Another garden surprise

I went outside yesterday and what do you know, there's another plant that's sprung up out of nowhere in our front garden! This one's a beauty. I have no idea what it is, but if you recognise it please let me know! It has a long stalk that is all spiky, kind of like a rose, but it's definitely not a rose. It bloomed just a single, stunning flower that is the prettiest deep pink colour. It's growing right behind a massive tree in our front yard, so it really wasn't getting any sunlight or anything. Behold my new miracle plant!

I used Instagram on my iPhone to take this picture and I think it came out beautifully! I still have absolutely no idea what I'm doing or how to use it properly, so it was pure luck that I was able to get the picture onto this blog. I hope I haven't missed the Instagram boat by only just realising how awesome it is. I'm going to find an online tutorial so I can catch up!

Healing through photography

I'm a wannabe photographer, but one who has no 'eye' for light or contrast, no practical skills or knowledge of how to use a camera beyond its 'point & shoot' capabilities, no idea about how to best frame a shot, and who does not really believe that such things can be taught, but that they are rather innate talents bestowed upon some and not others. Therefore, I should stick to my thing, which is words, and leave the 'seeing' up to those who've been gifted that special sight.

Since Max was born, though, I've become increasingly aware of the role that photography can play during moments of grief. The photos taken of Max by the hospital, for example, have become the most precious thing I own. Then somehow, after leaving the confines of the hospital room where he was born, I, too, started seeing things in a different light. That is, I began to notice things I'd never noticed before. It sounds so trite, but I really have been stopping to smell the roses and to marvel at a stunning summer sunset. With Max's death seemed to come a new appreciation of the small moments that make up our lives. I know with certainty now that the vast majority of those moments are what our life is mostly composed of, and that we don't value them enough, instead always looking for bigger things or with our minds focused purely on the future. Max, among the many lessons he brought, has taught me that all we really ever have is the present; that we should savour every moment we are given.

I've been taking more photos purely because I've been seeing more beautiful things than I've ever noticed before. I would once have asked why it was necessary for anyone to pull out their camera to capture moments of still life, but that's because I honestly never before appreciated the wonder of a flower blooming or my cat stretched out belly-up in the summer sun. The photos I've been taking aren't good photos, but I'm posting them on this blog and they are helping me to document my journey as well as to better appreciate the beauty and magnificence that remains in my life, even without Max. In this sense, photo-taking has become a part of my healing.

I came across this wonderful-sounding course by a lady called Beryl Young. It's for mothers who have lost children, as she herself has, and sounds like a great way to help them start engaging with the world again. For some, I imagine the camera might provide a sort of protective lens through which they can ease themselves back into society without the fear of being so exposed. For others perhaps it's a way for them to create memories in honour of their child when they did not have the chance to do whilst they were on earth. They can document things that remind them of their baby, much like I have done and am  still doing on this blog.

I'm really tempted to sign up for the course, which begins in March. It's called Illuminate: Lighting the Path to Photographic Healing. It's good value, I think ($150), but we are really watching our budget at the moment and I want to be really sure it's something I want to do before I commit. Beryl does say on the site that she will refund the money of any participant who's not satisfied with the course, but I think I'd be too polite to ask for the refund, so instead I'll just give it some more thought! Leave me a comment if you think I should do it!

In the meantime, I've been inspired to process some of the many hundreds of photos we took on our Europe trip in March 2011, to put them in albums, annotate and decorate them so that we have something tangible to look through and celebrate. This is quite a task. I so rarely print out digital photos, and this is such a shame as they are just sitting stagnant on my computer where no one can appreciate them. I'm working on a 'best of' album for each city we visited. I've just ordered the first set of prints and am now on the look out for lovely photo albums. If you know a good place to start looking please let me know!

To give you an idea of what I'm doing, I'd like to share these slideshows I made of our time in Paris and Edinburgh. I've had a go at editing and enhancing some of the photos and despite my rudimentary skills and equipment I've done a much better job than I anticipated I think! What do you think?

Paris

Edinburgh

1 Million Kilo Challenge Update

I initially thought I was pushing my luck trying to raise $1000 for the Royal Women's Hospital's research into factors affecting preterm birth through the 1 Million Kilo Challenge. Since then, however, I've had to revise my goal three times, to $2000, then $3000, and now $4000, as the response to our story from family and friends has been so overwhelmingly generous.

Family and friends wanting to make positive changes to their own lives in honour of Max have also joined our team and pledged their own weight loss targets and exercise goals. If they too, can urge those they know to donate even a small amount each, we have the capacity to make a massive difference here for ourselves and for other people who might find themselves in our position in the future.

Because of your support, 'In Memory of Max' is the top fundraising team so far in the entire challenge! Look!

More than that, though, the fact that Max's name will be associated with something good, and that is story is known by others, is so important to me, and really soothes my heart.

Please click through to the widget on the left side of this page, or click this link to help us reach our goal. Every little bit helps, whether it's $1, $5 or $50. And please leave me a note to tell me how Max's story has inspired or touched you. It would be music to my ears.

Thank you so very much for showing your support for this very worthy cause.

Staying well

I am pretty determined to do what I can to improve my life in Max's honour. Though life is infinitely darker without him, I want him to know that although his death brought darkness, his birth brought only light, and that I will do everything possible to keep that light illuminated through all the days I have left on this earth.

To begin with the biggest, most challenging improvements first, I am working with my psychiatrist in the hope of improving my resilience to anxiety and depression - those things that sucked the joy out of my pregnancy and threaten always to return - in the future. As I mentioned in a previous post, depression is a risky state to be in when you're pregnant, and the medications used to treat it are also still so misunderstood, each carrying an often conflicting collection of risk factors that no one has yet really managed to isolate or address in any meaningful way.

When I look to the future, just beyond the grey fog that is clouding my present, I see my wish for a baby, a younger sibling for Max, float up haltingly on the face of a lonely balloon. It's not a confident wish on a strong helium balloon, but one that's perhaps been lost along the way and is now just ambling along on the breeze in the background, making itself visible only when there's a small gap in those dark, grey clouds.

If there's even a glimmer of hope that I might one day be fortunate enough to find myself pregnant with another baby, I owe it to myself, to Max, and to that little being to do my very best to enjoy, not endure, the miracle of pregnancy. In order to hope that things might be different in the future, I need to do some hard work right now. Though it remains fairly likely that I would have to continue the medication I now have so many doubts about, there are some other things that remain firmly in my control that I can alter and improve. If these alone cured my depression that would be an amazing result, but even if they lessen its impact or duration, or do absolutely nothing at all, I have nothing to lose and everything, potentially, to gain.

I've worked with psychologists for well over a decade now with the gritty, messy, emotional side of mental illness - its origins, its triggers, its impacts. I can say with some confidence that I'm a very self-aware, reflective person as a result of all of this mind work, and that I definitely live a deeper, more rewarding life because of it. Still, though, after a lifetime of therapy, my depression recurs. I've built a thousand different weapons to fight it, but sometimes the ongoing battle to stave it off is more exhausting  than the enemy itself. As strategies in a war, the avoidance and re-framing techniques I've learned through cognitive behaviour therapy don't do much to relieve the tensions. Rather, they prolong the state of war until you're so run down you have no other option than to surrender.

It's taken me a long time to come to terms with the fact that any therapy or mind work I've done has not cured my depression. It has never gone away, although it has given me relatively long periods of reprieve at times. I'm tired of the fight, and scared of the impact of its repeated negative outcome, so I'm changing tactics. I'm not going to try and eliminate the enemy but rather to accept it as an ever-present foe and get on with my life nonetheless. Looking forward, I will be working on a combination of mindfulness practice, which I am very familiar with already, and Acceptance and Commitment Therapy (or ACT) as a way to better live with the demons on deck of my ship and stop wasting my energy trying to push the bastards overboard. For those interested in ACT, Dr Russ Harris's book The Happiness Trap is a fantastic resource that explains it in layman's terms. I have read it innumerable times and always it has re-grounded me and reminded me that expecting life to be happy and free of suffering is an unrealistic fairytale.

