Hope for life

Am I the only one who walks around wondering what happened to my life?

I often lie awake at night thinking that it shouldn't be like this. What happened?

I was always a firm believer in the saying "the best is yet to come". When I saw the film "As good as it gets" I was very offended by it. The concept that the best is "now" or (even worse) already behind us is terrifying.

But what if that is the case? Does anyone else wonder that?

What if for the rest of my life I will be but a poor reflection of the person I used to be? That person who was full of hope and optimism for the future?

The only hope I have at this moment is my pregnancy … the hope that the outcome of this pregnancy will be a healthy living baby who lives long enough to bury me and my husband. But what if that wish fails to come true? What if this baby doesn't live … what then? Where will my hope go then?

This is what the Cambridge dictionary says about hope:
noun: something good that you want to happen in the future, or a confident feeling about what will happen in the future.
verb: to want something to happen or to be true, and usually have a good reason to think that it might.

I think it's quite safe to say that I'm pinning all my hopes for my future on this pregnancy. I'm hoping that this child will live and give me a chance to be an active parent. That this child will give me a reason for further hope. A hope that I will see a child grow and learn to talk and call me "mum".

Although my heart breaks for all mums who have lost children, my heart breaks much more for mums who lose their chance to actively parent any living child in life. People who choose (after losses) not to have any more pregnancies or people who have that choice taken away from them -- and who do not have ANY living children. I can imagine how they must feel. I'm so scared that I will become one of them. A parent of dead children only …

You see if something happened to this baby, I wouldn't only be saying goodbye to this (my third) child, but also to the chance of ever parenting a living child. I would be saying goodbye to a life … my life as an active parent. My whole future would change forever in an instant. When Freyja died I had hope of another child. Even when Kees died I had hope of another child. But if this child dies … there will be no such hope.

Remember Fiona S from my previous blog? She said goodbye to that future.

Before I lost Freyja and Kees, it never occurred to me that some people are forced into that choice. That some women choose to have further pregnancies because they live in hope that the next one will be THE ONE. That eventually their age is against them, or their marriages can't withstand any further traumas and that they are forced to make different choices.

I would like to think that I could have a fourth pregnancy. In my wildest dreams I hope that this third child will live and that I can follow his birth immediately by a fourth pregnancy will which result in a living healthy sibling. In my wildest dreams.

But I forget. I forget that I am 40. I forget that (if all goes well) I will be 41 when this third child is born. I forget that the anxiety I feel during my pregnancies nearly pushes me over the edge every single time. I forget that I promised Craig: no more pregnancies.

Courage or fear?

For some time now I've been thinking about a lady I read about some years ago.

Just after Freyja died I bought a book called "When A Baby Dies", by Nancy Kohner and Alix Henley. I found this book to be particularly helpful because it made me realise that what I'd experienced wasn't "abnormal" or "unusual". In fact, it opened my eyes to the huge numbers of babies that are dying all around me.

The following excerpt is from the chapter entitled "Another Pregnancy":

Fiona S' first three babies were stillborn. When she became pregnant again she was very careful to make it clear to other people that the outcome of this pregnancy was not certain, so that she would not be caused unnecessary extra pain by unthinking questions and remarks if this baby also died:

"When people asked me, "When's it due?" I said, "Well, I haven't had a very good track record with babies, so if all goes well ..." People actually respond very well if you say that to them, but I did protect myself all the way, I didn't buy anything or anything like that."

Fiona's fourth and last baby was also stillborn.

At the time of reading this (in the second half of 2006) it made an enormous impression on me. I have often thought about this courageous lady since reading about her. I couldn't believe that she could lose THREE babies and still have the courage to try again. I didn't understand why she would put so much STRESS on herself. Now I know why.

Never in a million years did I ever think I'd be where I am now. Never in a million years did I think I would be pregnant with my third child (my third one in three years) after having buried my first two children.

Never never never.

Now people say to ME that I'm courageous. But I'm not courageous. I'm scared. I'm scared of having had the opportunity to become a parent to a beautiful child created by Craig and me and of having let that opportunity go by. Because I'm not a spring chicken any more. I don't have 10 years (or even 5 years) to "think" about it. Now is my time. Now is the only time I have left for babies.

Never did I consider when I read about Fiona in 2006, that three years later I would be like her. I only hope that my outcome is different from hers.

Introducing Craig

Hi,

This is my first post here on Freyja and Kees. As an introduction, I'm Mirne's husband. Our life was going along swimmingly, nothing could possibly go wrong, we were the happiest people we knew (so happy, I think some people thought we were a bit over the top sometimes).....

Well, our life went bad. In July 2006, just 4 months after we were married, our baby girl died. She was stillborn at 28 weeks. For those who don't know, that means my wife had to give birth to a fully formed baby and I had to hold her hand while she did it. It was the most traumatic thing I had ever done (up to that point). We didn't know what to do with ourselves. We hung around our families in Adelaide for a few weeks, then went back to our home in Melbourne.

