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

Anything Worth having is worth fighting for- part two: the decision

My post in June finished with me asking the question. What's the point of having faith in a loving God when he chooses to allow such suffering into my life? Most people would agree that permitting suffering isn't the first characteristic you think of when describing someone who loves you. I battled along alone for a while and it really tore me up from the inside. As one of my (non-christian) friends observed, my faith is/was intricately wound unto my self-identity and without it I was finding it difficult to know who I was anymore, let alone who God was. After a couple of weeks of sitting/standing mutely in church each Sunday, refusing to pray and avoiding as much as i could anyone who wanted to pray for me i realised i had a decision to make.

In the indelible words of Chris O'Donnell in The Bachelor it was time to "shit or get off the pot"

I either had to accept that God is a real and ever-present loving father who hurts when i hurt and rejoices when i rejoice, or i had to turn and walk away from God, Faith, the church. Because there is no point in believing in, or worshiping a God who doesn't care.

I thought this should be easy i'll just issue God an ultimatum, either he does SOMETHING to my heart so that i can see how me he loves me, or i walk. simple. i mean for a God who can and does do miracles, surely this is child's play. so i waited. and i waited some more. i thought, come on! you elected to harden the pharoh's heart against the Jews, surely you can come and soften mine? Its not that hard! all i want is some incontrivertable proof that you exist!... you are the alpha and the omega, the begining and the end, nothing is impossible for you!!!

... wait a minute... incontrivertable proof by its very nature is unassailable, concrete and observable...  but that would mean that i would have no choice but to believe..., i would have knowledge, not faith... taking away my free will to turn my back on you. I don't want a God who removes my free-will! Its no fun giving a gift if its not given freely.

Bugger! thats not going to work then is it?

Not so easy after all.

i was back at square one. How do i make this decision? the logisist in me wants a list of pros and cons for each side of the coin, then you just compare them and simple, decision made... but life's not like that. All pros and cons aren't created equal, and this isn't about something as trivial as buying a washing machine, this decsion will affect all of the relationships in my life, surely it will change the course of my life. It cannot come down to a simple list.

so what does is come down to?

in the end it isn't about making the decision, its about the commitment. i guarantee you i could be happy without God in my life, thousands do it everyday.

 BUT. I. DON'T, WANT. TO.

Ultimately it came down to a heart decision, not a head decision. My head tells me it doesn't really matter what i decide, my heart tells me nothing matters more. So i've decided to step out in faith, accepting that i cannot know the inner workings of my God, i cannot know why such suffering is allowed be inflicted upon so many, but i can know he loves me, i can know that he promises me eternal life and happiness. So I've decide that i'm going to seek these rewards.

My life is about whatever i chose to focus on. If i chose to focus on the hurt and the anger and the resentment that losing Jonathon inspired in my heart, i am not doing myself any favours. I am not doing Jonathon's memory any favours. The loss of my precious boy is raw and aching and i don't know when that will change. I do know that i want to think of my son as something good that happened to me, a blessing. A blessing of my own choice. I choose to believe that he was sent to me for a reason, i don't know why he was taken so soon, only God does. Since i choose to believe in a loving God i must therefore believe that God's way is best. so even though i don't understant his death i will use it as inspiration to persue a heart based faith- what greater gift could a son give his mother?

anything worth having is worth fighting for: part one -my faith background

In the past my faith has been almost entirely mind-based. To understand what i mean by this you'd need to understand how i came to faith. (be warned this may be a long and rambling account, feel free to skim through it :) ).

Being brought up in the church i was taught from an early age about God the loving father and Jesus Christ the living sacrifice (leaving the holy spirit out of it for the time-being). As a child i simply accepted the existence of God as fact and moved on enjoying my weekly Sunday school lessons, songs and craft. Later, during adolescence, i found the church we attended as a family to be a very exclusive group of people, the other young people had known each other for a very long time and weren't looking to accept a newcomer to the group, they were happy the way they were. As an outsider looking in, my view was of a group of youngsters loving life, supporting each other and basically brimming over with this sense of overflowing happiness and well-being. i wanted a part of that. (Isn't that the age old way to get a teenager wanting something? tell then they can't have it?). during this time my faith was tenuous at best, i was seeking a stronger connection but since i had no idea how to go about that i slowly drifted away.

I attended a catholic school for my senior high school years, where faith was more of an assumption of common values and core beliefs rather than a personal decision. It was here that i finally found acceptance with a group of people who liked me for who i was and supported me unconditionally. Sure i didn't have the all consuming happiness that the "born again"Christians seemed to have, but for once that quest for overflowing happiness took a back seat to comfortable acceptance. my Faith was superficialy based in the ongoing teenage quest for acceptance and approval.

