After Anabelle

Thursday, 14 October 2010

What Makes a Mother?

00:50 | Posted by Caz | Edit Post

I wasn’t supposed to be blogging. I was supposed to be going to bed and having an early night. Tomorrow is going to be a difficult day. But I found myself here anyway.

I wanted to share my daughter with you a little bit more. You might remember in my first ever post (Life) I talked about the album of Belle I have on my facebook page, and how I considered that a brave moment. I felt it was about time that my daughter was given a face on my blog – the real little person I pour my heart out about. So her photo is now here, in the column to your right. Another brave moment. I’m so proud of her. I sometimes sit looking at Anabelle’s pictures and cannot believe that Jon and I could produce something so perfect and beautiful. I cannot believe she belongs to me. Sometimes it all feels very surreal.

I am a mother, I have a baby.

What sort of mother am I though? How do I identify myself? I struggle with this. It is so difficult to be one thing in my heart and another in the devastating reality that is now my life. I sometimes feel a fraud when it comes to the word and notion of mother.

There is a poem called “What makes a Mother” - it’s a poem written for Mummies without their babies. Mummies like me. The final verse of the poem reads like this; So now you see, What makes a Mother, It's the feeling in your heart, It's the love you had so much of, Right from the very start.

Anabelle was so very much loved right from the start. Our start was the 2^nd December 2009 when we found I was pregnant. We were SO excited! I did the test when I woke up that morning at 6.00. Poor Jon has never woken up with such a start as he did that day – me screaming, jumping up and down, and shoving a positive stick in his face. We were expecting a baby, we were expecting Anabelle. Jon took a picture of the stick which said pregnant, Anabelle’s test.

We were very lucky to catch quickly. I fully appreciate how fortunate we are that we created Anabelle with such ease. We’d been married for only 4 months when I did that test, and it was only our 2^nd proper go at trying. Expecting Anabelle was like an early Christmas present, the best ever and the perfect end to what had been a wonderful year.

Quite frankly life couldn’t have got better at that moment.

Anabelle was never an embryo or a foetus to me. She was always my baby, right from the word go. My tiny little person who I was going to love and nurture, she was never going to want for anything. If what makes a mother is love then I have that in abundance for my daughter.

But it breaks my heart that I failed her in the worst possible way. I feel so guilty that I didn’t keep her safe enough. Her death remains unexplained and it is very difficult not to blame myself, because keeping her safe was my job. I have a tough time letting that feeling go. Maybe it will never go.

At the moment I’m waiting on blood results. Tests are being done to explore a whole range of blood disorders. If they find a disorder, it is likely it will have been a high contributing factor to Anabelle’s death. To me, if they find something, it will be evidence that my body failed my baby.

It is a long process. We had to wait until 12 weeks after Belle’s birth before these tests could be done, so no pregnancy hormones would be left in my system at all. They are such fragile and complex tests they have to be repeated 12 weeks apart to ensure a consistent result so I’m told. So they’ll be repeated at the start of the December. We’re looking into the new year sometime before all results are back from both sets of tests and we have a definitive answer.

The answer after all this time and waiting, could very well still be ‘unexplained’ – a non-answer. I don’t know what’s worse in all honesty, unexplained or my body’s failure? I suppose a result would help Dr’s to stop my body being a failure again. But how do I live with that confirmation that I, her mother, didn’t keep her safe instead of just feeling it the way I do now?

This new life I live is a minefield – something ready to blow up and break you a little bit more all the time. That is Anabelle's mother's reality. My reality. Maybe resiliance and strength will eventually come, but what I need more than anything is some peace.

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Tuesday, 12 October 2010

Blessings

15:36 | Posted by Caz | Edit Post

Three days ago I read a verse in the Bible, a verse I’m going to claim as my own as God’s promise to me. These words bought me comfort as if God was saying your time will come.

Genesis chapter 49 verse 25 ‘By the God of your father who will help you, And the Almighty who will bless you, With blessings of heaven above, Blessings of the deep that lies beneath, Blessings of the womb.’

I read it, and re-read it and re-read it again. As I read, it appeared to me that I was meant to read it and take it to my heart as a message about Anabelle, and a promise of future children to come. Anabelle was a blessing of the womb, and she’ll be my blessing in heaven above when I get there.

