The end is nigh. bugger.

So today is my last day as a lady of leisure. No more moseying out of bed at 8.30ish. No more leisurely morning cups of tea in the sun room with The Guv. No more gymming mid morning. No more deciding at a whim what my day will consist of. Monday I'm back to work.

NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!

Had a back-to-work nightmare the other night... dreamt we were all dentists and I didn't know or care about what I was meant to be doing and everyone was p'd off with me.

The reality is that I haven't missed my job. Before going on maternity leave 7 weeks ago I thought I'd miss it. I haven't. I suppose that was a lifetime ago and everything has changed now. Priorities have changed. HA! I actually used to cling to my career woman image. No more. Yes, I want to be doing something, I need a sense of personal achievement - we all do - but to be at an office all day. Not keen. To be constantly bogged down with unnecessary admin - reports and such - no thanks. To be striving for goals set by others - nope. Can't say my heart is in it anymore.

The past week I have begun to dream a bit. A whole new beginning. A venture that would allow me more freedom. A venture to be run from home. A venture that would give me more time with The Band. A venture that would provide great jobs for Lily's mom and sisters. A venture that, in some small way, would honour my daughter. I am working on a business plan now and doing research and dreaming. Maybe this could be something great.

The calm before the storm?

Today has been a good day.

Don't think I've told you guys about Bosom Buddies? It's an organisation involved with visiting and providing basics for new moms at a number of public hospitals in the Western Cape. They are also involved in providing packs to moms whose babies have died – a number which is obviously quite high in public hospitals.

Anyway, I heard about them a while back and thought of getting involved while I was on maternity leave but then "things happened" (got to love those euphimisms). So a couple of weeks ago I made contact to find out about their involvement with moms "who have gone through the same thing that I have". yes. Everyone else avoids calling it what it is so why can't I?

Turns out the one thing they don't have when it comes to moms of stillborns is a camera to at least take a photo of the baby for the mom to keep. (My photos of Sophia are among my most treasured possessions... without them I may forget - my time with her was so brief).

Aaaaaaannnnnnyyyyyywaaaaaaaaaaaaaay bla bla bla so I emailed my contact at Canon and voila, just like that Canon said for sure and sent me a beautiful camera - valued at around R6k for Bosom Buddies.

Delivered it today. Stoked

Mind you, tomorrow is Wednesday. Wednesdays are baaaaaaad days for me but who knows... maybe tomorrow will be ok.

Greetings from the Eastern Cape

So the good news is I am not typing this while horribly drunk, all on my own, blaring sad music, clutching Sophia's teddy bear, surrounded by photos and scrunched up tissues (and empty wine bottles).
That was my last post... but I have decided that it's best the Band doesn't leave me alone with the wine collection and my thoughts again any time soon.

This weekend I am with my parents in East London. It's been a good time but intense.

My mom and I spent the day at a spa yesterday. Never done that before. It was great.

It seems that wherever I go there are breeders. Pregnant women and people with babies everywhere I turn. Makes me want to vomit. I didn't even notice it this much when I was pregnant myself, now just about everywhere it's babies and pregnancy. Each time it's like a little fist digging into my solar plexus. Nauseating. literally.

I went to a new gynae on thursday. She seems great. We just chatted - i think she actually started crying a bit. It was a relief to have someone to ask my questions.
Basically the deal for future is this:
You are fertile again within about 2 weeks of giving birth (if you aren't breastfeeding). In terms of my phyusical health she would recommend a minimum of 3 months from Sophia's birth before we start trying to conceive again. Obviously our mindset and all that is another matter which we'd have to decide on.
The cold hard stats are that there is a 10% chance that this - placental abruption - could happen again.
There is NOTHING that they can do to prevent it happening. I could have a scan every single day and it would make no difference - there are no warning signs.
Because I think the abruption happened around 37 weeks (a few days before I started bleeding) they would induce labour for me at 36 weeks in future pregnancies.

