Another visit to the doctor

We visited the GP this morning.

Our GP's office has a "walk-in hour" every morning where you don't need an appointment to see one of the GP's. I don't like going, because you never know who you will get. But this morning I had an ear-ache, which had been around for a few days, and as it's Friday, I thought I'd better go.

As luck would have it, we saw our old GP. You may recall a previous post I wrote about her. We haven't seen her since then. Since before Jet was born. We have seen one of her colleagues instead. But this morning, I had the bad luck to be called in by her.

She seemed quite surprised and shocked to see us (Craig was there to hold my hand, as he always is). So she pre-empted our meeting with the statement that she knows that the "one and other" has happened since our last meeting, but that she hasn't the time to go into any of that now because it's so very busy.

That. Was. It.

The "one and other" being of course the birth and death of our son Jet and the birth of her (living) child.

I responded quite calmly by saying that I had an ear-ache and I was concerned I might have an infection. And that was the only reason I was there. She seemed surprised again, but recovered nicely by getting the equipment necessary to investigate the mysterious depths of my ears.

She gave me a prescription for some antibiotics and our meeting ended.

DO. YOU. BELIEVE. IT??

All she had to do was say how sorry she was to hear about Jet's death. That's all. I don't really expect people to understand any more. Although she was our GP from June 2007 until August 2009. She looked after me before, during and after my pregnancy with Kees, and his subsequent death. She looked after me before and during my pregnancy with Jet. She saw us at least once a month for over two years. You'd think she would have some understanding. But apparently not.

I will ensure that when I go back to the GP's office in future, I shall specify that I do not want to see her.

Two years -- yesterday and tomorrow.

We've been having a strange time. With the painter in the house for the last week or so. Now it's all finished and it looks lovely. All clean and white. I'm very pleased with it.

But then ... yesterday was the day two years ago when Kees was peacefully lying on the sofa. Craig had just fed and burped him. Craig went to the toilet to pee and came back to find Kees not breathing. That was the start of the Kees nightmare.

Our beautiful boy. So big and healthy. And of course after two days in the NICU, the machines were turned off and he died. That's two years ago tomorrow.

And tomorrow we go and have lunch with my uncle because it's his birthday next week. So he's having some people over for lunch. Including us. We go to celebrate someone's birthday, someone who is approximately 70 years old, on the day when our son died. The day when he was only 7 weeks old. The irony. The sadness. It just bubbles over inside me.

Our beautiful son. Our gorgeous Kees. Our pride. Our hope for the future. So much love. So much potential.

How terribly, terribly sad.

Dis-organisation and Re-organisation

Our apartment is a mess. A complete mess.

It's being painted at the moment. Inside. All the walls and ceilings. Everything.

Try and picture about 80 square metres, over three levels, with stuff absolutely EVERWHERE. And none of it where it's supposed to be.

Because we finally got our leakage issue resolved, by having the new roof put on late last year, we can finally get everything painted. We can finally get those awful yellow stained ceilings painted. Because there should be no further leakage!! Yay!! I've been waiting over six years to get this done.

But OMG what a mess ...

:::

We're using this time of complete disorganisation as a time to reorganise some of the things in our small and crowded apartment.

A few weeks ago we bought a fabulous tent. But we have storage issues: where to put the tent? It's big - it folds down to 2 metres long. At the moment it's squashed into the (electricity & gas & water) meter cupboard, but that's not an ideal long term solution. So we decided to rent a storage box. Not a big one. Just one big enough to fit our camping items, and some other things we have in the apartment which we have no immediate need for.

And that brings me to baby stuff. We have lots of it. Like LOTS of it.

Most of it belonged to Kees. When my sister and I packed up his stuff after he died, she said I had enough for twins! And we didn't even buy most of it ourselves. We received so many gifts when Kees was born. So many clothes for a 0-3 year old. So many toys. So many things which Kees never got to use. And Jet only got to wear some of the stuff for three days. There's even a fabulous pram travel cover which I purchased via e.bay when we were in the UK for a short while. Also a baby b.jorn carrier, which was also an e.bay purchase. All these things. They represent so many dreams and hopes we had. So many memories of Freyja, Kees and Jet. Yet they're going into storage.

So at the moment there's a stack of about 5 clear plastic boxes full of baby things stacked on top of each other, waiting to be removed to the storage unit tomorrow. And that's where they'll stay for a while. Until we know what happens next in our lives.

:::

But the good things is, our apartment is being painted. The insurance company is paying for it. And by this time next week, it should all be done.

Clean white walls and clean white ceilings. I've been dreaming of this for a long time.

A New Beginning or An Unhappy Ending?

It occurred to me a few days ago that people may not want to hear about my pain, my life, my sadness.

It occurred to me that maybe noone wants to read about it any more.

Perhaps people only want to hear or read when there is hope, when there is the possibility of a happy ending. And that's not really possible for me any more.

I don't get many comments any more on this blog. Of course, it's private - and that's probably the main reason. But I'm sure there are other reasons. And the unhappy ending must be one of them.

Noone wants to read about the sadness and pain I feel every day, when they all know that there is no other baby coming to heal that sadness and pain.