For the first time ever, I now also have a list of practical ways I can better support and nurture my mind and body that don't involve simply talking about my feelings - not even once! This coming week is the first where I will try wholeheartedly to implement them all to the best of my ability. It is, I know, going to be a tough and tiring week. Here is a brief description of what my new 'wellness' plan entails:

• Mindfulness meditation each and every day. This practice aims to strengthen the brain's neo-cortex, the part that's responsible for reasoning, and which does not operate as effectively as it should in depressed people. Daily practice of these meditation principles teaches you to be more aware of which parts of your brain are in control and whether you should pay any attention to the stories each part will inevitably tell you throughout the day.

• Vitamin supplements. There are a couple of vitamins that have been identified as being complicit in making nerves and brains work correctly, and whose deficiency have been linked to some kinds of mental illness. These are: B Vitamins, Vitamin D and Omega 3 fatty acids. 
• B Vitamins: I have pernicious anaemia, which means that I cannot properly absorb Vitamin B12, so I'm already at a distinct disadvantage in this area. This condition is in itself associated with higher rates of depression. B complex vitamins are needed to manufacture serotonin, melatonin and dopamine - all the feel-good chemicals that are needed to regulate our moods and cycles. B vitamins are destroyed by things like refined sugars, which make up so much of our modern diets, so it's really easy to become deficient in them. 
• Vitamin D is also something that I am deficient in. You probably are too. The slip, slop, slap campaigns have been so effective that no one wants to go outside anymore, despite the fact that we know that like plants, we need sunshine to grow and thrive. Vitamin D deficiency has been linked to a variety of serious health conditions, including multiple sclerosis, as well as depression.
• Omega 3 fatty acids are essential for normal brain development and there is increasing evidence that it can improve the symptoms of depression and bipolar disorder.

• Time outdoors - at least an hour a day. This is important not just because it aids the production of Vitamin D in our bodies, but because we need daylight to set our biological rhythms. There's also the added benefit that if you're outside you're more often than not walking or being active, which brings me to my next point...

• Exercise - at least 30 minutes a day. Swimming is good as it's rather meditative in itself, but walking is good too. This, along with good nutrition, are obvious contenders as medal winners in the wellness battle. Both reduce the work your body has to do to keep you functioning. As I found out when I was pregnant and suffering for months with hyperemesis, being physically run down has a significant impact on the way you feel.

All of these, I know, sound just like common sense - things that everyone should do as a matter of course. But I've never had a reason before for making these small things count, and for measuring the changes they might bring in a real and tangible way.

This week it is my homework to figure out how I can practically incorporate each of them into my life on an ongoing basis - how I can make sure I get the exercise even when I don't feel like it; how to take time for the meditation no matter how busy I am. This is going to be the hard part, as so much is hard when you change your routine. We're creatures of habit and habits are hard to break. But they're not as hard to break as babies are to lose. I will do everything I can, no matter how small or seemingly inconsequential, to stay well for my baby Max and to show him how much he has changed my life in the most positive and meaningful of ways. 

Wisdom from Winnie the Pooh

Source: 7onashoestring.com via Janelle on Pinterest

When you're lost for words

A lovely girl I've connected with in an online support group posted a message on Facebook today that really resonated with me. She wrote that 'grief becomes a lonely journey once people start assuming you're OK'. This mother lost her baby girl only a few days before Max died so it's not surprising that we have found we are each experiencing shared feelings at similar times. I'm not complaining that people have stopped caring about me or have forgotten what happened, for I know that neither of those are true. It is true that you're left alone with your grief day in and day out though as everyone else gets on with their lives. I recognise that no relationship could survive if the only topic of conversation was my sorrow. Understandably, people want to talk about normal things, and so do I. Now two months has passed I feel it's expected that I can again participate in the everyday world - to hold conversations about the tennis with my dentist without blurting out that I had a baby who died. I tried to cancel my credit card with the Commonwealth Bank this week and the teller asked me how my summer holidays had been. I wanted to tell him, but instead I just nodded and smiled and said how lovely a break I'd had. Every time someone asks me how I am of course I say I'm OK, or I'm fine. I feel there is no other appropriate answer. But of course I'm not fine in the least, so this becomes a horrible cycle where I tell lies but don't really want anyone to believe them. I want someone to say 'I know you're not, and that's OK'. 

I came across this really amazing line of cards that I wish were available in the shops, where everyday people could see them. The ladies who designed them have both lost children themselves and obviously at times also felt abandoned to weather the world without a soul on their side. There are cards you can send to someone who's just lost a child, as you certainly won't find anything specific to that situation in the Hallmark aisle. But there are also cards that people can send for the inexhaustible range of lonely days that will continue to be hard to bear into the future - cards for due dates, for mothers or fathers day, for baby's birthday. To know, just occasionally, that your baby has definitely not been forgotten, and that people know you are still suffering even though you're back at work and laughing at funny jokes as if nothing at all untoward has passed, I think would be really, really lovely.

When you don't know what to say, or whether to say it at all, these cards are the perfect solution and no doubt would be treasured by any grieving parent who is sitting at home feeling like the whole world has forgotten them. It's inspired me to find out if there are similar greeting cards for other difficult life situations. I shall research and report back, and will most definitely tell Kate the card maker that there's a very big gap in the market ready for her to fill!

Mummy, Daddy and Max

Here is a very beautiful video, lovingly prepared by my friend Bek. It's the result of our trip to the gardens on the weekend that I mentioned in a previous post. I was sobbing my heart out within 10 seconds of it starting. It captures so much of who we are - those things I had no idea were obvious to an observer. The white rose is Max's flower, from a special plant I was given in his honour by my friends at CSIRO. It sounds weird to say this, but in looking at these images I really feel that Max was there. He's all through them, and not just in the ones where his flower or photo features. I see him in us and the way we look at each other. In capturing this Bek has given us the most precious, healing gift. I don't know how I can ever thank her or tell her how very much these photos mean.

Please share this wonderful summer Sunday afternoon with us:




Janelle,Leslie & Max from Rebekah Jewell on Vimeo.

Before

Source: Uploaded by user via Cheryl on Pinterest

Things to do when you are sad

Source: sueswink.tumblr.com via Jo on Pinterest

Passing the final test

I was in the spectacular Manchester Unity building in the city today searching out an old-fashioned goldsmith when I received a phone call from my obstetrician who had the results of my final round of pathology tests. She delivered good news - testing for a variety of blood clotting disorders that may have contributed to my preterm labour came back clear. Now I know with certainty that there is no underlying medical problem to explain why this happened. I know that have no physical abnormalities (like a weakened cervix) that can be diagnosed or treated. My baby had no known 'defects' or chromosomal abnormalities that might have caused my body to reject him. Whilst there was some evidence of a higher than normal number of white blood cells in my placenta, there was no identifiable infection or bacterial agent found to take the blame. It's looking more like those infection-fighting cells migrated to the placenta as a result of labour starting, not the other way around, leaving me with much less certainty than I thought I had a few weeks ago when I clung to evidence of an infection as a potential cause I could live with.

