Tuesday, September 28, 2010

“here comes the sun” the Nina Simone version...

Thursday 10th August 2000

Days are warm, sunny days help to lift my spirits. I love to see the sun coming up as I drive to work in the morning. It breaks behind me as I drive, and floods into the car. I say to Aaron “see the world is just so beautiful” I often sing “here comes the sun” the Nina Simone version, singing in the car when I’m on my own usually makes me cry, tears stream down my face, I don’t wipe them away, they come too fast. I like the feel of them on my skin, the taste of the salt on my tongue.

Looking through a book about motherhood makes me wonder what Aaron would be like now, he’d be three months old. What would he be doing? Rolling over from his back to his tummy and back again. Taken so much for granted, all of these simple things are taken for granted by parents whose baby hasn’t died.

My back is so sore at the moment, also my coccyx bone, I’m very tired all the time. Feel so old, would love to have an overhaul, some new clothes, or a haircut. Trying to get back into shape is a constant battle, with the down days usually wining. I think that I have to get back into shape for the next pregnancy, I know that I should, it’s hard to be positive.

Sunday, August 15, 2010

It's all fake...

Wednesday 15th August

Back still sore, went to the physio at lunchtime. Asked her about exercises for postnatal women for the book. Feeling down the last few days, Sam put Celine Dion on the CD player and I just was waiting for "Fly" to come on, I cried, he held me. Wrong choice of CD, yet also the right choice, it's such a beautiful song. Tears wouldn't stop. Just when I think there are no tears left I get overwhelmed with them again. Sad, still sad.

Work is hard, every pregnant woman seems to make a beeline straight for me. They all want "something for the nursery" Stomachs bulging, it hurts so much. I ask, "When are you due?" Ask all the questions that people asked me when I was pregnant, I keep the secret, I wonder how many people I spoke to also kept the secret from me?

People still come in that don't know, we got an invite from one of Sam's friends, she doesn't even know that I was pregnant.

Mum gets her cheery voice still, is that what I sound like?

It's all fake.

Monday, August 9, 2010

Smile though your heart is aching

Wednesday 9th August

Smile though your heart is aching,
Smile even though it's breaking,
If you just smile.

Don’t cry out loud,
just keep it inside.
Learn how to hide your feelings.

Saturday, August 7, 2010

be careful what you wish for...

Monday 7th August 2000

Yesterday was Sam's birthday, I wanted to give him something special. Ended up typing a list of why I love him, so often in life we see the negative sides, even of those we love, and forget about all the positive. There are plenty of positives about Sam, I wouldn't change him. Lost the first edition, had to try to do it again, I'm so glad that I did, as he really seemed to like it. I should let my feelings show more often.

I saw Pam last Tuesday, we spoke about a lot of ideas, I put on my coping face and she understands the unspoken. I told her about my book, about how I'd written that I've come a long way yet also stayed still, she wanted to know about both. Moving forward has been happening slowly, I have done a lot since last I saw her. Went back to the hospital for my records, told her about what a nightmare that turned into. Talked about the autopsy, how hard it was to read, how much that meeting with the doctor put my mind at rest, yet left me with nowhere to go with all this anger, seems I can't blame the midwife, or the doctor, or the hospital, why did this happen then? I still think that if I had been checked as closely as I will be the next time then this wouldn't have happened to Aaron.

So many things happened to cause distress that could have been avoided. I finally found out how long Aaron was, 52cm, one more thing to cross of my list. What happens when nothing is left on the list? Each thing that I do makes me feel a little bit better, yet a little more lost. People say stupid things, you know the sort of things they say, "you can have another one" and the great little line "it was probably for the best" that’s a ripper that one. Why are we so badly educated about death and grief, why is this such a taboo subject? How can I change the way people react? Going back to work, some people at work just act as if nothing has changed, my whole life has come crashing down and they talk about the weather and the football. There is total avoidance, even from people that I've known for years.

I judge everyone now, a close friend at work told me "that I have to snap out of it" guess which way she went. I'll never think of her in the same way, friendships change, some are lost others have developed. I can't help it and I don't have to, only I know the final judgement. How does it make me feel? Angry, it makes me so angry. I was pregnant last time they saw me and now I'm not, there's no baby, doesn't that strike them as weird? Taboo subject’s only change when they are talked about, Pam said that a friend of hers told her that you can sit at the dinner table and talk about your heart attack, but you can't talk about your cancer.

