The 'Secret' World of a Bereaved Parent by Emalynne

My husband and I lost our first born daughter, Annabelle on 10 August 2012. She was stillborn, something that you just can not believe actually still happens in this day and age. You realise though as you learn of the secret world of bereaved parents that it happens much more often than you care to believe. It was a difficult and dark time when Annabelle passed and continued to be difficult and dark for many days, weeks and months afterwards. 

Coming out of that haze, I realised that life continued for those around me. As I began to go back to “life”, it was hard to work out what to say to people when you saw them again. It was especially hard with those who expected me to have a baby in my arms and they are unaware of what tragically had happened. It’s that difficult circle of people: colleagues and acquaintances that aren’t close enough to be those friends who learnt straight away of our baby’s death, but were well aware that you were pregnant. Going back to “normal life”, meant having to interact with them and explain to them the trauma of our loss. As I found myself repeating the story of the lost of my beloved Annabelle that soothed me but brought such sorrow, I could not bring myself, at times, most times, to do it again tomorrow. 

Although blessed with a subsequent pregnancy, it brought such anxiety as innocent questions from strangers abound about the number of children I had and what number pregnancy this might be. I might give an answer that doesn’t sit quite right, so the next time I gave another. As an overthinker, there is a whole lot of mental gymnastics to work out what to say. I wanted to make sure that I respected and honoured my child while managing the emotional turmoil and anxiety I had inside about what further questions may ensue from the answers that I gave.

In the end, I decided whatever answer I gave, they don’t remember it and I sit with the answer for what feels like forever because it doesn’t matter as much to them as it does to me and it just doesn’t seem to do my child justice. 

But you know what? 

As bereaved parents, we just do what we feel comfortable. There is no right or wrong way to answer such questions as time and life continues following the lost of our children. You navigate life as well as you can and do what you feel right to live and breathe the new normal that is your life without your beloved child. For me, to respect and honour my child, Annabelle is to continue to live my life and what it stands for.

Emalynne

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

Emalynne So

I am a mother to Annabelle, stillborn on 10 August 2012, BabySo, miscarried at 12 weeks on 20 June 2013 and Jema who was born in July 2014. I share my family's story to help honour the memory of Annabelle and BabySo so they can still make a difference to another family's journey on this path despite not having stepped a single foot on this earth.

Supporting Your Partner During a Subsequent Pregnancy by Peter

So you’re ready to ‘jump back on the wagon’ after experiencing a miscarriage or infant death. You’ve talked about it, seen the doctor, cried, laughed, planned (or not planned) and you think you might be ready to fall pregnant again.

It’s natural for guys to want to support their partner during pregnancy. A subsequent pregnancy after miscarriage, stillbirth or newborn is fraught with anxiety. How can you support your partner (and yourself) during a subsequent pregnancy? Check out these ideas

1.    Keep your batteries recharged

It might sound strange; ‘you’ are often the last person you think about after you’ve experienced a miscarriage or death of your baby. You’re busy looking after your partner, your children, going back to work and ‘doing life’ that you can forget about yourself. Subsequent pregnancies can be really, really scary. Really scary, and you may think and feel things that hit you for a six. Looking after yourself is possibly one of the most important things you can do to support your partner during a subsequent pregnancy. Sounds strange, doesn’t it! Think about it though – if you are burned out, spent and come apart, your ability to support your partner and family will be greatly diminished. Finding healthy things – even small things – to recharge your batteries will pay huge dividends now and in the future. Keep up the exercise, take time to read, watch the football – anything that will help keep you balanced.

2.    Celebrate every milestone

Often, miscarriage or infant death will be sudden. There won’t be any warning, and then you’re faced with coming home from the hospital without your baby. Every subsequent pregnancy after that will be difficult and emotional. A great strategy to support your partner is to celebrate each milestone. Pregnancy is a nine-month marathon (and for many couples, much longer if falling pregnant takes longer). It’s not selfish to celebrate milestones of the pregnancy!

3.    Be honest

After miscarriage and infant death, it can feel like your whole world changes. It has changed, and you don’t need reminding that everything is different. Your family plans have changed, and you will need to find a new normal. Here’s the thing though – your plans have changed, but you’re still on the same team as your partner. A strong team supports each other and is honest with each other. Have you seen sporting captains be honest with their team? They can be very honest! Find positive ways to be honest with your partner on what you are thinking and feeling about your subsequent pregnancy. She’s half of your team; she needs to know what you’re thinking, feeling and experiencing. Support her with your honesty. The team works best when ideas are shared, thoughts are talked about and everyone is listened to.

