Another day, another baby

Another day, another pregnancy announced. This is now two at my work out of eight staff. The girl in question was not working with us last year, but I knew her from the year before. Someone had given me the head's up that she was pregnant and I was hoping my boss might have told her to go easy on the pregnancy-related conversation in my presence. But no, she did not. The poor girl was blissfully unaware that I'd had a baby until I had to tell her why I had difficulty discussing her 16 week old pregnancy. I don't feel as if I should have to sit there and cry silently, and I would have liked if someone had taken her aside and given her the information to save me from constantly having to worry that someone's going to say something unintentionally inappropriate or upsetting to me. I'm surrounded by adolescents at work and it's really hard to manage my emotions around them all.

It was, as you can imagine, a complete conversation stopper. She didn't ask me any questions or say anything much at all really. I told her I was happy to hear about her experiences but that I wanted her to understand why I was sometimes distant and often upset. We work very closely together with our colleagues at my work. There are two of us each shift working side by side, so it is not the kind of situation where you can avoid someone or just not talk to them. We talk most of the night, so these things just have to be out in the open, I feel. I did find it awkward having to tell a pregnant person, though, knowing that an appropriate response must be even harder for them to muster than the average person.

A thoughtful friend from work (who is leaving at the end of the term to take up a teaching position in an international school in Seoul), gave me a really lovely little book on grief just after this awkward conversation last night. It was a well-timed gift! Many of the quotes inside resembled very much many of the things I've been learning along the way:

• that you must make time and space to feel and to grieve
• that distractions aren't always a good thing
• that grief can manifest in so many physically, psychologically, spiritually intense and surprising ways
• that it is long-lasting
• that it comes in waves - one step forward then two, sometimes three steps backwards
• that it's important to forgive yourself for the things you did or did not do for the person you lost
• that you must be compassionate and gentle towards yourself and patient with your many unanswered questions

These are things you need reminding of a great deal of the time when you are overwhelmed by the intensity of your experience. I was glad to have this little book of heartfelt treasures with me at work, especially as I was up until midnight, alone in the dark in a big scary old house, waiting for some girls to come back from a concert. Those conditions provide the perfect breeding ground for regrets and recriminations to start sneaking in and I already hadn't had a good day.

So thank you, Esther, for the very special book and your very kind thoughts. I will miss you!

The thoughtful book Esther gave me

What a way to earn a living

I was anxious about returning to work after my long break, not just because it signals the unwanted return of responsibility I'm not sure I can yet handle, but because the last time I was in that building I was still pregnant. In fact, I was in early labour, except I didn't know it at the time. My friend and colleague, Hannah, who was there with me that fateful night would be there with me this first night back, and I would not have wanted to be working with anyone else.

For those of you who don't know, I work in a boarding school where I look after 50 adolescent girls, mostly from country Victoria and South-East Asia who come to the city to experience the best secondary education that money can buy. I have worked there since 2006, take a year when I took a full time job in the corporate world. I returned there when that government contract was up, as I probably always knew I would. The place gets under your skin, the girls get into your heart, and there you end up stuck with crap hours and poor pay but somehow still returning year after year. I've watched many staff come and go over the years and whether this is a thing to celebrate I don't know, but I am the longest serving member of staff, and have cared for some of our current Year 12 students since they were in Year 5 - just tiny little people living away from their parents.

Obviously, I love my job. It does not have much going for it in terms of career or remuneration, so it can only be my heart which brings me back there. Working with people, with children especially, is what I love best. Those types of jobs - the caring professions - bring out my best and make me feel like I am making a difference. I knew it would be hard going back after Max's death though. The girls had all been so excited during my pregnancy and were shocked and upset to hear our sad news at the end of last term. Many of them have a wisdom and maturity beyond their years, but I was still concerned that they would not know what to say or how to react, and that my relationship with them would be changed as a result.