I told her about my night out with the girls, how at that table there was so much suffering, ten women and we all had our masks on. Just look under the surface and there was so much pain, myself, Connie whose baby died thirteen years ago, a little boy, he was twelve weeks old, cot death. She didn't wash the sheets after because she thought she'd catch a disease from them if they got dirty enough and die. People say they know how you feel, they don't, she does. I wanted to grab her and talk and talk, but the masks came back, others were around, can't show the pain, nobody wants to see that.
Another girl at the table had a mastectomy, breast cancer, I didn't know, I was just waiting for someone to ask me about Aaron, and she was waiting for the same chance to talk about her cancer. She told me later that when she was talking about becoming a mother that she saw my face drop, it was like getting hit with a baseball bat, it comes out of the blue. I never know what's going to hit home. Then there was Nancy, her three miscarriages, lots of pain there, her Dad dying, more pain.

Ambulance sirens send my blood cold, it is such a physical reaction. That sound, Sam looks at me, I'm back in that ambulance, that ride through the night, the tapping, the praying, the shock. Now I can instantly know what that siren means, I hope for the person inside, I know that ride. I often wondered what it would be like to ride in an ambulance, be careful what you wish for.

Friday, August 6, 2010

"If you cry you're on your own...

Sunday 6th August

"If you are reading this book, there is a high probability that your heart is broken"
The first time I read this line I cried, and I thought "Yes that's it, my heart is broken"
"There are no stages of grief"
"We receive no education about grief"
"Don't cry"... Meaning don't feel bad,
"On Saturday we'll get you a new dog"...Meaning replace the loss
"If you cry you're on your own.

Saturday, July 31, 2010

Funny how my mind still thinks in weeks...

Monday 31st July 2000

Tomorrow it's back to see Pam, I've come a long way, yet also stayed still. It surprises me how much time has passed since Aaron died, it still feels so new, to others it seems like "get over it". I still feel an overwhelming need to talk about what happened to us, nobody wants to listen, the subject is changed as soon as it's bought up. Often it just isn't bought up at all, even with close friends. It doesn't make any sense to me, I can't speak aloud about the pain, the unbearable pain of holding our baby in my arms for such a brief time before they took him away to all that pain, to tubes and drugs, and specialists. Holding him afterwards was a joy I would never change. All those women whose babies were whisked away for their own good, it's the one thing that keeps me sane, to be able to hold him, feel his tiny fingers curled around mine, marvel at just how perfect, how beautiful, how much like Sam, my crooked nose.

If I could write in code, and then decode my words, I would feel secure with emotions that otherwise would just drift away each day. I have to keep record, feelings change so dramatically day to day.

It’s been a dramatic weekend, I took Thursday of work because the cars clutch started to go. Had a long weekend which was so nice, Thursday we thought I might be pregnant again, I can't tell you how excited I was, already planning who to tell, should we wait for the twelve weeks to go by, no way, I want to tell everyone now. Stopped at the supermarket to get the test kit. Thought I had a big secret. Busting for a wee, hold on till I read the instructions, just waiting for those double pink lines that say you're pregnant, sat in the car waiting to ring Sam with the news, talking to Aaron about a new brother or sister, rubbing my stomach with such joy, hey baby.

One pink line not two, where is the other one? Crying, disappointment, didn't realize how much I wanted this, it is meant to be two pink lines. Trying to get control, it would be mad to be pregnant again so soon after Aaron’s birth. My cycle is not in sync yet, and I'm way of my long service, I wouldn't qualify for health care. God I wanted it to be true, and hang the problems.

Last day of the month, only one more month of winter to go, I thought winter would be hard, all the leaves fallen, cold and death, but it is not like that at all. Even on the Grey days, and there are plenty of those, the earth is still alive and growing, bulbs are coming through, snow on our mountain that I thought Aaron would get to see. Deciding where to go this Christmas, it doesn't matter, no need to argue over where Aaron spends his first Christmas. No first Christmas, no joy, no presents for him, no wrapping paper to play with, no photos, he would be eight months, I thought how great it would be at Christmas for him, he'd be old enough to enjoy it. I love Christmas, I wanted to share that love with my family, Sam and Aaron.