4.    It’s ok to freak out

Yes, you heard correctly. It’s totally ok to freak out. To wake up in the middle of the night in a sweat, wondering if ‘it’ will happen again. It’s ok to be worried, scared, and freaked out. No amount of people saying ‘this one is different’ will help. It just won’t. Put this into perspective. You and your partner have experienced a miscarriage or infant death. Maybe it’s not the first time, either. You’ve had at least one experience of your hopes and dreams dashed. It’s normal for you to be very, very anxious. It will be normal for your partner to be anxious, scared and worried too. Add that to the usual rollercoaster of pregnancy hormones and you’ve got an automatic freak-out generator. Be kind to each other, and gracious in those freak out times. You can’t predict the future, but you can be kind, compassionate and understanding to each other.

Have you gone through a subsequent pregnancy after a miscarriage or infant death? What did you do well? What do you think you could have done better in supporting your partner? Share your ideas in the comments, below.

Peter

If you require support after reading this blog please contact 

Sands on 13 000 72637

Peter Vidins is a Sands Parent Supporter. Outside of his involvement with Sands, he works 9 - 5 in the city. In my spare time he does a stack of freelance writing, tries to spend as much time with his family and enjoys spending time in the garden. He is Dad to Daniel, my first born who passed away, and Zoe (7) and Eli (5).

Click here to see Peter talk to Emma Alberici and Paul Kennedy about Sands and the Men's Helpline on ABC Breakfast TV.

Patrick and Clem...by Susannah

Our daughter Clementine was born two weeks before her due date.

I had realised that she had stopped moving and we went into the hospital. Our very experienced midwife, Robyn, couldn't find her heartbeat. A doctor came and checked. She told us that Clementine had died.

The doctor explained that I would need to have an ultrasound - to provide final confirmation.

A man came with a wheelchair to take me to radiology but I told him I could walk. He insisted. It was a Sunday and the normally busy area was deserted.

Robyn came with us. She said the sonographer was young, he'd had to do this final confirmation for a number of women in recent months and he had asked for someone to come with me.

I recognised the sonographer and I could tell that he recognised me. Clementine’s growth had been behind schedule and I had had many ultrasounds over the course of my pregnancy.

It was when the sonographer said "I'm very sorry for your loss" that the reality hit me. I screamed.

The ultrasound. Something that was once something exciting and fun to look forward to in pregnancy had morphed to be traumatic and a trigger for my grief for Clementine.

The thought of being pregnant again and having another ultrasound was terrifying.

As months passed and home pregnancy tests revealed that I was not pregnant, I felt a mix of relief and sadness. Relief that I was not pregnant and having to face all that terrified me. And sadness as I faced the possibility that we may not have another baby.

When I did fall pregnant, one of the first people we told was Robyn.

My worst fear was returning to the hospital for an ultrasound. For me, the thought of returning to the physical location that I most associated with the loss of our daughter was horrifying.

I didn't even need to tell Robyn - she knew. And she suggested I have all of my ultrasounds at a specialist clinic that I had never attended before. And she helped organise this to happen.

It made a significant difference. I didn't have to walk into the radiology department to relive, again and again, the moment I was told that our baby had died. My fear was still there and I braced myself before each ultrasound to be told that this baby had no heartbeat. But he did have a heartbeat, he was alive and growing.

Conventional wisdom says "face your fear!" but, for me, it felt more important to minimise the stress associated with each ultrasound and changing the physical location helped me to do that. It also helped reinforce for me that this was a different pregnancy, a different experience and that it would, most likely, have a very different outcome.

I was fortunate to have the support of an online loss group who provided encouragement and understanding as I faced each ultrasound.

When I was about 32 weeks pregnant, Robyn mentioned packing my bag so that it would be ready when it was time to come to the hospital. It really shook me and I started to cry as we talked about it. The last time I had packed a hospital bag was when I had felt that Clementine had stopped moving. We came to the hospital to be told that she had died. Brains can make interesting leaps of logic and mine had connected packing the bag with the death of our baby. While I could take a step back and recognise my faulty logic, I never did pack that bag.

Clementine had died when I was 38 weeks pregnant. The doctors indicated that they would want to assess my mental health as I approached 38 weeks to determine if they might need to induce labour.

As it turned out, this wasn't necessary.

Our baby boy, Patrick, decided for himself that he would be born when I was 36 weeks pregnant.

Patrick's birth triggered memories of Clementine's and I was grateful that, once again, Robyn was able to be there to guide me through the birth of another beautiful baby.

Robyn understood the points at which I was struggling; she listened and talked them through with me. I swore - a lot. Even my tradie husband was shocked at the expletives I managed to string together.

When Patrick was born, a paediatrician was hovering to check him over. As the doctor approached, I screamed at her not to take my baby. Fortunately, Patrick was well and he could stay with us.

We had spent time with Clementine at the hospital but, after her autopsy was completed, we released her to Julie, a very caring woman from Tobin Brothers. We walked out with Julie and watched as she strapped the soft fabric carrier into her car and then drove out of the hospital car park.

Leaving the hospital with Patrick, strapping him into the car seat that had sat unused in our car for two years, was overwhelming.