Instead, I've had to face the extremely painful possibility that Max's premature birth was a result of a medication I take for depression and generalised anxiety disorder. This fear has been in the back of my mind for a long time now, and though there is no way of knowing for sure if it had an impact, the possibility remains a real one. The medication I take is in Pregnancy Category C, which means that animal studies have shown adverse effects, but that there are no adequate or well-controlled studies in humans. Nine months before I got pregnant I consulted a specialist psychiatrist to get advice about what it would mean for me to have a baby given my long history of depression and the fact that I have relapsed every time I've tried to go off medication in the past. After detailed consultation, and in conjunction with my GP, she advised that it was best for me to remain on medication throughout a pregnancy despite the potential risks. I felt that this was the right decision. Whilst the medication has side effects, untreated perinatal depression is also not a risk-free state, either for mother or baby.

Ironically, both SSRI's (the type of medication I take) and untreated depression during pregnancy have been associated with an increased risk of preterm birth. In the literature scientists do have about my medication, this chance is still very slight, though. There are thousands of women who take this medication and suffer no adverse affects. My psychiatrist has 25 years experience treating women like me during their childbearing years and this has not happened to any of her other patients. If the medication was a factor, I was the unlucky winner of a very unfortunate lottery, in other words. She has reported my outcome to the manufacturers of the drug and my experience will go towards compiling the kind of statistics that I had to weigh up during that first prenatal appointment.

I saw Melanie every single week during my pregnancy. I did not have an easy time of it. Despite remaining on medication, I became extremely depressed. Hyperemesis (the severe kind of morning sickness I was plagued with) is known for contributing to depression in pregnant women, even those who don't have a history of it. It seemed that I was also particularly sensitive to the progesterone saturation pregnancy causes, which has a big impact on the part of the brain that controls mood. There were quite a few months there when I did not know how I would get through another day. I was almost hospitalised at one point, and the strain that this put on my life, my work, and my relationship was a very real one. The week Max was born was really only the first or second of the entire pregnancy that I had begun to feel like myself again. I had hope that the worst was over and that I might finally get to a point I could enjoy.

During this time, depression meant that I could not be alone for any length of time. I spent days aimlessly driving around looking for things that 'snap' me out of it. So many times I sat in my car on the side of the road simply sobbing because I did not know where to go or what to do to escape myself. My house became a horrible symbol of all I felt inside. We moved in here just after I found out I was pregnant, and all it was associated with for me was sickness and misery. I didn't feel at home in my house, and I didn't feel like I belonged anywhere else. No wonder my car felt like the only space I could tolerate. Being depressed meant that I could not go to work; that I could not do anything useful or practical. I could not pick up a book. I could not stand to watch TV. I can't count the number of hours I sat just staring at the wall. Being depressed meant me thinking that I had made a terrible mistake in getting pregnant. I was sure that I was not capable of loving my baby. I imagined looking at him when he was born as if he was nothing to me. I was numb in every possible way.

Writing this, I remember how much I was suffering during those months. Now that I'm not pregnant anymore, and I so desperately wish that I still were, I find myself unable to reflect very truthfully on what it was like. I romanticise what it was like, and in doing so I punish myself. From where I stand now it feels like it could not have been all that bad. Maybe I was making it up. Maybe I was just feeling sorry for myself and wanted attention. Surely if I really loved and wanted my baby I would have just gotten over it.

It's cruel of me to taunt myself with what I know to be impossible recriminations. In my lucid moments I know, more than anyone, that depression is a very real, very frightening, very serious illness that cannot be wished away or recovered from with sheer force of intention and will. But still I say to myself, with so much self-hate, that I should have been the exception. That I should have tried harder. That I know better, and could have done better, and shouldn't have let myself get in that dreadful state in the first place. If I was a diabetic instead of a depressive would I feel that I 'made up' or imagined my pancreatic failings? Probably not. Why it's then so hard to believe in the very real failings of my brain I don't know. If someone could show me on an x-ray exactly where my neurons were misfiring and where my brain's chemical markers were going awry perhaps I'd give myself a break. Until then, I'm plagued by a misconception that instead feels like a truth - that depression is a choice, and that in choosing it I was also responsible for my baby's death.

I don't know how to live with this uncertainty, with this guilt. I trust, implicitly, the advice of my psychiatrist and all those she consulted about my case. I trust her research and her skills and her experience, but no matter how much she tried to assuage my feelings I cannot seem to find that same sense of reassurance in myself and my own actions.

This is something that is not going to go away. If we try again to have a baby I'm going to be faced with this exact same situation and the exact same set of 'choices' that aren't really choices but instead a never-ending mathematical weighing up of risk against risk. It's enough to make you go mad if you weren't already.

Today I just feel so sorry. I feel sorry that no one can give me any better answers or more certainty. I feel sorry for everyone around me who helplessly watches me fade away into a place that distorts my thoughts and feelings and leaves them with only a shadow of the person they know and love. I feel sorry that something in me is broken and so sorry that I do not have the power to fix it. I am sorry to my little boy for any part I may have played in his demise and I absolutely beg for his forgiveness. I love him and I long for him. I long for him so very much.

A special summer afternoon

Today was a very special afternoon spent in joyful appreciation of the people I love most in the world. Leslie, Anika, Sasha and I went to the serene Hedgeley Dene Gardens in Malvern East where we were met by my friend Bek.

Bek is an incredibly talented photographer, as well as being one of the most honest, accepting and down to earth people that you could ever hope to meet. Kate first introduced me to Bek over two years ago. They'd known each other from dark days spent working in the financial sector many moons ago. I'm proud to say that I knew her before she became the well-known professional portrait photographer that she is now. Anika, baby Sasha and I were at Kate's birthday just after Sasha was born, and Bek was snapping away with her camera throughout the afternoon, blending into the action so much that we didn't really notice what she was doing at the time. A few weeks later, she casually sent us some of the pictures she took that day and from the first glance we were all in complete and absolute awe of the precious, emotive, evocative moments she had 'casually' captured that day.

Baby Sasha and her adoring mummy 

Aunty Janelle in awe of her new god-daughter

What was this woman doing working part time in a pharmacy? If she had the eye to capture such beautiful images, and the heart to sense such special moments, it seemed absurd that she did not call herself a photographer. We felt like we stumbled across some invaluable untapped resource - someone who thought herself a lump of coal when in fact she was a sparkling diamond.

Soon afterwards, as word spread, Bek set up her photography business and has not looked back - she is in demand all over Melbourne and is not only spending her days doing what she loves, but is helping people to create special memories of their lives and loved ones - a very special job indeed.

Bek has created some truly unforgettable moments for me - especially those that capture my love and adoration for little Sasha, like this one, taken on her first birthday.

Today was no exception. With Anika and Sasha visiting Melbourne I wanted nothing more than to hold them close and create some happy memories I could treasure in their absence. I was so proud just sitting back and admiring the bright little person my Sasha has become. She delights in being outdoors in the sun and her little legs gave me a real run for my money as we hopped like rabbits around the park. It was also beautiful to see the special relationship that she and Anika share, which I have noticed more and more each time I've seen them. I've never seen a mother and daughter so delighted as when they are in each other's company - their shared language, their imaginative games, their secret world. Their utter adoration for each other is plain to see and I feel privileged to be able to share in even the smallest part of it. I treasure the moments I have spent witnessing this special bond, but today, especially, I found it painful. I realised how much I have longed for that very kind of connection, how close I came to experiencing it with my own child, and how quickly and cruelly it was all snatched away. I feel further away than ever from that dream. I grieve already for the thought that it may never be mine.

Though I may have cried for what I felt was missing, Bek did an amazing job of making sure that my little boy was not absent from these pictures of my life. Leslie and I took a cutting from the rose plant we are growing in Max's honour, as well as a few of his little toys and photos, and we included them in our family photos. Though I wanted them to be proud, celebratory photos, I think that they will have more than a hint of sadness to them. I should have been having a pregnancy photo shoot right now, not using cut flowers and fluffy toys to fill the gap in the photos where my baby should be. I hope that they do capture the mixed feelings I experienced today because sadness will from now on always be a part of my joy; they are irrevocably intertwined. That bittersweet mix is my new reality, and I need to see this and accept it as part of the gift package of new feelings Max brought to me.