Funny how my mind still thinks in weeks, 12 weeks since his death, the magical 12 weeks where no more worries are necessary, then waiting for the amnio, longest time I thought, time dragged, way past the danger time, no worries, fine, fine, fine, every time at Dr Baileys, no problems, listen to his heart beating, strong, good, relief every time, what a breeze this pregnancy thing is, heartburn about the worst thing to deal with, how I would whinge about the heartburn. Not being able to sleep. Now I still can't sleep, still drinking Milo before bed in the hope that I won't stay awake thinking.

So many things that I must not forget.

This third period lost so much blood. Scared, blood just everywhere.

Thinking I was pregnant again, taking the test and how it felt when it came up negative.

Watching Sam walk up the hill with David by his side in the snow, watching him play with any child.

Crying at work when a lady came in holding her baby the same way Robyn did when she bought him in to us still warm and soft, seeing his feet hanging.

Nearly every song on the radio

Hearing Andrea Botcelli at Knox, not being able to move, then it kept playing over and over.

The first time to a shopping centre, walking through Myers all the baby things, at Medicare when that baby started to cry and then I couldn’t stop. Looking anywhere else, trying not to cry.

Seeing Lisa the first time since

Laminating his photo and it buckling up, crying in the street couldn't speak for lunch.

Wanting to warn every pregnant woman I came into contact with, don't trust them.

Picking up our records from the Angliss, baby burns, his heartbeat reading, parents came to visit, held baby’s hand.

Driving home the same way that we'd practiced and timed so often.

Buying mum his little bear, picking his funeral flowers, trying to explain what they were for and snapping at that poor woman.

Monday, July 26, 2010

Sunday, July 25, 2010

Could I be pregnant?

25th July 2000

Could I be pregnant? I'm over by two days, probably unlikely. Sam says take the test, I'm buying one on the way to work, so excited, who to tell first, rubbing my tummy and talking to Aaron, maybe a brother or sister.
Can't believe how disappointed I am at "not pregnant" result. Crying, upset, I thought I was, even though it's impractical, this intense emotion tells how much I long to be carrying another baby.

Saturday, July 24, 2010

Peter rabbit still looks down the hallway...

Monday 24th July 2000

Mum and Tony came in to work yesterday, I gave Mum a little bear the same as Aaron’s. No angel dust though, so sweet, soft. I wanted to give her something special, and that is the most precious thing to me. Every night I pick this little brown bear up, kiss it, feel its softness and talk to Aaron. I thought it was his room that was where I could talk with him, but I have his bear and his photo by my bed and I hardly go into his room, especially since Sam put all his computer stuff in there.
Peter rabbit still looks down the hallway, I remember when I put them up, they looked so cute, thought about our baby, everything looked perfect, we were just waiting.

Every song on the radio seems to be speaking to me, all those sad songs, Sounds of silence, thinking of Aaron safe inside his silent world, inside me. Hello darkness my old friend, I know darkness. Made an appointment to see Pam Wade again, I felt like a different person when I came back from the last visit. I just have to say hang the money, I need to talk about Aaron in every little detail to someone or I think I’ll go crazy. She asked me what do I do with my anger? It's all inside me, I want to smash into every oncoming car, jump off a cliff, scream and scream till no sound comes out. I want to argue, I want to force a reaction from strangers, make people see, make them see Aaron, he lived.

Wednesday, July 21, 2010

He would be three months old now...

Friday 21st July 2000

Annette at the video shop has given our number to Kylie, the girl in Warburton whose baby died. She works in Yarra Junction. I had been wondering how they were getting on. Annette says that she looks all right, I wonder how many people say that about us? There is a need for a group in this area, who knows how many others there are.

