The Dove

I felt really close to my Nana and was naturally gutted when she died. I miss her all the time and wish she was here. I have a photo of her and Pa at Joseph's space, on the buffet next to photo's of him. They're all together.

I've felt her presence since she passed. Only hers. I've never felt the presence of my Pa, or my Grandmother (paternal). She visited often back closer to when she died, but doesn't come around much any more.

The first time I felt her energy around me was not long after she'd died. I was watching TV and could feel her at the doorway to the hallway from the lounge. Stella, our Staffie was making noise and kind of barking while looking up at the doorway. I knew it was Nana, even though I couldn't see her, I could feel her there and I knew that Stella could see her and feel her too. I acknowledged her and said hello and I told Stella it was OK, it was just Nana.

When I was pregnant for the second time, and about 10 or 11 weeks, I had a dream about Nana, she visited me again. I believe that the dreams about our loved ones who have passed aren't just dreams. It's them walking through the void to visit and in our altered state of consciousness, we can see them, feel them, hear them and talk to them. Nana didn't say much in this dream. She was just there looking lovely and sending love to me.

I was talking about this dream to my cousin at a party and he said he also dreamt about her, on the same night. He thought she was there for his Nana (my Nana's sister), but she told him she was here for me, 'to watch over Kate'. We both thought this uncanny, that we both dreamed of her on the same night and it left me wondering why she wanted to watch over me.

Then, at my 12 week scan, there was no heartbeat.

Move forward a couple of years or so and I was pregnant again, with our 5th. We now had 3 boys at home. She came to me again, in a dream. I got the same feeling of comfort and love as the previous dream but on waking I felt ominous. I even said out loud "I know what you're here for, but you can forget it", or something to that effect.

Within a week I miscarried.

With my last pregnancy, with Joseph, I had terrible dreams and much anxiety. There were a couple of nights when I'd wake up in such distress and crying. It was a feeling of such grief. Grief I hadn't yet experienced and emotion I didn't recognise as grief. D and I were having a rough time and I felt we were going to separate. I didn't know how I could cope with this 4th baby and do it on my own. I was distraught and howling, much the same as I howled for Joseph after he had died. It was primal and very, very scary. And I didn't know where it was coming from.

I can't remember how pregnant I was with Joseph when the white dove came. Towards the end but I'm not sure exactly when.

It came to our front porch, which is decked and under cover. It sat there by the front door. I thought 'how odd?'. It wouldn't move when I went out the door, or when I came back in, which is strange. Most wild birds will take off if you get too close, but this one just sat there. It was there the next day, and then the next, and the next. Stupid me thought it might be injured and hungry, so I put it in the empty chicken coup out the back and fed it seeds thinking I was doing a good deed. I left the door of the coup open so it could go when it wanted but it stayed there, in our yard not wanting to go.

I was getting more curious about this dove (actually a white pigeon) and figured maybe it was good luck to have a dove hang around so I started googling and found information I didn't want to find on dove omens. Like:

'Many superstitions have tied birds to the Otherworld and death, and great misfortune is often said to accompany the death of one of these graceful creatures. Indeed, common superstition has held, for millennia, that the death of a bird in close proximity to a person’s home heralds the death of a member of the family. Likewise, a bird’s entry into a home can mean either an immanent death or the arrival of an important message in the near future. However, a bird which does not enter the home has been thought just as unfortunate. Many people still believe that a bird tapping at the window is also an omen of impending death to one of the house’s occupants. This belief, associating the entry or interest of a bird in the home or its occupants, stems from the ancient belief that birds are actually the messengers of departed souls, or the souls themselves, come back to guide those soon to die.'

And lots of other information like this. I was freaking out, panicking that something was going to happen to this baby. I got the bird out of the coup and chased it to help it fly off. It did, but then there it was in the back yard again the next day. I shooed it off again, it flew away but then came back and sat on the neighbours roof. I grew a real hatred for this bird, even shouting at it to 'fuck off, we don't need you here'.

She came to me in a dream again. I begged her to go, to please leave me alone. I told her I knew why she was back but it wasn't necessary, this baby was here to stay. I passed it off as more pregnancy/mother worries and that it didn't mean anything.

My 'official' due date with Joseph came around and we were in hospital with Augie. He had to have a shunt revision because his existing shunt became blocked and he was quite unwell, irritable, crying, headaches etc. (Augie has hydrocephalus). I figured the dove had visited because he was unwell, and that Nana was looking out for us all 'she's just here to watch over him and make sure he comes through the surgery well'. Phew, all that worry for nothing. I really did believe that that was the end of it all. That now Augie was home, recovering and I could get on with the business of having this baby.

