This is all too hard now. Last night I had an honest to goodness panic attack, despite having had a CTG six hours before. I went to bed at 9.30pm, woke at 11pm and could feel nothing. I tried all the usual, drinking water, eating a chocolate biscuit. But my heart was racing and tears were dripping down my cheeks. Even if the baby was moving, I doubt my perception was all that anyway, and I was convinced he was gone. I engage in all this magical, superstitious thinking. The night that Sybella died, something was "different." I dont know what it was, but I remember being so weak and fatigued and tired. I was only 33 weeks, but I felt like I was days away from giving birth (which I was, unknowingly). I got Thai food for dinner that night because I couldnt muster up any energy to cook.
Last night, I had that terrible tiredness again. I again got Thai food for dinner. Then remembered that it had been the same routine on that terrible day I lost Sybella. So I was convinced that Rainbow Baby would die last night. Of course, my tiredness this time is attributed to running up and down the freeway for appointments, crippling anxiety and fear and no sleep. Oh, and the 8lb kid inside me.
My plan is to be admitted to hospital again this week. I will return in two days time and stay until the birth. I am just not coping at home. Jack's school drop off wipes me out for the rest of the day. My house is a disgrace. I want to nest, but am too scared. I am hoping that someone will hire a cleaner for me before I bring the baby home...(hint, hint...someone want to forward this post to Kelvin?!)
I was at an appointment the other day, listening to Rainbow Baby's heartbeat, when another pregnant woman started talking to me. Now, I am particularly irritable these days. And I dont hide it well. I made it clear that I wasnt interested in talking, not by being rude, but by answering in monosyllabics and lacking engagement.
"Humph" she groaned. "I am so sick of these appointments. Twice a week! TWICE A WEEK!"
I look at her. "How often do you come?" she asks me. "Every day" I answer. "EVERY DAY? Why? What is your complication?"
I respond with "Previous stillbirth. You?"
She doesnt seem peturbed or affected by my answer. "Oh. Cholestasis. Gestational Diabetes. You know." I nod. Look away. "But I cant work, because I'm HERE all the time. And I had to take my daughter out of childcare. It's so inconvenient."
Yes. Yes it is. About as inconvenient as picking out a baby coffin, I think.
"What..." I ask.."is the outcome if your pregnancy isnt monitored accordingly?"
"Ummm, stillbirth" she answers.
"I've had a stillbirth" I reiterate."In April. Trust me, do your monitoring. It's not as inconvenient as stillbirth."
Normally, I wouldnt be so blunt. But I have had it. I cant be nice anymore. I dont know why I find it so hard. I'm stretched to my limit. I hope I can become nice again when my Rainbow Baby is born.
See Baby This Week
Tuesday
Thursday
Week 36
One thing I hate is dumbarse doctors at obscure medical clinics, who ring and tell your husband that his serology is all negative. Then ring back three days later and say, "no actually, you need to come in for a re-test. You may have Parvovirus." Parvovirus. Slapped Cheek. Fifth Disease. That I am not immune to. And that causes stillbirth. Excuse me for my first swear in all of my blogging history. But FUCK.
I spent a whole day at Maternal Fetal Medicine, having heart tracing, ultrasounds, counselling, blood tests, talks with doctors. The good news is that there was no evidence of anemia or hydrops fetalis, which is what leads to the baby being stillborn if the mother contracts Parvovirus while pregnant. I have not come down with anything yet, no rash or fever, so lets hope that I somehow did not contract it from Kelvin. Anyway, by the time the virus were to cause any problems in the baby, I would have delivered. Still...I was hoping for as little drama as possible for the next couple of weeks.
I am blurrily getting through each day. I dont know how I am doing it, truthfully. I want to believe we are meeting Rainbow Baby in a week or so, and I feel confident about this..I can "see" him in a way I could never "see" Sybella. However, I still havent gotten anything ready. All I have done is pull out Jack's old baby clothes, washed them, folded them messily and shoved them in a cupboard. I have no cot mattress, pram, bouncer or anything like that. I have no mobiles, carseat, books or stuffed toys. I did buy nappies. That's it.