The Band and I had a long chat about it. This probably won't make any sense to any of you (unless you have lost a baby) but the hugest part of me is desperate to be pregnant again. Funny - I felt rather sorry for myself while I was pregnant - the cankles, the heartburn, etc. Now I would give anything to go back to that time. But our hearts have been opened to a baby. Our home and our lives were reordered around the arrival of our girl and now she's gone. We still want more children. I still want a baby - one that is HERE. But suddenly trying for a child is not such an easy, carefree decision.

Before we decide that we are willing to try again we have to get our minds around the fact that it is a reality: it could happen again. I'd love to be in denial about that, but it's fact. And what if?? What if it happens again? Would I survive it? Would my relationships survive it? What would it do to me, the Band, my folks?
And yet the thought of not trying, of not having even the possibility of my own baby to hold, to bath, to feed, to clothe, to love is one of the loneliest thoughts I can fathom. We will try again in time. There is no doubt about that, but wow it will be a terrifying time.

Surely I am too young for this? I feel ancient nowadays.

5 weeks past. 3 doors down.

Here without you.

All the miles that separate disappear now when I'm dreaming of your face.
I'm here without you baby but you're still on my lonely mind.
I think about you baby and i dream about you all the time.
I'm here with you baby but you're still with me in my dreams and tonight girl it's only you and me.

Everything I know and everywhere I go
it gets hard but it wont take away my love
and when the last one falls
when its all said and done
it gets hard but it wont take away my love.

Inked

So yesterday I did it.

A big thank you to Ches from this blog for doing the design - love it and really appreciate it.

I asked the guy how bad it was going to be and he said most girls think a wax is worse. So I asked how the guys feel.... he laughed. Apparently guys pass out left right and centre. They have also been known to pee themselves literally. haha
But it wasn't bad at all. Kind of like a deep, slow scratch. Sore but nowhere near a wax, or ear ache or childbirth or even a vit B12 injection.

I was never one of those that always wanted to get a tattoo. It's hardly some fulfilment of the rebel within, but I love it.

When most think about tattoos they think skinheads, tramp stamps, gothic script, dragons, but when I think of this tattoo I think of this in Isaiah 49:

Shout for joy, O heavens; rejoice, O earth; burst into song, O mountains! For the LORD comforts his people and will have compassion on his afflicted ones.

But Zion said, "The LORD has forsaken me, the Lord has forgotten me."

"Can a mother forget the baby at her breast and have no compassion on the child she has borne? Though she may forget, I will not forget you! See, I have engraved you on the palms of my hands; your walls are ever before me."

What's going on?

So I wake up in the morning and I step outside and I take a deep breath and I get real high and I (pause) scream at the top of my lungs WHAT'S GOING ON??
(Or something like that)

Now that we'll all walk around with the 4 non blondes in our heads the whole day...

A friend of mine who was pregnant with me had her baby boy last monday. I got the standard sms telling of healthy mom and baby and proud dad. All was well.
Last night I heard that the next day the baby developed what turned out to be meningitis. He has been in ICU ever since.

I spoke to my friend today for ages. We cried together. Her baby is still alive. She still has hope, so that is something, but on the other hand she has to watch him suffer the worst physical pain.

My heart is breaking for her. At this stage the doctors have said that they can start being cautiously optimistic that he will make it but there's a high likelihood of some long term effects - deafness, blindness, learning disabilities, social impairment. For now they can only wait and see.

She had a perfect pregnancy just like me. We were those pregnant woman who did everything right. Not like all those smoking, coke drinking, non-exercising people that abound. We were caffeine free, alcohol free, nicotene free, balanced diets, supplement taking exercisers.

I can only imagine the sick feeling she must be carrying around all the time. What should have been the most exciting week of her life has become a nightmare - she was only allowed to hold him yesterday for the first time since tuesday. It is HORRIBLE.
I think it must be a bit like that moment (did I say moment? I meant 'eternity') when they were searching for Sophia Grace's heartbeat. That endless awful sickening dread. Honestly when I think of it I feel bile in my throat. For her it must be like that extended. The not knowing. The fear. The dread.

