Losing Friends, finding me...

On Saturday I lost a friend.
To be fair its probably been a while coming given her parting words to me were "you just don't seem to have time for anyone but Lisa anymore." That hurt. One thing I pride myself on is being a good friend and being there for my friends. Normally this kind of comment would have me rushing to fix things and smooth things over with the injured party. I hate the thought that someone doesn't like me, it sits in that uncomfortable place under my ribs until I do something about it. But I've come to accept that sometimes it isn't about me. its about them and what they have going on. All I need to do is stay true to myself, true to my beliefs and my needs and I will be okay. Just another lesson from my little angel  

Still it hurt to lose a friend. As usual I thought about it from her point of view for a moment. Although she came in to meet Melinda at the hospital, I haven't seen or spoken to her in person since that day 9 and a half weeks ago. There are some moderately big things going on in her life at the moment, including an illness in the family and a resulting move interstate that I am aware she doesn't really want to make. She probably needed a friend to talk to in the past few weeks, and normally I would have reached out to her. But I've been a bit busy mourning my beautiful daughter. And that is okay. I pray that someone will come forward to help her as she needs it, but I accept that it cannot be me at this time.  

What stuck with me in the days since is the terrible feeling that perhaps more of my friends could be feeling this way. I have spoken to other Angel mums and I have discovered that this is a common complaint from friends after an undefined period of time has passed since the loss of their child. Apparently grief has an expiry date?? Thankfully I am blessed to be loved by an amazing group of friends both online and IRL who support me unconditionally, who have allowed my grief to proceed organically and are simply there with a hug or a thoughtful message... But i am aware that there are some friends who cannot and will not ever understand. That they may be feeling neglected or feel that I don't rate them as important enough to spend time with or to answer the phone to. And that is so far from the truth, but I also understand that without me talking about it and sharing how I am feeling that they will never know that.

I realise that from the outside looking in, at photos on Facebook, at conversations with some people... I may look like I'm okay. Like everything is back to normal. Yes, there are photos of me smiling. Yes, I have laughed in the last 9 weeks. Yes I am getting out running and cycling and generally taking an interest in my health again. But No, I am far from okay. I am however coping .

Everytime I see another baby and my mind flashes to Melinda and what we would be doing now... I make the decision to cope, to smile and to remember the hope a new baby brings... no matter how much that hurts.
Everytime I spend time with pregnant friends and laugh with them and support and encourage them in the face of their very real worries... I make the decision to cope and to put aside my own feelings to be there in this time of need (especially since i feel responsible for a lot of the worry)
Everytime I walk past Melinda's fully set up nursery and feel the urge to sit in there for hours sobbing at the injustice of it all.... I make the decision to cope. To go on living.

And often the decision isn't an easy one. Often its just too hard to keep coping ALL THE TIME and sometimes i break. i cry, i rage, i throw things, i hibernate inside and ignore texts and phone calls. But then i make that decision in honour of my babies in heaven... the decision to cope. Melinda and Jonathon are not here, but by living my life to the fullest they will live on in my every footstep, in every smile or laugh, every single time i make the decision to live I will honour them.

Losing Melinda has been impossbly hard but it has shown me what is important in life, the things i cannot live without... My family, My friends and most of all My Faith.
Faith in a loving Father in heaven who has amazing plans for my life. Who is already using my love for my daughter and this pain I am experiencing to make big changes in my life, to help me see who i am and who i want to be, to give me purpose again. That still small voice inside that says, don't give up, My promise awaits you...

...stay tuned I'm going to do great things through He who strengthens me...
but while i am not giving up there are and will still be times that i fall, stumbling over my grief, stuck in the whys? and hows? overcome by the sadness of the empty pram, the silence in the night. However, I am determined to keep getting up again. Determined to leave a legacy that my children will be proud of


So to my friends whose phone calls i have not answered.
To my friends whose texts i haven't replied to
To everyone who sent a card of sympathy or support
To everyone who came to the funeral and brought a bear for the sibling bears program
I am sorry I have not answered your calls or replied to your messages or sent the thank you cards i keep meaning to write. I appreciate you and I thank you for thinking of me and reaching out to say you are there
Please be patient with me. I'm just trying to work out how this life works without my baby here. I promise i will keep fighting and surviving and one day i will answer that phone.

An exclusive Club no-one wants to join.

So here we are again,

Somehow, unbelievably we are once again staring down the unimaginably long and lonely road of coming to terms with the emptiness that comes with being just three again. where once three respresented "team Currie" the three amigos, complete in our happiness; now three is a reminder of what was once four and could have been five.

I now have more children in heaven than on earth, and that makes me so very sad. no wonder my life feels so out of balance.

When we lost Jonathon at 17 weeks it was an absolute shock. We had never contemplated that we might lose him once we had safely made it past the "safety point" of the 14 week scan. I remember what hurt the most was the silence from those whom I loved, who were so concerned with possibly saying the wrong thing that they elected to remain silent rather than risk hurting us further. What they failed to see was that nothing could make the pain worse and in fact their silence was deafening.