In the middle of August, a thread was started on SANDS about our angel babies being gifts. The Bible verse reminded me of that thread. Amidst the devastation that my daughter is not here I know she is a blessing. Her existence bought joy into our lives.

On the thread I celebrated my daughter and said that Anabelle is our beautiful gift because;
she chose us for her Mummy and Daddy, she is our firstborn and that is so special, she made us a family, she gave us the happiest 32 weeks of 2010 and shown me how precious growing a little baby is, she has shown me what really matters in life, she has shown me how special it is to be a Mummy and that there is no other job like it, she has shown us how strong and steadfast our marriage is and we know we’ll always be together, she has made me really believe in angels because a little one belongs to me.

Today I’ve had my third counselling session. We discussed my family dynamics, and my not coping with being away. We also discussed God, and I discovered that she is also a woman with a faith. God is certainly putting his people in place to help me. I wasn’t sure about the idea of counselling but I got to a point, on Belle’s 3 month anniversary, (coincidently also when I moved my blog over to here), where I didn’t know what to do anymore. I was melting down and I knew it. So I went to the drop in centre that is dedicated to baby loss.

I still don’t know what to do – I know really there is nothing I can do but survive the days - but I think I find the sessions helpful. It is liberating to be able to say what I want to say to a real person without fearing I’ll upset them. Someone private to confine in who won’t judge. I think I’m a person who needs to talk about my grief to manage it. I think that’s why the counselling is useful and my blog. Both are avenues for me to organise my thoughts.

After I left my session I went and sat with Anabelle in her garden for a while. Made it look a bit prettier again with pink flowers. It always has to be pink flowers.

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Sunday, 10 October 2010

Baby Loss Awareness Week

17:53 | Posted by Caz | Edit Post

This week is National Baby Loss Awareness Week. (9^th-15^th October)

Today and every single day 17 babies are born sleeping. This and every week 119 families will be devastated by the death of their precious baby. By the end of 2010, as every other year, there will have been 6500 angel babies. Jon, I and Anabelle are one of those families. Anabelle is one of those babies.

Stillbirth is 10 times more likely than cot-death, but not spoken about even a fraction as much. Not publicised. Everyone is made aware about how important it is to put a baby to bed properly, to reduce the risks of cot death – yet we’re a society that thinks when we’re past that magic 12 week milestone of pregnancy our babies are ‘safe’ and we’ll be bringing them home. We take it for granted. I too was guilty of this. Especially after our 20 week scan – we were having a baby girl and everything looked fine. After that it was a waiting game.

How wrong could I be? Especially as Anabelle isn’t the first angel baby in my family. When I was 13 my cousin Andrew was born sleeping at 38 weeks. I should’ve been more aware than anyone, I knew babies could die, but it still wasn’t going to happen to me. Andrew’s was the first funeral I ever went to. His tiny white casket has lived with me since. I would never have believed I would be seeing another tiny casket in my lifetime, let alone my own baby daughters pink casket. Apparently lightening does strike the same family twice.

I often feel angry at myself. I shouldn’t have just assumed everything would be ok, not when I already had a baby cousin in heaven. But I don’t think the full impact of the situation sank in when I was 13. However, one thing I’ve learnt out of this, is 12 weeks means nothing, 20 weeks means nothing. In future, my baby is not safe until they are screaming in my arms.

I desperately want people to become more aware. Not to take a single moment of their pregnancy for granted – because whatever stage or week you’re at – it could be over in a moment.

I loved being pregnant. We were excited about having a bump and embraced my changing body. Having a baby was all we wanted after we got married. We’d booked a pregnancy photographer who visited us for the first time at 12 weeks, and continued to visit every 6 weeks. We have a beautiful record of Belle growing. The last time the photographer visited us was 2 days before Anabelle died. That final visit couldn’t be more precious to us.

Apparently, according to the SANDS forum, This Morning (daily television programme), were asked to cover Baby Loss Awareness Week. Instead, it appears National Chocolate Week will be more deserving. Our babies and the heartbreak of 6500 families this year alone, dismissed. ITV had the opportunity to break the silence surrounding stillbirth, to raise awareness – but no, let’s celebrate chocolate instead.

