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.