When Patrick was six weeks old, we celebrated Clementine's second birthday. It was a time of intense sleep deprivation and grief. It was sometimes difficult for me to articulate what I was experiencing and feeling but I was fortunate that, when I did, I had the support of my husband, family and friends. I had an outstanding maternal child health nurse and I also made use of the PANDA (postnatal depression) helpline. I didn't know if I had PND but the grief and sleep deprivation were making life difficult and the PANDA counsellors helped me.

Patrick is now nine months old. His gentle nature and smiling face have brought us so much happiness. Sometimes, when he is asleep, he looks so much like Clementine that he takes my breath away.

I am so grateful for my children; they bring me so much joy. I miss Clementine and still cannot believe that she died and that I will never see her grow. I continue to grieve for Clementine and the triggers for this grief still take me by surprise.

The joy Patrick has brought does not "cancel out" my grief for Clementine.

I wish I could tie this story up with a pretty bow and lovely conclusion. I can't. Patrick is a baby, a person in his own right, he is not our "happy ending". If we are lucky, we will keep on going - laughing, crying, screaming, smiling, talking, celebrating, and remembering.

I rejoice in my two children who are here with me. I will always miss my Clementine. 

Susannah

If you require support after reading this blog please contact 

Sands on 13 000 72637

Susannah Aumann

Susannah lives in Melbourne with her husband, Ben, and daughter, Eleanor. Her youngest child, Clementine, was stillborn in July 2013 at 38 weeks gestation. Susannah is passionate about raising awareness to encourage research into stillbirth.

Being Pregnant After........ by Jess

The decision to become pregnant again was instantaneous for us. We both wanted more children and a sibling for our son to grow up with. The decision was easy, the reality was not.

After my daughter was born sleeping at 39 weeks from a septic infection, I suffered a serious illness that took months to recover from, so we weren’t able to start trying again until many months later. As a long time sufferer of anxiety and bouts of depression, my hormones were often already out of whack. 13 months after we lost our little Emma, and with a little help from some amazing Doctors and Nurses, our prayers were answered.

It had been a horrific 12 months and we had in fact lost hope. Every day I was convincing myself more and more that our son was to be our only child at home and more and more I was ok with that.

I never thought I would see those two pink lines again. I was instantly elated! I squealed, I cried tears of joy, my son (2.5 at the time) thought I had gone mad. I wrapped the test in layers and layers of newspaper and ribbon to give to my husband Shane after work that night. He thought that I was playing a trick on him somehow, we just couldn’t believe it.

The first 12 weeks travelled by quickly. I had a small bleed at 8 weeks which was instantly terrifying but I received excellent care and it was quickly discovered to be nothing.

I felt my first flutter at 16 weeks at 3am. I was so thrilled that I couldn’t get back to sleep. From then on my anxiety/worry and sometimes paranoia really escalated. At 18-20 weeks I was having trouble feeling the movements. A scan told us that I had a low lying anterior placenta and that was possibly acting as a barrier, making movements harder to feel. At 23 weeks, after a fraught weekend I called the maternity unit and went in for a scan. They were brilliant and everything was perfectly fine. No one made me feel like a crazy paranoid person, they all understood completely why I would be concerned. Since then my placenta has moved up out of the way and now at 25 weeks I feel my baby moving and shaking like a little champ!

I’m really glad I went to the hospital that day but making that phone call and taking that drive brought everything back. It was the same sequence of events that occurred 18 months before and I was floored by my terror.

Sharing our news with friends and family was really special. Everyone was so over the moon for us but we started to notice a change in the air. People became less censored or sensitive in their comments and conversations when around us. On sharing our news we were asked questions like ‘do you hope it’s a girl so you can have one of each?’ ‘Will this be it or will you try for a 3^rd?’ To some (not all) people it feels as if Emma was never even born, that she doesn’t still hold a place in our family. We’ve learned not to take these kinds of comments to heart and definitely learned that we are the only ones who truly get it….but it hurts. It hurts a lot.

I imagine that the next 15 weeks (give or take) are going to be spent as a mixture of nerves, excitement, worry, happiness and sometimes terror but it’s what we expect. More than anything I can’t wait to meet our 3^rd beautiful baby, I look forward to hearing his/her first cry, changing that first nappy, I even look forward to the MANY late night/early morning feeds and being so tired I can barely function as a person.

I still feel somewhat angry about losing Emma, maybe even slightly resentful but today I’m looking into the future and I have HOPE xx

Jess

If you require support after reading this blog please contact

Sands on 13 000 72637

Jessica Lawless

Jessica lives in Victoria. She is the wife to Shane and a Mum to 2 beautiful kids - Adam, nearly 2 and Emma, born sleeping August 2014.

I like to practice yoga, cook, read and spend all my time being a SAHM with Adam. My family and friends are my whole world, there is barley a distinction between the two.

I hope by being so open and honest about my experiences I can help raise awareness and provide support for others.