Anabelle’s short 32 weeks, her death and birth are important. Please take the time to look at the SANDS campaign website. I think ITV could do with a read too. http://www.why17.org/

After reading on the forum about the lack of support from This Morning and ITV I was inspired to email my local paper. I implored them to listen to Anabelle’s story and run an article about Baby Loss and to support Baby Loss Awareness Week. I will be gutted if they don’t respond.

Baby Loss Awareness Week will end on Friday with a “Wave of Light”. At 7.00pm parents and others of precious angel babies will be lighting a candle for one hour, to honour and remember their sons and daughters. We will be lighting a candle for Anabelle and my cousin.

If you have visited my blog this week please take the time to join in the “Wave of Light” . If you do join in, please comment here and let me know that you lit a candle for my beautiful daughter and her angel baby friends.

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Saturday, 9 October 2010

Family Dynamics

00:14 | Posted by Caz | Edit Post

Being away did not end as planned. In theory this family going away was a good idea, in reality it has been a total disaster. Last night we fell out, irritations all week (and all life, apparently) came to a head. Written down it sounds so stupid, pathetic and petty that I’m not going to give it the time for day in all the gory details – there are too many levels and I don’t have the energy for it. Needless to say I won’t be family ‘away-ing’ it again.

We’re home a day early – Jon and I left first thing this morning, no energy left in me to survive another day. I cried much of the way home. I was so relieved when we hit the M4 and home was in sight. The anxious knot I’d had in my stomach all week just disappeared. I’ve spent the afternoon in bed, asleep, recovering.

Why are family relationships and dynamics so difficult? Why do the people you expect or need the most from insist on letting you down or causing more hurt and distress? Maybe I expect too much. Maybe I need too much. Maybe it really is all my fault.

I’ve never really liked being the eldest child. Such high expectations that disappeared by the time they got to the youngest. 5 years, so different. This has transpired into adult hood and will probably remain the same for the rest of my life. I should probably be more accepting of it because whatever the situation, I should know better, react better, cope better, whatever better. I should just be better.

But I’ll never have an eldest child to make ‘mistakes on’ – my eldest child has gone. If I’m ever lucky enough to have any earth children, I hope there will be no blatant differences in expectation.

I’ve never been so emotionally vulnerable, I don’t really recognise myself at all. I feel like a little child who needs looking after. But who is really there? Jon and me, emotionally it seems we’re going it alone. Right now I feel like the littlest thing could push us over. We’re scarred for life, but still there are no allowances made, not for me. What exactly has to happen to me before I’ll be given a break? Having a dead baby is apparently not tragic or awful enough.

Anabelle was born only shy of 16 weeks ago. That may seem like long enough to you for us to be dealing better, but to us, it was as if yesterday. I don't know how to even begin to deal with living without my daughter forever. I feel very lost, and I'm starting to feel more and more alone.

Maybe I bring the alone-ness on myself.

I’ll be the first to admit I’m not easy to be around at the moment. And I’m aware that is probably quite an understatement. I’ll admit I’m quite selfish at the moment, no patience. I just do not have it within me to take on anything but my own grief. Every moment takes effort, I’m exhausted all the time. For the majority of the world I find that stiff upper lip, the effort of a brave face is there – but I thought with my own family I could just be. Apparently not.

I feel a little bit more broken tonight, I already had so much to carry. I cannot bear the load of much more.

But at least Fiz is pleased to see me. My simplest family relationship and dynamic. Thank you my furball, you are always just what I need.

I wish you wouldn't judge me because I am not acting the way you think I should be. The truth is grief is a very personal thing and we are all different people who deal with things differently. I wish you wouldn't think if I have a good day I'm "over it" or if I have a bad day I am being unreasonable because you think I should be over it. The truth is there is no "normal" way for me to act.

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Tuesday, 5 October 2010

Terminology

21:15 | Posted by Caz | Edit Post

The 16^th June our lives changed forever, the day we were told our unborn daughter had died. It took 5 days of the medical team trying to induce labour before our beautiful daughter was born sleeping. The 21^st June at 00:08 and weighing a tiny 4lb 5oz. Myself, Jon and Anabelle became a statistic at that very moment – we were 1 of 17 families that day to experience the horror of stillbirth or have a very young baby to die.