Thank God it looks like this little boy will live. Thank God there is still hope that he will be fine. Thank God my friend and her husband have a faith to cling to. I can not imagine surviving the loss of my daughter if I didn't believe in heaven. If I didn't know she was there and fine and not in any pain and that I will see her again, I would be destroyed.

Those of you who pray please pray for baby Luke. For his complete healing.

Anniversaries

So the 2nd Sept was the day we got to the hospital and our worlds fell apart, but labour lasted two days and so Sophia Grace was only born on the 3rd. In my head I hate the 2nd. I hate Wednesdays for the same reason. But the 3rd, the 3rd is her birthday, the 3rd is the day that I held my baby girl. In a way I love the 3rd.
So today is a month since her birthday. A month since I held her. Since I inspected her, through my anaesthesia, through my shock, through my exhaustion, through my grief, I sucked it up - as I continue to do - so that I could inspect her. I touched each toe and each finger. I touched her little nose the way that an annoying great aunt would. I felt her little bum. I felt her knees. But I missed a spot... I can't remember seeing her ears and that just breaks my heart.

A month since...

I felt joy
I felt any real optimism
I felt myself
I fell apart
I entered this abyss of grief

For some reason I am really angry that it has been a month since that most awful of moments - "I'm sorry but there is no heartbeat".

I am not sure why the month thing makes me angry but it does.

I hate waking up in the morning and feeling the dread wash through my body. Psyching myself up to get out of bed. Psyching myself up to eat breakfast. Psyching myself up to drag on some clothes and clean my teeth. I have managed to achieve all of the above pretty much every day which is good. But every single day it is a battle of my will.

I hate this place that I'm in and there is no escape and I am powerless to change it and maybe that's what makes me angry.

out of titles

Every up is followed by a severe down. I can now hold a conversation or even suck it up for a whole afternoon and fit in with normal life, but the entire time I’m present with the real world I’m holding a completely different conversation in my head. The whole time I’m talking to someone, watching a movie, doing whatever, my head is somewhere else. I am going over things, questioning, longing, crying out. I pretend not to notice the pregnant women and those with their babies. I act as if the display of baby clothes we just walked past doesn't affect me. I nonchalantly smile at a friend's newborn and even give him a pat or two. It all affects me. It all rips at me. I hide it superbly.

I am so lonely. After The Band leaves for work I can’t help but cry. Not because I am alone. Often I’m not. Good friends are around, but I am lonely all the same. I am apart from them all.

I’ve been reading some blogs of people “who have been through the same thing” which is my lame and annoying euphimism because I can’t bring myself to use the term “stillborn”. It is cold and medical and inhuman.

Someone commented on one of the blogs and her words rang so true:
the funny thing is most (if not all) people think that the birth and the dead baby there in their arms is what they couldn't survive....when in fact those are the fucking HIGHLIGHTS. it's the plain ole daily living without them that will rip your soul bit by bit until you have no choice but to sit the fuck up and decide who you want to be.

That is the reality that people can’t get their minds around. People feel sorry for the experience I “so bravely” endured. People wonder if perhaps I don’t have medical aid and that’s why I didn’t have a caesar. Actually those days were indeed the f*ing highlight. At least she was still physically with me. Reliving holding her is a treat not a horror. Life now is the horror.

The Twilight Zone

Looking at me now you wouldn’t say I gave birth 3 weeks ago. The water retention is gone from my feet and face. My stomach could use a few sit ups but its not bad. My boobs are up a cup size which I’m pretty bitter about and that’s about it. That’s about all I have to show for my pregnancy.