Couldn't Live Without Three.....by Tiffany

Tiff has written very honestly about the physical experience of the miscarriage which followed the death of her son from SIDS.  However, she herself says she is still too numb to be able to explore her emotions in a similar way. We hope that she will be able to do so in the future.

Three  days after Mother’s Day in 2014, I lost my 7 week old baby boy Wade to SIDS. Days and weeks went past and my husband and I were finding it hard to adjust to having two kids again and we were talking about having another:  not to replace our little man but to help us with our grief.

In September 2014 we found out we were pregnant again, but this time our fear was not losing our baby to SIDS -  never did we think of the unthinkable.

When I was 7 weeks pregnant I unfortunately went through trauma. I was checked and the baby and I were doing great.

At 12 weeks that all changed. I started bleeding very heavily. I went to the doctor and had an ultrasound done. They found I had a subchorionic hematoma (which is bleeding in the wall of the uterus) caused by the trauma. They told me it would either grow or shrink and it was a waiting game. My daughters witnessed everything during this pregnancy and I wished I could take it all away.

By 16 weeks my bleeding had died down to just spotting and we were so excited that everything was going well at this point.  But then it turned again.

By 17 weeks I ended up in hospital with gastro and even worse bleeding, to the point where I was literally standing in pools of blood.  I had frequent ultrasounds and the clot was growing. It was now at the point that there was more clot than baby. I was in and out of hospital all week when I suddenly went into labour at 18 weeks on the 10/01/15, only 9 days after my 21st birthday.

The birth was horrific, the worst birth I’d ever had. At 3cm dilated I was already pushing and my baby was holding on until my cervix shut on him. My husband was sitting by me through the whole thing and I told him to pick a name as we knew it was a boy. We named him Jax. They told us straight out that because I was 18 weeks,  no matter happened what he wouldn’t make it. He took his last breath in my husband’s arms. I was expecting a normal looking baby but to start with I was extremely overwhelmed and it made me realise it was bad news. I was hoping it was all a dream.

After the birth they told me I lost about half my blood volume and given that I’m anaemic it was more serious. They told me I needed a blood transfusion, and I turned out that I needed 3 bags. During my first bag I recall my monitors going off and a lot of people in my room when I finally came to they told me my blood pressure dropped dramatically. But I recall nothing as I passed out for a few moments.

That night I spent in the ICU. Constantly being monitored for blood loss and having my extra bags of blood. The next afternoon all I wanted was to go home with my husband and girls. The hospital was too much for me. They hospital refused to let me leave and I kicked up a storm. I couldn’t stand being there. I couldn’t stand the doctors saying I was good and I knew that I wasn’t and it was my heart that wasn’t good.

I feel all this happened just because I was so used to having 3 kids and the routine I was in I wanted to bring another baby into our world so badly. My eldest constantly asks for a new baby brother and to this day I still can’t give her that wish.

Tiff

If you require support after reading this blog please contact

Sands on 13 000 72637

Tiffany Aghan

Wife to Luke and mummy to Tamara and Summer, in her arms, and Wade, Jax and Tristan, in heaven. I have recently completed certificates in law and in psychology and in the process of completing certificate in medicine. I am having time off at the moment to spend more time with my girls. But I am hoping one day I will continue where I want to go.

A New (And Happy) Chapter

Genevieve expresses her thanks to Sands and those that have supported her along her journey of grief following the death of precious Amalie.

     "I want to thank everyone at Sands and the wonderful mums I’ve met online 
      in other forums for their incredible support, care and empathy – both at the 
      time of Amalie’s death and ongoing."

It is 6 months tomorrow since my infant daughter Amalie died.  It seems both like yesterday and a lifetime ago.  I want to thank everyone at Sands and the wonderful mums I’ve met online in other forums for their incredible support, care and empathy – both at the time of Amalie’s death and ongoing.  I won’t go as far as saying I wouldn’t have made it through without you all, but I certainly wouldn’t have made through as well as I have done.  

I can honestly and gratefully report that I’m happy. Not just coping, but truly and deeply happy. A lot of credit goes to my wonderful partner.  It was not easy, but we worked through our grief together and have emerged far stronger as a couple because of it.  This is not for a minute suggesting that there is not still a lot of pain around our loss, and that there always will be.  We have just got better at integrating it, and at celebrating what we have rather than focusing on what we have lost.

We have decided to get married early next year. I know this seems like the wrong order of things, but the piece of paper didn’t seem so important to us before.  We are going to have the wedding at Amalie’s tree (her ashes were scattered in the roots as we planted it) so that she can be there with us.

And in other happy news, I am again pregnant and due in early January 2016. As usual, I’m as sick as a dog  (severe nausea and vomiting) and so the cat is out of the bag (apologies for the mixed animal metaphors).   This is my 7th pregnancy and they’ve all been the same in first trimester, so I wasn’t expecting to get away scot free this time!  So far everything is going as it should, and we’re very excited.

The tide has well and truly turned for us.

