Birthmarks

Whooping Cough

Some might be put off by what I am about to post. But I am at the end of my tether. I have no patience left, I have no tolerance left. I have no more polite "ah, yes, it's all a parent's choice, innit?" benign smiles left.
A serious Whooping Cough epidemic rages and I have a three month old baby. A baby who has only been eligible for one Pertussis vaccine so far. He isnt due for his next one until June 21st. Let me tell, you, I am crossing off the days until then. He isnt fully protected from Pertussis until he is six months old. How horrible and wrong that I am wishing away my baby's youth, I am pushing and hoping for the day that he is six months old and can receive his Pertussis booster because of misinformation, lack of education and unfounded fears regarding vaccines. I cant enjoy this beautiful period, I live in fear that he will contract Whooping Cough and I am desperate for him to be older so he can be safely immunised.
I fear every time I take Jack to school. I tense up every time I hear someone cough. Am I paranoid? Am I overreacting? Maybe. I take precautions to protect Archie. I limit my social life to keep him indoors. When forced to go out, he stays in the pram with a cover over the top.
Recently, Archie was in hospital with Bronchiolitis. He currently suffers a post viral cough. Here is what I do: I document the time of every cough and the number of coughs per coughing episode. I have had him swabbed for Pertussis, just in case what I think is a post viral cough is actually the start of this insidious disease. I have a script for prophylactic antibiotics on standby, just in case. I stupidly google the stories of Carter Dube and Dana McCafferey, newborn victims of Pertussis, to see if Archie is exhibiting any symptoms that those babies began with at the start of their illness.

If you are a parent who has lost a child, you may understand my anxiety. Going to extreme lengths to protect your other children from a potentially life threatening illness may not be unreasonable. Others may think I'm a lunatic. Or overprotective. Thank God I have never watched my baby cough for one minute straight, experience apnea, cyanosis and I never want to. Tragically, as vaccination rates drop, chances that more and more newborns will contract Whooping Cough rises.

Here I go:
If you dont vaccinate, you are responsible for the decrease in herd immunity. The prevalence of vaccine preventable diseases increases and this is on your heads and your heads alone.
It is your fault that parents with new babies fear going out in public. It is your fault that social lives are stunted, anxiety is increasing and babies are getting sick.
Prepare to be ostracized as disease rates increase.
By all means, do your research. Anti vaxxers bleat that they've done their "research." Unfortunately, their "research" is not evidence or science-based. It more often than not comes from dubious, unsubtantiated sources such as Natural News and Dr Tenpenny, two of the most dangerous and frighteningly diabolical sites for vaccine information. People who trust these sites lack critical thinking skills and even basic intelligence. Offensive, perhaps, but I firmly believe it. Google is not a research tool.

Please get your Pertussis booster. Many dont realise that this immunity wanes after ten years. Anyone in contact with a new baby needs this booster if they havent had one in the last 3-5 years, to be safe. Our family is completely up to date. It is the best gift we could give Archie. Dont be worried about "toxins". None are are dangerous as the Bordetella Pertussis toxin, that causes the coughing episodes may leave babies not only breathless but without oxygen. Infants are also at high risk for secondary bacterial pneumonia. They are also at risk for neurologic complications such as seizures and encephalopathy as a result of hypoxia from coughing or possibly from the bacterial toxins.

Get your booster. Immunise your kids. If you dont, you are a fool.

Broken Hearts - Finnan's Gift to the Royal Children's Hospital



Please donate to Finnan's Gift. 

Support through Finnan’s Gift will play a vital role in securing the new echocardiography scanner for the Cardiology Department at The Royal Children’s Hospital, Melbourne.

Out-Grieve Me

A Letter

Thank you. For telling me I could rely on you. But I couldn’t.
Thank you. For earnestly telling me to call you any time, day or night with any problem. But when I did, it wasn’t okay.

You pretended that you understood what giving birth to a dead baby was like. You had no idea.

