Blair & Ferry

I thought that I'd try and write a happy post ... for a change.

I guess everyone thinks that I'm just unhappy all the time, given the theme of my posts.

I'm not unhappy all the time, just very sadly accepting my lot in life. And still struggling a lot to accept it. I still lie awake at night hoping that maybe I will be able to have another baby. Which is ridiculous. I'm getting fatter and older every day. Plus I don't believe in miracles.

But anyway. I wanted to write about my cats. They bring me happiness and laughter.

Like this morning. Craig got up and found a broken glass on the floor in the kitchen. He asked if I had accidentally dropped it in the middle of the night, when I got up to drink a glass of milk. Of course I didn't, but our little Ferry had obviously jumped up, knocked the glass onto the ground, and then proceeded to lick every drop of milk out of it.

Ferry likes to lie on his back. Really. He sort of drops himself onto his back, and then just lies there. He curls up his front legs so that he can lick his paws, but stretches his back legs out as far as he can. And then he just lies there for a while. It's an invitation to scratch his belly, and we usually can't resist.

There's some competitiveness between Blair and Ferry. Not much, but some. Like where the best place to sleep is. Blair has his blue (ik.ea) cushion in the living area (next to the heater), which is sacrosanct. We've only ever seen Ferry sleeping on it once. Blair also has a little sleeping place upstairs in our bedroom. It's a little shelf/basket which hangs on the radiator, so he stays nice and warm. I haven't seen Ferry on that EVER. Under our bed there are two other blue (ik.ea) cushions, because Blair likes to sleep under the bed. And now, of course, Ferry does too. So we have two blue cushions under the bed. We have two leather sofas, one of which has a furry rug thrown over the back of it. That's one of Blair's favourite sleeping spots - especially in the evening, because that's when Craig is on the sofa. Ferry hasn't shown any interest there either.

We have a bowl of dried food and a bowl of water for the cats in the kitchen. Ferry usually sits down for a major feed about three times a day. Like, he'll sit and eat for 30 minutes at a time. Blair, on the other hand, grazes. He goes over and grabs maybe one or two of the dried biscuits and nibbles on them. Usually when Ferry is having his eating sit-down. So then Ferry has to back away from the food, allowing Blair access, and then when Blair is finished, Ferry goes back to it. But sometimes Blair goes back for two or three nibbles whilst Ferry is eating. Very amusing to see Ferry have to leave his meal so that Blair can graze :-)

Ferry taught Blair how to use the cat flap in the roof terrace door. Blair was having none of it until Ferry came on the scene. Now (of course) if Ferry is out there, well then Blair has to look too. Ferry loves the roof terrace. Doesn't matter if it's raining, snowing or hailing, he'll always be out there. Actually, when we had snow, it was about a foot thick on the roof terrace. Ferry absolutely loooooved it. He would dig his way through the snow. Literally. Blair loathes snow. He doesn't even like the look of it. So he'd stick his head out, see the snow, and then retreat to a warm spot. Ferry would be out there for an hour or so. With below zero temps. What a freak.

Speaking of the roof terrace ... we have some plants up there, in pots. Everything froze over winter, except for my two olive trees. They survive just about any climate. But I wonder whether they may not survive Ferry. Ferry loves bringing olive tree leaves, or bits of olive tree twig, into the apartment. We constantly find bits of olive tree in our apartment. Then, last week, I was on the roof terrace, and I realised he'd been using our tall olive tree as a scratchy post. And it didn't look good. I don't know whether the tree will live. I've wrapped the tree with a protective layer, and am hoping that Ferry didn't completely kill it.

When we got Ferry (in November last year) he didn't really purr. He didn't know what cuddles were. He'd scratch everything (including the leather sofas and one of my very expensive handbags). He'd chew everything (including the cables from the surround-sound, my telephone charger and my lap-top charger). But he's learning manners. Blair is a fabulous teacher, being a middle-aged restful cat. The idea was that by bringing Ferry into the house, Blair would liven up a bit. Which has happened. But of course the reverse happened too. Blair is slowing taming Ferry. Ferry is slowly become a much more well-mannered cat. He doesn't feel the need to chew everything either :-)

Ferry doesn't do stairs very well. That is, he tumbles down them. And considering that we have three sets of stairs in our apartment, that's fairly significant. We can hear him coming because of the thumps on the stairs. Blair moves like a silent ghost down those stairs. Seriously. And our building is very old, and the floors between ceiling and next floor up is wood. That's it. No sound-proofing, no cement, nothing. Just wood. So when Ferry and Blair are on the floor above our living area, it sounds like there's a herd of cats charging around up there! Usually it's just Ferry, because Blair will find a comfy spot and watch ... haha!!

Oh, and Ferry was first afraid of using the litter tray in the dark. We had to leave the light on in the bathroom for about three months! He's gotten over his fear, so the light is now off.

They amuse me no end. Every day there's something funny going on. I wonder what else they'll get up to today?

Scrolling

I dislike scrolling through my blog dashboard these days.

So many women who have had babies. Living, healthy, breathing babies. Lucky, lucky them.