About this time one of my sister-in-laws decided to tell my wife that she had never really liked me. This is after having been my "friend" for about 15 years, attending the same church, and working at the same hospital for a time. During the last year I had had lunch and dinner with her at work (depending on shifts), had dinner at her house numerous times, and she had even spent considerable time telling Mirne (my wife) that she really should stick with me as I was a great guy. And now she can't stand me, and never could! Neither of us knows where this came from, and I don't really care. We don't have any contact with her any more, despite having held out an olive branch for a year and only being slapped back every time.

We went away for about 4 months, traveling and making happy memories for ourselves. It sort of worked, because we are both able to look back on that time as a time of growth in our relationship. We spent a lot of time talking and getting to know each others feelings. I have never been so close to anyone as I am to my wife, and I think few people ever get this close to anyone - I put it down to this time. I know everything about her, and she knows everything about me.

During our travels an old colleague of Mirne got in touch, and she had a job interview while we were in the Netherlands. She didn't accept it at first, as we were both unsure about what we wanted to do. In the end we went to Amsterdam, where we are now. After we had been here for just over 10 months we had a living baby, a boy. He was beautiful. Unfortunately, when he was just 7 weeks old he died. I had been in the habit of feeding him in the morning at about 6, and if he didn't go straight back to sleep (about 50% of the time) I would bring him down to the lounge room and we would play. That morning I brought him down after feeding and changed his nappy. Then it was my turn to pee, and I left him for about 2 minutes while I went 2 metres away to do so. When I came back he was the wrong colour (I know the colour of death well, from my work) an I could se he wasn't breathing. I felt for a pulse, and when I didn't find one I started CPR. Welcome to the second time I was in the most traumatic time of my life. This one lasted for just over 2 days. An ambulance arrived, and they took over resuscitation. Unfortunately, they could not establish an airway for over 45 minutes, and even though his heart started to beat again he never breathed without the aid of machinery again. The next day they did an EEG, and determined that there was no brain activity. We were waiting for family to come from Australia to see him before his life support was switched off. At 12.20pm on Friday 21 March 2008 he was placed on my chest and his life support terminated. Mirne was lying next to me, and we were both holding our baby boy. About 20 minutes later a nurse informed us that his heart had stopped beating some time ago and he was now dead.

We went home, and prepared to take our son back to Australia to be buried next to his sister. During this time I asked my mother if I could have the memory card from her camera so that I could get copies of the photos she had taken at the hospital. Imagine my surprise when I came across a photo of my sister playing in the snow outside the hospital! I immediately confronted them with this, and was told first that it hadn't happened, then that I couldn't possibly have seen a photo as there wasn't one, then that it wasn't when and where I thought it was. Of course, we recognised the hospital, having been there every couple of weeks for the previous 10 months and of course it was when they were leaving after he had died because the photo has a time stamp (as do all digital photos). My sister never apologised, and in fact she extended her stay in Amsterdam by 2 days because she had never been to Europe before and she wanted to enjoy it. WTF!?!?!?

I telephoned her 2 days before the funeral, back in Australia, to give her an opportunity to apologise. She didn't, and actually hung up on me telling me not to be so mean to her as she was suffering too. I rang her back and left a message on her answering machine telling her that she and her family were not welcome at the funeral unless she was willing to admit that what she had done was wrong and to say she was sorry. My father decided that this was an inappropriate thing for me to do, and told me so. At the funeral both my father and mother walked right past us at the door (apparently because they didn't feel they should stand in a line to hug us, as all the other mourners were doing) and when I went to greet them at the back my mother hugged me but my father turned his back on me! I found out that day that my parents really do have only enough love for the child who can produce living grandchildren, and that's not me. Since then my relationship with my family has been non-existent. We have received 4 or 5 emails, and no phone calls. For our 40th birthdays later that same year we received a card, sent 3 weeks after the date (we are born one day apart, in the same year).

I have given up on my parental family, and now concentrate on the only family I truly have - Mirne and me. Maybe there will be an addition at a later date, but neither of us really believes that a third pregnancy would result in a living child.

Sharing blog-space

Craig is coming to join me here in blog-land - he has much to say but never knows when to start. So he's joining me in what has been "my" blog until now. --- Mirne

But I don't know how often I'll be here. I'm not very good at blogging, or at expressing myself generally, so this will still be (mostly) Mirne's blog. --- Craig

Nothing in particular

I told my family today.

About the new pregnancy.

I told my parents and my sister.

They were very surprised ... My mum was surprised but overwhelmed and happy for us. My sister was surprised and overwhelmed and will eventually be happy.

I didn't realise until after we told them that they really weren't expecting us to go through another pregnancy again.

::::::::::::::::::

I was reading the babylossdirectory.blogspot and looking at the new blogs listed and I came across Mary's blog: http://missinglukas.blogspot.com/

She is a brave lady for writing down her whole story. I haven't done it yet because it makes me so sad. Also, I have blocked so many of those traumatic events from my mind - I think I'd need my husband's help to get it all down on paper.