When we fell pregnant with Melinda we were acutely aware that there was no safe zone. I even refused to make any purchases until after 36 weeks; when we bought the cot mattress and set up her room. I know that my friends and family hoped and prayed along with us that we would get our "happy ending" this time. I'm fairly sure once we reached term everyone believed it was a done deal, we were home and hosed! Evidently that was not to be, and one day i will share Melinda's story with you all here on my blog... just not yet, I want to make sure i get it perfect. What has struck me this time is not the silence; my friends have been amazing, particulalry a select few who have sent me constant messages of support, sent me pins on pinterest, emails of love and encouragement and cards of empathy and warmth. Melinda has touched so many people in so many ways, more than i will ever know as her life and death sends shockwaves in communities far from us. i know that she will live on in the hearts of so many and will always be remembered in many small acts everyday.

No, rather than the silence, what has struck me so hard this time is the loneliness. Once again i have been handed a membership card to this most exclusive of clubs. To be an angel mummy twice over, in this way, is just unbelieveable to me. i still cannot really comprehend what has happened, and the hows and whys are far out of reach. i feel so lost and alone in this great sea of life, Im always concerned that when i post something on facebook i risk over stepping the bounds of what is socially accepted, i wish there was a way that i could know that people understand what this is like, and could continue to accept and respect this journey we are one. Even if its just so that when this happens again (which it will, 1 in 200 births end this way, inevitably someone else will suffer this agonising loss) people will be able to offer compassion and understanding to the grief-stricken family, long after the time period that society deems sufficient for mourning.

One morning a few weeks ago I was feeling particularly alone and bereft; I felt that no-one understood and that eventually people would get sick of me posting and talking about Melinda and then she would be forgotten. I was lost that morning in a sea of tears and fear about the future and i cried out to God for comfort. i didnt know how I could go on for the rest of the years of my life feeling this alone when i recieved a message from a dear friend from our church in Newcastle. Sheree's words struck me to my core. Here was the truth written in black and white. and with her permission id like to share it with you.

The Space Between

Where are you in the Space Between?
What is between the Knowing and Believing?
One day is hope and expectation, all promise, and the next is devastation and the bleak unreality of absence.
It can’t be true. A world with such a black hole cannot be.
The rip is not just of your heart, but in the nature of reality itself, and such a gaping wound cannot exist.
 And yet you know it does. It sucks all light, all life towards itself.
But still you don’t believe. You can’t believe.

You’ve touched the tiny perfect nails, held your cheek to perfect lips, and kissed the softly perfect brow.
You’ve held the little person that you’ll never get to know.
How can you say goodbye to all the might-have-beens? All the possibilities of yesterday, the plans, the musings: will this small one grow to be quiet, boisterous, bookish, loud, sporty, arty, funny, sweet? How can you bear not knowing? How have all tomorrows, in a blink, been swept away?

So long waiting, so long hoping, with anticipation building up to joy, so very, very close. And then – gone.
In your arms, but never to gaze into your eyes, never to smile and gurgle and laugh. In your arms, but so soon to be taken from them forever.
How can anyone believe this thing is real? To believe it is a travesty, a crime against everything that’s right. It makes no sense; a cruel mistake of God. Why would a tiny life be created, nurtured and loved, only to be snatched away before the first breath?

And so there is the Space Between.

It begins the moment that you Know.
 You try to push away the Knowing, but that tiny precious body without life cannot be pushed away.
But as you kiss that cherished little cheek for one last time and walk away, you know you don’t Believe.
It isn’t really true and you’ll wake up and those treasured eyes will open and the chest will rise and fall, and those tomorrows that were stolen will be poured back like a stream into a parched and thirsty land.
The world flows on around you. You’re drifting through a semblance of your days, but it’s really just your shadow filling in, fooling others that you’re there.

For you’re wandering in the Space Between, in twisting paths and rocky trails, with Knowing far behind and Believing far ahead, and the universe is made up of your pain.
No signposts there to show, ‘This is the way, back into life’.
There are only those who walk beside, whose tears mingle with yours, who hold your hand, the anchors while you roam and float and drift. Only those who never let you go, who wait with patience, month on month, until one day another you emerges. But an older, sadder you.
Because, though happiness may come, a piece of your heart’s joy and life will always stay with the child that you never got to know.

Thank you Sheree for understanding, for taking the time and effort to write it down, and for allowing me to share it here. I wish no-one understood, i wish i didnt have to expose so many of my friend and family to this heartbraking sadness.

Most of all i wish you were here Melinda Grace Currie. I. Love. You.

You are stronger (Hillsong United) and I thank God for that

When my world came cashing down around me and I realised I would have to survive the loss of another child I thought I could not possibly go on... And then this song filled my mind in 5.1 surround sound. Sitting on the bed with the gel still on my stomach and the knowledge that she was gone, the room was dark and we were alone and I just had to sing this song, through my tears the words come out " you are stronger" and I felt an easing of my mind, my grief was there but it was no longer paralysing. I knew God was telling me that he had this, he would be my strength and I would survive, that he loved me and his love was big enough to hold me up through this 

There is love that came for us

Humbled to a sinner's cross

You broke my shame and sinfulness

You rose again victorious

Faithfulness none can deny

Through the storm and through the fire

There is truth that sets me free

Jesus Christ who lives in me

You are stronger, You are stronger

Sin is broken, You have saved me

It is written, Christ is risen

Jesus You are Lord of all

No beginning and no end

You're my hope and my defence 

You came to seek and save the lost

You paid it all upon the cross

You are stronger, You are stronger

Sin is broken, You have saved me

It is written, Christ is risen

Jesus You are Lord of all

There is none

So let Your name be lifted higher

Be lifted higher, be lifted higher

So let Your name be lifted higher

Be lifted higher, be lifted higher

So let Your name be lifted higher

Be lifted higher, be lifted higher

So let Your name be lifted higher

Be lifted higher, be lifted higher

You are stronger, You are stronger

Sin is broken, You have saved me

It is written, Christ is risen

Jesus You are Lord of all

You are stronger, You are stronger

Sin is broken, You have saved me

It is written, Christ is risen

Jesus you are lord of all 

Happy Birthday?