And unlucky me. I had three babies, and two of them were also living and breathing. But that didn't last (of course not), and they had to die. For some unknown reason.

I really, really hate reading about other people's babies and children. Whether it's on FB, on blogs, in newsletters (which misguided people send to us), or where ever.

It's like every time my nose is rubbed in the dead children which are ours, as opposed to the living children which are not.

Totally sucks. Hate it.

Anger, regrets and maybes

I've been very angry recently.

Angry that our children are dead.

Angry that the doctors do not know why they died.

Angry that if I got pregnant again, that child would probably also die.

Angry that almost all other baby-lost mums get their so-called rainbow babies, but I don't.

Angry at just about everything really.

I'm also angry that my life has gone. The life I had, it is now gone. The career I had, it is also gone. The confidence I had, gone. The abilities I had, gone. All of it, just gone. And the life I should have had, as a mother to my living children, that's gone too.

It's just shit really.

:::

I only had one requirement in life: that I not look back and have regrets. That I not regret the road not taken. That I not regret the things undone.

And I was successful.

Until my children started dying. Until then I had no regrets. I created opportunities, and chose wisely. I worked hard, and studied harder. I had no regrets.

But now. All I ever seem to be doing is regretting. My life is now filled with anger, sadness, grief, anxiety, stress and regret.

And no-one cares. Except Craig.

Isn't it funny that when you're doing well, when you're successful in life in whatever capacity, then everyone wants a part of it. They all want to take credit and share in your joy, success and glory. But when everything goes pear-shaped, well, then it's a different story. Then people just seem to melt away, disappear into the distance, maybe occasionally heard from again, but (more likely) never to be heard from again.

It sucks.

:::

I came across an article today on the net, about a girl who died as a result of something called sudden arrhythmia death syndrome (SADS). Check out this site and also this one. I read the article and thought, maybe this is what our kids had. Maybe this is somehow linked to the as yet unknown heart condition which Craig has. Our cardiologist said that if our children's deaths were heart-related deaths, then it would have been electrical problems in the heart, not muscular/physical ones. Because muscular/physical ones would have been picked up in the autopsies, whereas electrical ones can only be seen, recorded and diagnosed whilst the person is alive.

Anyway, so then I read the article, find out some facts, and think OMG maybe this is it.

I wonder if I'll be looking and searching for a reason for their deaths forever. I hope the doctors find out what it was. Maybe then I can have a little peace.

He should be three

It was Kees' birthday this week. On Tuesday 1 February. He would be three years old.

I had already anticipated that we would hear little from our families. As time has gone by, nearly five years now since we lost Freyja, then Kees, and then Jet, these dates, these important dates of their birth and/or death, seem to have less meaning for others in our families.

I've noticed over the years. At first it was phone calls, cards, drawings (from my nieces) and flowers. Then slowly that all petered out. Now if we get a phone call, we're lucky.

This year we only got one phone call.

My sister remembered and called me on Kees' birthday.

Craig's mother sent him a one-line email.

His aunt sent us an email.

A friend sent us a card. She never forgets.

My brother was conspicuous with his silence. Not conspicuous really. Consistent. He never remembers any event which doesn't directly relate to him.

My parents forgot. I rang them the next day and asked why they didn't call. Dad went into a ramble about having a BBQ to prepare for and not having turned the page from January to February on the birthday calendar. I thought that was rubbish but when my mum came on the phone, she said the same thing. And she said that as they think of Kees every day, it shouldn't matter that they were too busy to call on that day. I see it quite differently. They don't ring me every day to say they are thinking of Kees. But they should do so on his birthday. Then she started rambling on about how they suffer because I (their daughter) suffer, and how I can't know what that is like because I don't have a daughter. I hung up on them at that point.

Every single day for us is a new day full of memories of what we had and reminders of what we don't have. But it's not for them.

They may have been saddened by their lost grandchildren, or lost niece and nephew, but their lives haven't changed in any significant way. Except maybe that they have less contact with us, their daughter and son. And that's because they don't know what to say, say the wrong thing, or simply don't contact us for months on end. Craig has not heard a word from his (step)father since the day of Kees' funeral. That's nearly 3 years.

They all just get on with their lives. They don't even bother to remember that my precious son was born on that day. They have no inkling of how we struggle every day. I don't know why, but it still surprises me and hurts me that they are all so selfish.

Frittered away.

It occurs to me that I spend most of my time anticipating what the next bad thing will be in our lives. Really.

And bad things happen to us constantly. We joke that we get all the bad luck ... not that either of us believes in luck. Not that we believe in anything any more. But it's not really a joke. Too many bad things happen to us.

I think that most people believe, whether consciously or not, that if they do all the right things, if they are true to themselves and to others, if they pay all their dues, respect others, if they do all those things, then bad things won't happen to them.

I used to believe that. I don't any more.

Nevertheless, Craig and I continue to be surrounded by people who believe this. These are people who have witnessed first-hand what has happened to us, yet they still believe in the "do the right thing" mantra, because then nothing bad will happen to them.

I don't.

