't spend even one SECOND thinking about who they should send their newsletter to. S just sent her electronic newsletter (complete with many photos of her children) to their designated email group. J included her paper newsletter with her christmas cards. They just send their newsletters to EVERYONE.

I sent my cousin S an abrupt email in response. (She sent her condolences upon hearing of Jet's death via text message, which I also find incredibly inappropriate.)

However, these newsletters only confirm (again) what I have long known.

People. Don't. Think.

So when they tell us that they "think of us often", actually they don't. We might pass through their thoughts in a fleeting manner, but they don't actually "think".

:::

We went to our physiotherapist, E, on Tuesday. We go twice a week. Craig has physiotherapy for his knee once a week, and I have physiotherapy for my back twice a week. It's a post pregnancy thing. My back takes a long time to recover after a pregnancy.

Our physiotherapist is a nice woman. She knows all about our children. Her sister's first child was stillborn at 26 weeks. She went on to have a healthy son, and a few weeks ago had her third child, a little girl. This little girl was born with a congenital heart defect, but it was surgically corrected four days after she was born.

We were talking about pregnancies and babies at our most recent appointment. E said something about how people generally expect a healthy baby during a pregnancy, but that we, upon Jet's death, must have expected his death somehow.

I just want to write this down once and for all. Although my pregnancy with Jet (and with Kees) was filled with FEAR (terror actually), I did not expect Jet to die. In fact, I fully expected him to live.

I don't think I actually know any woman who knowingly and willingly becomes pregnant with a child who she expects will die.

No. Woman. Does. That.

Things go wrong. Oh, we all know that too well. But we don't expect it.

In all three of my pregnancies, I knew all too well that things could go wrong, but I did not expect it to happen to me and my baby. I became pregnant with Kees expecting that he would be healthy and would live. I became pregnant with Jet expecting that he would be healthy and would live. In fact, I chose to become pregnant because I expected my children to live.

And you know why??? Because the doctors had told me so. They told me that there was no reason for Freyja's death. They told me it was just "bad luck". That it was statistics. That babies sometimes die for no reason. That she was the 1 in 140. They told me that Kees probably had a virus. They told me it was a coincidence that he died too. They told me his death was 1 in 40,000. They told me that there was no reason for it to happen again. They told me that these two previous deaths had no medical implications on future pregnancies. They told me there was no MEDICAL reason for me not to have any more pregnancies. THEY TOLD ME. But they were wrong.

Let me say it again. I fully expected that each one of my children would LIVE and LIVE LONG.

No woman - NO WOMAN IN THE WORLD - voluntarily enters into a pregnancy for NINE LONG BLOODY MONTHS, knowing that her child will die. I certainly did not. And I certainly did not do it THREE TIMES.

I do not have a disease. I do not have a condition. I do not have high blood pressure. I do not have diabetes. I do not have anything which makes pregnancy a risky venture either for me or for my babies. Nothing that the doctors know of. I have healthy pregnancies. The worst thing that happens to me during pregnancies is heartburn and insomnia. That's it.

So when people like our physiotherapist make the assumption that we must have been "less shocked" by, or "expecting", Jet's death, they are wrong. Very, very wrong. I feared his death. Oh, I feared his death. But I expected his life.

:::

Every night when I go to bed, I lie in bed and say to Craig that I want to go "home". Every night. Sometimes I don't say it to him, but I think it.

And it's a stupid thing to say. Because I am home. This is home. I don't have another home. This is the only home I have.

But I think maybe it's more than that. I think maybe I long for that place of my childhood. That place which is safe.

Remember when you were a child, and your whole world was like a bubble? As a child, you are protected from just about everything. Your parents create a safe environment for you.

I think that's what I'm longing for at night when I say that I want to go home. That safe place.

But of course it doesn't exist. Not any more. I was fortunate that it existed for me as a child. Too many people don't even have the memory of a safe place during their childhood.

My safe place, my bubble, disappeared forever when Freyja died. Gone in a flash. Just like a bubble I guess.

Now, every night, I lie in bed almost aching with longing for that safe place. For home. Every night.

:::

It's 3.36 in the morning here. I can't sleep.

I drank too much wine tonight. When I was younger, wine would put me to sleep and keep me asleep for about 8 or 9 hours. Now that doesn't happen any more. Now I wake up in the middle of the night with a hangover. In the middle of the night. I used to be able to drink a bottle of wine and wake up in the morning and go to work with hardly a sign of a hangover. Now I have two glasses of wine and I get a hangover. Although tonight I drank more than two glasses.

Craig doesn't like it when I drink. Because once I start, I never want to stop. Alcohol is an escape. For a few hours you can fade away. Your mind becomes less focused. You become less sharp. The pain somehow seems to become less.

It's all an illusion of course. I know that. I know it all too well. And I know myself too. I know why Craig fears me drinking too much. And he's right. I fear it too.

I was a single woman for a long time. I used to drink alone often. There used to be a stigma attached to that. Drinking alone. But nowadays so many people are single, alone, that drinking alone has become the norm. It's ironic that now that I'm no longer alone, no longer single, now that I able drink wine with my husband, now I can't do it any more. Because I'm scared that maybe one day I won't be able to stop. And that's what Craig is scared of too.

If only I could permanently live in that alcoholic haze. That haze where nothing seems to matter. But I can't.

:::

It's 3.43 in the morning now. I'd better go to bed.

20 or 30 or 50 years.

"We all carry five to ten fatal diseases in our genes. Although we ourselves may not be affected by illness, should our partners carry a corresponding genetic error, our children may be."

These are words from the opening scene from Silent Witness, Season 5, Episode 1, "The World Cruise". In this episode a professor is giving an address at a medical faculty in a university in London.

This statement is unfortunately true. But do you know what's even worse???? These five to ten diseases are only the diseases which they know about. Which they know about. There could be countless other diseases which we carry in our genes which they don't know about yet. Not yet. But they'll find them. One day.

I dream about stuff like this these days. Words like this flit randomly around my mind.

I am a healthy woman. I have no problems conceiving. My pregnancies are trouble free. My husband is healthy. His sperm is healthy. Our children are perfect. Perfect. The doctors can find nothing wrong with them. Nothing.

Craig and I have already accepted that when the results from Jet's autopsy come in, it is very likely that those results will reveal nothing. Nothing out of the ordinary. The results will show that Jet was a normal and healthy boy. Just like his brother Kees and his sister Freyja. Normal and healthy.

That's because (I think) Craig and I have something genetic inside us. I have it and Craig has it. Me having it doesn't cause any harm to me, and Craig having it doesn't cause any harm to him. Quite likely, if I was to have a child with someone who didn't also have this genetic bleep buried deep inside him, that child would live. Similarly, if Craig were to have a child with a woman who didn't have the same genetic bleep, their child would also live.

Scientists only recently started researching and mapping the human genome. Very recently. What they have found to date is only a tiny percentage of what they still need to find. What they DON'T KNOW yet is at least a million times greater than what they do know.

This means that it might be years before doctors find the nasty thing which caused our children to die. But I have no doubt that they will find it. No doubt at all.

If we consider the progress which has been made and the reduction in infant deaths in the last 20-30 years, I have no doubt that in another 20 or 30 or even 50 years, scientists will be able to pin-point certain genetic markers as those causing death and disease.

Maybe there will be a time in the future where hopefully other parents will not have to go through what we have gone through.

Update

Well, you haven't heard from me for a few weeks. I don't have anything to say. Nothing new. It's all the same. Dead babies, dead babies, dead babies.

It's nearly xmas. It's nearly 2010. 2009 has been Jet's year. Soon that year will be gone. Just like Jet is gone. Just like Freyja went. Just like Kees went.