I spent a whole day at Maternal Fetal Medicine, having heart tracing, ultrasounds, counselling, blood tests, talks with doctors. The good news is that there was no evidence of anemia or hydrops fetalis, which is what leads to the baby being stillborn if the mother contracts Parvovirus while pregnant. I have not come down with anything yet, no rash or fever, so lets hope that I somehow did not contract it from Kelvin. Anyway, by the time the virus were to cause any problems in the baby, I would have delivered. Still...I was hoping for as little drama as possible for the next couple of weeks.
I am blurrily getting through each day. I dont know how I am doing it, truthfully. I want to believe we are meeting Rainbow Baby in a week or so, and I feel confident about this..I can "see" him in a way I could never "see" Sybella. However, I still havent gotten anything ready. All I have done is pull out Jack's old baby clothes, washed them, folded them messily and shoved them in a cupboard. I have no cot mattress, pram, bouncer or anything like that. I have no mobiles, carseat, books or stuffed toys. I did buy nappies. That's it.
You can see what a difference a stillbirth experience makes on one's confidence levels.
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The first picture is Sybella's room, all done up by the time I was 32 weeks pregnant. The second picture is the same room, "prepared" for Rainbow Baby, and I am edging towards 37 weeks now. Just for funsies, here is a picture of me at 36 weeks pregnant. I actually had a woman say out loud "Oh my God, wow" as she walked past me.
Based on the ultrasound, the baby is 7lb 15oz already. Thank goodness for that vaginal bypass.
Sunday
Week 35
Ah, respite. I have never felt so safe. I had a room to myself, a bed to myself and a bathroom to myself. Better than at home...
My meals were brought to me, my sheets were changed daily and I had the CTG machine on demand. My biggest responsibility was winning Solitaire on my iPhone.
I had few visitors, because I hadnt made it public that I was in hospital. Kelvin didnt even visit, because he had broken out in a rash. He wasnt sick, he had no fever, but just this non descript rash all over his body. Out of responsibility to the other newborns (I was in the maternity ward...not as harsh as it sounds...I only saw one baby the entire time) I told him to stay away. I revelled in the solitude. I missed Jack but I loved being alone. I loved having no responsibilities and running by my own schedule. I showered at odd times, slept at odd times and had the CTG at odd times...once at 4am. The midwives were beautiful and sympathetic. I had all day to lie there and do kick counts. And if movements werent up to scratch, the CTG was right outside my door.
The Boss returned from holidays and rang me. Now, this was the man, who, at the beginning of the pregnancy, said I could do whatever I needed to feel safe. Ring anytime, visit anytime, come to hospital if I need to. Well, he must have forgotten these promises, because he decided it was appropriate to question why I had been admitted. I wonder whether his ego was bruised that I had pursued different avenues for reassurance. I had gradually stopped relying on him for care, as he seemed irritable and unapproachable whenever I rang or visited. This, of course, could have been my own perception, and perhaps I was oversensitive. But the day he told me my anxiety was "abnormal" was the day I stopped putting my emotional trust in him. Since when was grief and anxiety part of a formula? What was "normal" in response to grief and trauma? I was clearly suffering from PTSD, based on a book that a hospital psychiatrist had given me. These symptoms, from Anxiety Australia, explain exactly what my day to day life was consumed by:
Intrusive Symptoms:
I felt like asking him how many of his children's ashes did he have sitting on his mantelpiece? How many times had he pushed out a perfect, beautiful little baby girl who never opened her eyes? Did he feel lucky that he got to age 46 without planning a funeral for his daughter? Because I was 29 when I had to do it. And Jack was 4 when he attended the funeral of his sister.
But I digress. And I rant. But I make no apologies.. I am doing what I have to do just to get by day by day. My four days in hospital were a blur of true peace and comfort. I think I will be returning for more respite prior to the birth.
See Baby This Week
My meals were brought to me, my sheets were changed daily and I had the CTG machine on demand. My biggest responsibility was winning Solitaire on my iPhone.
I had few visitors, because I hadnt made it public that I was in hospital. Kelvin didnt even visit, because he had broken out in a rash. He wasnt sick, he had no fever, but just this non descript rash all over his body. Out of responsibility to the other newborns (I was in the maternity ward...not as harsh as it sounds...I only saw one baby the entire time) I told him to stay away. I revelled in the solitude. I missed Jack but I loved being alone. I loved having no responsibilities and running by my own schedule. I showered at odd times, slept at odd times and had the CTG at odd times...once at 4am. The midwives were beautiful and sympathetic. I had all day to lie there and do kick counts. And if movements werent up to scratch, the CTG was right outside my door.