How can 17 families a day go through such an enormous loss yet stillbirth be such a taboo subject, not spoken about? A dirty word almost. From times of old I know things have muchly improved. I know that families even 20-30 years ago would’ve been treated like their darling baby had never existed at all – registered without a name, buried without a funeral in a mass grave. The parents allowed no wishes, lucky if they knew where their child’s final resting place was.

In many respects maybe we were “lucky” – we and Anabelle were treated well. Anabelle has a (still)birth certificate with her name on, we’re named as her parents. She was given a proper funeral A beautiful funeral, all planned by us - full of pink and all about her, just as she deserved. I wrote about how much we love her, about how precious our pregnancy had been, the special moments that we’ll treasure forever – read out for us and Anabelle honoured. Anabelle has her own grave that I can make beautiful just for her. One day her Mummy and Daddy will be buried with her, asleep by her side forever. You may think it morbid but buying a family grave gives us huge comfort.

I often hear the saying “My child was stillborn, but he/she was STILL born.” Parents of angel babies are desperate for them to have same ongoing recognition that their live children would have. I already worry that no-one will remember Anabelle’s birthday next year for example. I agree with the above statement, but I HATE the terminology. Stillborn – I can barely say the word, and its pained me every time I’ve typed it here. I know its the official term and I have no other suggestions; but I don’t think it does my angel baby justice. I sometimes wonder if in societies eyes it makes her a non-person. Never really here, not a real death. Something to brush under the carpet.

There are two particular instances in the last 3 months that stick in my mind.

One week after Anabelle’s funeral we were sat with her in her garden. Another lady (older, in her 60s) was visiting another garden two rows above Anabelle. She asked us if we were visiting a child’s grave – the teddy floral tributes probably gave it away. I said it was our daughter. The lady then asked me how old our daughter was. I replyed she had been born sleeping. They lady didn’t understand – I somehow managed to choke out the word stillborn and this lady tutted at me and turned away. Yes tutted, no further recognition or discussion. I was deeply hurt by her reaction. Maybe she didn’t know what to say, or maybe she didn’t think my baby deserved a grave, an olden days attitude, a brushed under the carpet attitude.
Recently I’ve been to the nurse at my GP’s to renew my pill. This was only the 2^nd time I’d been to the surgery since having Anabelle, the 1^st time being my 6 week post-natal review. At my review I was asked how I was coping by my GP. We had a discussion. On my 2^nd visit I saw his notes on the screen from our discussion – he’d referred Anabelle’s death as a miscarriage. Now I apologise upfront, I’m not trying to belittle how awful a miscarriage is -but it is not in the same vane as what we’ve been through. I did not have a miscarriage. I gave birth, I bled for 5 weeks afterwards, my milk came in and I leaked for a month – I didn’t miscarry, I am a mother and my daughter died, she was a little person. By my GP recording my daughter as a miscarriage I felt it was another sweeping under the carpet moment, not significant.

In my mind my baby was born sleeping, not stillborn, and definitely not a miscarriage. She was born. I laboured and gave birth to her, I held her in my arms and I lavished all the physical love I could on her until it was time for her to go. She was really alive, inside me for over 7 months and she really died. Please remember her special days, she is significant.

I wish you wouldn't think that my baby wasn't really a baby and it was blood and tissue or a fetus. The truth is my baby was a human life. He had a soul, heart, body, legs, arms and a face. I have seen my baby's body and face. My baby was a real person.
My babies birthday, due date, Mothers Day, celebration times, the day my baby died are all important and sad days for me. The truth is I wish you could tell me by words or by letter you remember on these days.

http://www.uk-sands.org/

4 comments

Sunday, 3 October 2010

The Caz and Belle Blog

20:47 | Posted by Caz | Edit Post

My clever husband (I say clever because its is beyond my understanding) connected me to the internet on my laptop via his mobile phone yesterday evening. As you will be aware from my previous post I was not coping particularly well with coming away. We arrived at our log cabin in mid-Wales and my anxiety levels were through the roof. They still are.

Anyway, he connected me to the internet, I instantly logged onto my virtual world – my safe places, an attempt to bring my anxiety levels down.