Reading Mary's story about her son Lukas made me cry ... I know how she felt and I know how she feels. Kees' story is so very similar.

How incredibly sad and awful that these beautiful baby boys survived their 9 months in utero, the trauma of birth, only to succumb to some silly virus.

No wonder we shed so many tears. :-(

Under The Tree - April 2009

How long has it been since you lost your child/ren? Has your grief changed at all? Is your life becoming any easier or is it just harder as time passes?

It's been nearly three years since we lost Freyja. Three long years ... so much happens in three years and yet it feels like a day.

It's been just over a year since we lost Kees - and it's like yesterday too.

It does get easier as time passes - but only because your body and your mind gets "used" to it. The grief is not so raw any more. It just is. It becomes a part of you ... it's no longer "invading" your body and your mind and your life. It just is.

How do you feel when you see pregnant women when you are out and about?

Still jealous. Even though I am now pregnant again. For the third time. But I imagine that those women must be revelling in their innocence. They are looking forward to the birth of their babies. They're not living in fear of losing another one. I wish that I could go back to that place ... that place of innocence and joy.

Whats your therapy in the aftermath of losing your child? Do you go to counseling? Do you do artwork or some kind of exercise or do you simply just let yourself be? What helps you?

It took us a long time to find a good psychologist. I think she's helping. She's one of the few people in real life who will listen to what we say and not feel obliged to tell us what to do! She just listens and guides us in our discussions. I think it's helpful.

I don't do any art. However, in the last few months I've been able to start reading again -- one of the great pleasures in my life. I get a lot of comfort and pleasure out of that.

What can I worry about today?

I am a worrier. (My husband jokes that he's the "warrior" and I'm the "worrier").

I was always a worrier … right from when I was a little girl. I think it contributes to my insomnia issues (where I go to bed because I'm exhausted but the moment my head hits the pillow, I think and worry about everything).

Since I lost Freyja I worry about everything all the time. I have no confidence in anything any more. I don't trust the green man at pedestrian crossings … I make no more assumptions.

Immediately following Freyja's death, I wouldn't even go out of the house without Craig. If we went to a shopping centre and I needed to use the public toilets, we'd have to head for the disabled toilet because I couldn't be without Craig.

Even today, when we are apart, for example, when I'm in the office, and he's at home (he works from home), I worry. I worry that he might fall down the stairs and hurt himself (we live on the third, fourth and fifth floors and we have no lifts at all). I worry that when he cycles to work with me in the morning, and then cycles home by himself, that he'll get hit by a car, or otherwise hurt himself. I'm sure you're getting the idea.

I worry about everything all the time.

Late last year, before I became pregnant, we booked a cruise (a fabulous 3-week Mediterranean cruise). We are planning to go on the cruise in less than 5 weeks. We've been looking forward to it soooo much!! Well, a couple of days ago I was surfing the cruise website and suddendly I noticed that they had a restriction on pregnant women travelling. Any woman who will be 24 weeks pregnant (or more) at any time during the booked cruise will not be allowed to embark.

So of course now I'm worrying. Because I will be 25 weeks at embarkation and 28 weeks at disembarkation. It never ocurred to me that this might be a problem. My pregnancy is fine … I have all the usual risks (plus my nightmare history) but I have no known physical risks associated with my pregnancy.

Of course I'm worrying!

I'm thinking of just lying. I can easily do that -- change my due date by 4 weeks. I will happily fake a letter from my doctor giving my fake due date. I don't have any problems doing that -- except it will not sit well on my conscience.

The problem is that this sort of stuff just worries me. It eats away at me. Craig knows that so he's going to ring the American cruise office today (they are likely to be more sympathetic to our situation) to try and sort something out.

We are both pissed off too because when we booked the cruise there was NO warning or check the box or anything which notified the booking passenger/s about the pregnancy restrictions. Why on earth would I automatically think "oh yes, they won't let me on board because I'm pregnant!!" I am allowed to fly around the world at 28 weeks, so why wouldn't I be able to float on a huge luxury 5 star hotel for a few weeks??

So I'm worrying.

I worry about the new baby too -- every day -- every waking minute of the day (I often wish that I could just go to sleep for the next 4 months). The worry is there all the time -- I guess that is why my blood pressure gets checked regularly. During my pregnancy with Kees, my blood pressure went up significantly at the 23 week mark. It seems that as I get closer to the 25 week mark, my body and my mind subconsciously realise that there's a viable baby in there. So then everything starts to freak me out. Work, traffic, rude people, demanding family, insensitive doctors, you name it.

Unfortunately the Netherlands has rather antiquated attitudes to pregnancy and child-birth. Do a Google search and the search will confirm it. They're not a medically progressive society. The view here is that if something has been done for 100 years in a particular way than that's good enough. If your mother did it this way, that way will be good enough for you. In the medical profession, there's not a whole lot of sensitivity to someone in my position. Actually, there's no sensitivity. And that all contributes to my worrying.

