Reflecting over the past 10 years by Kristina

When I look back over the last 10 years I still can't believe I'm still here let alone breathing. I have had so many people say to me you are so brave,  I couldn't do it.

My answer is always the same. I'm not brave, I have no choice. My heart still beats, my lungs still breathe, the world keeps going.

Do I wish it the world would stop, that my heart would stop?

Many many times have I wanted the world to stop, to let me off, to let the pain and grief stop.   Is that brave?

It's not brave to wake up every day with two pieces of your heart missing. It’s one of the hardest things to do.  To see days, weeks and months then years go by without your babies is indescribable. I have tried many times to write it down, to find the words, but there aren't words for a feeling that fills your whole body with pain and  emotion and not just once but daily.  When I'm told I'm brave I know people really truly mean that.  That they believe it. At times I guess I am or have had to be. But I don't like the word brave.

When we said hello and goodbye not once but twice I thought that was it. I would never take a baby home. Never watch them grow. Curt and I looked into adoption as the thought of being pregnant again filled me with fear and anxiety.  I couldn't bear the thought of losing another baby.  We also decided to get married. I put all my energy into wedding plans. Looking back now I was just putting my head in the sand.  If I didn't have to remember then my grief just for a while would stop.

It didn’t stop at all it just came in other forms. I was so angry. I would snap for no reason. I would get annoyed at the smallest things. I didn't know this me. This me was new. The old me would find the good in anything no matter how small.

I can't remember the last time I slept through the night without remembering something about their births.  I think everyone I love will die or if anyone is sick I stress.  I ended up with this constant pain in my left shoulder. Doctors could not find a cause for constant pain and tingling.  I saw a counsellor just after we got married as I was struggling with working at the same hospital where both mum and Charlie passed.  One session I happened to mention this pain. After a few questions she told me that pain is grief.

When we try to suppress our pain, the body stores it and it can manifest into pain. She asked did it hurt more some days than others?  I sat and thought it hurts mostly at night and when I’m at work. She told me to stop the pain or to ease it I must let it out, to talk.   To be honest I thought she was crazy. How can my body store grief!  Yet it did. When I told her my biggest fear was to never bring a baby home my shoulder started to really hurt. The more I talked and opened up about my guilt at wanting another baby but fearing it would never be, I could feel the pain lessen.  Over our sessions the pain begun to subside. She said I may need physio as it could help release the tension that had built over the last year.

When my shoulder flares up now I have to stop and ask myself, am I holding my grief in or is it something simple like overworking it. Most of the time it is simply too many years of nursing and holding babies.

Around Neve and Charlie birthdays the pain really builds. Sometimes i have to take me time, to sit down in a quiet place and let myself feel the pain and let it out.

Most of the time it's tears that flow and the grief of not having them. Sometimes its guilt at not being able to help them or for having two beautiful rainbow babies.

With the help of my counsellor and some very good friends, I decided that Curt and I would try again.  We fell pregnant on our wedding night. We found out we were expecting Maya when we were in America.  Deep down I already knew. I knew the signs a lot earlier now.  We were happy but so anxious and scared. Could we survive not only as a couple but as individuals if we said goodbye again?  I knew I wouldn't.

Her pregnancy was normal in the fact that I had reflux and morning sickness. We had no complications.  In no way was it normal in the sense of joyous and glowing and full of excitement.  I was petrified every time I went to the toilet. What if there was blood?  Every pain was that labour or her pulling her cord and stopping her oxygen?

Half way through her pregnancy I was put off work by my obstetrician as I was so anxious my bp was high. I was lucky he was a lovely man who stopped at nothing to give us Maya.  Neve and Charlie’s birthdays came and I was a blubbering mess. I missed them so much. I felt guilty for wanting another baby.  We sat down with our obstetrician and decided it would be better to have her by C-section. I would have loved to give birth naturally again but i was so scared. This way I had a date and a time.

The day came to meet her. All I kept thinking was not until I hear her scream will it be real. Not until I see her kicking and crying. Only then will I truly believe.