Two weeks later he was born. And then he died.

That fucking dove took him.

::

Aoife's post 'Warnings' promted me to write this. She asks "I wonder now about fortune telling, nightmares warning of foreboding doom, intuition… Do these things really exist? Is it another way for me to shy away from the random pot-luck that simply happens sometimes?"

As far as I know, it was never in my stars to lose a child (and in such horrific circumstances, along with my other loss). But, and much as I hate to say it out loud (and I really, really hate to say it out loud for fear of bringing on more loss), there was a forboding with my pregnancy with Joseph. I never for a minute thought that he would die, or that anything would go wrong. It just felt different to my other pregnancies - that ended with a live one in the cot.

I used to look at the 3 little chairs around the little kiddie table and say to myself 'why can't I picture a 4th there?'. I've also always had the family bassinette in my bedroom for the duration of each pregnancy. It was always made up, with a teddy or something in readiness for a new arrival. I felt it bad luck to load it up with folded clothing that I was too lazy to put away. But when I was pregnant with Joseph, I would put the spare pillows on it at night when I got into bed, saying to myself 'that's not a good omen Kate, you're tempting fate.' Then I would rationalise and tell myself I was being silly and everything will be fine.

I am superstitious and I do believe in psychics and tarot readings. I just don't believe in fate any more, or destiny. Because to believe in all of that is to believe that this was fated, all of it, and how can that be? How can it be Joseph's destiny to live in me for 42 weeks and 3 days and then be born and then die 5 days later? How can it be my destiny to have experienced so much loss? How can it be the destiny of the doctors involved in Joseph's death? Are there lessons to be learned? Does karma exist? Do I take karma to literally to believe that this is my karma? Or his karma? I too want to know if there's more coming, because the unknown seems more terrifying than to know if there is more.

F*cking Bitch

Is what I am.

I'm awful. I'm so bloody mad. Angry. Raging anger and I can't contain it and it's driving me insane. I'm intolerant, impatient, exhausted. I'm broken.

::

Monday (just gone) was our directions hearing for the Coroner. It went well. It went better than I expected in fact. The focus is where it should be - what happened with the failed resuscitation and the subgilael hemorrhage from the head trauma from the ventouse delivery. I'm confident (without counting my chickens) that the Coroner is headed in the right direction.

The directions hearing is all about housekeeping. To collate the list of witnesses for statements. When it was our turn to put forward our list, we added a few. We want statements from the two paed directly involved in the failed resuss of Joseph. We want statements from the OB who yanked Joseph from my body. We want statements from the Neonatologist in the NICU who commented on the swelling of Joseph's head (that she claims went away after 24 hours *coughbullshit*) and a few others. After reading out our list, the head of legal for the hospital stood up, arms flailing and a loud voice said (words the to effect) 'if they think they can question every single person involved in every single aspect of the delivery of this baby...they've got another thing coming'!!! How do these people sleep at night? My son DIED as a result of their negligence. Of COURSE we are going to want to hear from every.single.person involved in his DEATH!

I understand the legal battlefield that this has become and I understand the games that will be played, but here is this baby's mother in this courtroom, with his father, aunties and Nana. How DARE he reduce his life to a competitive game. God it's made me mad, and so upset.

I was sitting there at one point, mentally checking out and thinking 'how did I get here?'. 'How did I GET here?!?'. 'How did I get HERE?!?'.

The inquest has been set for August. We were under the impression that it would take 12-18 months for a date to be set, but, as the Coroner said, given the trauma that this family is going through, it would be better to have this sooner rather than later. I'm grateful for that. But, I'm scared of what it's going to do to me. These people are ruthless, nasty bottom dwellers who will stop at nothing to defend themselves. That much they're proven already with their lies and deceit. How on earth do they sleep at night?

::

I am a yeller, the fishmongers wife through and through. I can't help it. I know it's wrong, but I can't help it. I have a volotile temper. I slam doors and break things. It's ugly and it's frightening and even more so now. I don't want to be like this. I don't want to fight with D in front of the kids. I want to be more tolerant, more patient with them but it feels like there are just no reserves there. I can say I'm not violent towards them (which I'm not), but yelling and slamming doors is just as damaging. I'm just not coping.