People keep on getting pregnant. They keep on having babies. Even baby lost mums. And they don't tell me. They don't tell me that they're pregnant and then they don't tell me that they had their babies. They simply don't contact me. They cheered for me and hoped for me when I was pregnant, and they sent me a "sympathy" email (or a card if I was lucky) when Jet died, but then I didn't hear from them again. Even they (baby lost mums) want to pretend everything is ok once they get their rainbow babies. I'm just a very scary reminder of how lucky they are. And they don't want that reminder.

:::

Craig and I have been out and about these last few weeks.

We went to the UK for a few days. We took our new (used) car off-roading. My first time ever off-roading and it was fun. We got stuck in the mud and needed to be pushed out by fellow off-roaders, but that was also fun, and I was there with my camera to record the event.

We drove around Wiltshire in the UK for four days (including the off-roading) and visited lots of lovely towns and historical sites. It was COLD COLD COLD. (Our new, very expensive, car battery proved to be worth its price tag as the car started every morning no matter how cold it was.) Fortunately it was also dry, so the cold was ok. I've included a photo of us at Stonehenge -- my first visit to that very awesome place, although Craig had been there before.

:::

Then we were home for a few days in Amsterdam, which Blair was very happy about, before heading off again. This time to visit some xmas markets in Germany. That was a trip we'd been planning for a long time. Even before Jet was conceived. The plan was of course that Jet would be with us for this trip, but unfortunately that wasn't the case. Nevertheless, we enjoyed our trip. Despite seeing families and children and babies everywhere, we both enjoyed our xmas market experience in Germany. We visited the markets in Nuremberg (a gorgeous city where we experienced our first snow of the winter), Heidelberg, Dusseldorf and Cologne. Very nice and we didn't even spend too much money!

Everywhere we went, I kept seeing babies in their prams, snuggled up in their warm sleeping bags, and thinking that should be Jet. That should be Craig pushing Jet through the crowds. But also every baby I saw, if they were sleeping, I thought they were dead. They looked dead. That's how our babies looked when they were dead. They just looked like they were sleeping. That's why we can never have another baby in our house. Because neither Craig nor I could ever close our eyes again. Because every sleeping baby looks like a dead baby to us.

Anyway, we're home now. We came home from Germany yesterday. Blair was ecstatic. And other than a night away from home just after Christmas, we'll be home for the next three weeks.

:::

Today we're going to put up the xmas tree. We bought an imitation tree last year after Blair distributed pine needles all over the apartment the year before. So we're going to drag everything from the storage room and set up our xmas tree.

I like xmas with my husband. I like not being with my extended family or Craig's extended family. I don't want to see other people's children around the xmas tree opening their gifts. I don't know that I will ever want to see that again.

People keep asking us if we're "going home" for xmas. They don't realise that we are home. That this is our home for now.

"Home" is certainly not where other people's children are living and happy. Where I'm expected to share that happiness. Where I'm expected to be happy for other people because their children are not dead. Because their children are alive.

Home is here, with my husband, with my cat, where my children can be mentioned openly. Where I can cry without making others feel uncomfortable. Where my children are more than just a photo.

This is where home is, and this is where Craig and I will have our xmas.

The real world

We went into the real world today. Craig and I.

A week or so ago, I spoke with my aunt. She lives here in the Netherlands, about 120 km south of us. I asked if it would be ok for us to come and visit her and her partner. So we arranged that we'd go and visit them today. I'd envisaged coffee and cake or something similar. Not a long afternoon.

Anyway, on the way down there, Craig said to me that he hoped my cousin and his wife and children wouldn't be there as well. I was shocked at the thought. That wasn't what I had prepared myself for. My aunt has only one child - her son, my cousin. He's a couple of years older than me and has two sons. Both in their early teens.

But I can't do families at the moment. Mums and dads and kids. Sometimes I wonder if I will ever be able to do families ever again. So when Craig mentioned that he hoped my cousin and his family wouldn't be there, I was shocked. I hadn't considered that possibility.

Anyway, we arrived and they weren't there. I was so relieved. We sat around with the four of us (Craig and I, my aunt and her partner) making small talk about holidays, travels, cars, boats, etc.

Then my aunt mentioned that her son and his family might come by. I was immediately uncomfortable and anxious. And of course, my cousin did come, with his wife and two sons.

I really can't do it any more. Watching families. I see my aunt and her son, and I see what I will never have. I see my aunt and her two grandsons, and I see what I will never have. I see my cousin and his sons, and I see what Craig will never have. I see my cousin's wife with her sons, and I see what I will never have. Families are a very visible reminder of what I will miss out on every day for the rest of my life.

So I got sad. Of course. I got anxious. I got sad. I just wanted to leave. I was very uncomfortable.

I told my aunt. She was making lunch for us all. For herself, her partner, her son, his family and for Craig and I. But I was sad and crying. I didn't want to stay. I didn't want to see that family life that will never be mine.

I explained it all to her. Why I was sad. Why I was crying. Why I wanted to leave. But she didn't understand. She said that I have to get used to it. I have to get on with it. I'll have to face it. I'll have to live with it for the rest of my life.

I said that I know I have to live with it. But it's only been 13 weeks since Jet was born. I'm not ready to live with it yet.

I can't face the real world yet.

Craig and I left.

They probably all thought we were very rude. We left without having any lunch, despite the fact that my aunt was preparing it. But I don't really care what they think. They can't possibly imagine how I feel. How Craig feels. What we have to deal with every moment of the day. How I struggle with my thoughts every night when I lie in bed. How I fear every day of the rest of my life. They don't know and they can't imagine. So I don't really care if they thought we were rude. I was protecting myself. From the real world. I'm not ready for it yet.

When we left, I started feeling better almost immediately. Maybe I will never be able to see families with children and grandchildren without feeling sad. But at the moment seeing parents with children and grandparents with grandchildren is like rubbing salt into open wounds. And my aunt and her family don't understand that. They don't know how huge my wounds are.

I think we would have been ok if my cousin and his family hadn't come. If it had been just the four of us. But they did come. And they were a very painful reminder of what I will miss out on forever.

What a lot of shit.

I hate the suggestion that some people make that when a baby is born to baby lost parents after their loss - their rainbow baby - that the healthy and safe arrival of that rainbow baby is somehow brought about by the lost baby.

I absolutely hate it.

What does that mean? What does that mean if the rainbow baby doesn't safely arrive?? Or if the rainbow baby is ill. Or if the rainbow baby dies. What??

Does that mean that Freyja didn't somehow ensure the safe and healthy arrival of her baby brother Kees? Or that she did, but that somehow she wasn't able to ensure we got to keep him longer than 7 weeks?

Does that mean that Kees wasn't able to ensure that we got to keep his baby brother Jet for longer than 3 days? Because after all, Jet arrived safely and healthily, just like his brother Kees. We just didn't get to keep him. Just like we didn't get to keep his older siblings.

What on earth possesses people to say and write such stupid things? And not just any people, but baby lost parents.

What a stupid thing to suggest. That the lost child somehow ensured or ensures the safe arrival of the baby to come.

What a load of absolute crap.

And what a hurtful thing for people like me. Parents who have lost more than one child.

Parents who have not been able to paint a glowing picture of their lost child as "guardian angel" of their newly born baby.

Parents who aren't proudly able to declare that their lost child was the one responsible for the safe arrival of their baby brother or sister.

What a lot of shit.

Isn't it bad enough that a baby dies. That a second baby dies? We certainly don't need someone implying that dead babies are "helping" the new babies, or "looking after" the new babies, or are somehow "responsible" for the new babies' safe arrival.

What a lot of shit.

Eleven weeks

It's been eleven weeks.

Eleven weeks since our sweet Jet died.

Eleven weeks since my life changed again. And this time it changed forever.

Eleven weeks since our third child died.