The Boss returned from holidays and rang me. Now, this was the man, who, at the beginning of the pregnancy, said I could do whatever I needed to feel safe. Ring anytime, visit anytime, come to hospital if I need to. Well, he must have forgotten these promises, because he decided it was appropriate to question why I had been admitted. I wonder whether his ego was bruised that I had pursued different avenues for reassurance. I had gradually stopped relying on him for care, as he seemed irritable and unapproachable whenever I rang or visited. This, of course, could have been my own perception, and perhaps I was oversensitive. But the day he told me my anxiety was "abnormal" was the day I stopped putting my emotional trust in him. Since when was grief and anxiety part of a formula? What was "normal" in response to grief and trauma? I was clearly suffering from PTSD, based on a book that a hospital psychiatrist had given me. These symptoms, from Anxiety Australia, explain exactly what my day to day life was consumed by:
Intrusive Symptoms:
- Distressing thoughts or images (recurring images of Sybella, dead in my arms, or in her coffin.)
- Nightmares about the event (nightly.)
- Feeling or acting as if the traumatic event were recurring (whenever the baby had a sleep, I was sure that he had died. I also "remembered" Sybella's last movements, and kept thinking that the baby's movements were the same, and therefore the last ones, too.)
- Intense psychological distress when exposed to something that triggers memories of the traumatic event (I panicked when I drove past the funeral home that cared for Sybella. I cried every time I walked into the hospital, because the smell reminded me of her birth. I burst into tears in David Jones while shopping for baby clothes for Rainbow Baby.)
- Physical symptoms such as sweating, muscle tension and rapid heartbeat when exposed to things that trigger memories of the traumatic event (as simple as seeing the same model of pram that we had for Sybella.)
- Avoiding people, places and activities that trigger memories of the traumatic event (I wouldnt take Jack to the library, as much as he begged, because we went to the library on the day Sybella died. I wouldnt eat at restaurants that I ate at while pregnant with Sybella.)
- Losing interest in, and enjoyment of e.g. leisure activities, study, work or stop participating in such activities altogether (I enjoyed nothing. All I did was rush around, doing my chores in minimum time, so I could lie down and kick count, or visit the hospital.)
- Feeling detached from other people (I stopped answering the phone, returning texts, emails or facebook messages. I was constantly irritable with people that I normally got on well with.)
- Not be able to see a future for themselves, they don't expect to get married, have a family , live a long time (I had absolutely no faith or confidence that Rainbow Baby would emerge from my body alive. A live baby was a completely foreign and surreal concept.)
- Sleep disturbance (I slept for 3 hours each night, and that sleep was fitful.)
- Irritability or anger (constantly.)
- Impaired concentration (I havent read a book in months. I can watch a movie for ten minutes. I finish half a job and wander off to do something else.)
- Being always on the alert for signs of danger (hypervigilant about movement. It consumed my day and night.)
- Being easily startled (I jumped at Kelvins's sneezes. My heart pounded at the sound of an ambulance siren.)
I felt like asking him how many of his children's ashes did he have sitting on his mantelpiece? How many times had he pushed out a perfect, beautiful little baby girl who never opened her eyes? Did he feel lucky that he got to age 46 without planning a funeral for his daughter? Because I was 29 when I had to do it. And Jack was 4 when he attended the funeral of his sister.
But I digress. And I rant. But I make no apologies.. I am doing what I have to do just to get by day by day. My four days in hospital were a blur of true peace and comfort. I think I will be returning for more respite prior to the birth.
See Baby This Week
Tuesday
Week 34
Here I am. Week 34. The gestational week I found out that Sybella had died.
Truthfully, week 33 seemed worse, in hindsight, as it signalled the anticipation of approaching week 34.