I remember Dancing Queen playing in the theatre. I remember Curt holding my hand so tight.  I remember talking to Neve and Charlie asking them to let it be ok. That I loved them.

The doctor began. I was staring at the celling telling myself you have to breathe, she needs you to.  She was here at 11.47am on the 18th February.   What was my first question?  Is she breathing, is she alive?  The whole theatre shouted she is, she is. This tiny little crying baby was popped over the drape. There aren't words to describe the feeling of utter love I felt and quickly followed by tears over what should have been.  You see,  when you lose a baby and then get to take one home, it’s filled with bitter sweet moments.  The beauty of taking Maya home and watching her grow is tainted with the what ifs.

We also went on to have our beautiful Zack 2 years after Maya.  This journey of grief is never ending. It always surprises me. I can go long periods now without crying but when it hits it hits hard and fast. I wish I had magic words of wisdom that can help others to say it stops but I can't.  All I can do is share my honesty and my journey and hope I can help someone who is feeling the way I was.

Grief is a journey that we will walk forever.

Kristina

If you require support after reading this blog please contact

Sands on 13 000 72637

Kristina Riley

Kristina is a children's nurse and a counsellor.

She has four beautiful children.

Charlie and Neve are her two angels who are the  inspiration for raising more awareness about stillbirths and pregnancy loss.

Her two miracles Maya and Zack are the reason she keeps moving forward on this journey of grief.

Her husband Curt is also her inspiration to raise awareness for fathers and their grief.

There needs to be more awareness for us all.

A Story of a Medical Termination by Zena

To the newly bereaved parent,

Please know that you're not alone. I want to share my story of medical termination.

This was extremely hard to write and share, in a world full of supportive people we have certainly felt alone because it's such a taboo and people are scared to talk about anything to do with the loss of a child. Unfortunately,  we live in a world where, we as humans, are judged for what shoes we wear, what house we live in and whether we like boys or girls so when we had to make a heartbreaking choice,  it became apparent that we would be fearful of what people would think.

The reality is that you are not in our shoes and you never will be. Even if you have to take the same path as us your story will still be different. Although we wish this would never happen to anyone the reality is once you get outside the bubble you live in it's everywhere, people are silently grieving, too afraid to let people know what's going on because they are scared of judgement. I've met some of the strongest mothers and heard their stories, some full term, miscarriages and medical terminations, the way people treat their child as if they don't exist weeks after they went through the toughest struggles is appalling. It took me almost 12 months to grieve my best friend passing away, she was my puppy of 15 years. ’’Getting over” a child passing away will not happen in weeks, months or years because you don't "get over them",  they are a part of you forever. I feel If we share her story and someone you know or perhaps years down the track your children or children children’s have to face something like this you might be able to say that you knew people who went through this and you know that they survived and made it through.

This story is about our daughter Chloe who is no longer in my tummy we should be around 8 months pregnant today but sadly I am not. In a few weeks I would be on maternity leave and instead we are trying to find our "new normal". This story is about 10 weeks of survival, learning how strong your marriage is, courage, loyalty, friendships, love and a $h!t unfair situation. It's not being posted for you to feel sorry for us we have done enough of that for ourselves but more for awareness. #breakthesilence. It's to help us in our grieving process because bumping into people in the street that don't know our story is terrifying.

On the 30th of April 2016 we should have been welcoming a precious bundle of joy into our lives listening to her cry, changing her nappy, watching her smile and grow and instead we will release balloons and blow out candles cake on behalf of her. We we're faced with decision that we would never wish upon anyone, we planned a funeral when others listened to their babies beautiful cry and we set a baby room up for our little girl and this room remains empty. She was sent to be with the angels at only 21 weeks gestation.

Her name is Chloe Fay Mason. She is the daughter of Troy and Zena Mason and although you can't physically see her in our arms she existed. She was 26cm the same length as a big cordial bottle. She had my nose and the rest of her was her daddy. She had long feet and hands, little specs of blonde hair and she was ours. Made with love! And certainly missed already.