Genevieve

If you require support after reading this blog please contact

Sands on 13 000 72637

Genevieve Yates

Genevieve is a GP, medical educator, medical writer and musician from the Northern Rivers region of NSW. After a long and difficult road to motherhood, her beautiful daughter, Amalie Ella, was born in December, 2014.  Tragically, Amalie died of neonatal sepsis after only four days.

Through her clinical work, teaching and writing, she hopes to she can use her experiences to help support both patients and other doctors in managing the complex emotions surrounding fertility issues and perinatal loss, and also encourage more open discussion in the general community.

Her website can be found at: http://genevieveyates.com

Trying Again

In this blog, Rashida shares here experience of finding the right time to embark on another pregnancy....

When I share my story with someone who hasn't experienced the loss of a child, the most common response that I usually get is:  I couldn't imagine!
“That’s true,” I say. “Neither could I.”

No one can imagine the loss of a child unless it happens to them and even then it is still hard to.

The second most common response that I get when I share my story and people see that I've had another child is: I don’t think I would have wanted to try again!

While I get why people who haven’t experienced loss would think that, to them I would simply say, you’re wrong.

The truth is, as scary as it is to even entertain the thought of trying again, after a loss there is nothing you want more than to try again.

Why? Because the moment that pregnancy test reads positive is when your life changes, not the birth. When the sperm meets the egg, being a parent literally becomes a part of your DNA. You begin to imagine what this child look like, whose personality traits they’ll have, and wonder how you will ever pick the perfect name for your tiny human. You will smile at babies in passing for no reason and unconsciously pat your belly in anticipation of one day soon being the parent holding the little one who is loved even by strangers.

Then in a moment it all changes, and the future you once dreamed about becomes the nightmare you can’t wake up from. 

The thing you could never imagine happening to you just has.

And those thoughts of happiness that once occupied your mind becomes a heartache so deep that now seeing a baby in passing brings you to tears and for a while nothing is the same. 

I didn't want to celebrate my birthday that year because for me it just wasn't how it was supposed to be. My previous plan for that day only included me celebrating by blowing out the candles on a small cake at home with my husband and my newborn baby. 

Later that year, even a welcomed Vegas vacation that included an anticipated concert by Beyoncé who is my favorite artist of all-time was hard to enjoy because it didn't feel like we were meant to be there. If things had gone according to planned we wouldn't have been.

The thought of what “should” be consumed me, until one day a shift occurred and I begin thinking about what could be. 

So when people tell me that they don’t think they would want to try again, I respond with a resounding yes! Yes, you would want to try again, not to replace what was but because of a desire to experience what you know is your destiny: Motherhood. 

The next question I'm usually asked after that is, how did you know when to try again? And the answer is simple: You know you are ready when the day comes that your faith outweighs your fears. It’s the process of getting there through the pain and grief that’s the hard part. 

Rashida


If you require support after reading this blog please contact

Sands on 13 000 72637

Rashida McKenzie

Rashida McKenzie is the Founder of High-Risk Helpers, a maternity concierge service for expectant mother's experiencing high-risk pregnancies that result in bed rest. She is also the mother of a baby girl named Maya (who was born after 22 weeks of bed rest) and an angel who inspired her to advocate for pregnancy loss awareness. To learn more about Rashida or High-Risk Helpers, visit www.highriskhelpers.com.

What October Means To Me:

Larissa shares her thoughts about Pregnancy & Infant Loss Awareness month:

October is Pregnancy and Infant Loss Awareness month. I remember hearing about it in 2012 and it didn’t really sink in. I was pregnant with my first baby and honestly didn’t think too much about the significance of the month. I hadn’t experienced a loss and neither had any close friends or family, so the month passed without too much thought from me.

October 2013 was a very different story. It was nine months after the stillbirth of my daughter and I was six months pregnant with my second child.. In 2013 my life was consumed with grief and the need to physically and publically remember Ariella was strong. Throughout the month I took photos to participate in Carly Marie’s Capture Your Grief project and found it was so healing and meaningful to be able to share my thoughts about the topics. I was visiting some friends and family interstate for part of the month and that meant I missed the Sands walkathon and candle lighting ceremony, although I wanted to attend both. I didn’t feel too sad about missing them though, as I felt as if my entire life revolved around remembering Ariella.