Still, though, I was badly anxious. Badly. My stomach was in a constant knot. I wasnt sleeping. One particular night, I woke up, heart pounding, sweating, and desperately trying to feel him move. He didnt move for about twenty minutes. For those twenty minutes, I was convinced he had died. I cried and beseeched "please move...please move." Eventually, he did and the relief then made me break out in new, cold sweat. In the morning, I had an appointment at 11am for heart monitoring, but I woke early, jumped in the shower and was physically sick from nerves. I gagged and retched under the water, shaking all the while. "This is not normal," I told myself, and I knew it well. I arrived for my appointment at 9am, two hours early. I sat there, jiggling my foot, until the midwife eventually let me in before my appointment time. Once attached to the monitor, I relaxed slightly but watched the baby's heartbeat like a hawk. My trace finished, so I went to the hospital cafeteria to have lunch. That made me nervous, as there wasnt much to choose from. I went with Subway, only salad and cheese, toasted and microwaved (mmm, hot, soggy lettuce) and a chiller drink from Gloria Jeans. Milk drink products seemed to fill me up, as I wasnt tolerating proper food all that well. Before leaving, I went to the bathroom. I noticed on the toilet paper, a tiny reddish-black blob. Clot like. But tiny, like a matchhead. I went to the car and sat there for a while, wondering what to do. Should I go back and tell a midwife? Or go home and see if anything else happened? After speaking to Kelvin, he told me to go back and tell someone, otherwise I would panic all night.
I did that, and found myself at L&D, strapped to a monitor again, and getting a speculum exam. Nice. No obvious bleeding was seen, and my cervix was closed. Good stuff. But on the machine, the baby's heart was racing. "Tachycardia" was the word they used, which is a horrible word. For a good two hours I sat there, having horrid Braxton Hicks, watching the heartrate stay twenty beats above the normal baseline. In my mind, I envisioned cord accidents, fetal hypoxia, and the tachycardia being the beginning of the baby's distress. Needless to say, that night I was a mess again. I didnt sleep, I just lay there, frozen, counting movements and googling "fetal hypoxia."
The next day, I gave up. I rang my midwife and asked to be admitted to hospital. I needed emotional respite. I needed to be free of responsibility. I needed to sleep.
See Baby This Week
Truthfully, week 33 seemed worse, in hindsight, as it signalled the anticipation of approaching week 34.
Still, though, I was badly anxious. Badly. My stomach was in a constant knot. I wasnt sleeping. One particular night, I woke up, heart pounding, sweating, and desperately trying to feel him move. He didnt move for about twenty minutes. For those twenty minutes, I was convinced he had died. I cried and beseeched "please move...please move." Eventually, he did and the relief then made me break out in new, cold sweat. In the morning, I had an appointment at 11am for heart monitoring, but I woke early, jumped in the shower and was physically sick from nerves. I gagged and retched under the water, shaking all the while. "This is not normal," I told myself, and I knew it well. I arrived for my appointment at 9am, two hours early. I sat there, jiggling my foot, until the midwife eventually let me in before my appointment time. Once attached to the monitor, I relaxed slightly but watched the baby's heartbeat like a hawk. My trace finished, so I went to the hospital cafeteria to have lunch. That made me nervous, as there wasnt much to choose from. I went with Subway, only salad and cheese, toasted and microwaved (mmm, hot, soggy lettuce) and a chiller drink from Gloria Jeans. Milk drink products seemed to fill me up, as I wasnt tolerating proper food all that well. Before leaving, I went to the bathroom. I noticed on the toilet paper, a tiny reddish-black blob. Clot like. But tiny, like a matchhead. I went to the car and sat there for a while, wondering what to do. Should I go back and tell a midwife? Or go home and see if anything else happened? After speaking to Kelvin, he told me to go back and tell someone, otherwise I would panic all night.
I did that, and found myself at L&D, strapped to a monitor again, and getting a speculum exam. Nice. No obvious bleeding was seen, and my cervix was closed. Good stuff. But on the machine, the baby's heart was racing. "Tachycardia" was the word they used, which is a horrible word. For a good two hours I sat there, having horrid Braxton Hicks, watching the heartrate stay twenty beats above the normal baseline. In my mind, I envisioned cord accidents, fetal hypoxia, and the tachycardia being the beginning of the baby's distress. Needless to say, that night I was a mess again. I didnt sleep, I just lay there, frozen, counting movements and googling "fetal hypoxia."
The next day, I gave up. I rang my midwife and asked to be admitted to hospital. I needed emotional respite. I needed to be free of responsibility. I needed to sleep.
See Baby This Week
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