I’m in this weird inbetween place now. I don’t quite fit into the group of new moms but I also don’t fit into the childless category. A couple of random people have asked if I have kids – a salesperson, a manicurist, etc. I can’t bring myself to say “no”. I can’t say I don’t have children. I have a daughter – how can I not acknowledge that? But answering yes inevitably leads to more questions and the admission that she died. Conversation killer right there.

Also body wise if I’m being fitted for a bra or trying on something the reality is that I don’t know what my body is going to do yet. I don’t know if I will still get smaller in the next few weeks. It’s been 3 weeks but I’m not breastfeeding – obviously – so maybe there won’t be more change. Who knows? But I can’t really, like any other mom, say “I just gave birth a couple of weeks ago” with a big happy smile on my face.

I’ve been through 9 months of pregnancy like every other new mom. I went through 36 hours of labour but I don’t fall into the glowing, sleep deprived new mom category. I have no cute little baby to show off to the world. The other day I went somewhere and took The Guv with. People gathered around me admiring this cute little kitten but they should have been gathered around admiring my baby. All I have to show now is a slightly worn out body which is pumped daily with a bunch of prescription supplements and weekly with very sore injections.

where we're @

Yesterday overlooking the sea at The Brass Bell the Band and I chatted a bit for the first time in a while about where we're at.

I mentioned that in some ways it feels like I'm mourning alone. Well in some ways that's true.

It is different for him. He is filled primarily with gratitude for the time we did have with Sophia Grace (Yes, I am totally doing the mom thing and using my child's full name). He is grateful that I am alright. He's grateful for the support of my folks and so many friends and family. He is grateful that we will see her again some day.

He is also burdened a bit by guilt. He feels guilty that I have to carry this thing so much more than anyone else and forever. Though I suppose he knows that I wouldn't let go of this grief given the choice - in some ways it feels it's all I have.

He seems so relaxed. So ok. I know he's hurting too, but I still feel so lonely in my grief. I feel like I will forever be a bit apart from everyone else. I miss HER.

Coping mechanisms

So how do you get out of bed in the morning when life has changed forever?
After a time the SMSs have slowed down, the flower arrangements start dying, people start talking to you about other things, and life around you carries on.

But for you, every morning you wake up to the exact same sickening dread that you felt the day before. People keeping saying each day will be a little bit easier. It's not like that. Healing is not a linear process. Some days are better, but then some days are as bad or even worse than the day it all started. Saturday was like that. Yesterday was fine. This morning was bad again.

My tips for coping with the aftermath of tragedy:
1. Get addicted to a nice series or book or something. The Band and I are into One Tree Hill. It's like this time when you don't have to think about anything but the dramas on screen. Escapism is a wonderful thing. Unfortunately we are on season 6 so we are about to run out. Dam.
2. Get a ridiculously adorable kitten. Thanks to Tamara for letting me know about the township pet rescue organisation (who knew kittens were so scarce!?) Through them the Band and I have adopted The Governer (aka Guv).






He is really beautiful and playful and naughty and although the Freudian link between losing your baby and suddenly getting a little baby kitten to nurture is not hard to figure out, he has been a wonderful distraction. Something so sweet and innocent (well, innocent when he's not mauling my hand) gets you out of yourself to some extent. To wake up to this little thing staring at you about 2 cm from your face and purring like a freight train at least puts a smile on your face.

Anyway, we are off to the Brass Bell in Kalk Bay for lunch and then to movies. The Band is trying to give me reasons to get out of my pyjamas I suspect.

The Meltdown

Last night I had a meltdown. I probably cried the most I have cried since it all happened. The whole day was tough. It was tough having a zillion people around (all the family still here from Friday's memorial). It was tough because it was my due date and it was tough having The Band's sister talking about her pregnancy with such joy on her face*. For her birthday we gave her a book on pregnancy. The same book my mom gave me. As she paged through it I caught a glimpse of one of the pages and it brought back a flood of memories. Every 4 weeks in the book there is a picture of the size of your baby at that stage. I remember poring over that book. Holding it to my belly and imagining my baby inside.