 A letter to my son Jonathon.

 
Well my darling baby boy, its now been two years since i last held you and said goodbye. Those years have at times flown by and at other times passed by agonisingly slowly. Every day I think of you and wonder what you are doing. I picture you playing in the clouds with the rest of your angel friends, watching down on us and sending us gifts and signs.Your life has had an incredible impact in so many ways, we love deeper, feel stronger and appreciate the moments for what they are so much more than ever before. Your legacy is one of growth through pain; your death the catalyst for the storm; but your life was the shelter in that storm until finally the storm begins to pass and we now look forward to the rainbow at the end.
I want to thank you for the gift of life you gave to us on what should have been your first birthday last year. As your little sibling grows and moves within me i am reminded of you. Sometimes i find it hard to accept that if you had not died this little baby in my belly would not have existed, its hard to reconcile the feelings of loss with the feelings of love and gratitude. I hope you understand that I will always love you and that this new baby will never be a subsitute or replacement for you.
This morning I was looking through the photos the midwives took of you on the day we first met. Once again i was struck by your pianists fingers and your impossibly long legs, but today through my tears i noticed other little details. Your little knobbly knees, your long skinny arms and your lovely little nose (just like daddy's). You were and are perfect and i am so grateful for the time we got to spend together, just you and me.
Most days i am able to see the bigger picture, the positive impact your life has had on my personal journey and the amazing gifts you keep giving. But today i am simply sad. I miss you terribly my son and i would love to hold you and kiss you one more time.
This morning Eli and i baked you some bumblebee birthday cupcakes and i want to tell you about the conversation we had about them:

Me:"we're going to make a birthday cake"

Eli: "who for?"

me: " for a special little boy who can't be here with us to celebrate his birthday"

Eli: "why can't he be with us"

Me: "because he has already gone to heaven to live with God"

Eli: "but god lives in us"

Me: "yes that's true too"

Eli: "then maybe both god and the little boy live in our hearts forever"

...and do you know what my darling beautiful boy, I believe that at the tender age of 4 she has hit upon the truth with stunning clarity, you do and will live forever in our hearts.

Happy birthday sweetheart
love always Mummy, Daddy, Elianna and Baby
xoxoxo

  

one year ago today

Happy Angelversary to you my son

Jonathon Fulton Currie was born at 5pm on the 28th of may 2011
beautiful son of Kath and Steve,
Little brother to Elianna Faith
Grandson to Dianne, Anne, Kevin, Michael, Stella, Alan and Sandra
Nephew of Julie, Ian, Lisa, Michael, Michelle and Pete
Cousin to Claudia and Byron 

One year ago today a new little angel arrived in heaven
he left behind a family that loved him and wanted him so very much
a family that still misses him so much and asks why he had to leave so soon.

I feel lost today.
Although a year has passed since we said goodbye, his first angelversary has arrived with a sudden thud and it seems like just yesterday that we were marvelling over his perfect tiny fingers and toes, his likeness to Elianna as a baby and his startling blue eyes. I miss him so completely and my arms feel particularly empty today.

I don't know if anyone will even remember his birthday today. To the world outside of my family its as though he never existed. How can something that was so alive and so loved never have existed? as my belly swelled with his growth my heart swelled with love for him and the first times i felt his wriggly little movements i thought my heart would burst it was so full and overflowing. i wonder sometimes if i would have done things differently if i had known these moments with him were the only ones i would have with him alive? i know i would have talked to him more and sung to him more; hugged him more and cherished each moment ever so much more. i would have made sure that he left this world in no doubt whatsoever of how completely he was loved.

(this is one of the pictures we had taken at the hospital- of Jonathon and my wedding and engagement rings. i hope that no-one is offended by my posting it. i tried to pick the least confronting one)

Everything happened so quickly at the hospital on the day he was born and i have many regrets. i regret not holding my boy in my bare hands, kissing his head or cuddling him. i regret that we didn't get any photos of jonathon with his mummy and daddy. i regret that we didnt have a usb stick to get digital copies of the only photos we would ever have of our son (policy was that they are deleted from the hospital's computer upon disharge). i regret that our family and friends couldnt meet him, that we didnt understand that we could have a funeral for him, that we didnt have a priest or pastor come and bless him. That we didnt know we could bring him home. that i didnt think of burying him in a big pot and planting a rose for him (all i could think was that we were in a rental and we couldnt bury him in the backyard and plant a rose for him there) that we left our son there at that hospital with no-one who loved him to be "disposed" of. That i regret most of all.

I wish i could tell him im sorry, i wish he was here so that i didnt have to tell him how sorry i am.

If i could send him a letter to heaven this is what it would say...


My Darling Boy

I miss you

Today is your birthday, the day you were born into this world, but you had already grown your wings and left us. You were such a cute little baby. the midwives took many photos of you after you were born and in some of them you looked so cheeky it makes me smile to look upon them.