On the 10th of December we went for our 20 week scan (5 months) right on Troy's birthday.What a cool present this would be to find out if our baby was to be a girl or a boy right?? We're in the "safe" zone what could possibly go wrong. The ultrasound person couldn't tell us the sex though he did mention that the baby yawned and waved at us, he failed to mention why he was paying particular attention to her spine and brain, he was actually silent the whole way through. Little did we know that this was the start of something much bigger.

We were surprised when we were called into Mater hospital on the 14th December and this is we're we would be told that we we're having a baby girl and than hit with information that our little Chloe was not well. She had Spina Bifida, Hydrocephalus, Chiari Malformation, Arnold Chairi 2.

What this basically meant to us without a doctors degree is she had a lot of spinal fluid on her brain (lemon shaped head), they could see issues with her spine and an open pocket on her back exposing her spinal cord, this pocket normally closes off during the first few weeks of being conceived. We were told if she were to survive (they weren't sure) and even make it to full term she would be straight into the operation theatre at not even a day old to have a permanent stint put into her brain to drain the fluid build up that she would forever have, she would then go into an operation to close the opening on her spine to stop her exposed spinal cords from showing and getting infected. This wouldn't fix the problem though the damage already happened when she was 2-4 weeks gestation. Although some might live with this, their story is not ours and we're all not the same.

We walked into that room wanting to find out the sex of the baby and walked out with a heavy heart and what felt like a house sitting on our shoulders. The doctor told us the outlook on her life would be grim.  She would be brain dead, she wouldn't be able to walk, we would be changing nappies for the rest of her life and she would be in a wheelchair.  The doctor gave us two chooses 1. medical termination or 2. we continue on and "if" she makes it full term we would have support. I used to think the hardest decision I would have with a child was what school they would go to or whether or not to breastfeed. But choosing whether your child should die or stay alive is by far the hardest!

We waited for the doctor to write up all this information in a room full of happily expecting pregnant ladies but we were distraught, our brains were going one million miles an hour and we still had to drive home. When we got home we were silent we had no idea what to do.  Googling what we had heard had never seemed so important and some how Troy and I had to come together in the end to be on the same page. I searched spina bifida pages and I found all the fabulous stories of the children who have parts of Chloe's diagnosis but what I had to realise is everyone's stories are different and no one shares the "terrible" stories. What heartache the parents went through or what the child had to go through. We just hoped the doctors weren't incorrect.

After many consultations with doctors and lots of tears we chose to take the pain now so our Chloe didn't have to. We didn't want to bring a child into the world just to have her exist without living. Would she even know that we existed? What life would she have? The guilt we live with everyday would never be as painful as it would be to watch as she grew without "growing". I've been in retirement homes and I've seen young people in here who can't fend for themselves is this what she would be like? A board of doctors had to approve our decision and when they did I was admitted to the hospital it was so close to Christmas. After waiting and contractions after contractions I went had Chloe via L&D the morning of the 19th December (right in between Troy’s and my  birthday) with limited pain relief - I felt I needed to take some pain for our little girl. And I will tell you now the labour stories people gave me when I was pregnant will never scare me because nothing can quite prepare you for birth of your baby let alone to a little angel. 

When little Chloe was put into our arms we couldn't celebrate because this is what ended her life,  she didn't cry, she didn't move, she was cold and we were numb. We spent a full day with her, dressed her, gave her kisses because she was our beautiful girl and this would be the last time we would ever see her and those moments will have to last a lifetime.

She had the obvious signs of her diagnosis, a lemon shaped malformed skull and the spina bifida sacral lesion on her back. Everything else we were told of would have to wait till the autopsy was done. We can't get any of those moments back but we were lucky enough to get precious photos of her from heartfelt photography so we can never forget her face. She had family and friends visit her as well as flowers and cards from beautiful people across the state. Chloe got cuddles from her aunties and uncles and grandma.

Every day after we woke up and we wished it was all a big nightmare I would look down at my tummy and see a belly that was empty. I only recognised her movements after she was no longer in me. If going through labour wasn't enough, your hormones are so messed up and to make matters worse the breast lk decides it might pay a visit.