Eleven weeks since I held my second son in my arms.

Eleven weeks since I found out that I will only ever be a dead baby mum after all. Forever.

Eleven weeks since Craig made the dead baby phone calls to our families for the third time.

Eleven weeks since I started the rest of my life.

Eleven weeks.

It absolutely sucks.

Someday ...

Yesterday evening Craig and I watched a program on television.

It was a new series about astronauts. A group of astronauts are all competing for a place on a space ship which is going for a long term flight (6 years). One of the women becomes pregnant and needs to decide whether to terminate the pregnancy. If she doesn't, she'll lose her possible place on the space ship. The father of the baby does not know she is pregnant.

She says to the father, "Don't you sometimes wish for another life? A normal life? With a family?" And he responds, "Yeah, someday. But for now I just want to fly."

That line struck a cord with me.

I thought, if only he realised that "someday" might never come. That maybe this is his only chance. That by choosing to fly, he might never have a family. That anything can happen. That bad things might happen. That the choice may never come again. That he might lose his options. So many things could happen. Someday might never come. Or that someday might be now. Or that someday may have already been and gone.

How does that happen? How does it happen that one can go through life always assuming that "someday" is still ahead? That the best is still to come. Of course it's still to come, otherwise what is the point?

Don't we all subconsciously have some "someday" desires? Don't we all have something that we think "someday" for? Someday we'll go on that holiday. Someday we'll pay off the mortgage. Someday we can buy that new car. Someday we can build that extra room for the kids. Someday.

I don't recall in my long years of being a single woman, ever having yearning desires to create a family. All I really thought of occasionally was that maybe someday I would meet a lovely man. A man who I would fall madly in love with, who would also be madly in love with me. That's as far as my conscious thoughts for "someday" went.

But don't we all think of our future as one with options? Doesn't the knowledge of "someday" sustain us? Don't we all (subconsiously or not) think that most things are possible "someday"?

Even when I was single, I didn't rule out the possibility of a man in my life. I just thought that maybe someday I would meet the right person at the right time.

Surely we don't go through life without hope for the future? Surely?

I know I didn't. I studied and looked forward to the day that I completed first one degree, and then another. I worked hard and looked forward to my career progression. I travelled extensively and looked forward to more travel. I eventually met Craig and looked forward to our life together. I got unexpectedly pregnant and then looked forward to parenting my daughter. And that's where it ended really.

Because after Freyja's death, the optimistic "someday" disappeared. Suddenly I realised that maybe the best had already been. Suddenly I thought that maybe what had already gone was better than what was still to come. "Someday" lost its comfort.

Once you lose a child, other children (born or as yet unborn) are not safe any more. Your world is no longer safe. The unspoken assumptions of "someday" are no longer any comfort. Because of course, someday will not bring my child back. Someday will not see me walking my child to school. Someday will not see me watching my child graduate. Someday will never see me with grandchildren.

Someday is no longer a future of endless options and possibilities.

The comfort of "someday" is the unknown. The vast unknown "space" or "time" of your future where anything is possible.

The problem with me (and other people like me) is that the "unknown" of my future has lost its ability to provide comfort and hope. Because I know that my someday will always feature me as a mother to dead children.

My someday will not see me as a mother to living children. My someday will always be without my children. Every single day. Every day of someday. Always.

I don't know what someday for me will be now. I don't know at all.

:::

Last week our very recently purchased (used) car broke down.

We sat at the side of the road for nearly three hours whilst the car repair call-out service man drove around looking for us, and (eventually) spent an hour under the bonnet/hood of the car with my husband.

I sat in the car looking at the traffic driving past us.

I felt like it was very symbolic of my life. The whole world continues on. Busily getting on with their lives. Driving towards their "somedays". But I was stuck. Stuck on the side of the road. Stuck in my life. Watching all the others. I have no someday to go to. None at all.

I watched those cars driving by and I felt like life was passing me by.

:::

Some bloggers have asked me recently why I've been so quiet - why I haven't posted.

Honestly: I have nothing new to say.

I've said it all before. Many, many times.

And I don't think that anyone wants to read the same old thing over and over again. And at the moment I simply can't be bothered. Nothing will change.

I can scream and protest against the reality of my life all I want. But it won't change. My children will still all be dead. My life will still be the same. I will still feel stuck in my life, although time is flying by all around me.

I really don't know what to say any more.

The roof

Remember my leaky roof?? I've blogged about it several times.

Well, something is finally being done about it. It only took about 6 years, but finally it's being fixed.

I wasn't prepared to go into another winter watching and waiting for my ceilings to collapse because they were water-logged.

But the stress involved. It's not good for me. In the old days, I would have been able to shrug off stuff like this. But this is not the old days. This is not the old me. This is the dead-baby me. And the dead-baby me, she can't cope with any sort of stress.

Beth posted about having a dead baby tatoo on her forehead, so that everyone could see and immediately understand why she was the way she was. I wish I could do that too. I wish people could at least know (if not understand) why I am the way I am.

Our roof is currently being replaced. Or (I should say) our half of the roof is being replaced. One of the owners didn't want his half of the roof being replaced as he is overseas and he doesn't want to inconvenience his tenants. Frankly, I don't care (even though his half also needs replacing and it would be cheaper to do the whole roof). I just want my apartment to stop leaking.

This roof repair required the strategic placement of scaffolding. At the front and at the rear of our building. The front is no problem. But the back is another story. Our building is a corner building. That means the rear of our building backs on to the building on the other side of the corner. Which meant that the scaffolding for the rear had to be placed onto the balcony of that neighbour. I tried to contact that neighbour several times over the last week, without any success. In the end I wrote him a note, explaining what was going to happen, and leaving my telephone number for him to contact us with any questions. I shoved the note through his letter box. I never heard from him -- even when the scaffolding went up on his balcony -- so I assumed he was ok with it.

This is quite common in Amsterdam. Because all buildings are built next to each other (or behind each other), contractors will nearly always need access to a neighbour's roof, balcony, etc.

Anyway, yesterday the neighbour came out and started yelling. He wasn't happy about the situation. He hadn't been informed. Etc, etc. Basically he wanted the scaffolding removed immediately. I got a call from the head roofing man telling me about it. So I went outside and politely explained to my back neighbour (who I don't know at all) what was happening and why it was happening. I also explained that I had tried to get in touch with him, and failing that, had left a note in his letterbox. He denied receiving the note.

I felt so frustrated. I felt so angry. I felt like screaming. I felt like crying. I felt like I couldn't cope with it. I can't cope with some complaining old man, who can complain all he likes, but he knows that the roofing guys have a legal right to set up their scaffolding on his balcony. He's just complaining. I feel like screaming at them all "MY BABIES ARE ALL DEAD -- LEAVE ME ALONE" but I can't do that, because the roof needs to be fixed, the roofing guys have to be able to get on with it, and in order for them to do that, I have to placate the grumpy old bastard next door.

In the absence of a dead-baby tatoo on my forehead, maybe I'll have a t-shirt made.

But at least I hope my roof will finally get fixed and my ceilings won't come tumbling down.

Coincidence? I think not.

Until Jet died, none of the doctors I ever saw took my pregnancy concerns seriously.

Not one of them thought of me and my pregnancies as high risk.

Not one.

I was even told by several different doctors that just because something "bad" happened to Freyja, that didn't mean something "bad" would happen with my pregnancy with Kees. And they were right to an extent (they were just lucky I think). Freyja died in utero at 28 weeks. Kees died when he was 7 weeks old.

My doctor told me when I was pregnant with Jet, that Kees' death, because it was post-natal, had nothing to do with my pregnancy with Jet. I think she saw that their responsibility towards me and my pregnancy (with Jet) would end when a healthy baby living baby was born. She (and her staff) never counted on the fact that Jet would be born healthy and alive and then unexpectedly die in his cot overnight whilst still in their hospital. I think that really surprised and shocked them. Although I wonder why, given that MY TWO PREVIOUS BABIES DIED. Bloody, bloody useless bloody morons.