We named you Jonathon after your daddy's uncle John and because of its meaning "God has given", God had nudged me to name you this when i was only 6 weeks pregnant and scared that i was losing you as i was bleeding. i dont know why you were only "given" to us for such a short time, i can only trust that God had other plans for us both.  Your middle name is Fulton because that is your daddy's middle name, traditionally given to first born Currie sons.

We had a feeling you were a boy from the very beginning. They say that boy and girl pregnancies are different and this was certainly the case for us. i started feeling morning sickness and throwing up from around 6 weeks pregnant (with your sister that didnt start until i was 12 weeks along). i was very very tired all the time and my heart raced a lot (it felt as though i was very excited ALL of the time- which of course i was a lot). we dreamed about our life ahead of us. i worried that i wouldnt know how to raise a son, even basic things like changing boy's nappies seemed so strange, let alone how to raise you to be a strong, confident loving gentleman. But i knew we would do a great job as your daddy was made to raise children and i was excited to see the father-son bond develop between you.

The first ultrasound we had where we saw you i was about 7 weeks pregnant, i had been nervous that you would not be there but the sight of your little heart beating so strongly instantly calmed my fears and i knew you were okay. Elianna came into the room with us and we explained that there was a baby in my tummy and that soon she would have a baby brother or sister. she seemed to understand and said hello to you and waved goodbye to your picture when the machine was turned off. We had another ultrasound at 14 weeks to take some measurements and you made us smile when you wouldn't stay still and the sonographer struggled to take your measurements accurately. cheeky boy <3

I started to feel there might be something wrong the week we moved to Melbourne but as we left our home in Newcastle for the last time i felt you move for the first time as though you were saying hello and telling me everything would be ok. Maybe you were really saying goodbye? Im sorry i didnt follow my instincts and go to see me Dr straight away. Maybe things would be different then?

My heart was heavy when we arrived in Melbourne. i was sad to leave our friends and family behind in Newcastle and i couldnt shake the feeling that something wasnt right with you. i know now that the feeling was accurate and that you were already starting to grow your angel wings. Two weeks later we went in for the next ultrasound and our world fell apart when they told us you had died. Where at the previous ultrasound you were stretching and wriggling non-stop this time the picture showed that you were completely still and curled up on yourself as though trying to keep warm. Im so sorry i couldnt keep you warm my baby. Sorry i couldnt keep you safe.

I think i wanted you so very much that my body wouldnt let you go, my love wrapped you up, trying to keep you safe in my womb. Even though you had died a week or so before there was no sign that my body had realised it and i had to go to the hospital to be induced so that i could give birth to you. that was a hard day. we were in the mternity ward, listening to all the other baby's who were born on your birthday, crying their first cries and being comforted by their mummy's and daddy's. i wish i could have comforted you.

when you were born we were overwhelmed with your beauty. i was struck by how much you were like your big sister, but also scared of touching you too much, you seemed so fragile. the nurses took your photos, some with mummy and daddy's wedding rings, a symbol of the love with which you were created. i look at those photos and wonder at you my beautiful son. they gave you and me a matching little blue teddy and promised me that you would have your teddy with you wherever you went in this world. We left you there then my son. im so sorry we didnt take you home. it wasnt that we didnt love you. i hope you know that. 

Whenever i think of you now i imagine you in heaven surrounded by those loved ones who have gone before us. i think of you playing with all the other angel babies. In a happy love filled place, with no fear or worry safe in the knowledge that one day we will be together. I hope that that is true. i hope you are happy.

i love you so much
so very much
more than anyone could imagine.

i cant wait to meet you again, to hug you close and tell you this in person

you are precious. you are valued. you are loved

hugs and kisses from me to you my little boy

love mummy

xooxooxxo










 

My Oxfam trailwalk

Last Friday morning saw me lined up with 1000 people waiting for the 8:30am start of the Oxfam Melbourne trailwalk challenge (For those who don't know this event involves 750 teams of four walking 100km within 48 hours). We were all so very excited, even the downpour of rain couldn't dampen our spirits, the day we'd been training for all this time was finally here. We set of together within this long snake of walkers, laughing and joking, apprehensive about what was to come and commenting on how surreal it felt to be finally walking. the rain quickly got tiresome, at times heavy and discouraging before easing to little more than a sprinkle (which enticed us to take off our heavy damp coats) and then returning to heavy again (on go the jackets again). This continued all the way to the first checkpoint in churchill national park where the smiles on the faces of the volunteers as well as the hot tea and muesli bars were a welcome sight. we stopped long enough for a bathroom break and a cuppa before striking out again.


The second section of the trail incorporated the first real hills of the walk, and while challenging i found myself remembering the first time we had tackled this section in a practice walk- it had been the hottest day on record for February for many years (climbing to about 37 degrees) and the hill had nearly slaughtered us. compared to that day we climbed the hill with ease and i marvelled at the improvements in my own physical fitness. the rest of this section into checkpoint two was relatively easy, after walking back down the hill we'd just climbed it was fairly flat and level and we had ample opportunity to regain our cheery outlook despite our soggy shoes and clothes. the rain disappeared and the sun came out as we walked into checkpoint 2 at lysterfield lake picnic ground.