I lay in my room and cried and cried. I cried til I couldn't breathe. I cried til my eyelids were swollen. I cried til I was exhausted. I cried til I had gotten full use of my dwindling tissue supply.

My dad came to the room and held me. I feel so bad for my folks. They are watching their child go through something no one should have to go through and they can't do anything about it. I think it is breaking their hearts. The Band too. He is powerless to help me. I love these three people but I can't feign strength. Sometimes I can be happy and fit in with everyone else as if life hasn't ended, but sometimes I can't.

I hate that life carries on. I have often thought about it and felt guilty for being happy when I've watched others go through pain. Life carries on more or less as normal for everyone else. It seems so... rude. It makes me downright p'd off to hear people laughing at an episode of stupid Top Gear. Yes, yes, I know. But still.

I think the thing that is weighing me down right now is that it feels like I am mourning alone. I knew my child. She was with me every day. I would splash my belly in the bath and she'd love it. When I was alone, I wasn't. She was always with me and I'd talk to her. The most she moved around was when I was singing at church - I choose to believe she was enjoying it :o)Sometimes if I couldn't sleep I'd prod her awake and we'd poke each other back and forth. I remember once flying back to CT and having excrutiating ear ache. If you've ever had bad bad ear ache on a flight you'll know that crying from the pain congests your nasal passages and makes the pain worse so you have to concentrate with all your strength to not cry. I was in the midst of this ear ache SUFFERING and she started prodding me. I would tap my stomach and she would kick in response. It felt like she was cheering me on "come on mom, we're nearly there. You can do it!"

But no one else knew her. No one else played bad 80's music to her amusement. No one else saw her in their dreams.

It feels like the sadness in others is sadness mainly for the Band and I and then for what might have been. Whereas I am missing HER for who she was.

Don't know if that makes any sense at all.

Sometimes it feels like I'm crazy. I'm mourning someone that no one else even really met. As if I had an imaginary friend.

Last night I dreamt that she wasn't dead. She was in East London with my mom. I dreamt that my heart was breaking coz after 2 weeks I still hadn't even fed my baby or bathed her or rocked her to sleep or changed a nappy, but I just had to get to East London and then I could do all that. I wasn't worried about her. I knew she was safe with my mom. But I was aching to be with her. I just needed to get there.

It was so cruel waking up. Hope was gone. But I've thought back to the dream through this morning and perhaps that is the bigger picture. I will get to be with my daughter one day in heaven. For now she is safe and cared for. I just need to hold tight til the day I get to be with her.

* now before you all think she's insensitive, she's not. She battled for absolute ages to fall pregnant and despite unsuccessful visits to fertility experts etc she was overjoyed for me when I was pregnant and she wasn't.

In loving memory

Today - 19/09 - is my official due date. Life was supposed to be very very different by now.

In sunbirds and the scent of spring
In babygrows, lambs and pink things
In all that is beautiful and delicate and rare
In sad songs and happy times and everything fair
Dark wisps of hair, a button nose,
a wizened little face
Tiny hands and little toes, our girl, Sophia Grace

We long for the day that we will meet again
In heaven where there’s no more sorrow, no more longing, no more pain
There we’ll hear your laughter
And you will see our tears
Tears of joy, no more sadness,
when we meet after all those years

For now and always we carry you with us
in our hearts
Our precious girl, our treasured child,
until we’re no longer apart.

Crossing the void

I've always marvelled at people who have suffered great loss in their lives: my friend who lost both parents in the space of a few months, my cousin who lost her dad as a teenager, acidicice who lost her first baby about 5 months into her pregnancy, QCC who lost the love of her life.

I've always wondered how they carry on. How they manage to keep going and see the hope in each new day. How they endure mundane conversations and big events. How they drag themselves out of bed in the morning. The answer my cousin once gave me was "you just do". No matter what loss you have faced, there is still beauty in this life. Beauty enough that it's worth getting out of bed for (most days).

