A Sucker for Gerbera's

Its five months today since Kajsa came into our lives. I had thought of buying some flowers for her grave but in the end there was nothing in the shop that I liked, that was good enough for my girl. So Lachlan and I blew kisses as we passed the graveyard. He said ‘Kajsa, wake up!’ and then we talked about how Kajsa had died. He remembers the hospital and seeing her. He knows she is his sister – he is at the point of muddling through all the connections between people. He calls her his friend and the baby in my mums set of Russian Dolls is always Kajsa. So no matter how many times I have to explain that Kajsa died and to have such big conversations with a little person I am grateful that he is so natural in his acceptance of her; that there is a relationship there without even having to encourage it.

***

Tomorrow we will finally move into our new house (the road problems were followed by a frozen water pipe!). I’m hoping that it will be a happy home and theres a spark of excitement there about making it our own. Its time I had a happy thing to plan. Plus I shall be able to see the sea everyday which always soothes me.

***

Of course with a move there are new relationships to build, friendships to make. Lachlan and I have managed our first meeting of playgroup. Coming back to the place where you grew up of course you know people but not as the mothers they are now. I didn’t sense too much discomfort from me being there. All in all it was easy and friendly and I’m glad for both our sakes that we went although there was a conversation about second labours that I understandably didn’t join in with.

***

This doesn’t really say anything about the five month stage I/we are at. But to be honest this day is like the ones that preceeded and those that will follow. I can’t believe it has been five months yet it seems like it has been years. I’m at peace with some things, struggling with others and always looking for that part of me that I’ve lost and will never find.

I’m making no promises from the beginning that this post will say very much. This blog is a bit of a dumping ground to me but thats kind of the point.

So I’ve moved out from one house but haven’t arrived at the other quite yet. The ‘Big Freeze’ makes the tiny twisting single track road down which our new house lies a hazard and even if we got there in one piece I’m not prepared to get ice-bound, even with a lovely view to look at. For now we are at my parents. Im getting angsty. I’ve got one cat hiding behind a sofa more or less constantly, another mewling into the night outside our bedroom window and a toddler who is tired, tired, tired. Plus one of our tenants failed a credit check – the day before they were to sign the lease. It makes everything so much more complicated and it all seems so last minute but there is a plan and I’m trying to leave it to our rental agents to worry about . Although of course I am worrying about it. I daren’t phone them though….

Life just has to be simple for me to deal with it at the moment.

And here I am so close to Kajsa’s grave at last yet her Christmas wreath will still be lying there. That is something I need to do something about.

And sex after loss does anyone talk about that? I don’t, won’t.

I’m in the middle of so many things and yet nowhere at all.

I had wanted to share with you a picture of a decoration hanging from a festive branch, lit by twinkling fairy lights. But alas the camera has diappeared (I fear under a growing washing pile that seems to have taken a life of its own or is now sharing a bag with the presents that were evitcted from my parents living room) so I shall have to describe it to you instead. It is a pink wooden heart with a simple white ribbon that reads in italic script joy.

A friend of mine shared some words with me after Kajsa was born. They have become my mantra, a little salvation, a little hope. I share them with you in the wish that you find them as comforting as me:

Then a woman said, “Speak to us of Joy and Sorrow.”

And he answered:

Your joy is your sorrow unmasked.

And the selfsame well from which your laughter rises was oftentimes filled with your tears.

And how else can it be?

The deeper that sorrow carves into your being, the more joy you can contain.

Is not the cup that hold your wine the very cup that was burned in the potter’s oven?

And is not the lute that soothes your spirit, the very wood that was hollowed with knives?

When you are joyous, look deep into your heart and you shall find it is only that which has given you sorrow that is giving you joy.

When you are sorrowful look again in your heart, and you shall see that in truth you are weeping for that which has been your delight.

Some of you say, “Joy is greater than sorrow,” and others say, “Nay, sorrow is the greater.”

But I say unto you, they are inseparable.

Together they come, and when one sits alone with you at your board, remember that the other is asleep upon your bed.

Verily you are suspended like scales between your sorrow and your joy.

Only when you are empty are you at standstill and balanced.

When the treasure-keeper lifts you to weigh his gold and his silver, needs must your joy or your sorrow rise or fall.

Khalil Gibran – The Prophet

These holidays have been peaceful and happy, even a little wild on Hogmonay (NYE) but she was never forgotten and always loved. My New Years resolution? I wrote some words to a girl not long ago…. I give you all that I can, my health, my happiness, my joy… I’m going to stick with that.