If you did understand...

You wouldn’t have told me my anxiety in my subsequent pregnancy was abnormal. It wasn’t abnormal. What IS normal when your baby is dead and you carry a new one? Your body and world are filled with fear and grief. And a smidgen of hope. Just a smidgen.

If you did understand...

You would have smiled more. In a nice way. Not the smile you did as you joked about what a pain I was.

If you did understand...

You would have known when I had given birth to Archie. You never even checked.

If you did understand...

You wouldn’t have told me that other babylost mothers didn’t act like me.

You would have seen I was struggling and taken it seriously.

She was my baby. I knew her from the inside. She died. Her birth and death damaged me in a way that will never heal.

You have five children and never, thankfully, had to have a funeral for any of them. Lucky you.

You don’t understand.

Sybella's Birthday

On the 24th of April, 2011, Sybella turned one. Except she's our Forever Baby. I wonder what she'd have been like, running around here at age one. I wonder who she'd look like. I wonder what her laugh would sound like. Would she have curls? Brown eyes? Shy or outgoing? Soft little voice or loud like her big brother? Would she enjoy quiet activities like painting and tea parties, or would she zoom around at a million kilometres an hour? Creative? Musical?

Who knows? I just have to imagine.

We commemorated her birthday on a quiet Saturday afternoon at the beach. We threw some petals in the ocean and let one pink balloon go...each year we will release the number of balloons that correlate with her age. This year was one. Next year will be two. And so on. I feel there is something beautifully melancholic about that symbolism.

Happy birthday, my Petal. We love you.

Mothers Day

On this Mothers Day of 2011, I wish to thank the three incredible children that allowed me the privilege of becoming a mother:

And the man who gave them to me:



What IS That Feeling?

At the risk of sounding smug and/or corny, it's happiness.

Pure, unadulterated happiness. Contentment. Peace. Serenity.
For the first conscious time in my life, maybe.

I am filled with love and smiles, despite enduring a parent's worst nightmare. It's like she surrounds me like a cloak and her heavenly, pure love infiltrates my being and our family.

Everything has a silver lining now. Torrential rain? Time to curl up and cuddle with those boys of mine. Sky high electricity bill? A thankful nod that I have a clothes dryer with a newborn. Sleepless newborn nights? Doesnt bother me one iota.

It sounds strange that I could feel like this, when I have a dead child. How can you feel ultimate happiness when you have a dead baby? But I answer with: She sends us the happiness. She must.

For once in my life, I dont have a "goal." I'm not reaching for something. I am content to just "be." Everytime I complete a "project" I look forward to the next thing to accomplish. Married? Now to have a baby. Baby? Now to move to a bigger house. Bigger house? Now to have another baby. That's where I got stuck. The "another baby" part. After enduring infertilty, a full pregnancy and a stillbirth, I thought I'd never be able to give Jack a sibling. It was an exhausting time in our lives, and devastating. And pretty much all up to me, as the woman and childbearer. My body and my emotions.
It is disconcerting, however, not to have another immediate "goal." We do have more to accomplish, but we are not in a position right now to do it (travelling/renovating.)
Out of habit, my mind started to think about the next thing I could do. Since Archie is such an easy, placid baby, I naturally started to think that I could have more children. I always wanted lots of children, but after post partum anxiety with Jack, a stillbirth and an intensly torturous anxious pregnancy with Archie, I dont think I have the emotional resources to go through it once again.
A very wise friend said to me, as I confessed my desires: "Not many of us experience the utter contentment and peace that you are experiencing right now. Dont use this as a launching pad for something else. Just be present with it." Well, we dont call Gary the Grand Poombah for no reason.

So, I cook dinner while I listen to Jack read. I walk past the baby and smile as I watch him smile in his sleep. I lie on the grass with both little boys and point out cloud figures. I applaud Jack as he writes a sentence on his own. I sit and rock Archie to sleep as I look out the window. I enjoy coffee (decaf!) and spending time discussing awesome topics with my friends in a hilarious manner. I relish Clean Sheet Day. I move slowly, and no longer rush.