Reading back on those early days after Aaron’s death, I realise how confused I was, how traumatised, it’s been twelve weeks and I don’t remember where the days went. I know the time has passed, thinking of the autumn leaves makes me see just how much time has slowed since 23rd of April. Now the trees are bare, daffodils are in the shops, spring bulbs are coming up. He would be three months old now.
My strongest desire at the moment is to hold a newborn, has to be a boy, a dark haired boy, about 9lbs, and has to be as close to Aaron as possible. Sometimes I see people in the street with newborn babies that I imagine Aaron looking like, I long to have a hold, to feel the weight, the softness. I think of the strange looks I might get if I asked a stranger in the street if I could hold their baby. Blonde babies don’t worry me, they don’t have the same effect as the dark haired ones, my eyes always follow the dark ones.

Tuesday, July 20, 2010

Mother and Father held babys hand

Thursday 20th July 2000

Yesterday I went back to the hospital to get Aarons records. Had to psyche myself up walking up the hill and into emergency, through the foyer, walked down to the place we had our antenatal classes, it was raining. Hard to get my breath, tears, trying to avoid people, turning in any direction to keep them from seeing how distressed I was. Didn't think I'd be able to ever go back there, convinced myself that it was all their fault, that it was the midwife, or the doctor, somebody. Everyone was giving us confusing information about the hospital, and about "what they should have done" and what they would have done if they had been there. So many people asked us about the monitor that I thought if only the midwife had used one then Aaron would have come home with us.

The hospital was very hard, a hurdle that I felt I had to be able to get over. Wanted to go into the rooms where he was born, where he struggled to live, to walk it through in the hospital instead of just going over and over it in my mind. Can't remember details, and I have to have every detail straight in my mind before I can get any sense of peace. I need to see it all again, I need to talk with the people that were there, I need to have every memory for myself. I was going to walk through the wards, but it was too difficult, people everywhere and I don't think I could have explained if anyone stopped me. I just choke up, I physically cannot talk, I panic at the thought of trying to talk to anyone, to try to explain what happened.

When getting Aarons records, I had to go to the cashier and pay, I guess I thought that the Freedom of Information officer would have looked at the files, would have known what an ordeal it was just to be there. I asked if they did Psychology there, and then couldn’t speak it overwhelmed me like a huge wave. She kept saying "Just go outside and I'll bring these to you" I felt like I was being an embarrassment, that she just wanted to get rid of me as fast as possible, she didn't know what to do. The psychologist bought out the records, said I could make an appointment to talk with her. I really shouldn't have been allowed to leave like that, distressed, crying, and clutching those records as if they held all the answers. I felt like everyone was staring at me, just wanted to get away as quickly as possible. Sitting in the car crying, deep crying, "Baby Burns" his heartbeats on a piece of paper, Sam and I spoken of as Mother and Father.

Mother and father held babys hand

All in black and white, his short life, every drug, every bit of pain written down in black and white. Facts.

I'll never be the same again. I'm not the same person that I was, everything about me has changed. Physically, emotionally, spiritually, older and wiser, I've joined the club. That's just how it feels, like I've joined some kind of secret horrible club. Only other members really see me now, everyone else sees the mask, the shell of Lisa that was. I talk, I function, but all the time I am somewhere else, thinking other thoughts, operating on auto pilot, not interested, couldn't care less, waiting for others to recognise the pain, friends, work mates, even family, don't see. Maybe they see and avoid my eyes at any cost. The cost is our friendship. Everyone gets judged on the pain scale. I can't help it. I feel such disappointment, that close friends and relatives find it easier to act like nothing has changed, to not even acknowledge Aaron living and dying. If they can't relate to him then surely they can relate to me, it's such a cop out to say, "I didn't call cause I didn't want to upset you".

I'm not supposed to get mad, it seems like I'm not meant to get angry with anyone or anything. I have to think about how they feel, they don't mean to hurt me, well they do! They do hurt me. Maybe they don't mean to but that doesn't mean I'm not feeling it. Sure it's hard to pick up that phone, but it was a hell of a lot harder for me to make those calls. To ring my mum in the middle of the night, after just giving birth, to tell her that our baby is going to die, my little boy, my sweetheart, to have to say that crossing my fingers is not going to make any difference, he is going to die. Trying to call Sams mum and then not being able to talk. Sam taking the phone to try to explain to his mum that our little boy is dying. I remember calling mum from a little office at the Childrens to tell her that Aaron had died, thank God she came, that she held him.