I can't wait to see the photos, and I'll be buying albums and frames this week in anticipation of how truly amazing they will be.

Thank you from the depths of my heart, Bek, for sharing your amazing gift with us. It means the world to me.

Sleep hygiene, *yawn*...

Needless to say, when your brain is filled with questions it can't find answers to, it often keeps you awake at night. Whilst I'm a worrier, I can't remember a time where I've suffered actual, clinical insomnia as a result of those worries. Sleep disturbances are pretty common amongst people who suffer depression, but mine have usually been on the opposite end of the spectrum. When I'm depressed I tend to sleep all the time. This summer, though, I have been unable to go to sleep at night. The result is not just that I'm tired and over-sensitive but that I'm spending a lot of time alone on the couch late at night or in the early hours of the morning doing things that are not so good for me, like searching for pregnancy disaster stories on the internet. I've come to discover that the whole internet, in fact, should be turned off after 10pm as nothing you read or see on there is likely to aid sleep or induce restful feelings. You're much better off reading a book, which I guess I've always known, but just haven't seemed to have the motivation for lately.

My psychiatrist, smart, reasonable person that she is, has given me a crash course in what the professionals call 'sleep hygiene'. I would give you an official definition of the term, except that Wikipedia is down today! Actually, it's pretty simple, common sense stuff - eliminate all of the habits/factors that might interfere with sleep, and develop routines that are likely to encourage it. I didn't really need to pay $180 to learn these techniques, as I'm pretty sure I already knew a lot of them. But I did need someone in a position of knowledge or authority to assure me that they were worth the initial bout of discomfort they cause. And, I guess, I am pretty desperate, so open to suggestions that I might otherwise dismiss as too hard!

Whilst I would like to discount most common sense strategies in life as being a load of bollocks (eg. if you eat healthier you will feel better), I actually know most of them to be true, sigh. Therefore, of course I have slept much better since I have actually given these strategies a go. Who would have thought? I only started this week, on Sunday, but already I have had a much better week of feeling more rested and less anxious and distressed just by doing the following things:

• Not napping during the day. I have always been an excellent napper, and there's nothing I like better than taking to the bed or couch about 2pm for some shut eye. Having to give this up is definitely the hardest aspect for me, particularly as I'm not working at the moment and have lots of available time to enjoy napping. I have not had a nap all week, and at times I have really struggled during the day with an almost physical compulsion to lay my head down. The fact that I have to get more tired than I already am in order to get less tired in the future seems a cruel strategy. But, whether it is this aspect on its own, or in combination with others, I have felt more 'ready' for bed at night as a result. It sounds stupid, but I don't think I ever realised before that you have to be genuinely tired at night before you can expect yourself to fall asleep; that the simple act of going to bed and expecting it to come is not enough.

• Set the alarm and get up at the same time everyday regardless of how much you slept. That last bit is the killer. I'm happy to get up at 7am everyday if I've had a decent night's sleep, but that's not what has been happening. By the time I've been getting to sleep it's often 2am or later, and therefore I've been sleeping in to try and get a decent amount of sleep. This, apparently, is not the way! This is also an extremely hard thing to do, and I'm still only in the 'trying' phase, not the more definite 'doing' phase. It doesn't feel fair to have to wake up at 7am after you've barely slept, especially when you have no practical reason to do so (such as work). Though I haven't been as strict as setting an alarm yet (one new strategy at a time!) I have gotten out of bed before 8am every day this week. This is something I will keep working on!

• If unable to go to sleep within 20 minutes at night, get up. This was also a mistake I'd been making. In an attempt to bully my body into sleeping, I'd stay in bed tossing and turning for hours. I wasn't going to get up as this would be 'permitting' my body to stay awake and rewarding it for its sleeplessness! Error in my framing of this experience, apparently! Staying in bed and expecting sleep to suddenly descend upon you is counter productive as you get more angry, emotional, anxious etc, all of which are feelings that ramp you up instead of turning you down. You're supposed to do a quiet activity that does not involve computers or TV. For me, this is normally reading, but lately it has also involved knitting and cross stitch as I've been getting a bit crafty. Often it might take another 60-90 minutes before you're tired again, which I've discovered from learning more about sleep cycles, but this is OK. You've got to catch the wave, so to speak.

• Have a little snack before bed, but not a banana! I often have a banana before bed. Not sure why, just habit! Apparently there is a chemical in bananas (I forget which) which affects serotonin levels, and as I take a medication that also affects my serotonin levels, this combination could be effectively boosting them before bed, and giving me an 'up' instead of a 'down'. At least, I think this is the way she explained it. Anyway, the gist is, don't eat the banana, but maybe try a biscuit!

• No caffeine after 4 or 5pm. Egad! Torture! Of course, I could have figured this one out by myself. It's not a good idea to take a cup of tea to bed with you, as I so often do because I am a self-punishing sadist who wants to feel miserable from lack of sleep! I've switched to decaf tea at night, or no tea at all. *sniff sniff*

• Sleep rituals. Develop some routines that remind your body that it is time to sleep. For me, the things that work are a warm shower at night and reading for a little while. This is something I am also working on. Another thing I think will help, but which I haven't implemented yet, is preparing for the next day before I go to bed (get clothes out, write things to do etc) so that I don't go to bed worrying about them.

• Daylight. Did you know your body actually needs to be exposed to sunlight in order to set its internal clocks? Neither did I! That thought had never crossed my mind, and I do spend an awful lot of time indoors, as my low Vitamin D levels will attest. Apparently, I need to spend at least an hour outside everyday, which will actually be hard for me to be honest! I have enjoyed my attempts at sunshine this week, though, even if it has just been sitting on the front porch and relaxing.

• Exercise. This is another one that makes perfect sense, yet which I don't like to think is actually true! It also ties in with the daylight thing. So, about the best thing I can do is to go for a walk or bike ride outside during the day, and I'll be able to kill two birds with one stone. Today Leslie is working from home and we went for a 45 minute walk and covered 4km, including lots of hills! I do feel pretty tired now - if only it were bed time!

Anyway, I'm sure there are lots of other things I am yet to learn, but implementing some of these has actually worked this week. I've also been prescribed Ativan, for when the sleep situation becomes desperate, and I've only had to take it once this week. It was pretty damn nice, too, so no wonder it gets a good price on the black market! 

A burst of positivity

It's amazing what a difference two full nights sleep can bring. I am feeling positive and energised this morning, which is a feeling so rare lately as to be almost unrecognisable to me when I awoke with it this morning. I was up at 6.30am to take Leslie to his counselling appointment and there was a lovely fresh breeze and little traffic - a wonderful combination when travelling back and forth along Punt Road with the windows down.

It's strange that this mood should strike me today as it's been a fairly shitty few days. Leslie has not been well - he's been extremely stressed and sad, moreso than I've ever seen him. He's been off work for a couple of days in attempt to recuperate and take care of himself, as advised by his doctor. To add salt to his wounds, however, yesterday he was made redundant from his job. OVER THE PHONE! Can you believe his employers could partake in such unforgivable acts of bastardry? We knew that the redundancy was likely, as we'd put two and two together over the last couple of months, so it wasn't entirely a shock. But to discover they could not even wait until he returned to work today to sack him in person really floored me. I don't even know how any reasonable Human Resources department would permit such an action. Not only was he not at work, he was home sick. Despicable human beings. But what else can you expect from a bank, I suppose, despite how much they advertise themselves as having fantastic conditions for their staff. I have composed numerous nasty tirades in my head and imagined myself marching down there with a team from A Current Affair, but when they've got so much power there's nothing that can damage their reputation, really.