To their credit, those children responded to my sorrow with so much more heart than most adults I know have. I think I've mentioned before that so many people seem afraid of mentioning the death of a child as if it is catching or will invoke some kind of nasty spirit, or like death is just a dirty word. People talk of my 'angel' son, not my dead son. They say he was 'lost', not that he died. That kind of thing. It doesn't necessarily bother me, as I guess it's all semantics, but at the same time I'm so relieved when someone talks to me in the language of the real, it is refreshing and lets me know that the person is not afraid of feeling or knowing life as so many people seem to be.

Some of the girls in the boarding house did not say anything to me, but told me they hoped I'd had a very relaxing and healing break. When you think about it, even that acknowledgement is very generous from a child who has most likely never had to face someone outside their family who is grieving. When so many of the girls later met me with unabashed sentiments, straight from their hearts, I was absolutely overwhelmed. Quite a few looked me in the eyes or held my hand and said 'I am very sorry that your baby died'. The simplest of responses, but one that said everything anyone ever needed to say. Many people Leslie and I have encountered could take a lesson in fearlessness from these fifteen-year-old girls who were not afraid of me in my 'altered' state of grief and not afraid to mention what had happened. I was so touched, and so proud, of how they welcomed me back into their lives with an invitation to bring this new me alongside the old; that there would be room for us both.

It was a very long shift - in hours and events. I worked from 1pm - 11pm, which was always going to be tiring after over two months spent being able to rest whenever I needed. But it was a few very stressful things that happened later on that really did me in and left me in a pile on the floor yesterday not knowing if I could ever go back. At 10.30 that night we received a phone call to say that a girl's mother had suffered a stroke and was unlikely to survive the night. I understand now that she had been ill for some time, but I did not know this at the time. The young girl, a Year 12 student, was new to the boarding house, although an existing student at the school. When she broke down in a panic, I did too. I barely knew this girl and I had no existing relationship with her that I could use to try and comfort or protect her. All I had was the thought of death, and that here was someone else suffering who did not deserve to be so. I am usually good in a crisis at my work - it's how I've managed to work there for so long and not let the never ending stream of things that go wrong really get to me. But this was really too much. We bundled her into a family member's car to go and say goodbye to her mother at the hospital and I sobbed and sobbed - for her, and for me and for Max, all of it together. Thank goodness I had my lovely colleague and friend there, with whom I have now been through so much, and we cried together.

The trauma was not to end there, though. We finish our shifts at 11pm after all the girls are in bed, and we sleep over in the boarding house and the next morning I start work at 7am again to do wake up and get everyone off to school. We don't get paid for sleeping over but it is a requirement of the job. At around 1.30am I got a knock on my bedroom door from my workmate to say that another of the girl's had suffered a serious asthma attack and despite ventolin was not able to really draw breath. In my pyjamas and with my eyes stuck together from hours of tears, I now had a medical emergency on my hands and a girl who was freaking out from not being able to breathe. Fortunately, we'd had a parents cocktail party earlier in the evening and her mother had stayed in Melbourne overnight. She returned to school to pick her up and take her to the hospital, and she was fine, but I just couldn't believe lightening had struck twice in the same shift. As it did a THIRD time when at 5.45am the school's alarms went off, indicating an intruder, and I woke with the thought that I was responsible for the lives of 50 other people in that instant. Just what I needed. Thankfully it was a false alarm, but for my poor body which was traumatised, sleep-deprived and just wanting to go home, it was the last straw.

I pretty much collapsed when I got home at 9.30am yesterday morning and vowed that I could not return for another shift. Unfortunately things are not as simple as that. I can't just quit, and I guess nor do I want to (or do I?). It just made me acutely aware of the fact that I am not who I used to be, and that at the moment I am still intensely vulnerable and need caring for myself at the same time as I need care for those kids I'm responsible for. I don't know how to manage the anxiety of the job anymore - the fact that things are always going to wrong when you're looking after that many children and that I might not be able to deal with the issues that arise without major upset or trauma to myself.

So much for easing my way back into the world of work. . .

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.