We asked for a full autopsy to be done after Kees died. The autopsy was conducted by the hospital where he was born and died. In the Netherlands, there is a cot-death foundation which has a work-group made up of various medical practitioners. This work-group looked at all the results of the autopsy. They agreed with the results. They knew we would not conceive again unless we knew what the results of the autopsy were. They knew we would not take a risk if there was anything at all risky. They told us there was nothing. That Kees' death was bad luck. That it was a coincidence that Kees died after Freyja had already died.

Not one doctor looked at my three pregnancies and saw anything at all to worry about. Not one doctor was concerned. They all indulged me, but were very patronising toward me.

The only thing remotely risky about me and any of my pregnancies was my age. Advanced maternal age. And even that didn't seem to be causing any problems.

I bought and used a doppler for my pregnancies with Kees and Jet -- so that I could sleep at night having heard my baby living inside me.

It's only now, now that I have THREE DEAD BABIES, that suddenly it seems more than just bad luck, or more than just a coincidence, that suddenly there are OTHER people who think there must be a reason.

FUCK. FUCK. FUCK.

And of course there must be a reason. Of course. Craig and I always thought so. But no-one ever listened to us. We were just paranoid, overly cautious parents. And because we were constantly reassured by doctors that it was just random, that it was just bad luck, that there were no medical or physical reasons, we allowed ourselves to be convinced that it was ok to have another pregnancy. That it was safe.

They were all WRONG. We trusted the wrong people. I guess it's not surprising that I don't trust anyone now.

Sometimes when babies die, the doctors can't find the reason. But that doesn't mean there isn't a reason. Of course there is a reason. They just can't find it. Hopefully research and time and money will mean that eventually they find all reasons for babies deaths. But it will be too late for me and Craig and our children.

I am so filled with anger and sadness that it's too late. I'm so angry that everyone thought I was just a paranoid mother-to-be. I am so filled with anger that my apparently healthy children are all dead.

I wish that there was something they had found. Something in me, something in Freyja, something that would have explained Freyja's death. Something which would have made us think twice before getting pregnant again. But they found nothing after Freyja died. I was healthy and she was healthy. And then following Kees' death, they found trace evidence of a viral infection. They didn't find the virus itself -- only evidence of a viral infection. So they jumped upon that as the cause of his death. Doesn't seem likely now though. Given that Jet died in EXACTLY the same way as Kees did. EXACTLY. And it seems very likely that Freyja died that way too. Three babies, all apparently healthy. No congenital issues. No maternal issues. All healthy. Yet with Kees and Jet we know their hearts just stopped. Just stopped beating. And it's quite likely that's what happened with Freyja. That her heart stopped beating. Just like that. Three perfectly healthy babies. Nothing wrong with them. Nothing. They all just died.

The police who attended Jet's death at the hospital don't believe in coincidence either. Jet's autopsy was not conducted by the hospital where he was born. It is being conducted by, and at the instruction of, the Dutch authorities. They also believe that there must be a reason why three children in one family died. My children, my family. And I'm very hopeful that they might actually find the reason. I need to know. I so need to know why.

I read a post earlier this morning about a baby-lost mother who is hoping to move to an emotional place where anything is possible. I've blogged about this before, because for me, anything is not possible any more. My children are dead. There will be no more children. Oh, I could get pregnant again in a flash and have another child. But it seems obvious to me and to Craig (if not to anyone else) that to do so would be to sentence that unborn child to death. All our children die. All of them. For reasons as yet unknown.

My possibilities are now limited. Very limited. We do not live a life where anything is possible. Our possibilities have been and gone. And I'm supposed to be satisfied with that. I'm supposed to accept that. I'm supposed to be grateful that at least I got to have three children. I'm supposed to get on with life. I'm supposed to make the best of what I have.

What a joke. What a fucking awful joke. I feel like screaming my bloody head off.

Where the fuck is the life I'm supposed to have?

Surely this can't be all there is?

Is this all I get? Three beautiful but very dead children, a loving husband and a bloody cat??? Is that it???

Two months

Jet should be two months old today. We should be celebrating his two month birthday.

Random ramblings

Every day I want to destroy something. Every day.

Sometimes I want to throw the laptop out of the window, down three levels, to see it smash into a thousand pieces on the street.

I really, really want to do that.

But I haven't yet.

That doesn't mean that I won't still do it.

:::

The hospital where Jet was born has a remembrance service every year. For all the babies who were born and died in that clinic during that year.

The service is in just over a week's time.

We got the invitation. We had to RSVP by a certain date.

The invitation has been lying on the table for over a week. And we haven't done anything with it. Now it has to go in the post. Otherwise it won't be received on time.

I don't want to go. I really don't. I just want to keep pretending.

Except I'm not really pretending. And I'm not living in denial either. I'm in limbo. Again.

Before Jet was born I was in limbo too -- because I was waiting to see whether I would become mum to a living child. Now I'm in limbo because I have no fucking idea what is going to happen in the rest of my life

The hospital where Kees was born and died had a similar event. Also a remembrance day for children who had died. Not just babies but all children who died in that hospital. It was also an annual event. Also held in November.

But Kees had died 6 months before the remembrance service. When Jet's remembrance service is held, he will have been dead for less than 10 weeks.

And I just don't know if I'm ready yet.

I don't know if I will just fall to pieces.

I might.

:::

I'm lonely.

I feel alone.

I have Craig. But that's all. We don't have anyone else.

Aside from a faithful few, no-one calls, no-one writes, no-one visits. It's very lonely.

I need more. I want more.

But I can't have what I want.

:::

A woman telephoned me a few days ago. She's a cot death specialist. They don't call it SIDS in this country -- it's still called cot death.

We met with this woman after Kees died. She heard recently about Jet's death. So she telephoned us.

I think she spent about 10 minutes of the phone call saying how shocked she was and how unbelievable Jet's death was. Over and over again.

I don't really get any comfort from that. Not really. I mean, I understand that people are shocked and they find it hard to believe, but to say it's unbelievable is not helpful. In fact is very unhelpful.

We're not asking people to "believe" or "not believe" in Jet's death.

Jet is dead.

That's all there is to it. It's REAL. It's our LIFE. Just because other people struggle to come to terms with our life and our reality, doesn't mean it's ok for them to go on and on about how "unbelievable" it is or isn't.

Lots of people said that to me. When Kees died and now again following Jet's death. How "unimaginable" and how "unbelievable" it was and is.

That may be so, but we don't have to imagine it. It's real. We can't pretend.

Not believing doesn't bring back our children.

:::

Christmas is in nine weeks. How did that happen?? Another year gone.

Last year I was full of hope. For a pregnancy. For a living baby. And, as it turned out, December 2008 was the month Jet was conceived.

But now there will be no more pregnancies and no more babies. And I don't have any hope.

:::

Craig's employment contract is not being renewed. In five weeks his existing contract runs out and then he'll have to find something else. After having worked for this employer for 18 months. They're blaming on the economic crisis.

At the moment Craig is working from home. This works very well for both of us. He can distract himself with work, but I'm around for him when he needs me. And of course, he's around for me when I need him. But another job will not be like that.

I'm a bit anxious about that.

:::

I'm anxious about many things these days. If I don't take my tablets my anxiety levels go through the roof. If I have to answer the phone I get anxious. The anxiety is one of the main reasons why I can't go back to work yet.

:::

Craig's thinking about taking me away for all of January. Maybe getting in the car (we bought one recently) and driving down to Turkey.

Giving us something to look forward to.

Giving us a reason to get up in the morning.