The weekend's events and feelings have reminded us of something we were told by the home-visiting midwife the day after I was discharged from hospital - that the life we'd just embarked on would become like a see-saw for a very long time. She warned us that there'd be times when one of us finally had some moments of lucidity and lightness, but that they would likely come exactly when they were least welcome; usually when the other person was feeling at their lowest. This is very true of the experience we've had this week, and it is really hard. We both look forward to the day when we feel 'even', instead of pulling in two different emotional directions. But we know there will be a lot of days between now and then, and we have to find a way to give each other space and permission to feel whatever it is we feel - even when those feelings might differ dramatically between us.

One thing that is helping me feel better is this blog. I've found it extremely cathartic to have a space to just expunge all of my emotional gunk. As it's only being read by close family and friends at this stage, I don't have to worry about censoring myself or worrying what people will think as I know that those people, even if they disagree with what I say, will be able to appreciate where I might be coming from, and how the experiences I've had might have led me there.

I never thought I'd say this, but I'm also getting an immense amount of peace from gardening. I know, someone call the authorities because I must have been abducted by aliens! I'm not sure whether it's because I've never really had a garden of my own before so I'm delighting in the ownership, or whether little Max has provided me with a new curiosity about organic things and how they live and grow. I suspect it's a little bit of both, coupled with the fact that I now have two very special plants to look after that remind me of Max. Bunnings is becoming my favourite haunt - I've been there multiple times over the last few days! Today's trip was to buy potting mix for my new 'Mothers Love' rose. Leslie's dad has given us an amazing big pot that he bought many years ago in Malaysia, which will be its new home when we plant it tonight. I'm hungry for plant knowledge at the moment, but I don't exactly know where to find it. Gardening seems like one of those things that comes innately to people, so the very fact that I have to 'learn' it might mean that I'm probably not going to be any good. But I'm going to give it my very best shot, in the hope that you can teach an old dog new tricks after all!

As I mentioned earlier, getting some sleep has also made a big difference over the last couple of nights. In conjunction with my psychiatrist, I have developed some new 'sleep hygiene' strategies. They are painful at the moment, but I'm trusting that they will pay off in the longer term. I'll write another post specifically about them later on, but I've managed two nights of at least 6 hours sleep by making just a few small changes to my routine.

I also got a job yesterday, doing some research assistant work for my PhD supervisor and another professor who has received a gigantic ARC grant. It's only short term, but will give me something that feels worthwhile to do, whilst maybe putting me in a position to do more of the same in the near future.

It must also help that my poppets are arriving today! Anika and Sasha will be in Melbourne until next Friday, which is a super-exciting amount of time to spend with them, and I just can't wait.

A Garden Surprise

When we moved into this house back in July last year it had been freshly renovated. The front of the house had been rendered and the front yard landscaped with very modern styling: neat edges, and non-descript grasses obviously making the place look more 'sellable'. I've never really had a garden before, having lived almost my entire adult life in small flats. But if I were going to have a garden I'd choose a much more traditional one, with lovely hedges and old English flowers. We've toyed with the idea of pulling out the horrible plants we don't like (of which there are many) but we haven't gotten around to it yet as it seems like quite a task when we know so little about gardening. But we were treated to an unexpected surprise in the garden without even having to lift a finger when a beautiful, blooming, pink rose bush arose from the dirt in between two of these horrid grass plants, as if out of nowhere!

We were thinking 'hmm...that definitely wasn't there before!' and it wasn't - at least not since we've been here. But if you look carefully at this image on Google Earth, which is a picture of our house before it was renovated, you'll see that the rose bush did indeed belong there along the front fence!

Obviously the owner cut it all down and attempted to get rid of it, but this rose bush is hardy and survived! We had done nothing to tend to that area of the garden bed - we hadn't watered it or anything, so this is really amazing!

I was really excited about this. It is such a lovely thought to think about it coming back to life from beneath the ground, and I felt it poignant somehow that it has bloomed during what have been the darkest hours of our lives. Happy pink rose plant, we will take better care of you now and hope you continue to grow and kill all of the horrible 'fashionable' plants next to you!

More flowers for Max

Dear Max,

Today I received a surprise visit from a lovely lady called Meg who I became friends with when I worked at CSIRO, long before you were born. She is expecting a little baby of her own on Australia Day and felt very sad that you were not able to stay here with your mummy in the same way that her baby could stay with her. Together with some other people I shared many fun lunch breaks with (their names are Geoff, Marina, Brooke, Bec, Liz and Pauline) Meg gave me a very special rose plant that will grow and bloom every November to remind me of the important job I had as your mummy. The plant is called a 'Mothers Love' rose, and it is so very beautiful, with the most delicate white blooms. I am very excited about getting a big pot to grow it in. I should probably put it in the ground instead, but for some reason I can never get my head around the fact that Daddy and I own this house and can do such permanent things as plant gardens. I always think everything has to be temporary! Anyway, wherever we grow it, we grow it in memory of you.

Here are some pictures:

'Mothers Love'

What an exquisite flower!

I'll think of you when I water it every day, my little one.

Love mummy xox

Classes are for amateurs!

Dear Max,

Today Daddy and I were booked to attend our antenatal classes, where we were supposed to learn about labour and the process of bringing a baby into the world and beginning to care for it. I got a little bit upset about it today. It was another reminder that this should have been an exciting milestone that meant the day of your birth was getting closer. But then I realised that it was really no more upsetting than any other day without you. It's just that the date had been burned into my mind as something we could not forget, and so I naturally built it up as a significant event.

But then I remembered that I really never wanted to go to the dumb classes in the first place and I felt a bit better. When we booked in I was really only humouring Daddy who thought it was very important to learn all the 'facts'. He's like that. It's infuriating sometimes when you'd rather just jump in and do things your own way, but its a trait that has its benefits at times. For example, we will never buy the wrong electrical appliance because Daddy will have tracked down all the specifications and reviews before ever making a decision! Sigh.

I was very determined, in contrast, not to learn too much information. Mummy has a terribly good imagination and already had a million mental pictures of how barbaric it was going to be without watching excruciating videos of other people experiencing it. I also was not keen on chit-chatting with the other pregnant folk. I never did feel the need to share the experience of pregnancy with strangers, albeit ones who were in the same boat. It's for the same reason that I never got into any of that online mothers forums that one of my friends did.

As it turns out, I was right. I didn't need the bullshit classes. I just didn't need them for different reasons than I originally thought. On the day you were born there wasn't much time to learn about what labour was like as I was already in the grips of experiencing it first hand without even realising it. Despite the shock of being in preterm labour, and having to deal with so many questions of life and death that we had not expected, I don't feel at all like I was ill-prepared for your birth. I'm usually a little low on the self esteem monitor, but I really think that I did a beautiful job of bringing you into the world and I can't see how any 'facts' I could have learned would have helped or made the experience any easier.

In fact, I'd go as far to say that I was a natural at the whole giving birth thing. I know I was very brave and I didn't cry and I didn't scream like you see on the TV. I did yell out 'fuck' at one point, and probably a few other times, but I think that's as bad as it got. Your birth was the calmest birth I could imagine, and I did not need to spend $500 to learn how to 're-frame' the labour experience in so-called 'calm-birth' classes to achieve this. Yes, I am proud of what I achieved in that room, and I hope you are proud of Mummy facing some very great fears that day.