I worry about everything.

What am I worrying about today?
** whether my husband cycled home safely … which he did, because I spoke with him.
** whether we can sort this cruise problem out. This is a biggie -- this cruise was very expensive … if we can't sort it out, we're not likely to get much, if any, of our money back.
** and this new baby of course … I worry about the new baby all the time. I worry about myself if this new baby doesn't survive … I worry about Craig if this new baby doesn't survive. I worry about our future life together if this new baby doesn't survive.

I hope we get this cruise situation sorted out.

Be grateful

The suggestion has been made to me (by several people) that I should be "grateful" for the time I had with Freyja and Kees. I have several problems with this suggestion.

I'd like to know who I'm supposed to be "grateful" to? Is there someone out there who arranged all this? Someone who arranged for Freyja and Kees to be here for the short time that they were? If so, I'd like to ask that person why Freyja and Kees could only be with us for such a short time … was there a particular reason for this?

The obvious response of course is: God. Well that opens a completely new can of worms which I'm not ready to blog about today. Needless to say, if there is a God, I hope that I'll be able to have words with him one day because I am one very angry mum!!

But that's what people say to me: be grateful.

What am I supposed to be grateful for? Oh yeah. At least I got to be pregnant. I got to enjoy my pregnancies (right .....). I got to have Kees for 7 whole weeks. WHOOPEE. I am overwhelmed with JOY. Not.

I can honestly say that although I love both my babies with all my heart, I think my heart would have been better off without them. I can honestly say to you that the GRIEF that I will carry with me for the REST OF MY LIFE far outweighs any joy that I had whilst my babies were with me. I can honestly say that the changes which their deaths have brought about (in me, in my relationships with people, etc) are not for the "better".

There is no doubt in my heart and my mind that my life would be MUCH BETTER if I had:
(i) not given birth to my two beautiful babies, or
(ii) had to bury them.
I've thought about this a lot.

My young cousin died last year. Very unexpectedly. He had a pulmonary embolism (blood clot). He was a healthy 27 year old. He got out of bed one morning and dropped dead - literally. My uncle was overwhelmed with grief (of course) - his only child had died. But my uncle has memories of a life time. My cousin's life time but also his own life time. He has 27 years worth of memories to remember his son by. He would never say to anyone now that he wishes his son had not been born. He would never say that his life would have been better without his son to share it with.

I don't have any of that. Kees' seven weeks are his life time. But they are not my life time. My life time is going to be one in which grief will accompany me every step of the way. As for Freyja, well she didn't really get to have a life time at all. People argue whether she "lived" at all (given that she was stillborn). I suspect my life time will always be clouded by the grief which I will feel for these two beautiful children who should have lived to bury me and my husband.

"Grateful?" I think not.

If only ...

When I got pregnant with Freyja it was an enormous shock. Really, that's what it was at the time - a shock. I was a heavy smoker and drinker and when I looked at that stick I really didn't believe that the two lines meant I was pregnant. My husband looked at the stick and told me what it meant. My reaction was to go out on the balcony (we lived in West Melbourne in an apartment at the time) and smoke several cigarettes and open a new bottle of wine. I peed on two more sticks and went visiting the GP to confirm my shocking discovery.

You see, Craig and I had only just been engaged for a few months and we weren't supposed to have any babies!

Craig suffered from testicular cancer when he was 29. He had radiation therapy and, although he recovered from his cancer, tests every two years for four years after the treatment confirmed that he could not father any children. His doctor had already warned him of this danger before he had the treatment and so he had sperm on ice ... just in case.

We had known each other for a long time before we got together, so I knew he had had cancer, and I wasn't concerned about not being able to have any children. Just a month or so before the shocking discovery we had had the discussion about IVF. We were both 37 and so if we were going to have any kids, time was a-wasting. I did the research and decided that I really didn't want to go through all that. I had never had any great desire to have children myself. I enjoyed being an aunt (my two younger sisters have 7 children between them), but I had my career and now that I had Craig that was enough for me.

So we'd discussed our options, discussed them with our GP (who recommended that Craig have his sperm tested "just in case") but we were happy to leave things as they were.

But then the shock came. And I was freaked. So was Craig. This wasn't supposed to happen.

I told my family and Craig told his and they were all over the moon. (Everyone knew about Craig's cancer and were therefore terribly excited for us.)

And something happened to me ... I fell in love with the baby inside me. I fell in love with the idea of being a mum. I fell in love with the thought of a baby girl. When the ultra-sound confirmed we were having a little girl, we knew immediately that Freyja would be her name. Even Craig got over the horrific shock ... he'd spent 8 years believing that he couldn't and wouldn't father any children.

But then the worst happened of course. Freyja died. For no apparent reason. We were devastated. And I was left with the overwhelming desire to be a mum and to have a baby.