I left the news on Mums answering machine, and she had to go home and hear those words after leaving us at the hospital. Mum told me later that she couldn't erase that message. She listened over and over to my voice, to her daughter telling her the worst possible news, the most unexpected shocking news, not what she had been waiting to hear, not what I'd been dying to tell her right from my first contraction. From that first contraction I couldn't wait to ring everyone, to say we've had the baby. A BOY. We've called him Aaron Joseph, 9 pounds, he was born at 10.25pm, and on Easter Sunday as well. All the exciting things I thought I'd get to tell, all the calls, and visits, everyone having a hold, and saying how like Sam he is, staying in hospital, learning how to change nappies, holding his soft little body close, kisses and tickles, and Sam with the camera.
Tony got rid of the message when Mum was out in the back yard, and she told me that she was glad he'd done it because she couldn't.

All our plans, dreams, hopes wiped out in one cruel moment.

Monday, July 19, 2010

the worst pain is in the details

Wednesday 19th July 2000

It’s 7.10am and 10 degrees outside, raining and windy. Today I am going back to the Angliss for the first time since Aaron’s death. Although we did go there on the Monday morning after he died, this is the first voluntary time I will set foot in that hospital. Don’t know how I’ll be, I see it so clearly in my mind, all those little booties and bears in the entrance, those stairs. Up for the baby, down for the classes. I never dreamt during all those visits for our antenatal classes that something like this could happen.

We have not been back to the hospital, and that is a big thing for me to do today. Sam and I went to Dr Bailey’s rooms to pick up my records, and that was hard. I don’t think Sam can realise just how awful it is to walk back into those green rooms, see all the info that I was consuming when I was pregnant, the video with the baby picture on it, and I used to think that will be us soon. I could see into his office and I was just wanting to go in there like before, to have my check up, to turn back time and have Aaron live, and come home with us, to be like the picture on the video. How on earth did everything go so wrong? I just cannot get my head around it all. I don’t let my mind dwell on the details, the worst pain is in the details, the feel of his skin, the way Aaron looked in the video, limp and sick. And Sam saying, “you’re a mummy.”

God, God, God, even the word looks stupid, how could there be a God that would take newborns? Don’t talk to me about God, about him wanting our son for an angel, what a load of crap. Pick someone else, why take our little boy? I waited so long for him, I felt him move inside my body, would put my hand on him to calm him when he kicked, joked about his hiking boots, and couldn’t wait to see what he looked like. Would he be like me? Would we have a boy or a girl, couldn’t wait to hold our baby, to breast feed, to change nappies, to have all those sleepless nights that other parents take for granted and complain about. How can they complain, especially to me, even when they know about Aaron they still go on about how sick their kids are, at least they’re alive, how can they be so insensitive? I don’t understand.

I can’t make small talk anymore. I can’t make it home in the car without crying. It’s such a despairing kind of crying, even writing about it brings that feeling, back of the throat hurts, and I feel like I can’t get my breath, then I wonder if that’s what it was like for him. Did he feel that awful can’t get enough air feeling, did he suffer, did he know what was happening in his short life? Did he know I loved him so much? Tears. Did it hurt? Did he know we were there, we were with him in the ambulance, hoping and praying, and making wild promises to God to never make another bad move in my life if my baby could just live. Please. Tapping on the door handle of the ambulance like that would keep him going long enough to get help. The cars in front of us on the way in to the Children's, thinking GET OUT OF THE WAY! Up Lygon Street, and one car not moving, all the time thinking my baby is dying. MOVE. Trying not to cry, stay calm, he’ll be alright, looking back at Sam sitting in the back, wishing that we could be together, it’s cruel seating, when I wanted to be with him, hold him tight, he looked stunned, just stunned.

I have to go back to the hospital today.

Monday, July 12, 2010

"What's motherhood like?"