Life sucked completely for the first month after she was born. Even though you have just had a baby people fail to realise that you should be taking it easy because there is no physical sign of a child. Conversations are awkward because no one knows what to say and everyone looks at you with sad eyes. The simplest of tasks are a big effort and some days I felt like I was a two year old chucking a tantrum. I couldn't have got through with my amazing husband. 

Chloe was in getting her autopsy done and this would take 3 weeks. On my birthday we were asked if they could keep her brain and spine as they were running behind. We told them to take their time in hope it might shed some more light. We never imagined our pregnancy to end this way, after all no one shares the terrible stories.

Each week was something new first we had to find items to have with her for the cremation, visiting her in her itty bitty coffin with all the special effects that grandmas and aunts had provided (photos of her cousins, letters and drawings) her birth certificate arriving, her ashes, her death certificate, cards in the mail, donations and preparation for her ceremony. When would getting all these triggers end.

It was then time we had to go back to the same hospital we got our Chloe's diagnosis from. We talked to the doctor about everything that had happened. We were advised the likelihood of this happening again would be very unlikely. I asked questions like; the fact that I had a doctor’s appointment prior to trying and they didn't say anything about my bloods, I took my prenatal vitamins prior to convincing isn't this meant to prevent it? We ate well, I lost 20kg, didn't drink, my husband quit smoking - why did this happen… Apparently 70% of NTD can be prevented by your pregnancy supplements the other 30% , they call it "just one of those things". I've had my folate and folic acid tested and I had a higher range in my system which is subject to nine months of tablets and now I've had to add in ten times the amount through a jar of $5 pills which we think mothers should just take regardless!

We had a ceremony for Chloe on Australia Day at the place where we got married. We had a balloon to release, but Chloe decided it would be better to go earlier and it was released in the car. Chloe had around 30 people come (more would have) and we had a lovely celebrant say some beautiful things. We had some tables set up with some of her special effects, her birth certificate, her pictures, teddies, funeral books and memory jars made just for her. We then spread a small amount of ashes in the ocean and blew bubbles. It was perfect and heart-warming that we had so much support from our amazing friends and family.

The situation we have been in has been very $h!T, my husband and I are stronger than ever, we have learnt a lot about true friends and family, the support we have received off of the "Facebook world" has been nothing short of amazing, even when I'm having tantrums. The messages, the calls, the cards, the flowers, the thoughts and the kind words. The support from our work, the assistance from the hospital and the doctors it makes us feel so lucky and appreciative in a time when "luck" isn't in our side.

We personally wouldn't be where we are today without some key people in my life, new and old virtual and real. I've met some people from all around the world on support groups for people in this terrible club. In a time when you feel so alone you start to realise that you are not. To help my healing I donated my wedding dress to angel gowns to make little angel dresses, I edited photos of other angels and put them into special wall features for their parents. I've seen so much pain on these groups and if I could have any super power it would be to give everyone's babies back and let them have them forever! When I hear people in the normal world complaining about something to do with their child it does make me sad. This is because little things like being up late at night to crying, or teething, or fevers is a luxury in my new world these things are things that mothers in this "group" would die to have. Hug your children and loved ones tightly and please enjoy these precious moments. All kinds of tragedies strike when we least expect it and life shouldn't be taken for granted.

My husband went back to work in the new year and I was back at work on the 15th Feb which was 9 weeks after her birth. Australia is amazing for recognising her birth and allowing me access maternity leave, however had she been 19 weeks instead of 20 we wouldn't have been so lucky. Which makes me sad. I've had the privilege of seeing many beautiful angels at all gestations and I can tell you a baby is a baby as soon as it's conceived! The emotional turmoil that is left whether for miscarriage, stillbirth, being in NICU or medical termination is huge but to not be told that they exist prior to 20 weeks is just messed up.

What hurts more is when people use words that make these big events in our lives less significant think about what you say to people before you say it! I used to be a big "positive" person! You would hear me say everything happens for a reason but how can I say that now? Someone in the universe chose to give Chloe a terrible diagnosis, made us go through labour, death, and organising a funeral so I can learn?? I’d rather not have the lesson thanks... What child would you give up to learn a lesson in life?

