My Precious Nugget by Ellie

I know you’re not ‘supposed to’ admit this but when I found out I was pregnant I cried. Not tears of joy, but tears of pure fear. The pregnancy had been planned and I’d been so excited that I had taken pregnancy test after pregnancy test until I got those two pink lines. But alas, when I finally saw them, I was terrified. I began questioning if my husband and I were ready and able to give this baby the best care possible. I then harshly judged myself for not rejoicing in the little miracle we had made, like you’re ‘supposed to’ when you’re in a committed relationship and are trying for a baby. This is something I’ve learnt from having a miscarriage; it’s the times I told myself I was supposed to think or feel a certain way that fuelled the guilt I felt when I lost my baby.

Even writing the words ‘my baby’ sparks doubt in my mind. I had a miscarriage at 5 weeks just before Christmas. Christmas Day was difficult as we spent it with people I didn’t know well and some of their babies. Just the sight of the babies made me cry and feel resentful towards those new mums for what they had and I didn’t. That’s when the guilt crept in. After all, my baby wasn’t like these babies. My baby didn’t have a face or a gender or even a real name, we just fondly called it Nugget. I had quickly grown attached to Nugget and I imagined a life with the little person inside me. First words, first steps, first day of school. I was grieving the idea of someone rather than a person I had actually met.

Finding out I was pregnant so early meant that only a few people in my life knew about it. We had planned to keep it quiet before 12 weeks because that’s what you’re ‘supposed’ to do. I knew that this was in case something went wrong but to be honest, I naively believed that this was just something people said. After all, I was young, healthy and fertile. I’d heard plenty of stories about women who had trouble conceiving but barely anything about miscarriage. The lack of awareness added to the shock when it happened to us and we were even more shocked to learn about how common it is. I often found myself asking, why didn’t I know this was a real possibility and why are we ‘supposed’ to keep quiet in case it happens? For me, keeping the news to myself when I fell pregnant left me open to not knowing where to turn when things didn’t go as planned. I’ll never forget the morning I came home from a yoga class to find I was bleeding. Instantly I knew something was seriously wrong and the most primal scream I’d ever heard left my mouth. My instant reaction was to call my mum however, she didn’t know I was pregnant. I could hear her confusion on the phone as she became excited and then concerned, reassuring me some bleeding can be normal. By the next morning my husband and I were in hospital being told I would need blood tests 48 hours apart to find out if I was having a miscarriage as I was too early for an ultrasound.

Those 48 hours of waiting were emotionally excruciating but possibly more painful was the reaction from the woman taking my second lot of bloods. As she expertly stuck the needle in my arm she explained that we were hoping for my hormone levels to go down. I glanced across at my husband who looked like he’d been shot. “Up,” I said assertively. “We’re hoping the hormone levels will go up.” The assumption that we didn’t want the baby angered me and made me feel guilty for not being ecstatic about the baby from the beginning. If I had reacted with joy instead of fear when I found out I was pregnant would this be happening? Or was it something else I did? Should I not have gone to yoga that day? I was reassured by hospital staff that this wasn’t the case and lots of women go through miscarriages. In fact, given I was only 5 weeks along some women may not even know and may just think it is a late period. Once again, guilt reared its ugly head and I felt silly for mourning a late period.

Eventually I learnt to stop putting so much emphasis on what I was supposed to be feeling and just accept that I had been through something difficult and painful. I stopped asking what I was supposed to do and went with what felt right. For me, talking about it with trusted people helped. I’m so grateful to the women who have shared their stories with me and provided support and hope. For my husband, he preferred not to share our loss because his friends and family didn’t know we were trying for a baby. He wanted to keep the news of our next pregnancy a surprise. We were lucky enough to get pregnant right away and I’m now in the second trimester. Those first 12 weeks were full of anxiety as I often checked for signs that something was wrong. Even though I often complained, they were also full of gratitude for my terrible morning sickness telling me something was coming to life inside me. Getting pregnant again straight away was such a blessing and provided a much welcome distraction from our loss however, it also forced me to move on very quickly. Every now and again I have a low day when I remember the grief I didn’t always acknowledge. Instead of fighting it or telling myself I have no right to feel that way because I’m pregnant, I just let myself feel it and give myself the compassion I deserve.