Something to distract us for a while.

We might do it.

Before and after

Does what has gone "before" matter?

I mean, all that stuff, that stuff which happened in my life before my children existed, does that stuff still matter?

I mean, all those things which happened in my life, those choices I made, the achievements, the travels, the work I did -- does any of that matter now?

Does any of that matter after my children were born and died?

I don't know. I really don't know.

I had lots of fun in my "before". I studied for a long time and achieved a very high level of education. I had a prestigious job. I earned a good salary. I travelled to exotic places. I went out with friends.

But does any of that matter now?

I don't know.

I've thought about this a lot recently. It amazes me that in such a short time I have gone from being that person - that ambitious, fun, sociable, lively person - to being the person I am now.

I used to go out drinking with friends, partying with friends, pubbing and clubbing with friends. Travelling with friends. And that was only 5 years ago. How can a person change so much in such a short time??

I was ready for a change of lifestyle when Craig and I got together. I really was. I was excited that (for a change) I fell in love with a man who was also in love with me. I was ready to "settle down". Be a wife. Change my focus from work to home. Work to live, not live to work. Children were not going to be part of the lifestyle, but that was ok.

I just wanted to "settle down" with the man that I loved. That seemed a logical progression in my life. A logical step.

But this isn't. This life isn't logical. There's nothing logical about it. This wasn't supposed to happen at all. And I wonder sometimes whether this, what's happened, makes everything that's gone before irrelevant.

I think it does to some extent.

None of my relationships (whether with friends or family) are the same as "before".

I am not the same as "before".

Craig is not the same as "before".

Our ambitions are not the same as "before".

Our plans (when we have them) change constantly and are short-term.

My career ambitions have disappeared.

It seems to me that all of that, all that happened "before", is no longer relevant. I think back sometimes to that person I used to be, and I don't recognise her. I really don't. She's gone. Well and truly.

All the good stuff. All the fun stuff. All the exciting stuff. All the achievements. They've been cancelled out. It's almost like the good stuff from the "before" has been cancelled out by the bad stuff in the "after".

I need new good stuff. I need to forge new stuff that matters in the after. Because the before stuff doesn't.

I guess that's what I need to figure out now. Who I am in the "after". Who I will be in the "after". What I will do in the "after".

Seven weeks

Jet would have been seven weeks old today.

When Kees was seven weeks old, on the day that he was seven weeks old, he died. He was in the NICU of the hospital, on all sorts of machines. The doctors had already decided that he was brain-dead (from lack of oxygen) and wanted to turn off the machines. They had wanted to turn off the machines the day before. But we requested that Kees live for one more day so that he could meet my mother and my sister and Craig's sister who were all on a flight from Australia to the Netherlands. They arrived early that morning, on his 7 week birthday, and they got to meet him for a few hours before the machines were shut off and his heart beat for the last time. That was Kees' seven weeks.

Jet's seven weeks is marked without him. Just his daddy and I.

I wondered (again) this morning whether there was something we could have done differently. But it doesn't matter if we could have. He's gone. Just like his brother. Just like his sister.

Seven weeks since my sweet Jet was born.

Freyja's due date

Three years ago today was Freyja's estimated due date. The date on which she was due to be born.

Three years ago.

I often wonder how different my life would be today if she had been born alive in October of 2006. How different.

Eavesdropping

There's that old saying that eavesdroppers hear nothing good about themselves.

Well, I guess it's true.

I did a Goo.gle search tonight and came across a thread where a bunch of people were discussing my blog.

They were in fact discussing a very particular part of my blog. A post that we had written.

It was immediately very clear to me that none of the posters on the blog (with the exception of one) had actually read the post they were referring to.

It was also obvious to me that none of the posters (except one) had lost a baby.

Interestingly, the poster who had also lost a baby was the only one who understood why we had written the post and what lay behind the post. She could relate to what we had written.

Reading this random thread of comments made me aware of something.

It made me aware that I'm very vulnerable. So vulnerable that random comments made by people who I don't know, people that I know nothing about, people who know nothing about me, people who haven't even READ my blog -- those comments hurt me. They hurt me very much.

The posters said we were irrational. The posters said we were bitter. And they said it like it was a "bad" thing.

And of course it is bad. How I feel, that is. Except that I can't help how I feel. I don't want to feel like this. But I can honestly tell you, I can't help how I feel. I really can't.

I don't doubt for a second that in the days and weeks immediately following Jet's death, I was quite irrational. Thank goodness Craig was here to keep me close to him.

In my own defense, I would have to say it must be quite easy to judge from a distance. Especially when the judge has no experience of his/her own to draw from.

I wonder how rational another mother would be after she'd birthed and buried her third child? I wonder.

And I'm very bitter. Oh yes. Bitterness oozes out of my every pore. I've been bitter before. Because I've been here before. I knew this would happen. This all-consuming bitterness. I've posted about it before. But I know the bitterness will soften. I doubt it will ever go away completely. Because life sucks. Because life is unfair. Because my children will always be dead. It's that simple.

But, oh, it hurt. It hurt so much to read that words which came from my heart, words which I wrote on my blog in good faith, words which shared the love I have for my children, that those words were judged by people who don't know. Who don't know what Craig and I have suffered and what we suffer today.

I started this blog because I had so many feelings and words inside me which I wanted to share. And there were so many babylost parents in blogland who knew how I felt. Who didn't think I was a freak.

My blog was a space where I could write about my children, my feelings for my children, the pain I felt, the frustration I continue to feel, the anger which is inside me. A space where I could share with like-minded people and get their very welcome support.

But Jet's death changed that. People came to my blog out of nowhere. Suddenly there were people reading my blog who didn't know where I was coming from. People who weren't babylost parents. People who criticised how I was feeling. Who wrote that my feelings were "wrong". Who thought that my bitterness was "bad". Who thought that maybe I was the one who caused my children's deaths. Who couldn't understand that nothing was rational in my life.

So I changed my blog. I added Jet's name. Of course. And I made it private. Because I am so vulnerable. So vulnerable that even I don't know how vulnerable I am. And I am so angry. So angry that I want to yell at everyone. And I am so bitter. And I am so sad. And I am so scared. And I am so anxious. And I am so worried. And I am so filled with despair and grief and sorrow. That's why I'm vulnerable.

And I didn't realise how much I needed the sympathy and understanding and support of other babylost parents. Because in real life I am surrounded by people who do not understand. People who do not understand my reality. People who think I should "get on with it". People who think I am "poisoning" myself and everyone around me with my bitterness (that was my mum's contribution after Kees died). People who don't want to hear about my children. People who just want to "put it behind them" and expect me to do the same.

I guess what I want to say to those who are reading my blog, thank you.

Thank you for your understanding.

Thank you for your sympathy.

Thank you for your support.

Thank you for not judging me.

Thank you for not giving up on me.

Thank you for not saying "get on with it".

Thank you for letting me write about my children.

Thank you for remembering my children with me.

Thank you for letting me write about my pain and my bitterness.

Thank you for not fearing my reality.

Thank you for letting me share my children with you.

Thank you.

Six and a half weeks

Jet would have been six and half weeks old today.

When his brother Kees was six and a half weeks old, he died. He was lying on the sofa, after guzzling his bottle and having his nappy changed. His daddy turned his back because Kees was falling asleep, and when he turned to look at Kees again, Kees' heart had stopped beating and he died.

I wonder if Jet had lived to six and a half weeks, whether he then would have died like his older brother.

That was my fear.

I always thought that once Jet was safely born (and not stillborn like Freyja), that our next "hurdle" would be the six-seven week mark, which is when Kees died.

But it turned out that Jet was going to do something completely differently. He was going to catch us unawares.

All my constant checking on him in the hospital came to nothing. The nurses constant monitoring came to nothing.

