The real world

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I can't face the real world yet.

Craig and I left.

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

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

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

What a lot of shit.

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

I absolutely hate it.

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

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

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

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

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

What a load of absolute crap.

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

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

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

What a lot of shit.

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

What a lot of shit.

Eleven weeks

It's been eleven weeks.

Eleven weeks since our sweet Jet died.

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

Eleven weeks since our third child died.

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

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

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

Eleven weeks since I started the rest of my life.

Eleven weeks.

It absolutely sucks.

Someday ...

Yesterday evening Craig and I watched a program on television.

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

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

That line struck a cord with me.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

:::

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

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

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

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

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

:::

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

Honestly: I have nothing new to say.

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

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

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

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

The roof

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Coincidence? I think not.

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

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

Not one.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

FUCK. FUCK. FUCK.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Surely this can't be all there is?

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

Two months

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