It's the little things, isnt it?

And I realise...all I wanted...all I strived for...was to get to a place in life where I didnt have to strive anymore.

The Road MORE Travelled

I took the one less traveled by,

And that has made all the difference.
 - Robert Frost

 

I wish this were true of me. In reality, I did everything by the book, in the right order and didnt spend much time having a lot of "fun." I finished Year 12 after studying crazy hard. Got a great result in my HSC, and went straight to Uni to study Education. I didnt have a gap year, and I went straight through my course without any time off. I finished University, and by this time I had met Kelvin, we had bought a unit and were living together. We dated the appropriate amount of time before we moved in together. We lived together for the appropriate amount of time before we got engaged. We had a traditional wedding, I fell pregnant with Jack within three months, and through this time, I was working as a Grade 1 teacher. We lived in our unit for a while, sold it, and moved to a townhouse. After two years, we sold that and moved to our beautiful home. I had a lovely, comfortable, predictable life and I was happy. But it just wasnt all that interesting. I didnt have children out of wedlock, I didnt run off and bartend instead of getting a degree, I never travelled, I never crashed a car, I never even maxed out a credit card. I was Responsible with a capital R. And boring.
 
When Sybella died, I wanted to rebel. I wanted to do things differently. I wouldnt have changed my life for anything or the way I had pursued my goals, because I think that the road I took led me to having my beautiful daughter who changed everything, for better and for worse. But NOW, I was desperate to break the mould. I wanted to shave my head. I wanted to forget about the mortgage and live in a teepee. I wanted to change the world for families that had stillbirths. I wanted to write a book and study midwifery. I would be good at it. I was stuck in this mentality that I didnt have permission to deviate from the norm. I had done everything the "right" way and I suddenly wished that I was brave enough to stop worrying about money and just do what I wanted to do. It sounds a bit selfish, I guess, to ask Kelvin to support me while I ran off and had an Eat Pray Love moment, and I never ended up doing it anyway. I wanted to, though. And I still might. I might, if the opportunity arises, go and study midwifery. I might write a book. But in all seriousness, what will probably happen is that I will continue to mother my two beautiful boys and go back to work as a teacher when Archie is old enough. Then Kelvin and I will probably moved to a bigger, nicer house and think about travelling around with our boys.
My life is not at all mediocre, and neither am I. My family are incredibly special people and I have been touched by an experience that gave my character even more depth than it had already. That sounds self absorbed, but I am being truthful. I have always been a thinker, an observer and have been different from most people.
 
What I am trying to say in an incredibly muddled way is that although my life and my decisions have been fairly ordinary, they led me to a place, and to people (my husband, my sons and my daughter) that are particularly extraordinary.

Sing You Home

Have you read this? Jodi Picoult is one of my favourite fiction writers. Her subject matter is both controversial and able to hit home to the deepest part of a person's psyche. I read and often wonder what I would do in her characters' position.

The synopsis of the book is as follows (taken from www.jodipicoult.com)

Zoe Baxter has spent ten years trying to get pregnant, and after multiple miscarriages and infertility issues, it looks like her dream is about to come true – she is seven months pregnant. But a terrible turn of events leads to a nightmare – one that takes away the baby she has already fallen for; and breaks apart her marriage to Max.

Zoe has a stillborn baby, born at 28 weeks, due to a placental abruption and rare clotting disorder. The stillbirth part of the novel is actually very short, but my goodness, does it hit home. I dont believe Picoult has had a stillbirth herself, but she must have done a damn lot of research to be able to convey the feelings of the character and the stillbirth experience so adeptly.