After a hearty lunch and a change of shoes and socks (as well as re-taping of feet to prevent blisters) we set off again. by now it was around 2:30 and we were an hour ahead of schedule. the third section of the track incorporated some extremely challenging landscape, with steep roads and paths and treacherous slippery mudslides. Overall this section was 15.5 km and involved climbing 400metres in elevation over a distance of less than 7km. i had been dreading this section so much and was looking forward to checking into checkpoint 3 shortly after sunset. Because of the terrain (rainforest), the rain and the resulting cloud cover the light disappeared much sooner than we had expected and we found ourselves walking in the dark without our headlamps or other night gear for the final 45 minutes of this leg- so the lights of the checkpoints were so very welcome when they finally appeared in the night sky.


It was starting to get quite cold after sunset so we stayed at checkpoint three a little longer than planned. Hannah (my team mate) and I visited with the podiatrists and physiotherapists on duty in the body tune tent where I got taped up to try and help relieve some pain i had developed in my shin and the top of my left foot. when we were finally rested and ready to go again it was about 7:30pm and we headed out into the night comforted by the thought that at the next checkpoint we would have dinner waiting. the early parts of this section were fairly uneventful, just a quick wander down a wide open path before meandering through a public garden. once out of the garden was where the real fun began...


When we first encountered sassafrass trail (the name still makes me giggle) it had been raining the entire week preceding our training walk and the slippery mud trail was treacherous with 2-6 metre drop off into the ravine along the right hand side. It was so confronting at that time, as we slipped and slid our way along the trail carefully placing our feet to avoid tripping over vines or slipping off mossy tree roots, that Deb and I became quite panicked when we realised that our timing would have us walking this part of the trail at night. the second time we walked this section in training we were mentally prepared for what we would encounter and so it was a much more pleasant experience. the organisers of the event had informed us that they would be placing guide ropes along the trail if it looked dangerous, so we approached sassafrass trail with cautious confidence when we came upon it Friday night.


... as you can imagine it was incredibly muddy after the rain of the day plus the 2500 people who had since walked this section ahead of us, to my dismay the guide ropes had not been put out and it was very dark and cold. It was at this point that i discovered sometimes breathing can be inconvenient
As i walked (and breathed) i became aware that with each breath out the mist off my breath would fog up in the beam of my headlight leaving me momentarily blinded. to make matters worse with the uneven terrain and the careful foot placement required to prevent slipping my left foot began to give me grief again and i found every time i placed my foot on uneven ground (which was more often than not) a shot of pain would run through my foot and up my shin. so now i was cold, scared, blinded, in pain and (as you do in these situations) crying. Boy was i glad to see the end of that particular trail! after a quick stop to let me regroup and calm down again we headed off to the next challenge of the section...




Hackets Road- oh how i loathe thee!!


hackets road is a relatively short private road, only notable by its 30% gradient incline- that's steep! this continues for 200 metres before leveling off ever so slightly (still quite steep mind you) for another 600 or so metres.


since we had tackled this particular section twice before we were well prepared for this devilry so set to it with considerable gusto. by leaning into my hiking poles i found i was able to drive through the climb and before long i found myself at the top (much to my surprise!), once again i was struck by the noticeable improvement in my fitness as a result of the months of training. after another quick break to gather our team and catch our breath again we were off, there was only 2.8km left until checkpoint 4 and dinner was so close we could just about taste it! About 800 metres from the checkpoint Hannah and i were powering along keen for some nourishment when we looked back and saw Ja lagging behind. This was unusual, all day i had been walking behind him, (so much so that if i closed my eyes i could've perfectly visualised his water pack and drink bottles), however we figured he must have been feeling quite tired (as we all were after more than 12 hours on the trail) and pressed onwards. As we drew closer to the checkpoint we took in Jason's white pain-drawn face and noticed he was walking with a limp, rather than simple exhaustion it was obvious there was something else going on here. Ja told us that he'd felt something "pop" and then just pain.



it was 9:30 when we checked into checkpoint 3 at olinda, we sent Ja off to the podiatry tent and eagerly tucked into a plate of piping hot ravioli, I've never eaten it plain before but it was like manna from heaven it tasted so good after the efforts of the day. It quickly grew colder and while we waited for Jason to receive treatment for his foot i finally changed into long pants and a long sleeved top- it felt so good to be warm again! Ja still wasn't back so i headed over to the body tune tent with deb to get some physio advice about some niggling joints that were making their displeasure known. the podiatrists were just finishing up with Ja and as he left the tent I overheard the man who had been treating him say to his colleague "I'm not convinced that he doesn't have a stress fracture" - my heart sank and i knew that it was unlikely that Jason would be continuing on with us. After a quick massage and tape-up of my knee we headed back to our team. Jason was still in considerable pain and it was obvious to all of us as we watched him attempt to walk just the short distance to the car that he would have to retire. so it was with a sad hug and heavy heart that we said goodbye to Jason and took his bib to report to the check-in/out volunteers that we were now down to 3 team members.



As we left Olinda we were considerably behind schedule, we had planned on only stopping for an hour but it was just over 2 hours later that we set out again. the fifth section of the trail wound down through the dandenong ranges into a forest valley. it was a bit disconcerting to be walking in such isolation so late at night and we stuck close to the other teams on the track. fatigue had started to kick in now and as i got more tired my mind enjoyed the opportunity to suggest crazy scenarios. at one time we heard rustling in the bushes alongside us for a short distance... it occurred to me that ninjas could easily pluck us one by one, silently in the night until no-one was left. Of course what ninjas would be doing in the middle of the Victorian bush, or what they could possibly want with us didn't come into it at all, this was pure irrationality at its best.