Fast forward through my first degree at uni where apart from a couple of brief moments of introspection (not always alcohol induced, but admittedly that was more common than not) i didn't really think about my faith at all, especially not as something alive, something that had to be nurtured. The first year of my second degree saw me living with a housemate who was not so nice, he regularly ran me down in ways so subtle that i came to believe him. By the end of that year my self-esteem was pretty low and i moved home for the summer holidays. Most of that 3 months i spent with the best friend i have ever made, her unconditional love and support reignited my interest in a loving God and we started attending my mum's church together. I found it very enlightening attending church with my beautiful friend. Having not been brought up in the church, and having had very little contact with the church in general, here was a fresh perspective of faith. Her head knowledge was so basic that she was surprised to discover the true meaning of Easter and marvelled at the resurection story, yet her heart was won over in a matter of weeks.

I had the privilege of watching her faith journey from the beginning and my heart was filled with joy to hear her speak of God's love for the first time. I must confess i rode on the coat tails of her passion for a while, but the heady temptations of new love are almost impossible to resist. Finally i was beginning to develop my own faith. Founded on personal experience rather than Sunday instructionals, my passion for God grew even more over the next year as i was blessed with an phenomenal share house filled with loving christian girls (who i probably never thanked and really wish i had) and finally led me to meeting my first love, Steve who became my husband less than two years later.

As a couple Steve, a lapsed catholic, and I, with my newly rediscovered faith, began to attend a contemporary Anglican Church (where we were later married). There we met like-minded, sensible individuals, well grounded in biblical knowledge and church law. Over the next two years we were challenged by thought provoking sermons and warmly welcomed into the church family. After our marrieage we struggled for nearly 2 years in silence to start a family before eventually admitting to our bible study that we were deeply upset at our failure to fall pregnant. They prayed and we fell pregnant the next cycle.

the blessing of Elianna
Three weeks after my positive pregnancy test, following an early dating ultrasound my Dr rang and asked that i make my way as quickly as possible to the private consulting rooms of a well respected Obstetrician. She was concerned that my HcG levels were higher than indicated by the ultrasound and suspected an ectopic pregnancy. Devastated we rushed to see the OB and a scan revealed a single inter uterine pregnancy. our relief was short lived however as soon-after the OB began to look worried and ask us lots of questions about my last period and my dates. she soon revealed that the gestational sack was far to small to be as far along as indicated by my HcG levels and the previous ultrasound. she was very sorry to inform us that we had what is known as a blighted ovum or molar pregnancy. We were absolutely shattered, we asked if there was any reason she could be wrong. she said no. before we left she gave us a prescription for a pill that would bring on a miscarriage telling us that i would likely miscarry over the next few days but in case i didn't i should get the prescription filled as we were due to go on holiday to Qld the next week and it would be inconvenient to miscarry while away.

We rang our friends to tell them the news and they began to pray for hope and a miracle. at a follow-up Dr's appointment we asked if we could have one finally ultrasound to confirm the OB diagnosis. the Dr agreed and wrote us a referral for the following Thursday (less than a week later). we were due to leave on our holiday on the Saturday morning so we had Friday to present to the hospital for a D&C. with heavy hearts we attended that follow-up ultrasound appointment. you can imagine our surprise when we were told we had a healthy heartbeat from a foetus measuring two week further advanced than the previous ultrasound a week earlier. Amazing. It appeared God had answered our prayers. after a tumultuous pregnancy plagued with anxiety attacks and morning sickness the whole 9 months I finally gave birth to our beautiful daughter Elianna Faith, meaning God has answered Faith.

After Elianna arrived i felt like my life was complete. A new(ish) husband, a newly purchased family home and the most beautiful baby girl anyone could ever dream of. She was a perfect little angel from her first moments earthside. She slept, fed and pooped like a little trooper (mostly saved the poos for her doting daddy too- what a little darling ;). Over the next two years we lived a truly blessed life, anything we needed, heck everything we really wanted was provided to us one way or another. after much soul-searching during the pregnancy we eventually left our old church and joined up with the local church just down the road (a lot closer and with a younger demographic). The anointment on our pastors at our church was evident, even the sermons seemed to be tailored specifically to address my recent ponderings.  On the day Elianna was born they prayed for labour to start to avoid an induction the following day and what do you know, despite no signs of labour that morning Elianna was born at 6.08 pm that night, less than 2 hours after my waters had broken. It seemed we had a direct pipeline to God- oh happy days!!