I missed my baby incredibly much. During my pregnancy I had been very aware that things could go horribly wrong ... a friend had lost her baby at 36 weeks because of a detached placenta. So I had not spent 28 weeks dreaming of perfection ... rather I had spent 28 weeks in fear. I remember so clearly being relieved when I got to 28 weeks because that's when a baby's chance of survival is abut 90%. But then of course my Freyja died.

So there I was ... a mum without her baby. A woman with an overwhelming desire to hold her baby and actively parent a child. In that 6 month period of my pregnancy I had gone from being an ambitious career woman to being a mum lost without her baby.

I wanted another baby immediately ... or actually I wanted my Freyja, but hadn't realised yet I couldn't have her.

It took me 7 months to convince my husband that we should have another baby and a further three months to conceive. And then we spent 37 weeks in terror waiting for our second baby. And we cried tears of joy and relief when he was finally born ... a healthy 3.5 kg boy. Nothing wrong there! But then of course everything went wrong again ... he suddenly died and the autopsy showed that he had a cold or flu virus which attacked his heart instead of his lungs. If only the virus had attacked his lungs ... he might have ended up in hospital with serious complications, but he probably wouldn't have died. If only ...

We waited 6 anxious months for the autopsy results. Then I managed to convince my husband that we should try to conceive another baby. Nine months after Kees' death I conceived our third child.

So here I am. A 40 year old woman. About 30 kg overweight (from the weight I was when I got married three years ago). Recovering (to the extent possible) from two terrible losses. Now working part-time because I can't cope with full-time any more. Nearly twenty weeks pregnant with her third child. But pretending that I'm not ... after all, I don't want to get attached to another baby only to have to bury another one. And this is the last one ... if this pregnancy doesn't result in a healthy living baby, I don't think I can cope any more. One thing is for sure, Craig won't let me have any more pregnancies ... he's worried that the woman he married will disappear altogether (not an unreasonable fear given how I am now).

Sometimes I wish that I could go back in time. I wish that I could back to that appointment where our GP said to us that Craig should have his sperm tested again. If only we could. If only Craig had the test done and found out that his swimmers weren't inactive any more. If only we could sit down and make an informed decision about pregnancy. Who knows what would have happened then?

I wonder though ... would I now be a baby factory? Would I be pregnant with my third child after having buried my first two? Would I still be that confident, career driven, fun and self-assured woman I was then?

If only ...

Meaningless (but hurtful) prattle

People are always full of bits of wisdom when something happens to someone else. I've noticed this over the last few years. They say the most inane things to you ... probably because they don't know what else to say. But quite frankly ... I'm over it. I don't want people to say anything to me that they don't think about first.

Really, really stupid stuff. Like:

"... it was probably for the best".

(huh???? how??? whose best??? maybe I should say that to the next person who suffers a bereavement - "oh, it was probably for the best". how can it ever be "for the best" if a child dies? how can it ever be for the best for a parent to have to bury their child? how???)

"... at least you can have another baby".

(is this supposed to make me feel better? i might have another baby, but will it live? and (let's face it) that new baby will never ever in a million years replace his/her big brother or sister ... from experience i can tell you that another baby does not make you feel better about the one that's lost to you.)

"... at least you know you can get pregnant".

(what??? how is this a comfort AT ALL??? getting pregnant is always the easy part for me. being pregnant does not necessarily mean I'll get a living breathing child. and let's face it -- being pregnant is not a great experience at the best of times ... certainly not if you've suffered all those discomforts and indignities to then not even be able to (actively) parent your child ...)

"... don't let it make you bitter".

(nnnnnooooo ... bitter? never. in fact, i rejoiced when my babies died, and I thought "well, at least I can have another one". of course i am bitter. how can i not be bitter? if someone knows how not to be bitter, please let me know.)

"...I know how you must feel. my grandmother died recently".

(right, and your grandmother was how old? oh yes, 75 years old. you must know exactly how i feel. burying an old woman who has lived her life, has made her choices and used her opportunities. yep, that compares to burying a baby who didn't get a chance to live his/her life.)

"...we were too sad, that's why we didn't call".

(selfish selfish selfish people. how dare they even say this to anyone who has lost a child.)

And then when you're pregnant with a child after your loss, people come up and say stuff like:

"I'm sure this time will be fine - your baby will be perfect!"

(inane reassurances which are meaningless and just serve to remind you that ABSOLUTELY NO-ONE IS IN CONTROL and that nothing you do will make any difference. oh, and by the way, my baby was perfect, she was just born dead!)

"make sure you enjoy this pregnancy."

(why? what will happen if i'm not happy? will it bother YOU??)

"don't get too anxious/worried/stressed, because it's not good for the baby."

(that's the last thing we need to hear from well-meaning but stupid people -- that something we did or didn't do might somehow have harmed our babies ...)