Sometime after 1am we finally crossed the road that marked the halfway point- 50km done and dusted and we were still going (relatively) strong! i had noticed for some time that both of my pinky toes were in a bit of discomfort, it felt as though the nail-beds had been bruised and i assumed it was just a case of them being squashed into the shoe as my feet swelled (as they do when you've been on them for 16 hours). The next part of the trail was long and boring, with no distinguishing landmarks and no way of knowing how far we had travelled or how much further we had to go, it was easy to get discouraged and to feel like we would never reach the next turn off. the pain in my toes grew progressively worse and i flinched every time i placed me foot in such a way that bumped the front of my toes. Downhill sections were extremely painful and for the first time in my entire life i found myself dreading the downhill bits (where my feet would slide forward and squish my toes some more) and looking forward to the uphill bits (where the pressure moved to my heels and gave my toes some relief). It was at this point that i grew despondent, swearing at rocks and growling my frustration i felt like we were getting nowhere. Deb and Hannah were wonderful, despite their own discomfort they encouraged me on, and it was with tears of relief that i finally heard the words that we were at the turn off and could move off this cursed rocky track. once final descent through a field and we made it to mount Evelyn football field where we stopped to recoup and check my toes.


I had thought that maybe the tape i had applied to my pinky toes to prevent blisters may have been adding pressure to the toe by reducing the available space and I hoped that by removing the tape i could get some relief. I knew that something was wrong when I felt the pain of removing my shoe and sock. When I tried to remove the tape it was stuck fast and as I pulled it I noticed that the skin on my toe was very loose. Using the scissors from the first aid kit I cut off the tape and discovered my worst fear. My whole pinky toe was blistered, there was a large blister on the inside edge from rubbing the adjacent toe, an even larger one on the top of the toe from rubbing the top of my shoe, but by far the most disturbing (and most painful) was the one on the underside of my toe, under a callus of thick skin covering the entire underneath of my toe. My heart plummeted and the alarming statistics of the number of participants forced to retire due to blisters began to run through my head. I knew from an earlier Oxfam information session that due to the way it sits under the other toes and how it moves during every step the pinky toe was the worst of all toes to get a blister on and I had the mother of all blisters. Looking at just this one toe and remembering the pain encountered in the previous section of the trail I couldn’t see how I could even put my shoe back on, let alone get to the next checkpoint (still just over 4km away), let alone finish the next 50km of the trail. But I couldn’t just sit there; somehow I had to get to the next checkpoint at the very least. So I lanced the blisters and Hannah kindly applied the blistex plasters she had carried in her pack. I decided not to look at the other foot. I assumed it was just more of the same bad news and knew that we didn’t have the time or equipment to deal with them properly. I gritted my teeth and began the seemingly endless trek to the next checkpoint. It hurt. Badly. But I made it.



The walk from the entrance to the checkpoint to the check-in desk at the far side of the camp seemed endless, but we finally got checked in, noted that the podiatrist volunteers had gone home for the night, and headed for our own “camp”. Once there I immediately removed both my shoes and socks and then tentatively cut off the tape from the right pinky toe. I couldn’t believe it, it shouldn’t have been possible but this toe was worse that the left toe. The blister on top literally popped when I lanced it, but the one underneath was beneath so many layers of hard calloused skin that I had to push and saw with the safety pin in order to drain the fluid away. My stomach turned. I felt totally beaten. I dressed the toe as best I could and laid back on the picnic mat to give my poor feet a chance to recover. Obviously I couldn’t continue straight away as we had originally planned (to walk through the night) it was just after 3am when we first arrived at the checkpoint and we decided to rest for a couple of hours and then decide what to do. By the time I had finished with my feet it was around 4:30, by 5am I had put my old runners on and we decided to sit in the warmth of the car and try to catch a few minutes of shut eye. I managed about 2 catnaps of around 3 minutes each; I was too keyed up to sleep.



By 5:20 we had given up trying to sleep and decided it was now or never. We had to get moving or we would never make it to the finish line. Walking was painful, but the thought of retiring was even more so, so I made the decision to push on to the next checkpoint. I thought that I could manage some “mind over matter” I knew that the blistered toes were now as protected as I could make them and that even if they were causing alarming levels of pain the chances were that they weren’t really getting any worse. Surely that should count for something when it comes to compartmentalising pain? It was about 5:45 by the time we checked out and left for Woori Yallock primary school (checkpoint 6 and breakfast). After a while I found that I could push the pain aside by walking in a particular way and leaning hard on my walking poles. My old runners were looser around the toes and weren’t rubbing as bad as the offending shoes had been. For the first time since seeing the blisters I began to believe that I could push on through to the finish line. We were making fairly good time all things considered and had picked our pace back up to round 5.5 km/hr- this section was 13km of hard compacted pathway, uncompromisingly flat and exposed.