I had a lovely midwife who sat with me explaining all the things that were happening to me as they happened. Do you remember this lady who first held you? Her name was Tamara and I think she loved you as soon as she saw your tiny face. I was quite glad to just be told a few minutes in advance what was going to happen next. This way I had no fear and no pre-conceived notions about what should be happening or how it should be. That was all the information I could take in or process at the time, so it would have done me no good whatsoever to try to recall 'facts' I should have learned in class!

I think the classes are really just to help women feel like they have some control over their bodies and their experience in labour, but I have learned the hard way that this is really not possible, no matter how many courses you undertake, books you read, or birth plans you make. Your body will do what your body will do, in spite of you and your plans for it. And how silly are we women to think it could be any other way? We have been doing this without wanky classes or birthing music playlists for thousands of years!

Today I do dearly wish that I could have experienced a few of the exciting pregnancy milestones before you came. I had not yet decorated your room. I did not get to have a baby shower and get doted on by everyone who was so excited about your birth. I did not get to pack a hospital bag. All these things seem so small, yet not being able to do them has affected me profoundly. I grieve for all those lost opportunities of happiness, as well as for you, my darling. I would trade any of those things to have just a single minute more with you, though. And when I think of you I know that none of them matter.

I love you today and always.

Love Mummy xox

1 Million Kilo Challenge

As you can see from the clever widget I've put there on the left-hand side of the page, I am participating in Channel 10's 1 Million Kilo Challenge. I don't watch Channel 10 and nor do I have 1 million kilos to lose, but when I heard you could participate in it whilst raising funds for charity it struck me as something tangible I could do to honour Max. There's no way I'd survive a marathon run in his name. I watched Leslie come over the finish line in a half marathon and his nipples were bleeding, which scarred me forever. I also would not be any good at climbing a mountain or trekking through a jungle in order to raise money. I would not have the appropriate footwear, I whinge wholeheartedly upon receiving a single mosquito bite, and some poor bastard would get stuck carrying my bag as I collapsed under its weight.

Something I do know how to do, though, is count calories. I am the queen of imaginative diets. Ask Anika about my yet-to-be-patented 'Furry Friend' diet in which I ate only Furry Friends for about 3 months, yet still managed to lose a few kilos. Anika is about the only other fan of my creative eating ideas, having had quite a few herself over the years. She also saw me through the Sustagen diet - you guessed it, where you drink only Sustagen for as long as you can put up with it. And Kate has witnessed, though never condoned, the diet shake revolution. I've also been to Weight Watchers and done Lite n Easy, which was easy, but not tasty. Hence that did not last long. Weight Watchers was also short lived because everyone hated me there and I did not like the idea that you had to keep your shoes on when you weighed in. How have they got away with bypassing the most important rule of weight watching, which is to get rid of every conceivable weight-bearing item before you step on the scales?!

I know all of this sounds obscenely stupid as I am quite a slim person. But I'm a slim person trapped inside a fat person's mind. Some people label this kind of paradox as a 'syndrome' or a 'disorder' but I'm not as pathological about it as all that. I think I loathe myself just the usual amount, not a 'clinically significant' amount, so there's no need to worry.

Anyway, this is all just an aside. What is important is that losing weight and making myself healthier and stronger through exercise is something that I can commit to do for my son. I hope that this experience will help me to learn to appreciate my body more for the amazing things it is capable of; for everything it did to help Max grow big and strong. Despite how sick I was during my pregnancy, Max was in close to the 90th percentile for his gestation which means I must have been doing something right! I have also been very angry at my body, though, for failing him. I think it will take a long time for me to shake this feeling, and to trust my body again, but I want to try.

The other important side of this challenge is the opportunity to raise funds for charity. I did not hesitate to choose the Royal Women's Hospital as the recipient of my fundraising efforts as everyday I am reminded of the constant care, compassion and treatment Max and I were both given during our time there. We could not have been in better hands, medically speaking, and the staff who cared for us, both midwives and doctors, were also amazing people who I felt fortunate to meet.

My obstetrician, Dr Fiona Cullinane, set up the Preterm Labour Clinic at The Women's, and it is through this clinic that I would be managed for any future pregnancies. They have had wonderful successes in treating women with histories like mine and all in all, most women who are patients there will eventually get to take home a little baby to love and care for. Whilst it is promising that there are more and more treatment options, there is still so much that is not understood about what causes women to go into preterm labour and how they can prevent it. Researchers at the hospital are undertaking a number of projects whose findings will benefit me, and other women like me, in the future. You can read about those projects here.

I would be so grateful if you could sponsor me, no matter how tiny the amount, to help researchers turn these studies into tangible outcomes. I am already overwhelmed by the support I have received, and the number of people who have joined my team to achieve their own personal goals whilst helping out this cause. Max has touched so many people's lives and I am so happy to be able to do something good in his name. I hope he would be proud of his mummy and daddy. I am pledging to lose 5kg and Leslie is pledging 8kg. Wish us luck and send any helpful tips and tricks our way!

And most importantly, click on that widget at the top of the page and donate some money!

Thank you all!

Pregnant women ARE smug

Because this is my blog and I'm allowed to say whatever I want, whether it's offensive or not, I'm just going to say this: pregnant women are smug. Everyone knows it. But nobody says it. Because they are pregnant.

Yes, it's absolutely jealousy.

Yes, if you're currently pregnant, I want to gouge your eyes out.

If you believe in 'nature taking its course' and refused to have any ultrasounds or medical care during your pregnancy and you've still ended up with a healthy baby, I especially hate you.

If you're so confident that nothing could possibly go wrong that you're happy to risk your baby's life in a home birth so you can have your 'ideal' birth experience, I want to hit you across the head with an ear trumpet and yell into it at the top of my voice 'DON'T YOU KNOW THAT BABIES DIE!'.

Of course, only a short time ago I was a smug pregnant woman too, and if it makes you feel any better I hate myself for that too. I, too, was stupidly naive about the tragedies that could befall me. I was blissfully unaware that there was a series of events going on inside me that would lead to my baby's premature birth and therefore death. I didn't even know that it was possible. I complained about being pregnant with the best of them. In fact, as anyone who knows me would attest, I pretty much hated it from Week 6 onwards. I was hospitalised with hyperemesis and I suffered severe antenatal depression that often ended with me sobbing to my heartbroken partner that I just wanted to die. I didn't like putting on weight and couldn't bare to look at my expanding tummy at times. The list goes on.

I don't believe that these things make me a horrible human being. I think they make me normal. But I also think that admitting them makes me an unusually honest person. To hell with the bitches who gloat that their pregnancy was an amazing experience, that they 'just love' being pregnant, that 'my body's just made for it'. If such things are true then you're pretty fucking lucky and should just shut up about your good fortune. And if you're bluffing because you're afraid to admit that what the mummy bloggers or nipple nazis might say about you then you're just a fool.

Why can't we all just be real?

Pregnancy and baby-making is an inexact science. Fuck ups abound, it's just that until now you haven't had to know about them. Loving your baby and 'doing the right thing' in your pregnancy offers you no immunity to nature's fuck ups. Likewise, some women can mess up their bodies in the most unimaginable ways and go on to have completely healthy babies. Love pregnancy or hate it, you've got no control over how and when the ride stops.

This post started because I just wanted to post a link to a funny video my friend Kate sent me when I first got pregnant. It has ended with an angry tirade against strangers who don't deserve it. You've just spent five minutes in my head. Imagine what it is like to feel this angry ALL OF THE TIME. I'm only days away from the kind of meltdown that Annie had at Lillian's bridal shower in Bridesmaids. Wish I could post that clip but I can't find it on YouTube which makes me even more pissed off.

Thanks for listening, and hey, please enjoy the funny video that started all this.

No sleep is normal. Sigh.