Wednesday 12th July 2000

Just when I think I'm doing okay, everything hits again. I just went next door to laminate my photo of Aaron and I put Connie's poem on the back, and the girl buckled the whole thing. I should trust my own instincts more often, I even asked her if she'd done it before. I can't even have a picture without something going wrong. I couldn't speak, I can't get people to understand how important even the smallest thing is now. Tears in the street, stood in the bus shelter to hide, shaking hands, couldn't speak.
Scott came in to work today, and the first thing he asked me was "What's motherhood like?" I wish I knew, yet I do know.

Wednesday, July 7, 2010

Talking about Aaron

Friday 7th July

I seem to be more positive at the moment as opposed to the last few days of misery and despair. Talking about Aaron to the councilor has helped, maybe as she says it's the first time I've sat and talked in any detail. She was much younger than I expected, only a trainee. Also talking with Sam always helps. I have to try to keep talking, and not hold everything inside.

Saturday, July 3, 2010

Want to just smash everything, and scream, scream, scream

Monday 3rd July 2000

Down, down, down, in a hole. Counseling costs $100, well that's me out. Mum rang around and found something cheaper. Rang Childrens hospital for Aaron's records. Little girl from up the street asked if I'd had the baby and I just said, "The baby died". I'm just so suprised that people just act like nothing has happened. They do this to my face, no shame. Crying in the car, hard to cry and drive and see all at the same time.

Feel sometimes like I'm going mad. Want to just smash everything, and scream, scream, scream. Can't see new doctor until September. I tell myself to snap out of this and I just fall further in. Everything piles up and it's hard to be positive. Customers drive me mad, I couldn't care less what colour they paint the walls. I feel fat, and ugly, and when I sneeze I pee myself.

I'm disappearing a bit at a time

Sunday 2nd July

10 p.m. and can't sleep, my mind goes round in circles. I'm disappearing a bit at a time. Nothing seems real anymore. Don't give a dam about anything, act happy, feel miserable. When is this going to get better? Everything hurts! Nobody says anything anymore and that hurts the most. Am I just meant to be over it?

Hold your dead baby in your arms, feel his fingers curl around yours, his weight, his warmth, his soft skin on the top of his head when he had a bath, and say to me "Get over it". Tell me that if you've been there or else shut up and fuck off!

Wednesday, June 30, 2010

simple joyful moments that won't be ours

Friday 30th June 2000

Red nose day today, it took on a whole new significance for me. I bought a little clown pin and will wear it for the year 2000. Went to Box Hill with Mum and had my fringe trimmed, girl asked me “when are you due”? Do I still look that obvious? That’s a bad question, and the look on people’s faces when told is just priceless. I got my period today, relief and disappointment. I need more time to grieve for Aaron.

I was holding on okay, Mum and I went to Knox, we were going to see a movie, got right to the steps of the cinema and said I don't want to do this today. Don't know what to do, I am lost, lets go. Almost to the car and there was a man holding a little boys hand walking towards us, he was silhouetted against the sun, and he looked like Sam, and it hit so hard. I couldn't breathe, knew how much we lost when our little boy died, Sam is never going to hold his sons hand like that, simple joyful moments that won't be ours.

Mum and I went looking for a councilor today, we talked and talked over coffee and chocolate cake, everything spilled out, anger, fear, blame, doubt. Ended up making an appointment with Dr Mac Donald, he seemed very honest, factual, and positive about the future. We discussed what happened and he said that he would’ve done things differently with regards to the monitor, he also said “I wouldn’t send my wife there”. I am strangely calm even though he seemed to imply that my care wasn’t all it should’ve been.

He referred me to a Dr at Monash, a woman this time, and also said that caesarians carry ten times the risk of natural birth for the mother. I'll have to re think on plans for the next baby. 25% of babies die at the last stage and nobody knows why. He told me about taking the hospital to court, and said it would have to be a civil case against the hospital. If called to testify on what I'd told him, he would have to say that the guidelines were followed.

Things could have been done better, and the monitor should have been used but we still may have had the same outcome. If the records have been changed then go to a solicitor, look for whiteout, page numbers out of sync and different pens. I'll get all the records I can before deciding on the next steps.

Sam says that when she broke the waters nothing came out. How did they come to write "Heavily meconium stained" on the report?
Val also gave me name of a Dr, I'm going to shop around this time! God dammed bastards aren't going to get me again!