It was the hardness that proved to be my undoing. Mentally I was drained from trying to block the pain through the preceding night’s walk and now again through the morning walk. About 7km from the end of this section I began to doubt the wisdom of donning my old runners. I had retired these runners from service because they were over 18 months old and had probably pounded out about 2000km on pavement and bitumen. Their soles were thin and shock absorption non-existent. I had thrown them in my gear bag for the walk on the off chance that I had some major catastrophe and had no other choice. I had put them on that morning because they were preferable to the trail runners that I had developed the blisters in and my newer ‘normal’ runners were still wet from wearing them in the rain on Friday morning. The hardness of the footpath began to pound through the ball of my foot and before long I had a new type of pain to deal with. I tried to change my gait to alter where my weight was bearing on my foot but any alterations to minimize the shock through the balls of my feet through the impact through my toes and my mental pain blocks weren’t strong enough to resist that impact. I tried using a cushioning pad I had worn the day before, purchased for precisely this eventuality, but it was sewn into a sleeve that I had to wear over my toes and, since my feet had swollen, the seam of the sleeve was tight and cutting into my blistered toes. I had to take them off. I tried putting them on the innersoles of my shoes rather than on my feet and after about 3 trials and error (each time stopping, sitting down, unlacing my shoes getting my foot out carefully, repositioning the padding, putting foot back in and re-lacing my shoes again) I finally found a position that provided the most relief for the least amount of exacerbation of pain. I still had just under 7km to go, i put my head down and just walked, I was slow, my poor team were well ahead of me and I knew I was frustrating them and holding them back. They kept having to stop and wait for me. I felt terrible.



As the kilometres wore on, the relief felt from the padding reduced and I had nothing left. Without the padding it was excruciating on my feet, with the padding each step was agony as it rubbed my blistered toes. I went through phases where I just cried and cried during that last few kilometres. I knew what this probably meant for me, I knew I was unlikely to finish and I felt so bereft at the thought that I could train so hard for something and put my all in but still not make it. So I held out some hope; I just wanted to get to the next checkpoint- perhaps there the podiatry volunteers could provide some treatment that could keep me going for the final 27km. When the checkpoint was finally in sight I felt like I was still miles away, I was walking so slowly at this point that I felt I was barely moving forwards. The last 400m felt like 4km in itself and when the volunteer on the gate cheered me and congratulated me on my progress I just sobbed. I felt like such a failure



Steve and Eli were waiting for me at this checkpoint having just arrived as we did. I have never felt so much love for them both as I did just at that moment. They were the most beautiful people in the world to me. Eli wrapped her little arms around my neck and whispered “I love you mummy, I missed you” and I just clung to her for dear life. I was so torn for such a long time about what to do. I went to see the podiatrists who ripped off my painstakingly applied band aids (re-opening the blisters in the process) cleaned the wounds with betadine to discourage infection and reapplied their own dressings. They discovered more blisters on the balls of my feet, lanced and dressed those too and then provided me with tape-on padding for the balls of my feet. I began to feel encouraged that with all of these changes, perhaps I really could actually make it. It was only 27kms to go after all, I had been walking that distance one day a week every week since id signed up for Oxfam in October. Compared to what id already covered it was nothing. Apart from my blistered feet and bruised soles I wasn’t even tired or sore, and now it seemed that they had provided remedies for all that ailed me

I CAN DO THIS!! I thought....


… and then I put my shoes back on….


SHIT!


… ow!

 .....


And I cried. And I cried. And I cried. and I cried. I knew this was it…


Then I tried a different combination of shoes and innersoles…


Then I tried different socks…


Different lacing methods…


Extra padding under my toes…


No padding…


everytime i thought of something new that might help my hopes lifted only to come crashing down when nothing worked; I couldn’t take more than three steps without being crippled with pain through my feet. There was no way I could walk another 27km within the time frame we had hoped to finish in and there was no way I was going to force my team mates to walk through another night just because I was so slow, especially when I knew there was no guarantees that I would even make it to the next checkpoint at all, even at the pace of a snail the pain was excruciating.


I had to retire. I didn’t want to do it. But I did it.



Retiring felt like failing, I felt about a millimeter tall. It didn’t matter that I had made it as far as I did. All that mattered was that I had trained so hard for so many months; sacrificed time with my family, time with my friends, spent so much money on so much gear to ensure success and I’d still failed. I had let everyone down, my friends, family and our sponsors. I hated that feeling, I hated myself. I just wanted to crawl into a cave and never come out...

....




.... 

Then I shared my failure on facebook and a something happened that forced me to reconsider the situation. My friends rallied around me and told me they were PROUD of me…. WOW!


TBC in redefining failure

Goodbye 2011 and Goodbye survival mode

This one is a long one, very sorry but just had to clear the pipes (so to speak) after such a lengthy absence...

When the 31st of December rolled around last year i really wanted to write this post but i couldn't. I wasn't ready to write it and i wasn't ready to commit to it.  My last post was a while ago, back in august last year. there have been many topics that have flit in and out of my mind over the interceding months but I struggled with writing about them, almost as if writing about something else would mean i no longer grieved for our son. With the benefit of 20/20 hindsight I can see now that the final months of last year i was operating in survival mode. Most of the time i was clinging hard to the one thing that i could control and have a positive impact upon. My weight.