I suppose for me I want to be the kind of person my daughter would have been proud to call her mom.

People keep asking how I'm doing. Well it depends when you ask. The mornings are bad for some reason. Maybe its the prospect of a whole day stretching out in front of me. Yesterday my best mate had her baby. I am happy for her (and very very glad hers is a boy) but it still rips at me. Her and I were meant to be experiencing this together. Sometimes I feel vaguely like my normal optimistic self but that never seems to last very long. I have never known such a void. Such loneliness. Such emptiness. I feel seperate from everyone else. I feel heavy and tired and old. I feel hopeless.

I know that doing nothing is not going to help, but as soon as I go for a walk or anything mildly energetic I bleed more and am in physical pain. Very frustrating. I'd love to be able to crank up the ipod and go for a jog but my body is not up to it.

I'm trying to have things to look forward to. Here are a few:
1. I am going to have my daughter's name tattood on my wrist
2. The band and I are considering scrapping our december plans and going skiing or yachting instead
3. I am excited for the day I can exercise... I have missed the endorphin rush of a jog
4. We might get a kitten

On Friday we are having a small memorial. We have a gorgeous back yard and I'd like to have it there - weather just needs to cooperate.The family are arriving in their droves from thursday. I am looking forward to having my folks here.

One week ago

One week ago my world was ripped from underneath me
One week ago i learnt to fear and despise the foetal heartrate monitor and it’s lack of result
One week ago my heart was ripped from my chest – part of it will forever be absent now
One week ago i became a woman of sorrow
One week ago was the worst day of my life

So I was induced last Wednesday morning. Within hours my parents had arrived in Plett from East London and our pastor had arrived from Somerset West. Together we formed this odd little team. My dad would walk me up and down the hospital passage manning the drip stand, my mom would read out the countless SMSs of support and encouragement which streamed in from around the world. During many of my contractions I'd have everyone bouncing or swaying their hips (doing the hula!) with me.

Wednesday passed in a blur.

By Thursday morning the contractions were still very irregular. I was worried - if labour didn't get going they'd want to do a caesar. Emotionally I could not have coped with that but it was becoming less and less safe for me. This spurred me on. I walked more. Bounced on the labour ball more. Had them pump in more induction stuff in my drips.

Soon the contractions were a bit fiercer and I revelled in them. There is something sweet about pain. Pain is better than feeling numb.

The day went on and by 5 that evening there was nothing sweet about the pain. I asked for an epidural but the anaethetist was in surgery. Finally he came and then battled to get it in. 2 days of labour. Emotional and physical exhaustion. Sweet relief. God bless the inventor of the epidural. So underrated!!

Time to push. No. I wasn't ready. After all that I didn't want it to be over yet. I didn't want her taken from my body. I couldn't imagine her no longer being a part of me. Out she came. The Band held her and spoke to her while I tried to calm down. I was in shock. Shaking, battling to breathe. Unready for the moment.

Finally I calmed myself. I held my little girl. Best and hardest moment of my life. She was battered and bruised like me. But she was beautiful. She was as I had seen her in every dream. A delicate little dark haired thing. A button nose. Pouty lips. Perfect little fingers and toes and a squishy baby bum.

Sophia Grace, born sleeping 3 September, 20:30, 3.1kg

And God? Where was He?
Right beside me throughout. It would be too easy to blame this on God as is He is some cruel sadistic killjoy. He is the opposite. God is a Father and I think He is crying more than us as He watches us in so much pain. God didn’t kill our child. He took her. That is not a terrible thing for her. She will never know pain, hurt, cruelty. She is in a place of peace and joy. It is the Band and I who are suffering. Not her. And we know He has purpose in this. The weekend before we left for Plett we had our 3rd baby shower. There is a man we know who has an incredible gift of prophecy. That may sound weird to you but I have seen him talk to people of situations he knows nothing about with incredible insight and clarity and there is no denying his gift. At the baby shower he had the following to say... it sounded so odd at the time, but in retrospect it was spot on and shows that God knew this would happen and it is part of His plan:
“I believe that this baby will not cry, mess, play around, nappies won’t be changed. I believe that this refers to the baby’s spiritual life. This baby won’t be distracted by the world. This baby will hunger after God. This baby will be a man or woman after God’s heart.”
This prophecy tells me that God foreknew that this would happen. The beauty in that is that it takes away any possible self blame that might creep in. No point in “what ifs” if God knew weeks before.