And, I feel like I should be in more control. I shouldn't be feeling this grief stricken and angry 14 months on. I should be funtioning better. I should be able to do the shopping, cook the meals, shower every day, smile and talk with the school mums, engage with my kids more, not be so angry with D all the time, clean the house, go to yoga, laugh more, have sex again, eat better, nourish myself, excersice more. Just.Be.Better. It's just not happening.

This inquest is something I want. I want them to determine that this was negligence. I know this process is not about blame. It's about finding out what went wrong to prevent this from happening again. How can this be prevented from happening again if the people involved haven't taken on responsibility for what happened?

This process is holding me back. I feel like I'm in a constant state of trauma, although for the most part, people wouldn't know it. I'm locked in a state of grief because all of this is hanging over my head, but I don't want it not to be. The inquest has to happen and the hospital need to apologise to me and D for what happened, even if it is behind closed doors.

I'm not making much sense am I? I probably shouldn't even be writing about this publicly, but what else do I right about? When this is my life now?

I just want my boy back. I just want to go back to December 2010 and make different desicions. I feel like, at the end of the day it's all my fault. If I just had have agreed to an elective, then none of this would have happened. He'd be alive and here, almost walking. Not a baby anymore, but heading into toddlerhood. My own stupid stubbornness and desire for a VBAC came back to bite me on the arse in the worse way possible. My son died because of my stupidity and I failed him, and me and my family. I guess that's what it comes down to. I'm so angry with myself because at one point, I was in control of this. I was in control of his birth. I could have had a nice elective and a good outcome, but I didn't and I've got to live with that for the rest of my life. I have to explain all of this to my children.

I wouldn't blame you if you left me, hell, I want to leave me. I'm sick of my own negativity and rage and doom and gloom and self pity and depression.

Sorry it's all so bleak. I'm having a hard time writing it any other way. I just want my boy back. I love him and I miss him more than ever.

On No You Di'n't

Oh holy fuck. Fuckety fuck fuck fuck.

What was I thinking?

I just replied to a recent post on Edenland about funeral songs and fear of death:

+++

Well, this certainly made my heart drop to my guts. And that was just your header.

I had always, for as long as I can remember, wanted Van Morrison's Sweet Thing played at my funeral - "i will stroll the merryway and jump the hedges first, and drink the clear clean water to quench my thirst...". That song conjures up such heavenly images in my head.
I hope wherever we go is just like that.

I gifted this funeral song to my baby son, who was born in December 2010 at 42wk+3 days. He was alive for five days then taken off life support. It was gross medical negligence of the most catastrophic kind that took his life and very nearly mine (my womb was also taken the night he was born).

Breeeeeathe KT, breathe.

So, he got my song because he is just the Sweetest Thing.

At his funeral we also played Nick Cave's Into My Arms. Sarah McLaughlan's Into the Arms of An Angel. Some Dixie Chicks song and lastly, for when we were walking out holding the ashes of his body in his lotus urn, was Darling I Do from Shrek the Third soundtrack. I figured he'd like that because the kids watched it non stop during my pregnancy with him so he must have heard it? Right? Plus, my other boys were familiar with the song and I figured on such a fucked up (another) saddest day ever, they might just have a little bit of light amongst that darkness.

I used to fear death but I don't any more, because I can't. I can't for him. I absolutely have to believe that there is as much beauty in death as there is in birth. No matter how fucked up and out of order his birth and death was/is.

+++

Then, I went back and clicked on my name and it takes me straight to this blog!

It's a blog public I know, but in my ignorant little head I figured it would only be read by other babyloss parents and they'd only find me through replies on their blogs. Stoopid right?

And then it occurred to me that there must be more people reading the dribble I write about than just those babyloss parents and maybe they just don't comment? Aaaah, der Fred.

So, in the words of Luka Bloom (from the song I Need Love), 'if you're out there, please, make yourself seen'. Let me know you're there and how you found me and if you have read more than this reply I left on Edenland's blog.

Cheers for that.

Rock - Hard Place

*please note the following post contains information regarding the coronial process, which some may find distressing.

It's bleak and it's black.

It's turning nasty and I'm shit scared. I really don't know how I'm going to find the strength to keep going. All I want to do is go find him, leave this place and this emotional turmoil and just go.

I received correspondence from my solicitor today, which includes copies of most of the documentation that I've already given her (yeah, thanks for that - $5 a page x about 150 pages).
Included in this mammoth pile of paperwork are the witness statements, gathered together for the brief of evidence by the police. I already have copies of these. What is also included are photos of Joseph after we said goodbye, photos I'd never seen before and never wanted to see, but the fuckwit solicitor included them.