I started the year last year 20kgs down from my highest weight ever of 116kgs, i was feeling great and very proud of my accomplishments. Then i fell pregnant with Jonathon and the first trimester symptoms were horrible; i had never felt so sick and tired and head-achy and dizzy. As any mother will tell you, you do what you can to survive during those first months, exercise made me faint or vomit so i cut it out completely, eating meals was the last thing i wanted to do so i existed on high calorie snacks and junk food. Obviously my weight crept back up but i didn't really mind, i knew i could lose it all again with some hard work. Then Jonathon died. for the first few days after we met our son and said goodbye i had little to no interest in food and then food become my comfort crutch. Until one day when i couldn't do up my "fat" pants... and all the anger and frustration at what had happened and the hopelessness i felt flooded in with vengeance.

So i exercised, and ran, and boxed and squatted and jumped and cycled as if when i got enough of a run-up i could break through the ball of pain in my chest and be "me" again, normal Kath. I also started counting calories, viciously controlling every morsel that went into my mouth and beating myself up for hours if i went over my allotted daily calories (or days if it was a big blow out). Most days i went to bed with a net calorie deficit, i.e. every calorie i had consumed during the day had been accounted for by exercise, and then some. And the weight started coming off, the clothes started fitting better and people started to compliment me on how well i looked... so i went harder, cut more calories and exercised for longer. I surpassed my pre-pregnancy weight and for the first time in my life was no longer considered obese (well according to the wildly inaccurate BMI anyway).

And i ended up exhausted... being the practical person i am i assumed i had just over trained, pushed to hard and now my body was pushing back, demanding the rest i had denied it for months. I pulled back for a few days, limiting my exercise to my normal walking around town, but it didn't help. I also started having difficulty falling asleep of a night, So i went to the doctor about my insomnia and how tired i was; given my history i was expecting a diagnosis of depression or similar mental health issues. He highlighted depression as a likely possibility but send me off for blood tests and an ECG to be sure there wasn't another underlying physical condition contributing to the problem. It came back that my thyroid was working too hard, an ultrasound showed quite a few nodules or cysts (cant remember what they were called) and my thyroid was enlarged. Further blood tests were ordered to investigate more thoroughly and showed that my thyroid was under attack by my own immune system, possibly triggered by my pregnancy and possibly a major contributing factor in my baby boy's death. To get a clearer picture of what was happening i needed to wait a while and have more blood tests to give the specialist additional data points to plot on his graph and provide a definitive diagnosis. Meanwhile i was NOT TO GET PREGNANT- fine by me!

a week or so after my first specialist appointment my energy levels began to return and i threw myself back into exercise as if i had never stopped. Pounding the pavement regularly i finally ran my first ever 5km and was pleased as punch. i also started my training for the 100km Oxfam trailwalk in April this year, walking 20-30kms every Saturday and increasing my daily walks about town. i had several weeks of feeling okay and made it down to an all time low of 86kgs (8kgs of a healthy weight range) and then shortly into the new year i ran into a brick wall (figuratively speaking). i could barely get off the lounge and i was beyond exhausted. i had no strength in my arms or legs, even climbing the stairs to bed was a challenge. To go from running 5kms to this pathetic lethargy was the last straw.  Functioning within survival mode ground to a halt.



I had engaged survival mode mid-June. On the surface, I was the same person but many of the deeper operations were locked off to me, inaccessible in survival mode. My close friends noticed the difference but most were at a loss as to how to effect any change, as was I. Now I'm not knocking survival mode, it has a grand purpose. i was able to continue being a friend, wife and mother while blocking out the pain and grief with exercise and tight self-discipline. The problem is survival mode isn't designed for long-term applications. Laying on the lounge for days and hitting snooze between 6 and 10 times every morning, I lamented the loss of my active lifestyle but finally began to address and process my grief again.

the process has been long and often painful, obviously i still have a long way to go but I'm hoping that 2012 can be the year that i become the person I've always wanted to be, both externally and internally. Having my son has taught me a lot about myself. I am both stronger and "weaker" (where weak indicates softness rather than a derogatory term) than i ever imagined and that's okay. Today i picture my little boy in Heaven with all the other little angels, playing games and watching over their mummies and families. I want Jonathon to look down at me and say to his friends "See there, that's my mummy, she is so strong and gentle and loving, and I'm so proud of her".

In February Elianna will turn 3 and celebrate with her friends- Jonathon will be there and he'll be proud of what a fun and loving mum i am.
In March I'll have a birthday and I'll enter into the final year of my 20s- he'll be proud that I'm the healthiest i have ever been and in a year i will be entering my thirties fit and healthy and within an ideal weight range.
In April I'm walking 100kms through bush and over mountains to raise money and awareness for Oxfam's fight against world poverty- he'll be proud of my strength and determination.
In November I'll be walking down the aisle in front of my very best friend as she prepares to marry the love of her life - he'll be there hand in hand with her mum, celebrating the love they share and he'll be happy that I had the courage to let her go to a wonderful man who will always take care of her.
 

Thankfully today is Chinese New year (the year of the dragon, a year of change... as if last year wasn't), so i can still write it as a new year, new beginnings post, and its not really late.. is it?

2011 was without question the biggest year of my life, an interstate move, a pregnancy, my first baby becoming a little girl and all the challenges (and the many more rewards) that parenting a toddler entails, and of course losing my dear son Jonathon. 2012 is going to be big in an entirely different way. i hope you all come along for the journey. I am going to try to write weekly, so i hope you enjoy the next part of the Melbourne chapter: New beginnings