I saw my GP this morning for a check up. I told her I haven't been sleeping. She told me I had every reason not to be able to sleep and that sleeplessness is a normal part of the grieving process. I know that is probably true, but I'm not sure how to handle the practical problem of being perpetually awake while I wait for this symptom to pass. For one, being over tired and feeling under the weather makes me even more sensitive than usual so I can't tell how I'm actually feeling - upset or tired, depressed or tired etc. Then again, the daytime feeling of tiredness is much more preferable than the night time feeling of sleeplessness. It's so lonely at 1 or 2am. Even Peppy is fast asleep during those witching hours. Our house is too small for me to be watching TV without keeping Leslie awake. Nothing seems worth reading when I'm sitting in the dark and can only think about death and the pointlessness of everyone's existence.

I showed my doctor the results of all of the tests that were done in hospital and she agreed that they were somewhat inconclusive on whether the apparent infection they found in fact caused me to go into preterm labour, or whether I went into preterm labour and as a result acquired a bacterial infection. It's the old chicken vs egg scenario, and there's no way of getting any conclusive evidence either way. She said that it might put my mind at rest to be tested for evidence of any remaining bacteria or infection so I consented to  what I guess what a pap smear where they would look for evidence of pretty much anything - chlamydia and bacterial vaginosis, particularly, which are very common. She's pretty sure it'll all come back negative, but at least I will then know for sure that I've got a clean slate, so to speak! The good news is that my uterus is looking in good shape and has gone back to where it belongs.

I'll bring up the sleeping thing again tomorrow with yet another of my health professionals, my friendly neighbourhood psychiatrist. I'm sure she has many more solutions to knock me out!

On another note, I can't believe that it is Thursday again. Thursdays feel very poignant for me because that is the day that my pregnancy ticked over to the next week of gestation. It's also the day of the week that Max was born. As each Thursday passes I can't help but think of what week of pregnancy I would be up to now if this accursed nightmare had not occurred. I think this week would be Week 30 - the homeward stretch. If Max had been born at 30 weeks the outcome would most likely have been very good. I would not have got to take him home straight away, but he would have come eventually. I keep wondering what it feels like to be 30 weeks pregnant. Would I have heartburn? Braxton hicks contractions? A waddle when I walked? How much bigger would my tummy have been? It is so weird to have had the experience of giving birth to a baby but having missed out on so much of what usually comes before.

As each Thursday passes I'm shocked by how quickly the time is passing, even though each individual day often feels like a marathon to get through. Time has lost all sense of meaning for me and I wonder how I'll manage over the next few weeks when I have to get back into work and other worldly responsibilities.

Spiritual belief 'helps grieving process'

Spiritual belief 'helps grieving process'

Researchers have found that a strong spiritual belief can help people cope better with bereavement, according to an study published in the British Medical Journal. For once in my life I can understand how this might be true. Since Max died I have longed for the comfort that a set of predetermined questions about life and death might give me, if only I subscribed to them.

Over the last 7 weeks I have had to face many well-meaning comments from friends and acquaintances about Max being with God or the angels. 

He was too perfect for life on earth. 

In God's hands we trust. 

God wanted another angel.  

God will bring you light out of the dark.

You have a guardian angel watching over you now.

God needed him more.

I even had one where God featured as some sort of master gardener using my son as an an extra pair of hands to help tend the heavenly flowers.  

As someone who grew up a Catholic I’m in the confusing situation of having had a set of core beliefs in God and heaven forced upon me at school (see, I still can’t write His name without a capital letter for fear I’m offending Him), having defiantly renounced them upon reaching adulthood, but now sometimes wishing that I had a little bit of that peace belief in God gave me when I was a child. 

I had a prayer that I used to say every night before I went to sleep that is so ingrained in my long-term memory that I still remember the exact words. It went 'God keep me, my family, and the whole world safe tonight. Amen'. I was quite obsessive about it. If I forgot to say it I feared it would mean something would happen to my mother or grandmother (then, my only close family). Catholicism had made me superstitious as well as eternally guilty.

If only it were that easy. I assumed God was listening to my prayers because nothing bad ever did happen to my mother and grandmother. They are still here with me today. I wasn't then confused about why he answered my prayers and not those of equally pious little girls in other, less fortunate, countries.  I didn't then know that the God I loved so much would consider me a sinner for the choices in lifestyle I would later make. I had no reason to doubt his infinite wisdom and grace. 

For me, these beliefs are linked strongly with childhood. Therefore I find it weird that others have not outgrown the magic of heaven as they did with Santa Claus or the Easter Bunny. I've got intelligent, mature, grown men and women telling me my baby is sleeping peacefully in the clouds or flapping his wings overhead, or kissing me with snowdrops. It's so, so lovely to think that these things might be true. But it's lovely in the same sense that its lovely to think about alternate worlds at the top of the Faraway Tree, or in Narnia, or in Oz. I enjoy the fantasy. I can suspend disbelief for a little while. But eventually I'm back firmly on Earth with lessons learned during an expensive tertiary education assuring me those worlds were just a dream - fiction or fantasy.

I'd be so comforted if I thought my child was in the arms of angels in heaven. If he was being cuddled by fairy folk or on a fairy-floss merry-go-round in a land of treats or enchantments. But how can I believe these things when in reality what's left of him is in a cardboard box in my living room? When I know for a fact that God could not have needed a child more than his mother? When the shittiest of things keep happening to the most undeserved of people? If God giveth and then taketh away then he's just a dirty indian giver, and in some playgrounds that's an unforgivable trespass.

I'm very aware that in this state of vulnerability and questioning I am announcing myself as a hapless bunny rabbit in a steel trap for God's chosen to pounce upon. The Jehovahs would be wanting to come right on inside and sit down, thinking 'this one's ripe for the picking!' Perhaps these 'vulnerable' times are powerful for conversion because the bereaved's reality has already been suspended and their understanding of the world turned upside down. I'm not saying that the otherwise lovely people who've tried to give me comfort through God have intended to brainwash me. I understand that their intention is to comfort and express love and I am really grateful for that. But saying 'I'm so sorry for your loss' or 'I'm thinking of you' are equally powerful ways to express your sympathy or affection. I would not, in a similar situation, choose to express my beliefs as a form of condolence. This would be akin to me saying to a grieving parent 'Don't be sad because your baby's body is now growing prize winning roses in the cemetery garden'. That might be my belief, but it'd be a socially unacceptable and indeed unforgivable statement, wouldn't it?

If I had to hedge my bets on Max being anywhere, he wouldn't be in God's stupid flower garden mixing Osmacote for the camelias. He'd BE the flower. He wouldn't want boundaries, walls or rules. He'd be flying free through the universe, his spirit making new life in a tree or a bird or a star. Max is in my body, in the cells and DNA he left behind. He's in his daddy's face that looks at me with a pained expression that wasn't there before Max was born. He's in my thoughts; my heart - the expressions of which will never let his memory be erased. And, one day, he'll hopefully live on in the flesh of a brother or sister who'll bring their own unexpected form of magic, but also remind us every day of the beautiful boy that came before them, whose beautiful face is sparkling in the iris of their eyes. 

Especially for daddies

Daddies are important. I know this because I never had one myself. My son Max, though, was blessed with the best daddy a little boy could ask for. His name is Leslie and he is the light of my life. 

When a baby dies everyone seems to forget about daddy. Or, if they do remember to ask after him, he often puts on a brave face or redirects their attention to his beloved partner whose sorrow seems perhaps more urgent or visible. His friends are afraid to talk to him about his baby for some reason. They don’t really want to know so he’s cut off even from those closest to him, whilst he sees his partner’s friends gather in close to nurture and protect her. How must this hurt his already-breaking heart? How lonely must he feel?

I don’t know how yet, but I’m going to do something to change this - if only for the one special daddy I wake up next to each morning. I can only take baby steps right now, but providing resources here for grieving daddies is one thing I can do to help people understand their unique pain and support them as they deserve to be supported.