Instead he died in his sleep when he was three days old. Just like that.

Completely unexpected.

I had thought that getting through those first six-seven weeks would be nerve-wracking. I had wondered if I would be able to sleep at night, knowing there was a living baby in the house. A baby who could possibly die. Like his brother. Like his sister.

But Jet never came home with us.

The reason I can't sleep now is because he is dead.

Not because he is alive and I fear he might die. No.

Because he is dead.

Jet didn't even get to make it to six and half weeks (at home) or seven weeks (in the NICU) like his brother.

Only three days.

Three days

I almost wish we were butterflies

and liv'd but three summer days

three such days with you I could fill with more delight

than fifty common years could ever contain.

~ John Keats

Long and empty

We have to fill in a form which we received from the crematorium. A form in which we will instruct the crematorium what we want done with our son's ashes. We want to keep them of course, until we go back to Australia. Then we will bury them with Freyja and Kees. But they need to know that now - that Jet's ashes will go back to Australia - because they will need to seal Jet's ashes in a special container. And provide us with the appropriate paperwork.

What a thing to have to organise. Of course, we've organised two other funerals, so we do have some experience.

But still.

:::

We need to pick up a plaster cast of Jet's feet from our local framing shop.

Our nurse at the hospital where Jet was born - she took the plaster cast. She'd never done it before, so it's not perfect, but it is a cast of our son's feet.

I'm a bit worried about it. The cast that is. The plaster wasn't great - not good quality. It's entirely possible that the cast disintegrated when they tried to frame it.

I've been putting off collecting it.

But I can't put it off forever.

:::

I spend my days sitting around. I have nothing to do. Except think about death and babies. And remember those awful events - those discovering dead baby moments.

I have no idea what I will do today. Or tomorrow. Or next week. Or next month. Or next year. I have no idea.

There is nothing to do. I honestly can't think of what I could possibly do. I'm really not capable of working ... of doing my old job. My mind isn't capable of that at the moment, and (if I'm really honest) my mind hasn't been capable of doing my old job since Kees died.

I've suffered so much grief and pain and trauma, and my mind is so busy protecting itself, that there's not a whole lot left to work with. And certainly not enough to actually do my old job.

So every day I think, "what will I do today?"

And I never know.

I never have an answer.

I simply don't know.

Life looks long and empty from here.

Out of sight, out of mind

I've always found there's some truth in those old sayings.

Out of sight, out of mind.

Definitely truth here.

:::

Over the last three years I've come across many babylost parents.

Most of them are first time babylost parents. And by that I mean, they've only lost one baby. Some (like me) are multiple babylost parents. A few (like me) have lost babies over a period of time (as opposed to a multiple pregnancy which resulted in more than one loss).

What I'm getting to is that as babylost parents, we all know what it's like to "lose" friends after we've lost a baby. Usually as a result of having lost our precious baby. And to lose other people we thought we could count on.

:::

If I look back at my circle of friends from around the time Freyja was conceived, and I look at my circle of friends now, well, there's no resemblance. (Actually, there's no "circle" as such now. There's just a small handful of faithful people. Many of whom are also babylost parents.) They've been dropping like flies over the years. I've had a number of years and THREE DEAD BABIES during which time my so-called friends have left me.

I have always prided myself as being a very loyal friend. And I think my friends all appreciated that loyalty. I've always been a fun friend too. And I'm sure my friends all liked that about me. I trusted my friends. With my life. Because I was single, and not in a relationship, my friends were my family.

Yet they've dropped like flies.

:::

My relationship with friends, and also with family (parents and siblings) has suffered enormously in the last few years. The relationships are not recognisable any more.

Friends who I used to travel extensively with, are now nowhere to be found.

I'm lucky if I receive a note via email or FB once every 3-4 months from friends who I used to spend every weekend with.

And if I'm really, really lucky, they'll acknowledge the birth and death of one of my children by way of a note, an email or a card. Some don't even bother with a note any more. I simply don't hear from them at all. Phone calls don't come. They don't call. None of them call. All those friends, those good friends, those close friends, people who I thought were like my family, they don't call.

:::

Then again, family is not that reliable either. Oh yes, they're reliably unreliable. They're predictable. And that's very disappointing.

That bloody letter I wrote to them. I put my heart into that letter. And they didn't really have anything to say about it. And it hurts. So much.

Because we are geographically so far away, I have no opportunity to tell them in person how I really feel. To share my pain with them in a way that lets them SEE MY PAIN. So I put it in writing. And they don't respond other than to say, "don't say that again, it's too hurtful".

My pain and how I choose to express it to them, is too hurtful for them.

If I could express it differently, I would. But you see, if I speak of these things to them on the telephone, they just hang up. If I speak to them of my pain, my rage, my anger, my disappointment, my disbelief, my shock, they just hang up. They say "don't do this to yourself". They don't want to know. They don't want to hear. And it turns out, they don't want to read.

They know that awful things have happened in my life, but as long as I don't stick evidence of it under their noses, they can pretend. So they do. They pretend that everything will be ok. They continue to think positive. They believe that god has my children in his arms. That my children's death is part of some supreme plan. That I will survive and come out a better person. They pretend everything will be ok.

And they can do that of course, because IT IS NOT HAPPENING TO THEM.

:::

The few people who I still have contact with, they're asking me out for lunch now. Come and have lunch, they say. And I think, today is 5 weeks since Jet died. Five weeks ago today I woke up and found Jet dead in his cot. And people are asking me out for lunch???? It's all very surreal.

My boss rang me a couple of days ago. I knew what she wanted to speak about, so I was avoiding returning the call. I rang her yesterday. She wanted to know whether I'd given any thought about returning to work. Or maybe whether I'd decided that I didn't want to work any more. And I thought, Jet died 5 weeks ago, and I'm supposed to make these important decisions now? I can't even decide if I have to go to the toilet, and I'm supposed to make a major career decision now?? I told her my head was not in a place where I can make these decisions, and I didn't think it would be much better in 4 or 5 weeks. So she's marking my absence as "ill".

Another "friend" emailed me yesterday. She wanted to know if she could call me. If I was up for a telephone conversation. I say "friend" because although she used to be a very good friend, time and distance have made their mark. We used to be close, but that was many years ago. I don't know what I could possibly talk to her about.

Will she be like all those other people who call? Those people who call me once to salve their consciences and then never call again? I'm a bit sick of those people.

One of my aunts called last week. She'd obviously made the call after being prompted by my parents. (I really, really dislike people who call and then say during the call that someone else prompted them to call. It's as bad as people who actually say "this is a courtesy call".) Anyway, I talked to my aunt and I said how awful it was that such a beautiful, healthy boy died for no apparent reason. And she says to me, "but I thought it was his heart". And I was amazed. I mean, where did that come from? Where does she get these ideas? I hate it that SOMEONE is out there saying these things about my son (and probably about my other children too) which are completely wrong.

:::

I am completely filled with rage at the deaths of my children, and stupid people and their stupid assumptions and their even stupider attempts at communications make my rage even worse.

I have never felt this full of rage before. Never.

After Freyja's death and Kees' death, I was the one who tried to calm Craig's rage. But now it's the other way around. I am absolutely filled with rage. At everything and everyone. And people who say the wrong things, or are simply stupid, they're right on my list.

:::

My children are all dead, yet the world goes on. And no-one really cares. Oh yes, lots of people say that they think of us, but we are still alone. We suffer alone. I try to look after Craig and he looks after me. Noone else cares enough to look after us.

We can't even talk about this fucked-up life with other people, because it's upsetting to them. It's hurtful to them. So we can only talk to each other. And I get to write down my feelings on this blog and even then it upsets people. My reality, and what I write about it on this blog, upsets people who I don't even know, and I'm supposed to feel bad. What a bad joke.