Sunday, June 20, 2010

No tears today

Tuesday 20th June

Second day back at work, it’s so weird to be back, nothing much has changed, yet I’ve changed so much. When someone asks me about the baby next time, I’m going to tell them about him before I say that he died. I never get to tell anyone about him or his birth because they get away as fast as they can, or change the subject.

I want to send myself a congratulation card to make his birth seem real and something to celebrate. I’m always in card shops, I am drawn to them, looking for this perfect card to send myself. I looked for a locket to buy with my birthday money, it has to be just right. I also want an oval frame to put his picture in.

No tears today

Waiting for the autopsy results, still blame the midwife for not putting the heart monitor on me, maybe it would’ve changed things. Now we’ll never know. Angry with them all. Dr Bailey should’ve been there. The other Doctor should’ve stitched me up, instead of a learner. For Gods sake, she’d never stitched before. I won’t accept another learner next time, they were joking around with us, we weren’t worried. All the while our baby was dying. Dying while they wasted what little time we had left with him. He should have checked on Aaron’s condition so that I could have gone to him sooner. He should’ve let me know what was going on, not left it to the midwife, and he should’ve come back to let me know. The hospital never got in touch, and neither did Edwina. I don’t think I could go back there again. How am I going to get through another pregnancy? I keep on thinking, “what if it happens again”? I know it’s unlikely but I don’t trust statistics, I don’t trust anyone. If they can do a caesarian next time, then why not this time?

Friday, June 18, 2010

My Birthday

Sunday 18th June 2000

My 36th birthday.

Thursday, June 17, 2010

Cake and candles is the last thing I feel like

Saturday 17th June 2000

Perry's birthday today, mine tomorrow. Cake and candles is the last thing I feel like at the moment. It’s hard to think about having my birthday without Aaron. I used to think about my birthday when I was pregnant. I’d have a baby for my present. Maybe when my birthday is over I’ll feel a bit better. Sundays are hard anyway. It’s like a video replay, which I keep waiting to change, I keep waiting for the baby at the end to take home and I get nothing. Cheated! I just feel so cheated! Crying all day. Tears at anything. Home alone. Put the picture of all of us in the frame that mum gave me.

Wednesday, June 9, 2010

The last of the autumn leaves are about to fall.....

Friday 9th June 2000

Winter has truly set in and it has been raining for a week now. The last of the autumn leaves are about to fall. The tree outside the office window, which last week was covered in red and gold now has one red leaf left. Time is passing but for me it seems to be standing still. Standing still in that room at the Childrens. So many things go through my head, I don’t know where to start.

We had a little boy Sam and I, we had already decided on his name. Sam knew all along that he was a boy, I kind of guessed but wasn’t sure. I can clearly see the moment he came out, yes a boy.

We called him Aaron Joseph and he looked so much like Sam.
I look back through this diary, I wanted to give it to the baby. I wanted a record just in case something happened to me. I wanted to show how much I wanted and loved this baby growing inside me. I was so naive, so sure that it would all go well, so confident that our baby wouldn’t end up in the intensive care room they showed us at the hospital.

Thursday, May 20, 2010

a month without words...

There is nothing written in my journal now till the 9th of June, I am staying true to my journal and will blog again then...


Wednesday, May 12, 2010

Aaron's ashes...

Tuesday 9th May 20000

Picked up Aaron's ashes. They were in a navy blue bag with a cord handle, it reminded me of a shopping bag from somewhere like Daimaru.

Saturday, May 8, 2010

Myers and Medicare...

Monday 8th May 2000

Library for hours reading any grief book I can find. There must be a reason.
Walking through Myers with Sam, the kids section, I led the way, tears streaming Hurry, don't look, bright clothes and new mothers at the counter, kids and babys surround me, feel like I'm going to scream and never stop. Medicare office and I forgot to bring the receipt so back to the car and then back through Myers don't want to let on how much it hurts. We were at the counter and a baby started crying behind us. Instant freeze. Please stop. I said to Sam that I see how women steal babies. The mother ignored it. If she doesn't pick that baby up I'm going to kill her right here. Started crying at the counter, silent tears streaming down my face. Poor confused girl serving me, no way to stop, and still the baby cried.