Ellie

If you require support after reading this blog, please contact Sands on 1300 072 637

Ellie Bethel

Ellie is a psychologist living on the Mornington Peninsula in Victoria. After having a miscarriage in December 2017, she is expecting a baby boy in October this year with husband Jeremy. Ellie is a self-proclaimed crazy dog lady and adores her fur baby Spencer. She is also a one eyed Sydney Swans supporter and loves doing yoga.

Pure Love For Our Pure Spirit by Kerry

❤ELARIA RHIANNON❤
Pure Love For Our Pure Spirit

We felt like someone was missing; our family was incomplete.
Girl or boy,
There was someone else to meet.

We felt you moving; your oldest brother couldn’t wait.
Bigger car, double pram.
Is there such a thing as fate?

We predicted a girl, we felt pretty sure.
Anticipation, excitement, joy.
Love for one more.

I had a baby shower, I organised your clothes.
Scans, CTGs, exams.
Our excitement only rose. 

Painful contractions 24/7, starting 9 days before you were due.
Phone calls, appointments, “early labour.”
“Call us” with anything new.

Contractions 3 minutes apart, for at least a minute long.
Three days before you were due,
Something had gone so tragically wrong.

Friday I’d felt you move, Saturday I wasn’t so sure.
Another phone call and a home Doppler.
Pain too much to ignore.

Finally a car trip to the hospital; we arrived just after midnight.
Doppler, scan, worried faces.
Darkness invaded our light.

“What is happening?!” “This is a nightmare!” Staring at each other.
My head fell into my hands.
What to tell your biggest brother?!

Personal goals and rationality aside, I thought cut me open while 
I’m asleep.
Our Ob. arrived along with rational thought.
My VBAC goal I’d keep.

We were told you’d probably be born, by the time 12 more hours 
had passed.
But darkness quite literally returned.
Aren’t nightmares usually fast?

Candles were lit below our window; it was Pregnancy and Infant Loss
Day!
Kept to myself in the car,
Not to jinx the, everything’s ok.

A new day was fast approaching, but the end was in sight.
A professional photographer would be there.
Empathy and kindness in the middle of the night!

When we finally held you, we couldn't look into your eyes. 
You were so pretty, so cute, so perfect.
Then began the sighs.

Your Dad opened the suit case to make a selection from your clothes.
A simple task made so difficult,
As pure devastation quickly rose.

We chose a dress with a purple tutu, white flying unicorns in the sky.
The only outfit you’d ever wear.
Why?! Just WHY?!

In the last 10 months we lost your Great-Nanna and your Opa.
Are you now with them?
Please tell me you didn’t go far.

A beautiful soul set free, did you have a greater purpose?
Did you choose us as parents?
Your life gives so much more than hurt us.

Your due date arrived, we’d been told we could go home.
I told you I loved you.
Waiting for the car, I felt alone.

Another trolley of suitcases arrived, with a mum and newborn too.
A moment I may never forget.
Why couldn’t that be me and you?!

Your Dad found me in the shop, where I’d made my escape.
Mums with babies and girly things,
Just too much to take.

Ready to go home, I was feeling pretty numb.
Our car had an empty capsule.
The past could never be undone.

Life seemed surreal; food no longer tasted the same.
We questioned, cried and worried,
Wondered where to place the blame.

It became startlingly obvious, we were forever changed.
Ripple, ripple, ripple.
Our whole future rearranged.

You imprinted on our hearts, imprinted on the world.
Through kindness, compassion and insight,
Your gift has unfurled.

Do our souls again evolve in the midst of a pain that may 
never leave?!
Did you suffer?! Feel pain?! And why?!
Will there be any reprieve?!

Love is eternal, our love for you remains.
Empty armed and broken hearted.
Our pain waxes and wanes.

Are you our angel in the sky? Was this the way it was meant to be?!
39 weeks, together as one.
Your whole life within me.

Thoughts from a Dad by Peter

The thrill of knowing you're having a child is the most overwhelming experience for both a woman and a man, especially your first. You spend hours talking to a growing abdomen, playing it music and just holding it. The excitement grows daily and your mind runs riot with a thousand different thoughts. Friends and family call daily, there is laughter, there is celebration, there is constant talk with your partner - there is so much love.