If your still reading thank you! Chloe's story will only close, when we allow it to and we won't. She will always be our first baby girl.. our child! Just because she isn't here doesn't mean she doesn't exist. She will be remembered until the day we die. We waited ten years to make a perfect life for her.. little did we know that nothing on the outside could have helped what was going on inside. We have no regrets with our decision the only regret we have is not spending time with her in my tummy and worrying about others too much. This year we are being selfish in some instances and not feeling guilty for it. "Fit our oxygen first, before helping others".

We ended a very much wanted pregnancy.

We have changed, parts of us are broken but we're survivors and we've survived so far.

The end.                                                                                 Zena Mason

If you require support after reading this blog please contact

Sands on 13 000 72637

Zena is a full time administration officer, wife and mother to 4 furry animals as well as one beautiful angel called Chloe. This journey has been hard but she says that she has met some strong women and made friendships with people from across the world.

She's on a mission to not let Chloe's memory disappear she was a very wanted child for Zena and her husband. Zena is very open about Chloe's story because it’s such a taboo and it's important to raise awareness for all mothers who have lost a child but specifically through medical termination. She says "if we can raise awareness we will then create more supportive friends and family and hopefully one day we won't need to suffer in silence and feel so alone".

A Grandparents Grief by Therese

I remember well my mother’s reaction to when I miscarried my baby many years ago and thought it was rather strange and was very hurt by it. It was something we never discussed and now a Grandmother myself, I wish we had done when she was alive. My mother’s reaction to me at that time seemed to be one of anger as she yelled a lot at me when I complained of the physical pain I was going through – the miscarriage took some time unfortunately. At the time I just couldn’t cope with the two children I had – not because I didn’t want to or because I stopped loving them, I couldn’t as my body would not let me move to far from my bed. I in turn became angry with her as I couldn’t understand why she was being what I perceived as “cruel”. She was trying to look after my children for me as best she could as they were very young at the time. Eventually I guess I forgave her on some level … but perhaps not.

It wasn’t until I became a Grandma myself that I started to have some insight as to why she acted the way she did. I went through a similar process when I lost two grandchildren to miscarriage at a time when I didn’t know my child’s partner was pregnant and I was not allowed to talk about it with them. I realised at that moment that my mother had been grieving. It had taken me many years to understand the reactions to grief in myself let alone in other people and this had come about through my training and other losses in my life and observing the reaction of others whilst grieving.

The love a Grandparent has for her grandchild is profound and different to the love that she has for her own children. I see it as an extension of something that I have achieved and being repeated into another generation where my only job was really to just love these grandchildren. So to lose a grandchild before even getting to know that grandchild was indeed hurtful and sad. I know I don’t need to feel guilty about my feelings but wonder if my Mother ever dealt with her feelings of grief – I suspect not as it was not the “done” thing in those days for either of us really and that in itself was so sad – compounding what was an already sad situation.

If you are a Grandparent going through the loss of a grandchild, please share with your child if they will listen to you or contact the beautiful people at SANDS and speak to someone there.

Therese Murphy - 2016

If you require support after reading this blog please contact 

Sands on 13 000 72637

About Therese 

Therese has worked in the field of counselling and community development for over 20 years. She has worked predominantly in the health and welfare field. She has worked in the primary school sector counselling children through a range of loss and grief and traumatic experiences.

Therese has also delivered a number of conference papers on the theme of children’s loss and grief and articles on stress management too. She also worked as a Sessional teacher in the TAFE system and the Private Sector in the Community Services area, including Mental Health Welfare for over 20 years. She is also an experienced Supervisor.

Therese has as a small business conducting Reiki, Inner Child Therapy, Meditation and similar therapies. She is also works as a Group Facilitator and teaches stress management and relaxation techniques within the local community as well as running workshops in the areas of trauma and loss and grief and related areas.

Therese is a published poet and has three children and four delightful grandsons. She enjoys nothing more than a good cup of coffee and the occasional glass of wine or bubbly. She is passionate about climate change and the environment, wanting a clean world for her grandchildren to grow up in and one where any type of violence is not tolerated.