I have a million things I should be doing right now – we leave for Christmas on Saturday never mind the fact that we move house in two and a bit weeks, then there’s the daily stuff like breakfast dishes and toddler entertainment. But all I’ve done since I forced myself out of bed is sit in front of the laptop pointlessly googling, snapping at Lachlan….I’m tired its true. We had a hectic weekend of socialising. And yesterday I had to go it alone, with DH ill, driving through fog and ice for lunch with pregnant friend who has been great since we lost Kajsa but understandably finds it awkward to spend time with me. Conversation naturally turns to babies which I honestly can still chat happily about but at the same time its like those small bumps which don’t hurt at the time but leave you bruised black and blue.

I came across the phrase ’emotionally tired’ recently and that’s it perfectly.  If you’ve had a late night you can have a coffee, a nap – you know you’ll get it back together. If your emotions have had a battering well then you are strung out indefinitely and there’s no quick fix.

Plus there’s the empathy thing. Do you get this? Of course before Kajsa I felt for people in difficult situations but now I feel for them. My emotions are naturally heightened and fragile. The other night I was in a million pieces watching a documentary about people losing their partners through Alzheimer’s and dementia; loosing them piece by piece. I couldn’t imagine anything more awful. Then there’s the news (more tragedy, horrific accidents), the story of the mum with two children dying, suffering from the same genetic disease, the friend in hospital with her wee one struggling and it goes on and on…..  I knew the world was cruel but now it just seems so much more stark.

I’m going to go hug my boy, tell him I love him and hope that that can make up for some of what he’s lost. And now my minds a bit tidier I can move onto the housework!

I will be forever grateful for the time I spent with Kajsa after she was born and for the brilliant support we received from the midwives. I was a little worried when I read about this SANDS petition and how the wording of a single sentence  could be the difference between bereaved parents getting the opportunity to spend time with their child after birth or not…..

Sands, stillbirth and neonatal death charity is very concerned that bereaved parents in the future may not be offered the opportunity to see and hold their baby after death. This is because current guidelines by NICE (National Institute for Health and Clinical Excellence) to midwifery units and to bereaved parents, on seeing and holding their baby after the baby has died, are currently open to misinterpretation.

Please go here to read further and to sign the petition.

I just glanced up to the window and noticed that it had got dark suddenly, in winters way. The sky is just gray though and there’s a street light shining on the street behind. And in the window itself a beautiful star shaped Christmas light hangs.

I can see something in that scene which is me right now. I’m still surprised at how suddenly black grief can appear but it is also right and seasonal. There is always a comforting light shining and I can do things to make it less dark too. Does that make sense?

Anyway, I have been quiet lately, both in writing and thinking. I am peaceful now after a weekend of family. DH and I had the ‘future’ talk which concluded that our plan was that there was no plan for now. Everything is out in the open and that feels good. I smile often and surprise myself when laughing out loud ( I hadn’t realised I’d stopped). I’ve put Kajsa’s picture next to Lachlan’s in my purse and that’s right too.

I’m still irate and anxious. Sad too. But I love her with all my heart and what else can I do?

PS Do you buy your lost one a Christmas present, do anything special at that time of year, make a donation etc? Trying to decide on the ‘perfect’ action.

I disappeared for a while there. I wasn’t reading or writing or even thinking much at all.

At first it was because I was at home, my real home where I am soothed by the sea and family warmth. A place where I can go visit Kajsa as often as I need whilst Lachlan ‘choo choo’s’ around the cemetary paths. Its a little less monotenous there. I feel at peace.

Then it was back to earth with a bump. The return home and the associated down. An uneasy partnership over many words unsaid. Anger bubbling under the surface and hormones at their most dangerous. Worries over our future move and if it really is the right thing.

So I withdrew and nursed myself a little.

Today though it was time to get up and just do.

Kajsa arrived on the 20th of August. What we are going to term this day I don’t know. Her birthday or dirthday, her anniversary or angelversary? For now I concentrate on the second meaning of stillborn. The fact the she was still born. So here is the story of the day she was born.