I accepted comments like this after Freyja died. After all, people "mean well" and you don't want to "rock the boat" and you don't want to be "rude" and really they "don't understand". Right. I can tell you now, I was so pissed that I had to listen to all this sort of stuff that after Kees died I made a conscious decision that no-one was going to get away with saying stupid, meaningless words to me or my husband - and it was not an excuse that they didn't know what else to say.

Meaningless prattle can actually be quite hurtful. Really, all those well-meaning (but totally insensitive) words - and in response all you really want to do is bash the person around the head for opening their mouth in the first place.

Going ... going ... gone.

I feel that in the last three years I've spent most of my time in shock. Or suffering the after effects of shock. And they seem unending.

The Cambridge dictionary defines shock as: (the emotional or physical reaction to) a sudden, unexpected and usually unpleasant event or experience.

I think that pretty much sums up my life since 25 July 2006.

I guess everyone experiences horrible things in life, but sometimes one can prepare for these things. Like if someone gets ill, and then one finds out that the disease is terminal, the shock factor is there, but you can get a chance to prepare for it. You get to spend time with the ill person, you get to say goodbye to that person. You get to PREPARE yourself for the loss and possibly for the subsequent shock.

The problem of course with completely unexpected death is that the shock is utterly complete. There is no time to prepare at all.

When I found out that Freyja died, I was at the hospital in Melbourne, and a nurse was running a doppler over my tummy. She thought she'd found Freyja's heart beat, but I clearly heard that it was mine. "Oops" she said. Then another nurse came and did an ultra-sound. No heart beat. In the meantime I'm desperate to call my husband, but they didn't want me to. Eventually they told me that because they couldn't find a heart beat, my baby must be dead. I'd already gone into shock. I stayed in those initial stages of shock for about 4 months. I think I was somewhere in the United States before I came out of that initial shock.

It wasn't just the shock from Freyja's death … there was also the shock of not being able to say goodbye to her. Of losing my innocence. Of losing my chance to parent Freyja. Of losing my life as Freyja's (active) mum. Of losing my life pre-pregnancy - that good life I had. Of losing my career ambitions. Of losing friends. All things which happened as a result of the shock I received when I found out my precious baby had died.

When Kees died I was in bed. It was early in the morning. My husband had woken up earlier and had taken Kees out of his bed for a feed. My last memories are of being half awake, and seeing Craig and Kees sitting on a chair in the bedroom in the dark. Craig was feeding Kees his bottle. An hour later, I woke to hear Craig screaming "he's not breathing … he's not breathing". I jumped out bed, determined not to be panicked, and joined Craig and Kees downstairs. I managed to call for an ambulance. I managed to watch Craig doing CPR on Kees. I managed to open the door for the police and the paramedics. I managed for nearly 3 days whilst Kees was NICU in hospital. I managed somehow when we found out that his brain had died from lack of oxygen. I managed somehow when the doctors decided to turn of the ventilator. I managed somehow when Kees took his last breath in our arms.

The initial shock didn't last so long after Kees died. But the after shocks were much more severe and I'm still struggling with them today. I lost hope. I lost faith. I lost more relationships. My self-worth disappeared. My purpose in life vanished. My career completely collapsed. My mind and my body have failed to heal themselves this time.

Shock: (the emotional or physical reaction to) a sudden, unexpected and usually unpleasant event or experience. I wonder if I'll ever recover from the after effects of shock? I wonder if I'll ever be the confident, relaxed, self-assured woman I used to be. Or maybe she's just gone.

An "emotional" funeral

My son, Kees, was born in the Netherlands, but when he died we took him back to Australia so that he could be buried next to his sister, Freyja.

We sent out random emails and text messages to friends and family to let them know what we were doing and when and where the funeral was. I didn't keep track of who we told and who we didn't. We had too much to organise.

Kees' funeral was very different to Freyja's. When Freyja died, Craig and I decided we wanted a "family only" funeral. That caused all sorts of upsets which still haven't been resolved today (nearly 3 years later).

For Kees we just had an open invite funeral. Anyone could come. (Some people were notably absent - in particular those whose noses were out of joint because they weren't "allowed" to come to Freyja's funeral.) And of course friends and family from Europe were not at Kees' funeral.

When I arrived back in the Netherlands, after Kees' funeral, my closest friend said to me: "I heard the funeral was very emotional. I heard that the priest cried also." That's what she said. She had heard this from mutual friends in Australia who had been able to attend the funeral.

I was flabbergasted!!

Firstly, surely any funeral is emotional? Death is an awful thing, it is so final. The deceased is someone's loved one - even if you are not close to the deceased, but maybe are close to a relative of the deceased, how can you not realise the terrible emotions that are in play?

Secondly, this is my BEST FRIEND who is saying this - to me! She has seen me lose TWO CHILDREN. She has seen my life fall apart. She has seen me fall apart. What was she thinking?? (We are not friends any more.)