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.

Precious Angels by Kristina

When I look back at the old me, the me who laughed and smiled constantly and saw the world as an adventure to explore, the me before the storm hit, I remember thinking then that the world is a beautiful place and I'm lucky to be living in it so happy and carefree.
I call it a storm because that is exactly what hit us over an 11 month period. If I wrote my life story no one would ever believe it. Sadly, it is true.

In the world before the storm I always liked to think there were angels around us.  I thought wouldn't it be beautiful to think we have people watching over us and protecting us.  It was just a passing thought here and there. 

Now I search everyday for a sign that Charlie and Neve are here somehow.
Are they that creaky sound in the middle of the night?  When a butterfly flutters near, is it them?

When two rainbows appeared in our wedding photos, I so desperately wanted to believe it was them with us. I so needed to believe they just didn't stop breathing and that was all there was.

I ache constantly for a sign. It will be 10yrs since we last held Charlie in September and 9yrs in August since we held Neve.

I buy photos of butterflies drawn in the sand with their names, candles, birthday cards, Christmas decorations. I still feel I need to validate their lives.

When the storm hit, it hit fast and sudden. The carefree smiley me was gone, never to return. The person that replaced her was someone who pretends that she's ok, that I'm coping. I'm so emotional at everything.

I see the world as sad and unfair. I see an advert for huggies and my eyes tear up.
A friend says she pregnant and I'm a mess. I don't want anyone to feel the way I did and do.

Every pregnancy I had following Charlie was filled with dread and fear. Every cramp or twinge, I was convinced I was going in to labour.

Sadly Neve's pregnancy got to 41 weeks and in labour she stopped breathing. No, it could never happen again, everyone told me.

The world became a darker place, I became more obsessed with the need to believe they were still here in some way.

I spent many days in bed when my husband went back to work, crying and desperately searching for anything to say they were here.

Asking them or rather yelling at the ceiling, please just a sign. Something, anything.
As I gave birth to our second daughter, I remember asking my doctor as I gave birth: is she breathing, please is she?

He didn't need to answer, the sound of her tiny cry filled the room.
I thought she's alive, i should be so happy but I was filled with guilt for trying again and fear that she too would be taken. These feelings have never left. They have less impact now but the fear of losing her and our second son Zack is at times overwhelming.

My friends tell me now that they never got to hold Maya, that as a baby she was permanently in my arms. Looking back, she was. She had to be, I wasn't losing her.
When Maya was 9 months old she used to laugh and point at the stairs. Was she playing with her siblings?

No, babies just laugh right?

She would do this almost every day, just sit and laugh like someone was playing with her. At 18 months she told me a lady sits on her bed at night. She was a nice lady. Was that my mum?

At times over the years when I'm crying and missing them, I feel a warm tingle near my cheek or at night I feel like my hand is being held.

I don't know if it’s them or my need to believe, but for me it brings me comfort.
Has the world changed?  Honestly, I think I have changed more.  Although I don't laugh as much and I'm paranoid about my children and more than likely (compared to my friends) over protective of them.

The one positive change is that I love harder and stronger. I want my children to grow up knowing how much we fought for them and how much we love them. That to us, Charlie and Neve chose them and gave them to us.

My belief in angels is strong because to me they are the sunlight warming my face and they paint us the most beautiful rainbows after the storm. 

I need to believe in something, anything, just for me to keep walking this journey through the storm, otherwise I know I would stop trying to put one foot in front of the other. My heart would stop as the thought is too painful not to believe.

Kristina

If you require support after reading this blog please contact

Sands on 13 000 72637

Kristina Riley

Kristina is a children's nurse and a counsellor.

She has four beautiful children.

Charlie and Neve are her two angels who are the  inspiration for raising more awareness about stillbirths and pregnancy loss.

Her two miracles Maya and Zack are the reason she keeps moving forward on this journey of grief.

Her husband Curt is also her inspiration to raise awareness for fathers and their grief.

There needs to be more awareness for us all.