If this had to happen, for whatever His reason, then it could not have happened in a kinder way. There is so much to thank Him for: I am grateful that there is nothing we could have done or did wrong and that we won’t sit with a lifetime of regret and selfblame. I am grateful that of all the places we were in Plett at an incredible hospital surrounded by incredible staff who honestly treated me as a daughter. They cried with me, carried me, bathed me, held me. Everyone from the cleaning staff to the kitchen were so kind. On some days i was the only patient in the hospital, so to say that I got excellent care would be an understatement. We were like Brangelina - an entire private hospital all to ourselves. I am grateful to the staff for calling in Claudine – a girl who lost her first baby at 32 weeks and also had to deliver her child. It was so helpful learning from her regrets and experience. I am grateful that despite a massive blood clot – or in fact, because of it, I was healthy and strong. My life should have been in grave danger and yet I felt fine. That doesn’t make sense really, but for God. When placenta abrupture happens, the mom generally ends up in ICU at best due to the massive internal bleeding. I am grateful for the people who surrounded and supported me. My parents, our pastor. I am so so grateful for my husband. He is incredible. He is so strong and so gentle and seeing him holding and talking to our little girl when i just couldn’t was one of the most precious moments of my life.

When we first heard she had died on that awful morning I wondered: If i could take back the whole pregnancy, would I?

Today I can tell you that I would not. It is infinitely better to have loved and lost than never to have loved. The Band and I have 9 months of precious memories. We spoke to her, she kicked me and responded when I tapped my stomach. We communicated. She knew my voice. We knew each other. We held her. She is our first born. Our little girl. We are parents.

Numb

Written on Wednesday morning...

How long does it take for a life to change completely? How long for a life to end?

QCC has it right on her blog:
I’m falling apart. I’m barely breathing.With a broken heart that’s still beating... I’m barely holding on.

2 weeks to go and I woke up this morning thinking my water was breaking. But no. It was blood. We rushed to the hospital. They tried and tried but there was no heart beat.

No heart beat. Nothing. I think that was the worst moment of my entire life. I can't begin to describe the eternity, the desperation, the dread, the dawning realisation that your world has just been ripped from under you.

My daughter is dead.

My little girl. I knew she was a little girl. Everyone else said it was a boy. No. She’s a little girl. Gone to heaven before we even met her.

It seems strange that in the wake of losing your baby you are called to make so many decisions. Blood rushing in your ears. A weird calm. A strange peace even. And you must decide – labour or caesar. Autopsy or not. Burial or cremation. Morphine or epidural.

They don’t seem to really know what happened. They are assuming that it is a rupture or something like that. The placenta randomly tears away for some reason. I guess they’ll know more later. They’re telling me there was no way of predicting or knowing. Just a fluke thing that happens out the blue. Naturally I am asking myself if that’s true or if my paranoid feelings the last few days should rather have brought me to a doctor. But then, every pregnant woman is paranoid more or less throughout.

I am now lying in bed waiting for the induction to set in. I am going for natural with all the pain meds they are willing to pump me with. I don’t want to deal with the trauma of surgery on top of everything else tho no doubt labour without an end prize will be hell.

It’s amazing how news spreads. We have been inundated with sms’s. Right now I wouldn’t be surprised if there are over 100 people praying for us. And I can feel it. I really can. I am calm. I am just so sad.