We were very much waiting for Kajsa to arrive. Unlike her brother, who arrived three weeks early, Kajsa was nearly two weeks overdue. I was scheduled to be induced the very next day. So I was grateful to realise that I was actually having contractions, eager as I was to avoid the many interventions and eventual c section that Lachlan’s birth had involved. I continued to potter about with the wee one parked in front of the tv eventually phoning DH to come home when I was quite sure they weren’t going to stop.  Perhaps somewhat crazily I decided this was the time to hoover and steam clean the couch – the last opportunity before the whirlwind of a newborn. With DH home I went for a bath (where I think I felt her kick, how come now I’m so unsure?…did I stroke her then? or tell her I’d see her soon?…) and then fixed on my TENS machine. I sat downstairs and watched a favourite cooking show before moving upstairs to huff and puff around the bedroom with stronger and stronger contractions.  After an hour or so I found myself in bed on hands and knees working hard to relax. I called to DH that perhaps it was time to get going and I woke Lachlan who was eventually brought in to say goodnight to a heavily breathing mamma. It was then that I began to be hit by wave after wave of crazy contractions which DH counted as lasting 90seconds with breaks of 30seconds in between. I was floored. There was no way I was getting down those stairs to the car and eventually an ambulance was called.  If everything had gone to plan the next scene would have been the one that would have been described many many times, the funny birth story. Me on my back, pants around my ankles with DH on the phone to a midwife being directed to place towels underneath me and to look out for a crowning baby and my mum in the background telling me I was doing well.  If only.

The ambulance crew soon had me wrapped up, gassed up and on the road. After a jolty, sirens wailing, light flashing ride we arrived still expecting a happy ending.

The midwife we had been on the phone with from triage had come down to greet us, visibly excited by all the drama. Then they couldn’t find a heartbeat with the doppler. I remember thinking ‘great, here we go again…’. Lachlan’s heartbeat had been really hard to monitor during labour, alarms had constantly beeped and screamed and eventually we’d been rushed for an emergency c-section. If only. Here our story unfolds like many others that I have read since. The doppler is blamed. Another one is fetched, along with another midwife. An ultrasound monitor is wheeled in. The doctor has been called.

I remember questions; ‘have you felt movement today?’, ‘have you had any pain?’. The doctor barked orders; ‘cross-match’, ‘put a line in’.

I remember staring at the monitor, knowing. The doctor saying ‘I’m not a qualified technician’.

Then the on-call Consultant was waiting for us. I was wheeled down a corridor where we had waited many times for happy scans. I think he said ‘I’m sorry there’s no heart beat’. Then we had to talk about what was going to happen next.

That’s when I remember going a little crazy. I wanted a c-section, NOW. There was no way I was doing this. The consultant was brusk, a natural labour would be better. I knew that. I had done everything I could to ensure a VBAC. But this, this I couldn’t do.

Again another bustle of people to ready me for theatre. Consent forms to sign.

All this in the full throes of labour.

Then my waters broke. The head was right there the midwives told me. Half an hour and it could be over.

Two hours later the screaming and shouting subsided. The battle between mind and body was over. I held my beautiful girl and cried.

And now I am eternally grateful for that opportunity to give birth to her.

This morning I’m wearing my favourite blue jeans, high waisted flares with turn-ups. They fitted me again weeks ago but up until now I’ve hung on to my maternity pair.

My body, it seems, has been in an hurry to forget about my pregnancy. There was no sign of a post partum bump mere days after having Kajsa. My waist returned. My breasts quickly softened.

Stitches dissolved. Throbbing subsided.

A quick, easy recovery.

Body and mind aren’t always on the same page.

It was only in the car on the way there that I realised I really didn’t want to go.

I had got caught up in the ‘doing’ of it all. The costume making, the face painting, the cookie baking. These are things that I enjoy – organising, planning, being a little creative, providing a sweet treat. Its true that after we lost Kajsa that I didn’t do any of these things for a good while. Dinner plans were beyond me and basic things only got done because I knew they should. Now though I feel myself enjoying certain things again. The cook books have come back out. I’m planning for Christmas and looking forward to seeing Lachlan’s building excitement as his two year old brain grasps the concept of Santa and presents.

But I sat in the car park insisting we wait a while before going in. We didn’t want to be early. We didn’t want to get there before our friends who had invited us. I just didn’t want to be there.

In the end it was fine. We didn’t know anyone there apart from our lovely friends. And although there were others there who would have known who we were, what we are, I didn’t detect any whispers or curious glances. It was all very normal. A very normal kid’s Halloween party. Our friends brother was there and he was ‘oh hello, how are you? long time no see’, with no mention of Kajsa. A very normal greeting.

Back to normal?

Now certainly I feel like I’m getting back to being me. But I’m not going to do getting back to normal.

I had had quite enough of normal by yesterday and cried off from meeting friends so I could sit at home alone and be very much not ‘back to normal’.

*****

This morning Lachlan, as usual, crawled into our bed and after the usual morning fidget and kicks to our ribs started to chat…

” Mamma…Pappa…Lachlan…1,2,3″

And I thought 4.