People in real life don't want to talk about my babies. Or their birthdays or their angelversaries.

I spoke to my sister on the telephone a few days ago and we were talking about another lady who lost three children. My sister said (about this woman), "the poor woman". I felt like screaming, 'THAT'S ME!!!", but I didn't.

:::

I finished reading a lovely book a few days ago. Quite an achievement for me, because I find it very difficult to focus on anything or to concentrate on anything for any period longer than 10 minutes.

The book is: The Guern.sey Literary and Po.tato Peel Pie Society.

I recommend this book if you have the same problems as me regarding lack of focus or concentration. In addition, it's simply a delightful book.

Interestingly there were a couple of paragraphs in the book which I felt touched my life very aptly.

The author writes about one of the characters in her novel who survived being held in a WWII concentration camp, and how, on return to her hometown in France, others simply wanted to put everything behind them. The hardship of those war years, the terror they experienced, all of it. Yet the author noted that for the concentration camp survivor that would be impossible to do. Because she lived it. It had become part of who she was. It formed her. It made her. She couldn't pretend it didn't happen. Because it did. That applies to me and my babies too.

I've been through my own hell over the last four years and survived. But I'm different. Those four years of hell formed me. They changed me. They made me what I am. I can't pretend it didn't happen.

At another point, one of the characters gets married. She's 32 and her marriage catches her unawares. She's very excited and wanting to begin this new chapter of her life. She views it as the "beginning".

I used to think that too. I entered married life with an overwhelming excitement. I had no idea what life held for Craig and I, yet I was enormously excited about it. I was sure it could only be GREAT.

Little did I know.

:::

Craig and I are coming up to our fourth wedding anniversary this week. Four years. It seems like yesterday. Yet so much has happened. So incredibly much.

I've been pregnant three times and had three babies. I have buried three babies. A beautiful daughter and two gorgeous sons. Yet Craig and I survived.

We've travelled to so many places -- many travels came about as a result of our losses.

After Freyja died in July 2006, we went to the USA at the beginning of September 2006 and didn't return to Australia until mid-January 2007. Craig got shingles at the tail end of that trip when we were in the Netherlands, so had to fly back with full-blown shingles on his face.

After Kees died in March 2008, we went to Australia to bury him next to his sister. Then we went to France for five weeks in April/May 2008. A beautiful trip with many beautiful memories.

And then of course last year. Our beautiful Jethro, our baby who I was convinced would live. We went to Germany, Denmark, Norway and Sweden -- but only for two weeks. It was too soon after his death. I just wanted to be at home and hide under my blankets in bed.

And in between of course. Ten days in Egypt. Three weeks in Italy. A couple of weeks in the USA. A few short trips to Germany, England, Belgium and France.

We bought some land. We did that after Kees died. In 2008. I suddenly felt the need to find a place where we could eventually put down roots. A place where I had hoped to bring a living rainbow baby to -- that would have been Jet. But that wasn't to be.

We still have the land, and we're hoping to build our home there one day.

Lots of travelling and three dead babies and some land and a beautiful husband. That's four years of marriage.

:::

I received an email a few weeks ago. From an old friend. She's married with four boys.

She'd been on holidays for a number of weeks to visit her family in Perth. She came back and sent me an email saying how "blessed" they'd been.

I can't stand that.

I absolutely loathe it when people say how "blessed" they are. People even say it to me. How "blessed" I am that I have Craig. That we love each other so much. How "blessed" we were that we had our beautiful babies.

And I just want to SCREAM.

Do I really consider the birth of my beautiful babies a BLESSING???? Of course not. Of course not. I'd sooner believe that we've been cursed.

I'm supposed to believe that I'm blessed because I have a house, a loving husband. I'm supposedly blessed because others don't have that??

What are people talking about?

I HAVE THREE DEAD CHILDREN. Where's the blessing in that???

It's like people who have a sick child or spouse and who pray asking for healing. Then when they are healed, they say that "God answered their prayers" and that they have been "blessed".

But what does that mean for all those people who pray for healing, but don't get it? Did God not answer their prayers? Or was his answer "bad luck, no time for this one, it's his fate". Are they not blessed??

So I told my friend that. I told her that I never want to hear about her being "blessed" again, because it only makes me feel cursed.

I know that I'm not blessed, but there's no need to rub my nose in it.

:::

When I die, noone is going to say at my funeral that I lived a full and happy life. Noone will say that. Because I will not have lived a full and happy life. No matter what I do.

There will always be an emptiness in my life. A huge, gaping hole. A hole so big, people could fall in and disappear forever. Despite the laughter, despite the smiles, despite the love. The emptiness will never be filled.

And that emptiness will stop me from living a full and happy life. (Whatever that is ...)

Because I will never see my children grow up. I will never be able to parent them. I will never hear them laugh. Or speak. Or watch them grow. Or take them swimming. Or do any of those other things that other parents take so much for granted.

Craig and I will never even have the opportunity to become grandparents. Never.

They're more likely to say that I was a "strong" person.

That I was a "survivor".

That I was "loyal".

That I loved my husband more than anything in the entire world.

That I missed and loved my children always.