Do you ever imagine that you don’t know this life and you’ve entered just a short clip of what your future you will be? You look around and you get clues about what your future entails? I do. Maybe I am more dramatic than most and this isn’t the norm but this blog is a transparent me and so I thought, why not share? Maybe others do the weird things that I do.? Maybe they don’t? Oh well! … So this evening I stopped for a moment and I looked around. My mind pretended I didn’t know this life. I was outside a house, standing on warm, hard pavers. Where am I?, I thought. I looked around for clues. I saw two pink bikes, multiple pairs of toddler shoes,  two pairs of pink, flowered swimmers drying in the sun…I have twin girls I thought. Then tears of joy ran down my face. How lucky am I!? And now I live in a house, not an apartment…awesome! Next I continued into the house. I walked past my hungry dogs (whom I am just about to feed) and into the living room. I was now drawn towards a bookshelf and atop it a portrait sketch of a baby in my hand or perhaps, a baby angel. I see his name sketched and I notice his halo. And I think…oh that’s right I lose a precious baby boy…

And when I am not off in a daydream like this, this is what its like…every day. Yet most of the time its not so gentle or gradual. Its every moment of happiness, or every ray of sunshine I absorb…then circled around to the memory…oh, but I lost my baby boy. Its only when you sit down and think about it, that you realise how awfully exhausting this rollercoaster is. Its having a fun night with friends, then noticing the bassinet that they have returned that was supposed to be for your baby boy and you absolutely lose it; Its putting your baby girls to bed for the night and high-fiving your husband, then sitting on the couch and wishing you were nursing your baby boy; Its getting so excited with planning Christmas fun, then remembering that your newborn won’t be snuggled in your arms, nor passed around for cuddles by the Christmas tree;  Its lying in bed at night and gazing out the side of your bed, visualising the bassinet and your baby boy that should be cooing next to you. And you wonder… when will I ever experience happiness again, without the almost instant realisation that I lost a child?

I know how blessed I am to have my baby girls. And I do not need any more reminders of this..I never needed to be reminded. This loss is not about my girls. And having them does not make the loss okay.

I also know how lucky I am to have the support I do. Even though friends are close and afar, I have people who try to understand and who show their love most days; this means the world to me. And had I not gone through the heartache that I have, I would not have connected with some amazing people who give me more strength every day.

I have not written in a while. I’ve been dissolving in twin life, uni commitments, grief, moving states, legal meetings for medical negligence, exercising for my mental health, human rights complaints, the maternal inquest, and planning to say goodbye to my beloved current school. I did not plan to write tonight. But it has been on my mind  because of a lovely friend. I was recently telling her a twin story and she asked if I wrote about it and encouraged me to. This reminded me that I have neglected my writing and so I plan to get back into it. I guess tonight’s post doesn’t really have a flowing goal or purpose. I apologise for this. But it is a start. A start of beginning to share again. And I do aim for my next post to be much more uplifting. Specifically, I have a ‘Day in a life’ post planned very soon to feature on Growing Our Tribe’s page. I am looking forward to writing more.

Love Terri

Asking my questions

Today was a day I have been anxiously waiting for. A day that I dreaded and yet a day that I knew needed to come. It was time to once again attempt to advocate for myself and for my baby boy Reuben, this time with the words I had been preparing for quite a while now. This morning my husband and I attended our 6 week post birth appointment at the hospital.

I walked into our appointment this morning with anxiety riddling my body: from my cloudy, irritated brain and watery strong-willed eyes, to the the butterflies in the tips of my fingers and stomach, right down to my hesitant, fearful feet. As my name was called, I instinctively I knew I just needed to breathe and it would be okay. Well as okay as such a thing could be. Once in the sterile room, I pulled out my prepared typed sheet of questions, as ready as I could be to finally verbalise these questions that have circled my mind since the awful day that I lost my baby boy.

At first we met with a lovely and compassionate female doctor who gave us results to Reuben’s postpartum and to the many blood and placenta tests. This gave us some answers. She also looked at the placenta results from the twin’s pregnancy and we discovered the same issues with the girl’s placenta that my doctor had never disclosed to me. To say I was angry and upset about this is an understatement. Don’t I deserve to get the results about my own body and own pregnancy? Aren’t I entitled to this even if you think I wouldn’t understand? Because these results would have informed future pregnancies, Reubens pregnancy. All I was ever told was “sometimes we don’t know why these things happen”. The paperwork I was given last year to make a complaint about this doctor will finally be getting filled in and sent. No longer will I feel afraid and guilty about affecting him and his career. This information was the final straw and has informed this next step that I will be taking for Dahli, India, Reuben and the future mothers and babies that land themselves in his care.

After we were taken through these results this doctor did her best to answer as many questions as she could. She was very sorry, kind and patient and at times understandably nervous and unable to answer my questions. She also used Reuben’s name—a million brownie points for her. I was determined not to be rushed through and pushed out the door of this appointment. This was our time and we deserved all the time in the world until all our questions were answered and we felt we had received what we had came for. This of course led to the addition of another doctor, the director of specialist outpatients.