My son Charlie died. He died before I could look in his eyes and know he was my boy, before I could kick a football with him, before I could hold his hand while he looked up at me, before I could take him to school on his first day. Charlie died and the world around me fell silent. There were still calls from friends and family for a while, there was still drinking but not to celebrate, there was no more laughter, just tears - where could all that love disappear to.

How do you deal with all the feelings, the emotion, the loss? How is a man supposed to react? Isn't a man supposed to just move on? Where did my wife go? Where did my dreams go? Why is it so hard to drag myself out of bed each day?

Needless to say I didn't deal with the loss of my son Charlie, I still haven't dealt with the loss properly 13 years later. I have learnt however that men are allowed to feel the heart break of loss of a baby just the same as women and I now know that although it will always be painful it doesn't have to define you. Sands helped my wife a great deal, she dealt with her grief separately to me, I needed help too but didn't know how to get it even though it was right in front of me. I needed a hand to guide me but it never came, I think I needed another man to say it was alright. I can tell others now to seek help, find it, you really need it to help you heal.

Peter

Sands has a dedicated Men’s Support Line which is answered by male Volunteer Parent Supporters who understand the grief and confusion you may be experiencing, as they too have had a baby who has died Click here  (http://www.sands.org.au/male-parent-supporters) to find out more

Angels and Rainbows

In this blog, Shanelle shares her innermost thoughts about her subsequent pregnancy.

      "You feel so much fear due to the loss of your previous baby that 
       it’s  hard to enjoy this pregnancy even though you know it’s completely 
       different."

It’s always the same.
It may have a different setting, different people and be a different situation but the outcome is always the same.
Something’s wrong. You lost it. It’s too early. Stillbirth. 

No one mentions the irrational fears, the months of nightmares, the crippling fear you experience every time you close your eyes to sleep nor do they mention the guilt for the happiness and joy you feel or the torture you impose on yourself during waking hours when you fall in the “in between.”

The In between... Where you are trying to enjoy your rainbow but are still grieving your angel. 
And unless you have experienced it for yourself it’s hard to understand the internal conflict it puts you through…
The joy of finding out your expecting and the grief you feel as its only days before your angel was due.
Or how on Mother’s day you cry because right now you’re supposed to have your little bundle in your arms yet feel guilty because you’re appreciating (or aren’t) the little kicks and prods you can feel in your womb.
The excitement of looking forward to meeting all the little milestones along the way, the first scan, the second trimester, baby shopping, the first kick and finding out the gender, baby names… while you also count down all the little milestones fear induces making it past your miscarriage date, the first 12 weeks, the scan for a viable heartbeat, the lookout for kicks and movement to know they’re still okay, 24 weeks viability!!

So many emotions, you feel like you’re on a roller coaster, you can go from the highest highs to the lowest lows and you can forget that you aren’t going through it alone and while you could be excited about your scans, your partner doesn’t want to come because he doesn’t want to get attached to this one too or the devastating reality when you’re son asks “is this one going to die too?”

You end up falling into the habit of referring to baby in “ifs” if she makes it, if she survives, if she is born instead of when… when... when…

You feel so much fear due to the loss of your previous baby that it’s hard to enjoy this pregnancy even though you know it’s completely different. You feel guilty when you enjoy it and you feel guilty when you don’t. You feel isolated and stuck because no one tells you it’s okay to grieve for the baby you lost while still enjoying all the miracles this new baby brings. People seem to think that since you’re expecting that the previous baby doesn’t matter and to stop overreacting, stressing as all is well with the world yet they fail to realise that the intense fear of losing this one too is only a natural reaction to the grief of your last and the hopes of your future.

Shanelle

If you require support after reading this blog please contact

Sands on 13 000 72637

Shanelle Kay

Shanelle is a trainee counsellor and photographer based in Brisbane.

She believes the best sound in the world is her son's laughter and how he sings to himself when he wakes from a nap. She is also a proud mummy to an angel baby and through writing and various arts she is sharing her experience and finding herself, all over again. In her own words...

"I am all and I am nothing, but most importantly I am exactly who I need to be in this moment... and that is sometimes the hardest thing we have to accept, openly and honestly.. Ourselves"