This year, October was different again. I have a nine month old son who keeps me very busy, so while I still grieve the death of my daughter, my grief looks different now. I decided not to participate in the Capture Your Grief project this year; doing so would have meant focusing quite intently on my grief and sadness, which I didn’t feel like I needed to do. A number of people have told me lately that I’m looking a lot happier and “better” than I have for a long time and I have to agree with them. I do feel happier and I even feel like I’m getting better. I’ll always miss Ariella but that longing for her isn’t as all-consuming as it was last October. However, I feel as though I cannot remember Ariella physically and publically as often as I would sometimes like. So I decided to attend the Sands candle lighting ceremony. I left my son at home with my husband and headed off to focus solely on my little girl for the first time in a while. As I drove to the venue, songs starting coming to mind. Songs that provided so much comfort in the days, weeks and months after Ariella’s death, such as “”I Will Carry You” (Selah), “Glory Baby” (Watermark), and “Still” (Gerrit Hofsink). I hadn’t listened to them since my son was born but just thinking about them made me remember how much truth are in their words. I carried her while her heart beat, she has Heaven before I do, she was gone before she came… the memory of those songs brought tears to my eyes as I was able to focus on my daughter without also needing to care for my son at that moment. As the ceremony started and I lit Ariella’s candle, I was so thankful to have an hour to just think about her, all I had during those 39 weeks with her and all I lost when she died. One day later, on the International Day of Pregnancy and Infant Loss Awareness, my Facebook news feed was filled with photos of candles lit in honour of my baby girl. It made this grieving mama smile through her tears to know that other people were publically remembering my precious Ariella.

As I look back at three very different Octobers, I can’t help but wonder at what October 2015 will bring. What stage will I be at in my grief? Will I want spend the month focusing on it, or just a single day? Will it be a mixture of the past two or something else altogether? Who knows! But what I do know is this – I’m so grateful that there is a time set aside to remember and honour all of our precious babies, however we decide to do it.

Larissa

If you require support after reading this blog please contact

Sands on 13 000 72637

Larissa Genat

Larissa is a wife to Marcus and a mother to two beautiful children – Ariella Jade in 

Heaven and Levi William in her arms. She loves spaghetti bolognaise and the smell of rain, but neither of them could make her smile when, after a textbook pregnancy, Ariella unexpectedly died at 39 weeks gestation. No reason was ever found for her death. Soon after Ariella’s death Larissa began writing. You can find her posts at 

Deeper Still (www.loveisdeeperstill.blogspot.com)  and on Still Standing Magazine (http://stillstandingmag.com/author/larissa).

Becoming a Better Person

In this weeks blog Deb Saunders shares her story....

I am a wife to my gorgeous husband Dale, and mum to 5 amazing children, 2 I get to spend my days with, and 3 that I think of constantly, that are always in our hearts. I am a professional photographer with my own business, and I am a volunteer photographer for Heartfelt, an organisation that ‘gives the gift of photographic memories’ to families with stillborn, seriously ill, or terminally ill children. This is my story.

My husband and I had been together for 11, and married for 7 years when we felt ready to start a family. Without any difficulty at all, we were pregnant with our first child, and Kayn was born via c-section, due to placenta previa, 2 weeks before his due date. We were so in love with this amazing human, and life seemed perfect.

Fast forward a couple of years, and we wanted to add to our little family, and again became pregnant easily, but at 8 weeks, I had some heavy bleeding, and after a visit to the doctor, it was confirmed that we had lost our baby. We were devastated, and I was even more determined to try again, and after the all clear a number of months later, we did, and after a few months, were excited to be pregnant again. This time, we made it to 11 weeks, and again lost our precious baby. I felt like I was doing something wrong, and it was all my fault! Of course this wasn’t true, but I was so frustrated, and heartbroken, and didn't know if I could go through this again.

It wasn't long, but at the time seemed like an eternity, before we were pregnant again, and this time we made it through all the milestones, and I had a text book pregnancy. We found out we were having another boy, and Kayn was so happy to have a brother to play with soon!

But a week before Kayn’s 4th birthday, I had a terrible night, and couldn’t recall when the baby had last moved, and rang the hospital to let them know. They reassured me it was probably nothing to worry about, but to call back in the morning if I was still concerned, which I did, as I had a feeling that something wasn't right, but couldn't work out what it was. I was 37 weeks and 5 days pregnant. I went down to the hospital, with my Mum and child in tow, and after what seemed like hours, and a number of scans, I was given the earth shattering news that the baby had no heartbeat.

I felt so alone, and rang my husband to tell him what had happened, I felt like I was on the outside looking in at myself, and I really don’t remember much from that day apart from the feeling of complete and utter disbelief that this even happened, let alone to me. To us?

We went home for the evening, I’m not sure why, or how, but we made it through, and the next day went back to the hospital to have a c-section, as I couldn't be induced, and I wasn't prepared to wait to go into labour, as this may have taken weeks. I’ll never forget in the theatre when Kai was delivered, the silence, there was music playing, which I later found out was a cd by Jewel, but the silence, when there should have been a screaming baby, that was the moment I knew it was true, our baby was gone, and I would never get to hear him cry, and I didn't know how or if, I was going to get beyond this. Ever.

He was so perfect. 9lb 4oz, or 4.3kg, a big boy, looking just like his big brother did when he was born. We didn't get as many photos as I wish we did of Kai Thomas, I struggled to get out of bed, and was out of it on pain killers, and I guess others just didn't think of it, but I do have a few precious, irreplaceable photos of him, and all of us together.