Friday, May 7, 2010

The sun is shining....

Sunday 7th May 2000

Connie and Carlo back to Queensland. Sam and I went for a bush walk in the afternoon.

Saturday 6th May

Visited Camillo. Tea with Connie and Carlo, John and Carolyn and kids.

Friday 5th May 2000

Sam had a blood test. Doctor checked my stitches. He gave more attention to Sam's blood test than to Aaron dying. I thought he would talk to me about getting some help, I can't speak.
Keeping busy.

Thursday 4th May 2000

Rang Centrelink. Filled in birth certificate form and sent. Wrote letter to work. Everything I do takes so long, I'm in limbo in a dark place on slow motion, staring into space tears streaming, can't concentrate on even the simplest of things.
They sent out a Child Health Record book, he's not going to need it now. There is nothing for me to fill in, I cry all the time.

Wednesday 3rd May 2000

Aaron's funeral
The sun is shining.

Saturday, May 1, 2010

I don't remember...

Monday 1st May 2000

Connie and Mauro's for tea. I don't remember.

Friday, April 30, 2010

Tiny Autumn leaves...

Sunday 30th April 2000

One week has passed, don't know where it's gone. Sams Mums birthday today, have to make the effort for her, went for a drive to Emerald and had cake and coffee, the cake was covered with tiny autumn leaves, even the smallest thing seems like a sign. Fighting tears. All day I watch the time, think about this time last week. 10.25pm he was born. I don't know what time he died.

Tuesday, April 27, 2010

early days

Thursday 27th April 2000

Out for the first time. Sam and I watched sixth sense on the video, it made me cry.

Wednesday 26th April 2000

Everyone up to visit, Mum and Tony, Perry and Julie, Connie and Carlo, John and Carolyn.
Connie and Carlo stayed for tea

Tuesday 25th April

Anzac day, just a blur
Visited Chris and Wendy

Sunday 23rd April 2000

Aaron's birthday.

Monday 24th April 20000

My sweetheart died during the early hours of the morning.

Friday, April 23, 2010

Baby talk and bouncing...

Saturday 30th October '99

Bianca's fourth birthday party, I'm starting to show, joined in with all the new mums to talk "baby talk". This will be me soon, everyone giving me advise about things I haven't even thought of, like breast pumps, and maternity bras. Beautiful sunny day, everyone guessing what the baby is going to be. Bianca had a bouncing castle and after everyone left I lay in the sun toasting my baby in the warmth, and giving it a little bounce.

23rd April 2010

Happy Birthday sweetheart, 10 years old today. Love you Mummy Daddy Carina* and Luca xx

Thursday, April 22, 2010

Our first ultrasound...

Wednesday 6th October '99 (Week 12)

Our first ultrasound at 3.30pm, took a blank videotape although didn't expect to be able to see much. WOW! Now I really feel like I'm really pregnant. Amazing, just amazing made me cry with pure happiness! Every detail could be seen, could see the heart beating. Sam was just blown away. We couldn't stop saying wow! Dr counted fingers, and measured everything, it was the most moving experience in my life to date. Everything seems real now. Emotional over anything at the moment. Showing everyone our amazing baby, and keep rewinding it if anyone glances away and misses a bit.
Got our first ultrasound photo, black and white of course. Can't get over the detail. The little face is so clear, in profile, a tiny nose, doesn't take after me there.

Thursday 22nd April 2010

crying with pure happiness... funny I'm doing that now as I type, crying, tears rolling, love you always mummy xxx

Wednesday, April 21, 2010

I carried you in hope...

I carried you in hope for many long months,

Remembered that close hour, when we made you.

Often felt you kick and move

As slowly you grew within me.

Wondered what you would look like

when I finally gave birth to you -

Girl or Boy?

And what a glad moment

I should hear your birth cry.

And we welcoming you

With all you needed;

We had a home waiting for you.

You were born.

You took your first breaths and then you struggled

for air, and for life.

We had not expected this.

You lived only a brief time.

But you lived for me all the time in the

dark chamber of my womb.

We shall carry you with us forever.

Our child, you were always ours;

You are ours now.

Death cannot break the bond we shared.

Adapted from a poem by L. Clarke.