Reading this chapter brought it all back. The thing is, I cant write the feelings of that time. I can write about the experience and I can describe what happened, but that time of my life has an ambience attached to it that cant be written. Simple things, like the type of weather at that time of year and how it made me feel (crisp, bright autumn weather), smells, perspectives. I cant write those.
However, Picoult could write it. And when she did, it all came rushing back. It's like it was happening to me all over again. I smelled the smells, I remembered the ambience. I was back in April 2010, not April 2011.
It broke my heart.

The book is worth reading, however, especially for survivors of infant loss and those who endured infertility, in particular, IVF procedures.

I wish I could sing her home.

Alisa, Oliver and Finnan

Alisa Campelin, Olympic gold aerial skiier, and her husband Oliver lost their little boy, Finnan on March 20. He was only 10 days old. Finnan was born 6 weeks premature, had a heart defect and endured a number of surgeries in his short life. You can read about their heartbreaking loss here.

I am a stillbirth sufferer and I have said this before, but my God, what we went through was bad enough...but to watch your child fight, connected to tubes, enduring surgeries, then to finally hold them and watch them close their eyes and take their last breaths...unimaginable.
I am even stronger in my opinion and feelings after witnessing the brave families in the NICU while Archie was in there. Premature babies, babies with serious health problems...all tiny, all attached to monitors, tubes. All their parents living day by day in a world of fear, when things can change suddenly and nothing is guaranteed. Strongest, bravest families I have witnessed in a long time.

Everytime I hear of a "new" family entering the world of baby loss, I feel the raw pang of pain all over again. It stabs my heart, tears flow as I think of another tiny life taken. It stabs at me as I imagine the impossible days ahead for that family. It feels like me all over again.

Wishing for Sybella to meet Finnan in Heaven and help him settle in with the other angel babies. I know she will look after him.

He Saved Me

He's Heaven sent, this boy. I had no idea that I was able to have, and even deserved to have, a happy postnatal experience. Because I have never had one.
When Jack was born, I suffered from severe post natal anxiety. Not depression, but anxiety. I was a wreck of nerves, in disbelief that I had full responsibility for this life and somehow had to keep this baby alive. I couldnt fathom the fact that my life had changed forever and this made me incredibly nervous. I couldnt eat or sleep. I sat awake all night watching Jack breathe. I had heart palpitations whenever I crossed the road, sure that a vehicle was going to send me and the stroller flying. I was convinced that Jack would be a victim of SIDS and I wished the first six months away, wanting him to get to the "safe" age. Eventually I fell in step with motherhood, but it was a good two years before it even occurred to me to have another baby. A second baby simply hadnt registered on my richter scale, the idea was as foreign as me not vaccinating (ha!)
So when I had trouble getting pregnant, I felt worried that I would never have another chance at experiencing early motherhood in a positive way. When I was pregnant with Sybella, I ensured I had all strategies in place to enable me to transition into motherhood easily. By now, I recognised my anxiety triggers, had a great psychologist, was in a better financial position. I didnt expect to experience post natal anxiety with the same intensity as I did with Jack. But Sybella died. I was robbed of my chance to make up for that awful post partum period I had with my first baby. My first post partum experience was a mess of anxiety, my second one was a mess of grief and guilt and all that goes with it.
I became convinced I would never be able to enjoy a new baby in the beautiful, Huggies-advertisment way that I had wanted to.

But I did. It started on February 21. I fell in love, immediately, with a bald, fat, screaming male.