This is my main reason for volunteering with heartfelt for the last few years, as I realise just how important it is to have those memories with your child. Helping to keep their memory alive is such a precious gift to be able to give.

Kai was born on a Wednesday, and I left the hospital on the Saturday morning to be at my other son’s 4th birthday, and to this day I have no idea how I managed to get there and keep going, but I know I wouldn’t have without Kayn, he really was my savior, that gorgeous little boy who loved me and needed me so much, and was the reason I got out of bed for so long when I just didn't want to.

Over the next 2 and a half years, we went on to lose a little boy Kody at 17 weeks, and a precious little princess, Kayla, at 20 weeks, and I’m still not sure how we kept trying, and failing, and trying again, but in 2009, we were so blessed to have Kapri, who is here thanks to some amazing doctors, and the wonders of modern medicine. She was born 6 weeks early, after 2 blood transfusions in utero, and was very sick when she was delivered, but she was such a little fighter, that after just 10 days in NICU, she was well enough to come home, and is now a gorgeous, happy and healthy 5 year old, who started school this year.

I spent my 30’s trying to have the children we so desperately wanted, 8 years of joy, heartbreak and devastation, and it was a tough journey, one that we will carry with us forever. I don’t think the pain ever goes away, we just learn to make the most of the moments presented to us in life for what they are, the good with the bad, but I always carry those precious souls in my heart, and they are never far from my thoughts. I do believe I am a better person for my journey’s challenges, and when times are really tough, I try to focus on my amazing children that did make it here with me, and spend some extra time just taking them in.

If you require support please call Sands - 1300 0 SANDS

Deb Saunders

My name is Deb, I am 43 years old, and have been married to the love of my life for almost 19 years. We have 2 amazing, wonderful children with us, and 3 more that watch over us and help keep us safe.
I am a photographer, and do a lot of work with families, which I just adore, and I love the stories I get to hear and be part of. I believe everyone has a story to tell, we just need to listen.
Through my experience, I found and now volunteer as a photographer for Heartfelt, an Australian organisation that gives the gift of photographic memories to families that have an ill or stillborn baby, or terminally ill child up to the age of 16. This in an organisation I am extremely proud to be a part of.
I am quite a social person, and enjoy nothing better than catch ups with friends over coffee, or wine, I love the beach, we are very lucky to live right on its doorstep, and I love craft of all kinds, and I am very good at starting lots of great things that I will finish one day!

The Numbness and Disbelief of Miscarriage

Sands blogger Rachel Brown shares her story of her Miscarriage.

It was intense, how it happened. I had no signs of a loss and went in for an ultrasound at 14 weeks into my pregnancy. I started getting cramping on the way there. I dismissed it as nerves, stretching pains, bubs moving or anything but what it was. Only weeks earlier, at 8 weeks into the pregnancy, we had a joyful scan with a wriggly baby with a strong heartbeat.

The next scan was the most surreal thing I had ever experienced. It felt like I was watching myself. I can’t think of that room without feeling fear and sorrow.

We could both tell straight away. I’ve talked about it to my husband about it since and our minds went through a similar process. As soon as the Ob/gyn zoomed in we desperately searched for a heartbeat… then movement… then watched as he measured our baby and it came up with under 10 weeks development. We both showed no outward emotion. Just numbness, disbelief, and shock.

Then he said the words that crushed our hopes…“This pregnancy is not progressing. There is no heartbeat. I am sorry”. He left us alone. Even though I knew it… the spoken words made it real… I made noises I never want to make again. I wailed. I clutched at my belly… I remember saying “I can’t do this! I can’t do this!” I cleaned the gel off my little belly bump and got of the bed. I sat with my husband and cried with him. Without realising, I was apologising. I blamed myself.

I felt empty, numb, and cheated beyond belief.

We were sent to my normal GP with a medical report that said “This is a failed pregnancy” and had pictures of my precious baby. “Failed”? There’s no failure to it.

So much of pregnancy loss is clinical. It’s managed in such an emotionless way and can leave you feeling isolated and even more upset - at a time where you are already struggling.

After research I decided to wait to miscarry naturally with the support of medical professionals. I went through many intense emotions in that time as I grieved.

I went through a birthing process a couple of weeks later at home. Holding my tiny baby in the sac and seeing his tiny umbilical cord, eyes, little arms, and legs helped me to process the loss. Birthing the placenta was the more difficult aspect physically as it was condensed and the size of a lemon.

During and after my miscarriage, I dealt with my fair share of well-meaning but ultimately hurtful ‘advice’ and opinions. What I learned, ultimately, is that most people don’t like to feel uncomfortable. And pregnancy loss makes them feel uncomfortable. So they want – subconsciously, or otherwise – for you to ‘move on’ so that they don’t have to deal with it.

People don’t know what to say. So they sometimes say things that are less than helpful. I surrounded myself with people who knew I just needed someone to listen. They knew that their being there and caring was enough.