I don't have the capacity to care about other people's feelings at this time. I really don't. But other people expect me to have that capacity. They expect that. (Other people being so-called "friends" and parents and siblings and even some people who used to read this blog.)

What planet do they live on?

:::

Life goes on.

The world goes on.

Babies are conceived and they grow and they're born and they LIVE.

Everyone's life goes on.

Except mine.

I wake up to my life every morning with a shock, and for the briefest of seconds I hope that it's not real.

But it is.

And then I just want to scream my head off.

An answer ... a difference

I keep catching myself thinking that if we get an answer, maybe if we find out why they died, that somehow that will make a difference.

That it will somehow matter.

But it won't of course.

It will make no difference. And it won't matter.

They'll still be dead. Freyja, Kees and Jet. They'll be dead and they're not coming back. My perfect children. All dead. All healthy and perfect. Yet still dead.

And there will be no more babies. None. No more babies. I promised Craig - if something happened, that would be it. No more babies.

And yet, if they found a reason, if they found out why, if they could do something about it, I would do it again in a flash. In a flash.

Despite the fact that I don't think I can cope with babies any more. If I see a baby now, anywhere, on the street, in a shop, on the tram, anywhere, I have to look and see if it's alive. If it's breathing. Another baby would finish me, I think. It's not that I think I wouldn't cope, it's that I know I would go crazy. I'm just about crazy now.

And yet. Still. I hope and I wish that they find something. Something that they can do something about. Something that they can prevent. Something that will give me hope. Anything.

:::

Yesterday Jet should have been 5 weeks old.

Instead he was cremated a week after his birth.

Yesterday was 4 weeks since he was cremated.

How different my life should be. How different.

Life sucks.

A letter and a teapot

It didn't help.

The letter to my family.

Only my sister L has responded, and she chose the opportunity to seize on the one thing in the letter which is about her and her family. Never mind that 98% of the letter is not about her but about me.

Of course, she did what they all do. They make it about them.

What a surprise.

:::

We bought a new teapot yesterday. A replacement teapot.

I had a lovely teapot which was given to me as a house warming present by my aunt many years ago. It broke just before Jet was born. I was very upset about it. I blogged about it here. But we have a new one now. It's not as nice, but it's still nice.

What a shame we can't just get a replacement baby to replace the broken ones.

:::

I blogged some time ago about what I thought would happen to me if Jet died. I blogged about it here.

And guess what? It turns out that I know myself very well. It turns out that I have suffered so many baby losses that I know what will happen before it ever does.

Because it's all happening just like I thought it would.

:::

This is a post-script. My father responded to the letter too. The only thing he had to say was that some of the things I say in the letter HURT HIM AND MY MOTHER AND MY FAMILY. Unbelievable. Again, it's all about them.

I wonder if they EVER think about how much Craig and I hurt every single second of the day??

Stupid doctors

Well, they came. The retired doctor and his wife. From the cot-death foundation.

It was pretty much a waste of time.

I was very angry. I am very angry.

If that work-group and the doctors who looked at Kees' autopsy had concluded simply that they didn't know why he died, then I would not have had Jet.

I remember sitting here in my lounge room after Kees died, having the same meeting with the same retired doctor and his wife. Discussing the circumstances in which Kees died.

I remember saying to him that we would not have any more children before we found out the results from Kees' autopsy. I remember saying that we did not want to take any risks. He knew that.

And yet, here we were again. Eighteen months later. Discussing the circumstances surrounding Jet's death.

I felt like killing him. I really did. I wanted to yell at him. I RELIED ON HIM. I BELIEVED HIM. I believed the conclusions which the doctors came to (and which the work-group agreed with) about the reason for Kees' death. And that's why we had Jet. Because I believed them. Because I thought another baby would live.

But they were WRONG. WRONG. WRONG.

Jet's risk was not the same as any other pregnancy. As any other baby. It was not.

There is obviously a reason why Freyja died, and why Kees died, and why Jet died. And it is so obvious to me that those reasons are linked. So obvious. Just because the doctors can't find the link or the reason, doesn't mean there isn't one.

I'M SO ANGRY!! Why didn't they tell me they didn't know??? Why? If they had, we never would have taken the risk. But they didn't tell us that. They told us the opposite. They told us that Kees died from some unidentified virus, which left an infection in his heart and inflamed his heart muscle and caused his heart to stop. They told us that the risk with another baby was no greater than anyone else's.

I really, really wanted to yell at him and hit him. Oh, I really did.

And now, even if they find something (and I don't believe that they will) it is all too late. My children are still dead and I will never have another child. I'm so scared now, that even if I accidentally got pregnant, I would have a termination. Because I don't want to go through this ever again.

One month

One month today.

It is one month since I woke and found Jet dead in his cot.

One month today.

:::

About a week ago, Craig and I were walking through Amsterdam. We were walking to a baby shop. A shop where they rent out baby stuff. We'd bought and rented stuff there before. We bought Kees' pusher/pram there. We'd rented the cot for his pusher/pram there. The lady knows us. She knew that we lost Kees. She knew we were expecting Jet.

We went there to drop off a bag of stuff which she collects for sending and distribution in developing countries in Africa. This is a bag of stuff which is sent to every woman in the Netherlands before she gives birth. On the off chance that she chooses to give birth at home. After Kees' birth I also brought the stuff to this shop.

On the way there, whilst Craig and I were walking, we walked past an ex-colleague of mine. A woman I used to work with here in Amsterdam. I know her partner very well. He used to be a very close friend. She was pushing her latest baby (her third, a girl) in a pusher/pram. She walked right past us. She didn't see us.

Several days later, I was on a canal boat with Craig and his aunt. His aunt was visiting us from New Zealand for a few days. The canal boat went past a child-care centre. It's not far away from our apartment. We had looked at that child care centre in the past. Back when we'd still considered that Kees might go to child care. That was all before he died of course. I never considered putting Jet into child care. I never would have been able to do that. Jet would have stayed either with me or with Craig. Anyway, we went past the child-care centre in the canal boat, and I saw that an ex-colleague was there collecting two of her three children. To take them home. She also has three children.

Both these women I worked with. For a long time. Four years. Both these women used to be friends. Both these women sent condolence cards/notes when Kees died. One visited us when Kees was born. She only had two children at the time. She and her partner (the one who used to be a close friend) came with their children to visit us and to meet Kees.

Neither of these women have contacted me at all since Jet's birth and death. Neither of them. And yet I know that they will have heard the news. I know. Yet they do not contact me.

They have each had three children. They each have three living children.

I have had three children. I have three dead children.

:::

I sent a letter to my family today. To my parents and to my brother and to my sister L.

Well, actually I sent the letter via email. It was the only way to ensure that they all received it at the same time.

No doubt the letter will cause a storm.

I have written in this letter things which I wish I had written/told them three years ago. For three years I have had this stuff on my mind. For three years I have tried to tell them. And for three years I haven't been able to so.

Because somehow everyone expects me to "get over it" or to "get on with it". To put the grief away after a "suitable mourning period". To "pull your life together". But of course I haven't been able to do that. That wasn't possible for me. And I don't know if it will ever be possible for me now.

So I wrote the letter, and I wrote in the letter some of the (big) things that have been on my mind during this time.

I suspect they will all react very badly to it. To the letter.

We'll see or hear soon enough.

:::

My sister L just called me by telephone. She rang because it's her oldest daughter's birthday today. She's seven years old. Seven. So my sister L rang so that her daughter could say thank you to us. To thank us for the gift which we had sent to her some months ago already.

Before Jet was born I put together a parcel to send to my sister L. She and her husband and their children were going away for over a month. Whilst they were away, my sister L and her middle daughter would be celebrating their birthdays. So I made up a parcel of birthday gifts. And because I knew that her oldest daughter would be celebrating her birthday only two weeks after their return, I included her birthday gift too. A parcel with birthday gifts for three people.