Thirdly, she is giving an opinion without knowing all the facts. The "priest" was in fact the local funeral director. His name is Andrew. He also organised Freyja's funeral for us. He is special - his wife also lost two babies. His two babies were both stillborn at around 20 weeks. Fortunately for him and his wife, they also have three living children. Any parent who has lost a child will understand why he also shed tears at the funeral of my son. He cried for his lost children as well as my lost children.

Is there such a thing as a funeral which is not emotional???

Does life equal love …?

It has been my experience that to most people in the world, a baby isn't a "real" baby until it's born. And it doesn't really count if the baby is stillborn. And it doesn't even really count if the baby dies very soon after it is born. And because that baby who was lost didn't really "live" and wasn't really a "baby", it couldn't really be loved. So there you go - this should comfort me - I couldn't have really loved my babies. And if I did love them, the feeling must go away pretty quickly. After all, they weren't really "babies".

I recently went to visit my cousin and his wife. We don't see them very often - maybe once every 18 months or so. They did not come to visit us when Kees was born. When Kees died, my mother and sister were with us (we live in the Netherlands and they live in Australia), so then my cousin and his wife and his kids (we didn't want them to bring their kids but they did anyway) did want to visit. At our request, they saw my mother and my sister only. Anyway, back to the recent visit. My cousin's wife asked me all sorts of questions about Kees' death. Regarding the autopsy results, regarding future pregnancies, etc. I was quite offended (why can't people mind their own business?). She also said that it must be harder for me having lost Kees than it was having lost Freyja. Because (as she said) we had to "care" for Kees -- you know, feeding him, changing him, bathing him, etc. I was completely horrified …

Do people think that during the pregnancy we all just pretend that nothing is happening? That there is no baby? That we're not about to become parents? That our lives aren't about to change in the most significant way?

At what point do we become parents anyway? Is it only if a LIVING child is born? Or is it only once you pass 20 weeks … 25 weeks … 30 weeks … when??? What happens if your child is born and it breathes and then it dies? When does the baby become YOUR CHILD???

(When Freyja was stillborn, my sister and her family were in Egypt. They came back to Australia for Freyja's funeral. They later made a claim on travel insurance for the cost of the tickets. The insurance company refused to pay because Freyja's death was "pregnancy-related". The insurance company did not see her death as the death of a person. If Freyja had been born alive, breathing, but had then died, I wonder if they could have used that argument?)

When do you start loving your child? Is it at conception? Is it at 12 weeks (when according to most of the world it's "safe" to do so)? Is it once you've had your 18/19/20 week scan? Is it at 20 weeks, when the Australian government says your baby is legally a "person"? What about if you don't live in Australia and the baby doesn't become a legal person until 24 weeks or later?

What about if your baby dies before it's born? What do you do then? What if your baby is born prematurely and then dies? What if your baby is born with medical problems and then it dies? Are we all supposed to just sigh and say "well, it was probably for the best" and "at least we can have another one", etc. etc? (People have actually said these things to me.)

When is it ok to love your baby?

Imagine how completely offended I was when my cousin's wife suggested that losing Kees must have been more awful than losing Freyja. UNBELIEVABLE.

When I lost my daughter, I lost my future as a mum to my little girl and I lost my chance to see my beautiful girl grow up. I lost a part of myself. I lost all these things when Kees died too. There was only one other thing that I also lost when Kees died. I lost hope.

Babies are unique. They are persons. They are born with all the necessary bits and pieces to be their own persons. They grow in our tummies as amazing little people - as a son or a daughter or a brother or a sister or a grandson or a granddaughter. Babies are not replaceable. They are not cats or dogs. You can't just bury them in the back yard when they die and then go to the shop or the shelter and pick out another one a month later. Yet that's what people say.

Do I love Freyja any less than I love Kees? Of course not. She is my daughter and her death does not change that. Every day for the rest of my life I will love her and wish that I could hold her and hug her and watch her grow and learn.

A cuckoo clock

My husband Craig and I were in Germany this Easter weekend. We were in the Rhine valley ... very beautiful. A gorgeous valley, a long swirling river, lots of lovely little towns and enough stunning castles to satisfy anyone.

We stopped at one of those lovely little towns, St Goar, and walked into a lovely cuckoo clock shop (try saying that a few times). We were surrounded by lots and lots of cuckoo clocks and were suddenly overwhelmed with a (previously unknown) desire to purchase one.

We couldn't decide which one to buy, so in the end I said, "Let's walk around town and we'll come back later". After a 30 minute walk, we had decided on the style of the clock and a maximum price. Back in the shop we discussed further, and eventually chose a gorgeous clock (which exceeded our maximum price by nearly 55%) and walked away very happy customers.

Even simple acts like this take on a different meaning when you've lost a child. A clock like this (hand-made and very expensive) should be passed on to your children. What happens when you've had your children and they died?

This thought had never occurred to me before I had children - then my whole life was focussed on me. Not on possible children. Also before I had (and lost) my children, there was always the possibility .... the possibility of anything really!! The possibilities were limitless. Now I don't focus on the possibilities but on the realities.