My subsequent pregnancies were anxiety-ridden and I struggled with depression (primarily unrelated to my loss). I have since gone on to have two healthy children. My loss was a learning curve and part of my motherhood journey. It was painful but without it I wouldn’t be the mother that I am today. For those lessons and how blessed I am now, I am so grateful.

For Support call: 1300 0 SANDS

More about Rachel Brown
Hi, I’m Rachel and I am an Australian wife and mum of two. I love tea, reading, writing and finding creative ways to play and learn with kids. I’m an over sharer (‘sharent’), a Pinterest addict and am an avid blog reader. I am passionate about learning and sharing inspiration with like-minded mamas. Prior to motherhood I was a nanny and dabbled in study. I’m a miscarriage survivor and&nbsp. I have generalised anxiety disorder and major depressive disorder and although it is ongoing, I am doing better thanks to therapy and medication. I’m always willing to talk to others who are struggling. Motherhood is the most difficult and rewarding thing I have ever done.
      

Afraid of being pregnant, again

This week Sally Heppleston shares her story of two subsequent pregnancies after the stillbirth of Hope and the fear that stops her having more babies.

I READ one of those quotes on Facebook the other day that said if you think positively, positive things will happen.

Once upon a time I would have agreed with a sentiment like that. I know better now.

During my first pregnancy, which lasted 40 weeks and 5 days, I did nothing but think positively. Sure I had mild concerns early on but I breathed a huge sigh of relief once I got to the “safe” stage. Sure I knew some babies came prematurely and that some could be born ill, but that wouldn’t happen to me. I was fit, young and healthy and everything had been textbook, so why should I imagine the ending would be any other way?

Fast forward to four days past my due date, and I couldn’t feel my baby moving. A trip to the hospital confirmed our worst fears – our baby had died and would be stillborn. Eight pounds and perfect, just dead. All the positive thoughts in the world had been for nothing – I’d got to the finish line and didn’t get to keep my prize.

My dead daughter was still inside of me and already I was thinking about having another baby. I knew that would be the only thing that would propel me forward and give me a reason to keep living.

Six months after Hope left us, I thankfully got pregnant again. Though for nine months I couldn’t help but think predominantly negative thoughts. It had happened once, why wouldn’t it happen again? I was so shocked to learn stillbirth occurs in roughly one in every 140 pregnancies and when you’ve been that one, it seems only natural that you’ll end up being that one again.

People kept telling me not to worry. They seemed to have a crystal ball that I so yearned to own and to know things about a future that I was so horribly afraid of. Their thoughts and words did little to soothe me. I had counselling and I had extra antenatal appointments, yet I was an absolute basket case for the 38 weeks I carried my son inside me..

My son defied all the negative thoughts I’d had during the pregnancy and to my amazement, arrived pink and screaming and immediately filled our lives with relief and joy. And I say relief first for a reason, as that was without doubt the first emotion that washed over us.

When our son was a year old, we fell pregnant again. This time I promised myself I’d try and be more positive and to imagine a happy ending, as we now knew it was possible.

However this pregnancy was complicated from very early on and suddenly we found ourselves facing horrible statistics and frightening possibilities. This was unchartered territory for us, as even though we’d had two full term pregnancies with two very different endings, both had been incredibly healthy.

During this pregnancy I drifted away from a lot of people in my life. The friendships that were barely surviving after Hope’s death met their match this time around. I just didn’t have the emotional reserves. We got some good news at the 23 week mark from an amniocentesis, but we still held our breath until our third baby arrived pink, healthy and screaming.

This little girl ended up arriving on the third anniversary of her big sister’s death in utero, and the day before her third birthday. We knew all along with the pregnancy’s following the same timeline, their birthdays would be close and this too added to our stress, but in the end dates didn’t matter – getting her out safe and alive was the main thing.

Sometimes I think I’d like to expand our family as I love the idea of having another tiny baby to nurture, but it is the pregnancy I’m afraid of. I can’t do it again, nor can I put my family and friends through those months of anguish. Pregnancy is supposed to be one of the happiest times of your life, and the first time around for me it was, but when you find yourself on the wrong side of statistics, it becomes something you have to endure; a means to an end.

You get through pregnancy after loss one moment at a time, holding your breath until you cross the finish line and get your marvellous reward. You walk the tightrope of survival and somehow, I’ve now done it twice. I’ve been unlucky but I’ll never lose sight of just how lucky I’ve been also.

Sally Heppleston

Sally is a Melbourne based journalist and mother of three. Her first born daughter Hope was stillborn at 41 weeks in August 2008 after a trouble-free and healthy pregnancy. She and her husband Simon went on to have two more children after Hope passed away, Angus who is now four and Juliet, who is two. The children fill her days with chaos and her heart with love. She also runs a small community arts charity, which raises money for stillbirth research.

Sands has published a brochure on subsequent pregnancies you can find it here

If you require support please call 1300 0 SANDS