This doctor’s speech was very slow and his uncertainty was filled with many umms and errs. When it seemed like he was squashing me and my questions I pushed and fired back. When he was happy with his answers, I pressured and wanted more. Right now I feel pride for how strong I was and amazed at the confidence I found to stand up for my baby boy. We were of course told things that should have been done and about a wonderful new program that will be taking place to avoid these things…all the while I thought blah blah, fucking blah (excuse the angry cursing please) and when there was a pause I would remind him…”Yes but I did not get this”….”Yes but its too late, my baby is dead”…”so you’re telling me that if a high risk pregnancy came in tomorrow you wouldn’t refer them on to the high risk clinic?” I did not filter my thoughts, I did not worry that I might offend or upset someone. I needed to show these medical professionals how wrong this all is. I needed them to know how much I love my son and how deep this grief goes. I needed them to know that they did not do enough and that they made me feel helpless, hopeless and unheard. I used my words. I used my heart. I used my stubborn spirit to do all that I could in honour of my son.

I knew we wouldn’t remember all that happened in this appointment and so I supplied the doctors with a copy of my questions and they will be replying to them in email as well. There is one thing I do remember right now that made me feel kind of relieved in a way. And that is that I finally got to say something that has been burning a hole in my heart for a very long time. I told these doctors that I am so disappointed and upset that I was never taken seriously. I wasn’t taken seriously with the girls and I nearly lost them. I wasn’t taken seriously with Reuben and now I did lose him. These medical professionals need to learn to listen to mums because sometimes, well actually not sometimes, I honestly believe that always, a mum’s intuition knows best.

Another moment of the appointment that sticks with me is that the doctors went on to tell us what usually happens with these appointments (the ones mum’s who lose their babies have). I learnt that usually we should have an appointment a few weeks after to ask questions and then again at six weeks to answer any questions that may have been unanswerable at that early stage. When I was told this I laid my heart out there and I said “You know I never got a phone call about a follow up appointment. I had to make this appointment. It was like ‘well you gave birth but your baby died so you don’t deserve an appointment’…that’s what it felt like”. Its not really the words that I said that stick with me so much as the sad and regretful faces that I saw on these doctors. It is my hope that no other mum at this hospital, in this situation is made to feel this way because I have made the doctors totally aware of how shit that is and how awful it feels.

The unanswerable questions may or may not be answered in the next appointment we have or the email that should eventually be sent.  But one thing that has put me a little at ease is that when I asked the question ” I don’t understand what more I could have done…my referral said high-risk…I verbalised regularly in my first appointment that I am/was high risk….what else could I have done?…” the answer was ‘nothing. You did everything you could’.

So these medical professionals now know my thoughts. They know that I believe that my son could have been saved. They know that my son was living and healthy one minute and gone the next. They know that things which should have been expedited were not and will now begin the search and cover their bums to explain why my sons life or death situation was not a priority. They know that I have the paperwork to prove that my referral was in fact high-risk and that I should have been liased with and most likely referred to the high risk clinic. They understand that I will not be pushed over and this awful situation will not be swept under the rug. I have fought and I will continue to fight until I am satisfied with the answers that we receive. This is the least that I can do to honour my baby boy.

Having no control is hard. I had no control when my baby girls were born and to fill this hole I expressed breast milk like a mad woman. It was all that I could do. This time I had no control yet again. And its a pretty helpless and hopeless feeling that all I have been able to do for my baby boy is write him poems, plan his funeral, order his urn, be strong for his big sisters and fight for answers.  I know nothing will fix this. Nothing will bring him back or mend the huge, gaping hole in my heart. But this appointment was another something. It was something to help me through the grieving process. It was something to help me honour my baby boy. It was something to be in control of. It was something to make me feel strong, fearless and powerful – much like the warrior women that I consider my baby girls to be.

Thank you so much for the ongoing support. Apologies for the possible many spelling and grammar mistakes…it seems a couple of glasses of wine help to get my creative juices flowing.

finch

 

Love Terri

You are here

Every day I wake up and I think of you. Throughout the night, as I stir, I rub what used to be your home. Some mornings I wake from dreams of you and your big sisters and everything feels lighter. Other mornings my body doesn’t want to move and my mind races through a million unhelpful, yet necessary thoughts. People tell me you are always with me and with every ounce of my being I want to believe this. In this moment as I have began typing,  I am beginning to see that perhaps it is true, you are here.

Right now your here in a way that hurts me so bad that I feel like I am choking and there is a knife in my heart. Yet this morning you were with me in a way that floated me to my baby girl’s room and gave me the sense that everything is going to be alright. You were with me in the car today as I drove myself to an appointment, feeling reassured and noting that everything that I am right now and that I will be, is a part of you just as you are a part of me. You were with me at lunchtime today when I finally made the decision that I actually do need to care for this body, if not for me, for you and Dahli and India. I can not let what happened make me weak and a bad role model for my baby girls and I must not lose myself as well. If I were to lose myself then I will have lost you completely.  You need me to be strong. You need me to take care of myself and you’re guiding me as I do this for you, for my girls, for my husband and for me.

The things I do every day, the things I say, the emotions I feel, you have led me to them all. I can not hold you, but I can feel you. I can not see you, but I am beginning to believe that you can see me. I can not smell you, but I can talk to you. You have given me signs and I patiently await for more. It is not enough. It will never be enough. But it is something. And right now, in this uncharted territory, something is all that I can hope for.

Fly high my sweet finch, and don’t forget to visit your mummy.