Every time, something bad happens. Sometimes it's really awful. Really bad. And I am so bloody sick of it.

I wonder why? Why do all these things happen? Why to us? How come other people around us have happy lives, with healthy children? Why?

:::

I'm reading a book at the moment. About a woman whose husband died, and about the year which followed his death. She wrote the book.

She said that just before her husband died, he was talking to her about his concern that they had "frittered" their lives away. That their lives didn't count. That their lives had contributed nothing.

I don't believe that their lives contributed nothing. They were both writers, they wrote words, stories, books, screenplays. Their words touched other people's lives. They brought up a daughter. Their lives meant something. But ours don't.

I am frittering away my life. I don't like my life. There are too many things in my life, and around my life, which cause me stress and anxiety. I don't enjoy my life. Sounds like a waste.

Why is it that life is given to many who do nothing with it? Why are those who deliberately do not respect either themselves, or others, the ones who get life? And why is it that those who deserve life, who would make something of it, who appreciate life, why is it they either don't get it, or have it taken from them?

:::

Tomorrow is Kees' birthday. His third.

Another year gone by. A year in which I did nothing. Really. Nothing monumental happened in that year. Another year wasted. Frittered away.

I doubt that year would have been frittered away if Kees had been here with us.

How?

I've been going a bit crazy.

In my mind.

Too much thinking.

We've had some bad news. About Craig's health. Unexpected news. Upsetting news. Health issues which will not go away or get better.

The car has needed more work done. Expensive work.

I still haven't heard from my uncles, except when they rang to say their neighbours were complaining about our car. This is the third (or fourth) time their neighbours have complained about our car, so we'll be parking our car elsewhere from now on.

I still want a child.

But I don't know how to get one.

We could get pregnant with another child, our fourth. But I'm just plain scared another child of ours would die. There's no reason it would, but there's no reason it wouldn't.

We could adopt. But I truly don't believe that we will ever be approved for adoption.

We could use a donor embryo, or take our chances with donor sperm or a donor egg. But Craig fears babies.

Yet, I still desperately want to parent a living child.

So, how?

Will I really spend the rest of my life missing my children? Regretting many, many things? And yearning for a living child?

What an absolutely miserable existence that will be. For me. For Craig.

But all I'm doing at the moment is existing. From day to day. And it's awful. It really is. I have no joy in my life. I have no hope in my life. I see no future. It seems pretty pointless really.

Except. Except, I have Craig. But when I tell him that I am sad, or that I have no hope, or that I see no future, he says that I am enough for him, and therefore he should be enough for me.

How do I explain? How can I say that it's not about him not being enough, that it's about this great big gaping hole in my life where there should be a child? How? Because he does not understand. I've tried to explain, but he does not get it.

And everyone around us, they're just getting on with their lives. They and their children and their grandchildren, they're just getting on with it. And I hate it. I hate it that they all have what I should have. What I had. What I want.

And other people have their babies. And their pregnancies. And their healthy newborns. And I can't stand it. And I'm supposed to be happy for them. But how can I be? How? When I'm so absolutely miserable myself?

I had a meeting with a doctor last week. One of the doctors who will decide whether I'm eligible for a pension. He asked if I took painkillers. And how often I took them. And whether they helped. What an idiot. And these are the people who make decisions which will irrevocably affect my life.

F*ck. My life sucks. No other way to say it.

Over-react

Does anyone else have this?

I over-react to just about everything these days. I know I'm over-reacting because in the old days (ie. before 3 dead children) I could ride just about anything out. Now I freak out at the slightest sign of something "bad".

For example, on the day after christmas, whilst our car was parked in a private hotel car park, someone crashed into it and quickly drove away.

The next morning Craig went to bring the car round, and he found the smashed up bumper and rear light. He was very angry (he also over-reacts) and came to tell me. I quickly became very anxious and upset and went to share that anger and anxiety with the hotel manager, who (obviously) denied any responsiblity. I then shared my anger and anxiety with my two uncles, who looked at me like I was a freak.

We haven't heard anything from my uncles since. Really. We haven't heard from them since we dropped them at their home on the 27th of December. I've sent them two emails, both requiring a response, but to no avail.

I know, people will say I shouldn't read anything into it. But. I know them well. Very well. Their noses are very easily put out of joint. They will think that both Craig and I over-reacted. That we behaved unreasonably. And that we were rude to the hotel manager. In addition, because the trip was a gift from them to us, they will think the way we behaved reflects poorly on them, and that we have been ungrateful.

Seriously.

No matter how many times I tell people about post traumatic stress disorder, they don't really get it. Or they don't really believe it. Because we look normal, we look ok, so we must be ok. And it's been a while now since our last baby died, so we must be getting better.

Really.

Both Craig and I respond to situations very differently now. We were both very senior in our professions and responsible for ourselves, clients/patients and junior staff.

Nowadays, we can barely be responsible for our cats!

But, how to explain that to others? How to explain to someone when we "over-react" that it's because we still suffer the effects of PTSD?

I don't think they really care. Otherwise they wouldn't respond to us the way they do.

Does anyone else have this?