Jet was born on my sister L's 40th birthday. Every day for the rest of my life I will remember my Jet's birth on my sister's birthday.

But today I had forgotten. I had forgotten that it was my niece's birthday. I only remembered that it was one month since Jet had died. I had forgotten about my niece. I never forget their birthdays and this was the first time I ever did.

I remember when I put that parcel together, and when I wrote those cards for the three of them, I was almost tempted to sign those cards "Mirne, Craig & baby". But I didn't.

I resisted the temptation. I didn't want to tempt fate. But it didn't make any difference. Jet still died.

I guess it's a good thing I didn't write "& baby" on those cards.

:::

Oh, and just to give me something to look forward to, tonight we are receiving a visit from a retired doctor and his wife. They have visited us before. He is a member of the cot-death foundation here in the Netherlands. He is a member of the cot-death work-group. The work-group was involved in checking and double-checking all the results of Kees' autopsy when it was done last year. We contacted the cot-death foundation a few weeks ago because we want the work-group to do this same this year for Jet's autopsy results.

Something to look forward to indeed.

What a wonderful life I lead.

Remembering

When I was pregnant with Jet, Craig and I discussed how we would remember our precious Freyja and Kees with our boy Jet. How we would remember them with our son Jet during his lifetime. Whilst Jet was a little baby, a little boy and growing up. So that he would know and remember his siblings birthdays.

Many babylost parents spend a lot of time wondering how to remember and honour their special babies. Those babies that they can't hold in their arms. Those babies that will never grow up. Those babies who have special places in our hearts.

Craig and I remember our babies every day ... of course. But every year, on Freyja's special day, and on Kees' special days, we stop and remember them. We remember the joy they brought us, and the sadness which the ends of their lives meant to us. The changes their deaths brought to our lives.

We had hoped that we could celebrate Freyja and Kees' lives with our living son Jet. We had hoped that every year on Freyja and Kees' birthdays we would be able to have a birthday cake and candles to remember Jet's brother and sister with him. But now of course we can't. We won't be able to do that.

Craig and I are not able to celebrate our children's lives yet. Maybe we will be able to do that in years to come. But not yet.

We cannot have a birthday cake for our Freyja, or our Kees. And we haven't had to have one yet for our sweet Jet. It's too hard. Any joy we ever had for these children is still over-shadowed by the pain and sadness and grief we have in our hearts for them now.

Maybe we will never be able to have birthday cakes for our children. That's quite possible. Maybe that was a dream that belonged with Jet. And now with Jet gone, that's one of the dreams that has gone with him.

:::

The reason why I was thinking about this today is because Birni and Shane are honouring their son Ciaran's first birthday. And Lindsay is honouring her daughter Zoe's second birthday.

I am remembering and honouring them with you.

Four weeks ago

Four weeks ago today I woke to sunshine coming in through the curtains.

I was in hospital.

Jet was three days old.

The sunshine put fear into my heart.

I jumped out of bed and rushed to check my son.

He should have woken me during the night for a feed, but he hadn't.

He should have been sleeping in his cot, but he wasn't.

He was dead.

Four weeks ago today, I woke to find my newborn son, my sweet Jet, dead in his cot.

And my life changed again. Forever. Irrevocably.

Farewell my sweet Jet. I love you.

Rage and rambles

The other day (yesterday????) I thought things were going a bit back to "normal" again. I was wrong.

Last night I had a bad night. I slept badly. I woke up several times. I couldn't get back to sleep again. I had nightmares. I felt like my blood was boiling or about to spurt out of me. I felt full of rage even though I was "asleep" or supposed to be asleep. I felt totally stressed. How is that normal? Quite simply, it's not.

I don't know what to do about this rage. This violence which is stuck inside me.

I'm angry at the world. At the doctors. At my crappy family. At my crappy friends. At everyone.

I hate going out. I hate going to the shop and seeing all those people going about their lives. I hate listening to people on the street talking about nothing, about crappy, unimportant things. I'm completely over rude, arrogant Dutch people who walk so that they deliberately bump into you. I hate being snubbed by young shop girls who think they're too good for their job. I can't stand it. And I just want to respond with rage.

When I see mums and their kids on the street, I want to scream. When I see parents smoking with kids hanging around, I want to scream. When I see pregnant women, I want to scream. When I see young couples, holding hands, their lives before them, I want to scream.

Basically I'm just filled with rage. And I don't know what to do about it.

I miss Freyja. I miss Kees. I miss Jet. I miss the life I would have lived with one or two or all of them. I miss being able to see them grow. I hate it that I will never know what they would look like. What they would be like. Whether they would be like me, or like Craig. That I will never know ANYTHING more about them. I can't stand it.

I hate it that people treat us like lepers. I hate it that people who were so upset about Kees' death, haven't even contacted us about Jet. I hate it.

I hate it that I can't cope with even the smallest things. That even the stupid leak in my ceiling (the subject of several previous posts) causes me to completely stress out. I hate it.

I can't stand it that some people are finding it so "difficult" to cope with Jet's death, that they don't have time for us. That Jet's death is so traumatic for them, that they don't have the inclination or energy to think of us. I want to bash those people. I want to bash their heads in. How dare they? How dare they be so bloody selfish? Can't they remember that Jet is OUR SON??? How is it possible that this escapes their mind???

We haven't seen or heard from Craig's two sisters since before Kees' funeral. Neither of them attended Kees' funeral. After Jet died, when Craig was talking to his mother on the phone, she said to him that one of his sisters was writing a card (WTF???) and the other didn't know how to approach him (WTF???). She suggested that perhaps he should call her. WTF??? Who are all these fucking selfish people??? Craig should call his sister because she doesn't know how to approach him? What about simply calling him on the phone and saying sorry??? Selfish bloody bitch. We never got a call or a card. We got nothing. Not one single thing from either of his sisters to say they were sorry about Jet.

I had a friend visiting me the other day. The one who looked after our cat Blair whilst we were travelling. I said to her that none of our mutual friends had contacted me. Not one. Most of these mutual friends are ex-colleagues of mine. She still works with them. She suggested maybe I should ring them and tell them that it's ok to contact me. WTF??? I should call them? Where do people get these ideas from??? Since when does a bereaved person call people to tell them it's ok to call??

What is happening in the world? When did people become so selfish??

I was looking on face.book yesterday. I culled a lot of people who were "friends" last year, following Kees' death. So sometimes I cheat and I log on as Craig and check on some of the ex-friends. My brother is an ex-friend. He had a status update some time ago about Jet's death. Some of his friends responded. Including our cousin's wife, who made a comment about how she and her husband were "thinking of you (meaning my brother) and your family (meaning my parents and siblings) and especially Mirne and Craig". WTF???? "Especially Mirne and Craig" ... what does that mean? Wasn't Jet OUR SON??? I feel like I need to wear a t-shirt to remind people. I feel like people are kidnapping the memory of MY CHILDREN. I want to scream at them. This is all I have left of my children, and it feels like people are taking it from me.

Two people call us regularly. My sister L, the missionary. She calls pretty much every couple of days. Except when she's too busy with her life and her three kids. She has a life. And my mum, except when she's telling me how to feel, in which case I hang up on her or she hangs up on me. Which happens quite regularly. But they're both up to their old tricks again. They ring. Craig answers the phone. They ask for me. They don't speak to him first. They don't ask him how he's going. They don't bother to talk to him. Like somehow Jet was more my son than his. This will be the THIRD TIME I'm going to have this conversation with them. Once after Freyja's death. Once after Kees' death. And now again. You think people would remember.

Today is four weeks since Jet was born. Four weeks.