The reality is that I am 40. I have had two children. I have buried two children. My possibilities aren't limitless any more.

When Craig and I die, we may not have a son or daughter who will get our cuckoo clock.

Reintegration

That's what my employer is trying to do with me. "Reintegrate" me.

mmm .... I'm not quite sure how they're intending to do this - and if they've been trying to do it for the last year or so, it hasn't been successful so far, and I doubt that it will be successful in the future.

In the Netherlands, if an employee is "ill" (for whatever reason that employee is unable to do his/her job), then the employer is not able to sack that employee for two years. The employee is paid (a part of) his/her wages for that entire time. However, if the employee is not fully "reintegrated" at the end of that time, the employer may legally sack the employee.

So that's where I'm at. I'm working part-time (about half-time) and I'm half-way through my two year sick leave. I'm in the middle of the "reintegration" process. I can honestly say it hasn't been a success so far.

Why is it so difficult for people to believe that I am no longer the same person? If Freyja's death changed me significantly, Kees' death nearly destroyed me. I had a complete breakdown. I am in a slow recovery mode. Not surprisingly I do not function at work in the same manner as I used to, and I doubt very much that I will ever function to the same capacity again.

"Reintegration" ... sometimes I want to scream at the world ... sometimes I want to bash people's heads together ... sometimes I just wish that the people around me could walk in my shoes for a short while. Then we could talk about reintegration. Don't they realise that getting out of bed every day, having a shower, getting dressed and going to the office is a major achievement? Don't they realise that getting to sleep at night without trying to solve the world's problems by myself in my head is a HUUUUGGGEEE step. Don't they realise that only waking up 2 or 3 times per night is a good night sleep for me?

If only we could reintegrate that easily ...

An introduction - my first blog!

Mmm ... I have so many things on my mind these days that I thought a blog might be a good way to share some of them.

I'm one of those women who (until just a few years ago) lived quite a privileged life. Stable family background, good education, good professional skills, good career, stable employment history, good income, opportunities to travel and then (to top it all off) I met and fell in love with the most gorgeous man. But that's really where it ended.

Very shortly after our fairy tale beginning (as we thought at the time) we lost our baby daughter, Freyja Ione. I was 28 weeks pregnant. I was just getting comfortable with the "safety" of my pregnancy - thinking that 28 weeks was good for the baby's survival chances (after all, 90% of babies born premature at 28 weeks are fine and well). Well, not my baby. She died. For no reason. She was stillborn. One day (a Sunday) she was alive and kicking. The next day (a Monday) she was dead. Inside me. She was born on Tuesday morning just after 6.00 am. A beautiful little girl. She looked just like me - her mum. She weighed 1.4 kgs (very big for a 28 weeker). And the irony is, that had she been born alive, she would have had little ongoing (if any) medical issues. We buried her in the beautiful Adelaide hills.

Babies sometimes die for no reason you know. No-one believes this. No-one except for parents who lose a baby for no reason. Everyone thinks there MUST BE A REASON. Maybe it's just age - after all, I was 37 when Freyja was born - I must have been too old. Nope. Lots of younger women lose babies for no reason. There must be a genetic reason. Nope. Freyja was perfect. She must have been exposed to a disease or infection. Nope. Freyja was healthy. I must have had health issues. Nope, I was healthy. There must have been something with the placenta. Nope, the placenta was good. People try and try and try to find some REASON for the death. I tried to find a reason too, but I eventually accepted that there was no reason. Sometimes babies just die. The odds of stillbirth happening (a baby dying from 20 weeks pregnancy to 4 weeks after birth) is 1 in 140. You'd be surprised how many people DON'T know about this. No-one gets pregnant thinking that their baby might die ...

Fast forward about 10 months later. I'm pregnant again. With our second child. I lived in fear every single day of that pregnancy. Most people didn't understand my fear. No-one believed that we could be so unlucky twice. I was closely monitored during my pregnancy. We had an amnioscentesis to make sure that our baby was healthy. Everything was fine. I was fine, the baby was fine. On a cold snowy day in February our son Kees Henry was born.

A beautiful baby boy, who weighed 3.5 kgs (despite being born at 37 weeks). He looked like his dad. We were overcome with relief and happiness - we felt privileged to be the parents of this gorgeous baby boy. But our happiness was short-lived. Kees died when he was 7 weeks old. He died of a cold/flu virus. The virus went to his heart instead of to his lungs. When babies get a cold/flu virus it gives them the sniffles, the sneeze, they get cranky. But Kees didn't get any symptoms at all. Because the virus went to his heart. His first symptom was when his heart stopped. The doctors said that the odds of this happeneding to newborn babies were 1 in 40,000. And we were the unlucky family. Kees is buried next to his sister Freyja in the Adelaide hills.

So there we were. A very close couple, parents twice over, but with no living children.