I wonder what God’s purpose is in this. He has a purpose, always. The Band was saying how many special memories we have of this little girl already. Would I take back the whole pregnancy if i could? I honestly don’t know.

We are naming her Sophia Grace. Not the original name we had planned. It didn’t seem fitting. Grace seems right. She is with my gran now. My gran’s dad died 2 weeks before she was born – a sadness she carried with her all her life. My daughter died 2 weeks before she was due to be born. A sadness we will have to carry.

The Band and the staff here are incredible. I can see their hearts are breaking with us. My folks are on their way from East London and I don’t know what I will say to them. Weird as it sounds, i just feel so so bad for them. They have all been so excited. This has been a worry free textbook pregnancy so the shock is substantial.

Hold us in your prayers guys.

Empty

We lost our beautiful baby girl. Broken

Eviction pending

Sorry bout the lack of posts. I finished up work on Friday and depressing little (mmm...not so much) control freak that I am, there was much to get done right up to the very last minute. Anyway, now starts 4 sweet months of no work. yes, yes, annoying people feel this incessant need to point out (read in a nasal voice) "don't think you won't be working, honey. mothering a newborn is the hardest you'll work in your life". Killjoys. Jealously makes them very very nasty. Clearly they have easy, stress free jobs. Not I. Saving the planet is a weighty burden and one I am pleased not to carry til January. OBVIOUSLY the mom bit will be tough in it's own way, but it will be SO different and so rewarding and exciting and exhausting and challenging. So bah humbug you miserable doomsday prophets.

On Saturday the Band and I left for our week in Plett. Our room at The Beacon Isle is fantastic. Waves pounding outside my window. gorgeous views. comfy beds. Great way to start the leave.

The child must appear soon please. I am so uncomfortable. the kicking in the ribs. The headbutting in the - ... well never mind. The heaviness and lack of access to ones own stomach muscles. Forget that my heart is now 1/3 bigger, that my diaphragm has moved up by possibly 10cm, forcing my rib cage to expand for the sake of my lungs, forget the cankles. Imagine having a 3kg bag of flour wedged under your stomach muscles. I tried to explain this to the Band - you have to try not using your stomach muscles to get some idea of what this is like. Like when you get into and out of bed using only your arms and no abs. Or even rolling over in bed. What a mission. It is a 3 point turn each time. Anyway, we have packed in case of the child coming early and we have checked out the new Plett hospital (which is truly gorgeous) and quite frankly I would be happy to pop any day now.*

*If I am still saying this in 2 weeks time be prepared for a miserable, self-pitying caz!

bloodshot eyes*

*not a search term I would recommend entering in google images (shudder)

Well naturally it's been far too long since my last Encounter and so another one was becoming inevitable I suppose.

It happened on Friday. We were in Betty's Bay for the evening and sometime circa 4am I woke up to pee. (That's just the way it is. I've long since kissed the thought of sleeping through the night goodbye for the next decade) Anyway, as I reached for the door handle of the bedroom who do you suppose is skulking there, LEERING at me? 8 hairy legs glinting in the moonlight?

"$#!& man!" I squeal in an embarassingly high pitched voice.

Enter The Band. "What's wrong my girl?"

"one of those- those- those- spider BASTARDS is here lying in wait for me to touch him!!"

Saintly spouse that he is, he duly got up and removed the offending beast.

The rest of the night I was plagued with dreams of these wolf spiders. scuttling. leering. jeering. lurking.

The next morning The Band started to laugh about the whole thing.
"What's so funny?" heavily pregnant, unamused arachnophobe wife asks miserably.

"Well, how did you SPOT the spider? I don't understand how you could have seen him in the dark"

amateur. Does he really think that just because I haven't had an Encounter in 3 months I have let my guard down? NEVER! My spider inspections are taken as seriously as ever and it's a bluddy good thing too. If i had touched the demonic beast I swear I would have popped the baby out there and then!