I expected to crash and go through the same anxiety as I did in 2006. But it never came. I returned from hospital, on an even keel. I had little bouts of anxiety (what was that mark? Why is he coughing? Is it Whooping Cough? Why is his poo green? Is he anaemic? Is his glucose high enough?) but eventually, I started to tell myself that this boy, this little baby, was sent to us and that he is whole, healthy and strong. Because he is. Didnt I deserve to enjoy him? Didnt I deserve to be a "normal" mother with a new baby, who thinks "nothing bad will happen to me"?
You see, stillbirth and neonatal death ruins a person. It damages you and your confidence. You have absolutely no faith that you will be the one to get the happy ending. You constantly think that if anything terrible can happen, then it will happen...to you. If a baby can get Whooping Cough, then it will be mine who does. There simply was no other option. Before Archie was born, the idea of a live birth was foreign and surreal. The natural outcome for me, in my messed up, broken mind, was that most babies are born dead, and you are lucky if you get a live one. What the shit is that about? Certainly not normal.
Eventually, with a lot of work and cognitive thinking, I started to believe that God and the Universe didnt have an agenda, they werent out to smite me and me alone, and maybe...just maybe, I was about to have a beautiful and organic postnatal experience. Archie keeps thriving, he's happy and fat and schmoopy. I have never felt more at peace. I have never felt more content. It is an unsettling feeling! Only because I am not used to it. For once, the world is my oyster. Everything is within reach. I have two beautiful boys and an angel daughter. Archie is a particularly easy baby. He feeds within ten minutes, knows night from day already and...get this...he sleeps! All I have to do is wrap him, stick a dummy in, and he is out to it. Opposite to Jack, who needed rocking for hours.
Finally. I got my happy ending.

I love him. He gave me back everything that had been taken from me in the past. He saved me.

Archie

Jack and Sybella's brother, Archie was born on February 21. You can read his birth story here.

As it stands, he is a beautiful little boy who has given our family its peace back. Sybella brought us spiritual peace, but this is different. This is an accomplishment, a feeling of contentment, a crossing of the finish line. The weeks preceding his birth were some of the hardest of my life. Up there with the weeks following Sybella's death. Both those experiences tested me beyond what I ever thought I could endure. He is here now, safe and sound and I feel complete. I feel happy. I also feel a hole...Archie's presence serves to remind me that Sybella isnt here. But I feel philosophical about it. Sybella had a purpose. She served her purpose, only by gracing our family for a short while. If we hadnt conceived Sybella when we did, and had she not have died, we wouldnt have Archie. Archie's body and soul were obviously meant to walk this Earth, but Sybella's wasnt. I have no place to question that, it is the business of God and/or the Universe. Of course, there is an element of bittersweet-ness about this concept. Two of my children couldnt be here together. One had to die so another could be born. Kind of heart-wrenching. To think I easily could be chasing an 11 month old little girl around, but not have my newborn son...or the reality, which is that I have my newborn son but my beautiful daughter is dead, forever to be a newborn herself. She should be 11 months old...but she isnt.

Her birthday approaches. How does one commemorate the first birthday of a child who died before she was born?

I do know that we will all spend it together...Kelvin, myself, Jack and Archie. We will do something simple but pretty. Our two beautiful sons will grow up knowing all about their sister. Jack will remember her. Archie will learn about her.

Packing Her Away

 

As our Rainbow Baby prepares to be born, I had to begin thinking about clearing out Sybella's room that we had so lovingly set up for her early last year. I had to clear out the cupboard, full of her freshly washed and folded clothes. I put this task off for as long as I could. Then one day, without even thinking about it, I walked into the room and just started doing it. I pulled pictures off the wall, sheets off the cot. I unplugged the lamp and pulled all the clothes out of the cupboard. I did all of this in about ten minutes, as brutally as ripping off a bandaid as quickly as possible. I didnt let myself think about what I was doing. That was probably a bad idea, because later on, the guilt flooded in and I sobbed as I apologised to Sybella for "packing her away." I had a large plastic box on wheels and all of her belongings went in there. All her beautiful, girly things. I dont know what we will do with them. A few neutral items are able to be reused for Rainbow Baby, so I put them aside for him. In the VERY UNLIKELY event that we have another baby, and it happens to be a girl, I have no problem reusing Bella's clothes for her. Otherwise, after waiting an appropriate length of time (like, ten years), I will probably donate the items to charity. Or maybe I'll just keep them forever and bring them out occassionally to smell and cry over.

The funny thing is, even though Rainbow Baby is eleven days away from being born, we still say "Sybella's room." Maybe it will always be her room.