I found one safe place in pieces. It doesn’t feel so safe anymore; I’m quite shaken by it to be honest. A bereaved mother, Susan, accused of being a troll, the implication that she is a fake. Banned, all posts deleted – because of something that happened on a different thread, on a different area of the forum – but its left our thread in tatters too.

Our thread has gone quiet, people are leaving, too nervous to say too much at the moment in case we are also not believed I guess. Our open safe place has become “closed”... It is desperately sad and uncomfortable. An avenue of support possibly destroyed. Not sure what to say, or what to think about the whole sorry situation. So I think it best to say nothing, not have an opinion other than innocent until proven guilty, I’m not joining the witch hunt. I feel for Susan right now.

Then this morning, someone realised mine and Susan’s blogs are linked. We follow each others. I’d not commented on that thread until then, not feeling strong enough to join the argument. But there my name was... my stomach did a lurch – was I being considered guilty of the same accusation by association? I don’t think I’m the only one feeling vulnerable on our thread now. I’m not sure what they were trying to imply (probably nothing) but I’ve noticed my blog has had much more traffic than normal today.

So readers, why do I blog?

I’d originally been blogging on the SANDS forum. But after Susan directed us to her blog I was inspired to blog here instead – because it is open – anyone can read it. Not just my contacts on SANDS. SANDS is a great service, but no-one there needs to know how it feels to be the mother of a dead baby, they all get it, they know because they are all there themselves. A bit like preaching to the converted. I guess I thought by blogging here the taboo subject that is stillbirth (and I HATE that word with a passion, but that’s another subject for another time) would be given consideration by those who would have no understanding. (Through no fault of their own, I add). An insight into what its like to be me now. I hoped my blog would be an education.

But besides that, blogging is so helpful to me. I get to say things here, in my blog, that I can’t or daren’t say in real life. A platform to “get it all out” as it were.

So this is me. As I am. I miss and love my daughter, my Anabelle, beyond words. I don’t understand my life now but believe me it is very real and so is she.

2 comments

Friday, 1 October 2010

Away

22:21 | Posted by Caz | Edit Post

Tomorrow we are going away. I don't want to use the word holiday because holiday implies happiness, fun etc. I organised the going away, people kept saying it would do us some good, I got my parents and sister on board - a family going away it is. But now that its here I'm feeling very wobbly about it. The anxiety has been building all week. I don't think I want to go anymore. I've been putting off packing all week - its 10pm and the case is still only half done, and I haven't even started to think about kitchen or bathroom stuff yet. I didn't realise before what sheer amount of energy goes into packing, I used to be good at organising things, yet I can't bare this - I'm starting to feel panicky.

I feel guilty for going away. I feel anxious about going away.

Guilt - Being away for a whole week from where Anabelle's garden is. Not that I go there every day, but I suppose its the knowledge that I can when I'm here, if I want to go, I can just go and sit with her. Being away means even if I want to - I'm too far away from her.

Guilt - Its not supposed to be like this is it... we're not supposed to be going away - that wasn't part of the plan, not in October. The plan was Anabelle, a screaming baby, sleepless nights, Mummyhood, Daddyhood.

Anxious - The packing is not boding well with me.

Anxious - I'm going to be away from the support networks I've created for myself. My virtual world. I've got to survive a week in the real. But at least its away from anyone who will know us, small mercies. We're going to mid-Wales, the signal and reception there for the I-phone access to my virtual world will probably be next to useless, but the I-phone isn't the same as my laptop anyway.

Anxious - Leaving Fiz. My cat, my furball. (She'll be another post in her own right one day.) I know its completely irrational and probably quite crazy but I can't get the thought out of my head of something happening to her while we're not here. Its ridiculous really, my next door neighbours will do a wonderful job as they do every time we've gone away in the past, but I cannot get this feeling away. I don't want to leave her. I know I probably love her way too much for a cat but losing her is not an option, she's my other baby. I fell in love with her the moment we bought her home 3 years ago, and she brings me so much comfort. There something about a purring Fiz that relaxes the soul.

Wish me luck. I don't know what else to say. It probably won't be as bad as I'm imagining. We may even enjoy something. I hope I relax if nothing else.

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After Anabelle

What Makes a Mother?

Blessings

Baby Loss Awareness Week

Family Dynamics

Terminology

The Caz and Belle Blog

Away

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