When we decided to add to our family 2 years after Eli was born we fell pregnant the very next cycle. It seemed it was meant to be. Even a small bleed at 4 weeks was not enough to sway us in our Faith that God had blessed us with another child to love, We sought prayer and the bleeding stopped instantly- simple as that. At this point my Faith had grown to become a part of my daily life. i understood how this all worked and gave thanks to an awesome, majestic creator who answered my every prayer. We attended and served at church regularly and in addition we went along to a connect group every week where we would spend a couple of pleasant hours laughing with friends and learning more about the promises of God. I began to daydream for our new addition, even arbitrarily deciding that he was likely to arrive on Melbourne Cup day (4 days after the EDD) as that would likely be the most inconvenient timing... And then everything came crashing down around us.

When the GP couldn't find a heartbeat on the Monday after we arrived in Melbourne i was momentarily concerned but he reassured me that since i was only just over 16 weeks and he wasn't very skilled with the Doppler he wasn't surprised he couldn't hear anything. I relaxed knowing i had a midwife appointment at the hospital the next day,  surely she would be able to find it, she does it all the time after all. But  she didn't even try, saying it was too early and it could cause unnecessary worry. She advised seeking an ultrasound if i was truly concerned. over the next few days my sense of dread increased. i tried to pray it away, handing my worries to God as i had been taught. it helped a little but by the middle of the next week it had built up to the point that i asked Steve to see if he could get the 18 week ultrasound booked in a little early. Which he managed to do for the following Thursday. The day before the ultrasound i was talking to the pastor at our new church and i mentioned the appointment and asked her to pray that everything would be okay. Having had a good track record with this sort of thing in the past she seemed confident that our prayers would be answered.

The rest as they say is history (please read the earlier posts for Jonathon's story) we found out that our baby had died. That night the pastors came and prayed again. i wasn't really able to focus on what they were saying, but through my grief I heard them praying for a miracle of life. i remember thinking at that point- how naive are they?- my baby had been dead for over a week, there's no way that prayer is going to be answered....

And finally we come to the point of my ramble, my faith to this point had been based almost solely upon external evidence of God's presence. Evidence any pseudo scientific objective onlooker could perceive and attribute to the manifestation of a Glorious father. Head-based if you will, but when it came down to the wire, when things were such that my logical mind could no longer support it, my heart didn't have faith- i didn't truly believe in a God who could or would answer my prayers with a true miracle.

what's faith got to do with it?

tomorrow we go back to the place where all our precious memories of Jonathon were formed.

The hospital where we held him, kissed him, told him we were sorry and said our goodbyes.

They have done all the blood tests, tested the placenta and autopsied our little man, now they're ready to tell us what they found.

I don't want to go.

i don't want to hear that they don't know why it happened.

i don't want to hear that it was something i did during the pregnancy.

i don't want to hear that it was a genetic issue and nothing to do with my actions.

there's no response they can give me that will appease me.

So, i don't want to go!

As the appointment has drawn closer i have found all my old anxiety triggers returning, resulting in unpredictable tears, heart palpation's and fatigue. In the past i could count on a quiet moment of reflection and a prayer to God to set me back on track. Now i can't. because i am giving God the silent treatment.

I know this is probably not the best way of going about healing my heart, but just i don't know how to get past such a betrayal as this. I know and i truly believe that God didn't take my son from me, just as i know and believe that God loved him as much as we do. but he didn't save him either. so I'm at a stalemate. My problem is that i want to go on believing in a loving God who answers prayers, but i can't reconcile that with a God who let my son die. you might say that "betrayed" is a very strong word to be using here. but that is truly how i feel. to me its as though He heard my distraught pleas and went ... ahh? NO!.. no room for negotiation, no room for appeals, in fact i never even knew he'd decided no til it was too late. how is that the actions of a God who loves me?

last Sunday one of the women at my church was talking about being faithful and how in His own time God will answer your prayers, but they may not be answered the way you want them to be. i sat there in the back of the congregation with tears streaming down my face thinking "there is no time" his or mine, no amount of time will enable my prayer to have been answered. its too late for that now. so what's faith got to do with it? how can faith turn my situation around. what do I get from having faith. what's the point of having faith?