I was expecting only the 'expert opinion' from the obstetrician which is scathing to say the least. Not that I read it, I didn't get that far. This 'expert opinion' submitted for the Coroner is written by one of the Obs AT the hospital where Joseph was born. I actually saw this dick antenatally early on in the pregnancy. He said he wouldn't support at VBAC and "you'd better hope I'm not on when you come to hospital to have your baby, others may support a VBAC, but I won't". There were many other things he said during that appointment. It was so bad, I refused to see him again and now he's the independent 'expert opinion' for the Coroner. My solicitor has put it to the Coroner that there is clearly a conflict of interest here and that it should be inadmissable.
So, that's what I was expecting, as well as the solicitors cover note to ask for a second expert opinion. She said to me that I should have support when I read the opinion from this guy as it may be distressing. She never told me that she would include the police photos of Joseph for the Coroner. I was blindsided - big time.

*I was scanning through the pile from back to front, just flicking through and I saw him there, looking just like he did when we handed him over (hardest fucking day of my life). That was kind of OK. I was kinda happy to see another picture of him that I already didn't have. But, then I went back further and there's my baby wrapped in a plastic bag, progress shots of him being unwrapped, like a parcel. I screeeeeamed. I wailed. NO mother/parent should ever ever ever see a photo of their child wrapped in a forensic plastic bag.

I was at home on my own with the kids. Eden came out and said "you're sad for your Jophes?, you miss your Jophes Mummy?" Even that couldn't pull me out of that primal place, I could feel by breasts tingle, like they were letting down which is another cruel blow. I knew rationally that I needed to pull myself together but every time I shut my eyes, all I could see what that bag, with my baby in it. His head was covered, how could he breath if he's wrapped in a plastic bag?!? It was terrifying. That right there was another one of the worst moments of my life.

I was transported back to 21 December 2010. I thought I'd left it behind but there I was in that day again. I begged Dwayne to come with me to find him "can't we just all leave and find him?" "He's with us Katie, he's here in spirit" (bullshit, I thought). "I just can't do this anymore, I just need to leave and find him". "You just have to be strong" (bullshit, I thought).
It feels like there's just too much on board here and it feels that way because there bloody well is.

He's gone and it's because of their catastrophic fuck ups. My womb is gone and any chance of having more children, because of thier catastrophic fuck ups. We have to endure a Coroners Inquest which will most likely continue for at least the next year. We have no money to fight the medico legal beast, and a mighty beast it is, but I can't walk away from holding them accountable. I know they did this and they know they did this, but it all comes down to who has the most money wins. D has a hernia that will need surgery and I'm terrified that something will go wrong when he's under the knife. Xavier started school as is terrified of going because of a bully issue (already, only 4 days in). Augie has hydrocephalus which means he's a bit of a ticking time bomb, at any time he could need another surgery - or not. And my sister has had a health scare and is staring down the barrel of surgery as well (see terrified of going under the knife...).

So, as you can see, I'm finding it really difficult to see the positive side. Really difficult.

My psychologist said to me that every time I have a letter from the solicitor, a call from the Coroner's office, correspondence from the hospital - I will be taken back to the trauma of those 5 days when Joseph was born and died and I need to be prepared for that, that I need to work out if I'm strong enough to cope with that. But, what do I do? Just walk away? How can I walk away from this and have nothing change? No apology from them, no accountability, no changes to policies so this doesn't happen to someone else. I'm between a rock and a hard place.

Suicidal thoughts are taking over, much like they did before I started antidepressents (at 7 months out). I took myself off them while we were away. I was kind of forgetting taking them and was on the lowest dose (half the lowest dose actually) so figured I probably didn't really need them, but maybe I do. I really don't like the thought of them. They made me feel numb. But, there's a time and a place for them and this seems like the time and the place? I'll make an appointment to see my doctor tomorrow and get back on them. That's a start I guess.

Rationally it's not an option, but primally I just want to be with him and one is outwaying the other. Taking my life is something I really wouldn't do. There's just no way I could leave my other three boys. It's just so scary when thoughts of doing that come, and sit, and get cosy.

This is all such a jumble of a mind dump, written in a rush.

Have you thought about leaving to find your baby? Have you had to deal with an inquest? Have you taken/are you talking AD's? Have you gone on them then off, then on again?