If you can suggest other links or resources, please contact me - I’d be so glad to hear from you.

Dealing with the loss of a child - a man’s perspective

Men losing babies [audio]

A guide for fathers: when a baby dies

Gratitude

After Max was born we were lucky enough to have a very talented midwife take some gorgeous photos of us with Max in the middle of the night. The next day, though, another photographer (a professional photographer) arrived to take some pictures of our baby. We did not fare so well in the photographs - we hadn’t slept and had been to hell and back - but Max came out beautifully. I look at every single one of those precious photos every day and thank god that we have them. I have no idea who this woman was. I only have her email address and website details. I sent her the following email. Though it doesn’t even begin to express the kind of humbled gratitude I feel for her services, I just wanted her to know that what she did that day changed our lives and we will never, never forget her…

Dear Jane,

On 25th November you met me at the Royal Women’s Hospital when you came to photograph by newborn son, Max, who had sadly died the night before after being born at only 23 weeks gestation. I am so sorry it has taken me so long to write this email. As you can imagine, my life has been turned absolutely upside down. Sometimes I don’t even know what day it is or how much time is passing; everything is such a blur.

I was in shock that day, and still very groggy from the drugs they had given me, and I hadn’t slept for about two days. I barely remember you coming, and I have no idea how you ended up there, but I will be eternally grateful for the precious images of my baby that I now have to keep because you were there. It must be a very difficult thing to do and I admire your courage in walking into a room full of strangers that have just experienced the worst day of their lives. You must havea very special heart.

I would like you to know that your heart has touched mine. Those images are all I have of my only child. I can’t tell you how many times they have been pawed over and passed around and cried upon. I can’t bear to look at them but at the same time I can’t stop looking at them as they express Max’s beauty and peacefulness so honestly. I will treasure them until the day I die - they are truly my most prized possessions. My labour was sudden and I did not even have a change of clothes let alone a camera with me so I don’t have any of my own photos. For some strange reason we didn’t even think of using our phones to take pictures and I really regret that now. I wish I had a million pictures of him, but I know that no matter how many I had it would never be enough.

Tell me, what is your connection to the hospital, and how did you end up in my room that morning?

I wish I could thank you, some how, for everything you did for us.

I notice on your website that you normally photograph happy occasions - weddings and parties. Some day in the future, if our family is blessed to experience a happier occasion - I know where I will come to have my memories recorded, and I’ll be a very lucky customer.

With much gratitude, and best wishes,

Janelle

Looking back

An entry from my journal. As you can see, I was pretty damn excited to discover I was pregnant…

Thursday 14th July 2011

Today is Bastille Day - time to celebrate all that is French! And there are more reasons to celebrate. Though chilly, it is a beautiful, clear, sunny day outside; it’s still school holidays; and beautiful Peppy is sitting on my desk batting pens and various other items onto the floor. therefore, all is well with the world.

But wait! I almost forgot! This week something happened that has never happened before:

You’ve got it - I’m pregnant! My darling little baby is on the way! First things first, though. Don’t be alarmed. I’m not pregnant with triplets, nor am I pregnant to three separate men. Nor is there something wrong with your eyesight. You are seeing three test results. But I just took three individual tests because the first one was so damned easy to pass that I thought I must have missed something, so I did it again. Second time around I was even more surprised at my glowing result. I’m a good student, but I hadn’t even studied for this one! Perplexed, two glowing positive results had me tottering down to Bridge Road to the pharmacy to ask for some expert advice. I felt like some sheepish, embarrassed 15 year old trying to read the boxes when no one was looking. Except I wasn’t doing anything I should not have been at that age, and neither should you be, baby, if you’re listening! These tests are the easiest tests you’ll ever pass, so much so that I passed the third one in record time - around 1 minute - powered along, no doubt, by the lithium battery that made this final test cost 18 bloody dollars!

It was an eventful 24 hours - there must also have been an earthquake as there were a few moments where I began shaking uncontrollably and feeling quite sick. So much so that my first instinct was to reach for a valium. Except I CAN’T! Because I’m PREGNANT! Then it dawned on me. This shit was for real. This shit was FOREVER!

You may be wondering where Les was through all of this, and rightly so, because I’m pretty sure he’s the father. Well, he was blissfully unaware at work during the first test. I’m not even sure why I did one at that exact moment - midday on a Monday afternoon after a delightful breakfast with Kate. Just to prove to myself it’d be negative I think. I fully expected it to be so, even though I’d been unnaturally tired for well over a week and that intermittently it felt like I’d stood too close to a radiator and caught my boobs on fire. They were burning like Vika and Linda Bull’s House of Love, which was indeed a suspicious sign.

Anyway, the pharmacist advised, in hushed tones, that I should wait and try the third test the following morning as you have higher, more accurate levels of some baby hormone when you first wake up. Usually, I like to wake up and eat some vegemite toast in the mornings but that morning I had to instead collect my pee in a jar and stick random bits of magical paper in it which I hoped would reveal an invisible message, much like lemon juice would to secretly scrawled letters in primary school. It was a bit of a comedy of errors because a) it was 5am. I’d been really thirsty the night before and drank more water than usual. I awoke with an unexpected conundrum. If I went to the toilet now, did that count as the ‘first urine of the day’ as the chemist had advised, or because it was still technically the middle of the night, was it the ordinary kind? If I wasted this one and tested instead at 8am would I have already missed the magic ingredient?

After much leg crossing and internal debate I decided this indeed counted as the morning based on the logic that although it was still dark, bakers, train drivers and garbage truck men were already probably up for the day, and therefore would already have had their first morning pee.

Les was there for this part (except for the part where I spilled the mini bucket of wee on my PJ pants…hey it was early and I hadn’t yet had any caffeine!). The tested confirmed what we really already knew, and after a few minutes of staring blankly at each other we went back to sleep as if nothing at all had really happened!

I’ve since been to the doctor, which is always highly amusing. My doctor has a very well-developed sense of humour and I knew he would appreciate my opening line: ‘I made this appointment to see you because of a cluster of weird symptoms which all seemed to point towards a terminal disease, but in fact it turns out I have a different sort of lifelong condition - I’m pregnant!’ He was very excited at the good news and proposed the question ‘so what are you going to do now?’. My brain ticked over and came up with nothing. I thought it was his job to tell me what to do next? He got out a little paper dial thing (that looked very much like my French verb wheel) and calculated that the baby would be due around 19th March 2012! He commiserated with me having to be pregnant during the summer and I told him I was only happy not to be pregnant with an Aquarian - the one star sign whose annoying water-bearer characteristics I have never been able to bear. Instead we’ll have a lovely, dreamy, pisces, or if there are delays in the birth canal (down to 60km/h and one lane closed) perhaps an aries. 

I made another appointment with a different doctor at the practice for next week. Her name is Dr Nanette Presswell, and whilst her name might make me think of a nanny goat, she is very thorough and kind and I trust will care for us well. I’ll be having shared care with her through the Royal Women’s Hospital, which means that she looks after most of my antenatal appointments and I only have to go to the scary hospital once or twice. 

My doctor left me with only a few pieces of very pertinent advice: don’t eat soft cheeses or deli meats, don’t find out too much information, and don’t listen to anyone’s advice. These are the mantras that will become my motto over the next nine months…oh wait, I’m already one month pregnant, so does that mean there are only 8 months remaining? Holy christ! That’s not very long, is it?

PS. Baby, apparently you are currently the size of a poppy seed, which is really not that exciting. You are currently ‘burrowing’ your way into my uterine lining, however, which sounds more than sufficiently sci-fi/terrifying, you little termite monster!