More questions...but the type with no answers

I’ve been making myself angry today thinking about the outcome of yesterday’s hospital appointment and the absolute waste of life that occurred because of some random occurrence of events that went on without my knowledge or control. If my labour was indeed caused by any number of bacterial infections then it is fucking unfair. If its true that those bacteria live inside of everyone but don’t cause premature labour for everyone, then why did it have to happen to me? Here I was feeling guilty about taking so much medication during my pregnancy but in fact I did not take enough - a simple course of antibiotics may have saved my baby’s life and in turn saved mine, because the life I have left does not feel like one that I want to live.

If what happened to me is just one of billions of examples of stupid tiny things that can go wrong then I just don’t understand how anyone gets to take a baby home, let alone the fact that most people do. When so many things can go wrong, how does anything ever go right? Who chooses which people get to keep their babies and which people don’t? In a similar vein, how come so many people who deliberately take known risks don’t have bad things happen to them? When I arrived at the hospital yesterday the first thing I saw was a couple of heavily pregnant rough-looking women smoking ciggies out the front. Smoking is a known risk factor for premature labour, amongst other things, but it has not happened to them even though I cannot help but think they deserve it.

Though the hospital were encouraging about our chances of having a successful future pregnancy I just can’t imagine, no matter how hard I try, how that will ever be the case, when I know of so many things that can go wrong. Having my baby die has in fact made it really hard to believe that other people’s babies live. When I hear people say when their baby is due now, or debate what type of mother they’re going to be, or whether they’re going to use cloth nappies, or send their child to private schools I just want to stop them and say ‘how can you be so sure your baby will be alive? How can you be so confident that your pregnancy will end with you taking your bundle of joy home with you?’

I will never get to be one of those smug pregnant women who talk of how blissful and calm they felt when they were pregnant or what a wonderful experience it is to let their body do what it is made to do. I won’t get to be one of those women that do this five times because they love the feeling of being pregnant. How can I ever make any plans for a baby that’s inside of me when all I will be thinking about is whether it is going to die? For this reason, as much as I say I eventually want to try again, I just don’t know how I ever could. I have heard horrible stories of women who have experienced the death of subsequent babies and I don’t know how they endure it. I simply don’t know.

I have a very vivid imagination, which has always worked very well for me up until now. It makes me a good writer and an entertaining story teller. It gives me a rich and fulfilling inner life that I would never want to give up. Right now, though, it is working in overdrive and sending my anxious thoughts into a cascade of fear. I imagine myself giving birth to a baby who survives for a second, and soon afterwards I think ‘well, that doesn’t mean anything - the baby could die of SIDS in its sleep at 12mths old, my next door neighbour could run over it and kill it in the driveway, it could get cancer or leukaemia…’ the list goes on. In every scenario my child dies. I think these thoughts constantly. There is no relief from them, even in my dreams.

I feel like the magic has gone from my understanding of life. I no longer trust that the universe is looking out for us and ensuring we get what we deserve. I now know for a fact that bad things happen to good people. I know that some people endure more suffering in their lives than is fair, and that others always seem to get off scot free. And I don’t mean to make myself sound like the person who is worst off of all. Much of the pain I feel is due to the sudden realisation that some people suffer so many worse fates than mine, and that there is just so much suffering, and so many people enduring unimaginable pain. I’ve joined a couple of online support groups for people whose babies have died and whilst it has been very helpful to talk to people who truly ‘get it’, it is also overwhelming to witness so many other people’s immense and unbearable suffering.

Most of all I feel that everything I’ve ever done in my life has been pointless up until now. So many hours spent thinking my life was worthless if I could not finish my PhD, for example. The things I thought were a big deal are almost laughable to me now and I feel like mocking the girl who at times was so consumed by fear that she couldn’t even open her own mail or answer her own phone. What a fool she was to think her life was hard then! If only she’d known what she was in store for!

Yeah, so I guess I’m angry at my old self for not having the presence of mind to see this coming; for being so naive; for thinking things mattered when they didn’t. But paradoxically I’m also angry that she had to change into whoever I am now - the person who has to see life for what it really is - cold, unfair, often pointless and painful. I don’t know how to be this girl and I’m not sure that all the people who loved the old one are going to ‘get’ or even like this one or, indeed, if I even care.