I feel like such a fool for having prayed so desperately that my baby would be alright, both in the weeks leading up to, and the night before the fateful ultrasound. I had blindly believed in the power of prayer to affect situations. As i am writing this now i feel kind of like a petulant child asking "ohhh, but why not?" in a whiny voice. but this is no denial of a lolly, this was denial of a love that promised to always be there for me, to answer my prayers, to bless my life with abundance. and it hurts, as all denial does.

So where do i go from here?

There's a few things i do know,

God loves me,

God loves my son,

God has the power to answer prayers,

In the past God has invoked miracles in my life both small and huge, that could not be explained with the most modern methods of modern science,

I am blessed with a gorgeous loving husband who is a great provider and the best dad a little girl could ever hope for.

I am blessed with a stunning daughter, who is so intelligent and empathic that she makes me cry with pride.

i am blessed with two supporting churches with fantastic pastors (all four of them),

and i am blessed with the most amazing network of friends who daily lift me up and surround me with their love.

there is so much love in my life and i believe that its there because God has declared it over me. but the question for me lately has been, is that enough? do all these past and present blessings make up for the one denial? is this enough to support my faith in a loving God?

 

 

Honestly?

I don't know... i know that i want to believe again that God listens and my prayers will be answered. i know that i want to be able to pray around this hard cold lump of a heart i have. i know that i want to feel safe and blessed again...

but i don't know how to get there.

Silence is Deafening

yesterday marked a milestone, one month.

One month since i held my son for the first and the last time

One month since i left the hospital empty handed and empty hearted.

One month since the bottom fell out of my world.

the flowers have long since faded and died,

the phone has stopped ringing and the

postman no longer brings sympathy cards.

when i see people they no longer ask how i am, or if i am doing ok

life, it seems, has returned to normal... for everyone else

in just 30 days

a month can seem interminably long when you're waiting for something exciting. i can remember month's that felt like years when we were trying to conceive Elianna and waiting for the day we could do a home pregnancy test. but this last month has gone by in the blink of an eye.

the memories of my son is fresh in my mind. Every time i close my eyes i still see his startlingly blue eyes, or his impossibly long legs or his dainty little fingers, and i feel the emptiness, the pain and the loss all over again. i can't believe its already been a month. I was told the other day as i cried in response to an unaware comment that it was ok to cry now as its still so fresh but in another month or two i will feel ok. i remember thinking "would this woman say this if i had lost something more tangible to her?" what if i'd lost my husband or my daughter. Surely such a trite comment wouldn't be ok in that situation.

so what makes it ok now? Is it because she has no point of comparison? or does she not perceive the loss of our baby as the death of our son? i could have spoken up, said something like "my son DIED i don't think i'm going to be OKAY in a couple of months" but i didn't... why? because it makes people uncomfortable. We can talk freely about mental illness, domestic violence, death from cancer and other killers so why not miscarriage or premature stillbirth? why do mothers and father have to suffer in silence after the loss of a much loved child?

Since we lost Jonathon i have discovered that so many of my friends carry the scars of baby loss. its heartbreaking to know that they have gone through this same pain, confusion and frustration. many of them being forced to swallow their grief as its expression became uncomfortable for the people in their lives to witness. How can we condone such callous treatment of our dear friends and family? i posted a note on my facebook the first week after Jonathon's passing. 20 things parents of Angels wish you would remember. i won't repost them all here as it is very long, but a few really rang some bells for me...

i wish you could tell me more than once that you are sorry my baby has died and that you are thinking of me, the truth is it tells me you care

i wish you wouldn't pretend my baby never existed. the truth is we both know he was growing within me

i wish you wouldn't expect my grief to be over with in a matter of days/ weeks or months. the truth is it may get easier with time but i will NEVER "get over" this

above all please remember that this is the worst thing that has ever happened to me. the word miscarriage is small and easy but my baby's death is monolithic and awful. its going to take a while to figure out how to live with it. bear with me.

Now really i am lucky, i have had some truly wonderful friends be by my side through all of this, some of whom i didn't expect who have gone above and beyond to be supportive. However others who i did expect to be there for us have been noticably silent. i don't know why, perhaps they just don't know what to say? either way, their silence is deafening. By staying silent it says to me one of two things. Either "ï don't care" or"ÿour grief makes me too uncomfortable and i chose my own comfort over yours" Thats fine. its their pejrogative, but it still hurts. i wish i could say to everyone who has ever held back words of support for fear of saying the wrong thing. "your words may or may not hurt me, but nothing you can say will ever hurt as much as your silence might".

please i beg of you. if a loved one or even someone you just met has a loss of this kind. don't withdraw. by all means give them their space but please make sure they know you are there for them and thinking of them. this is the most lonely experience of any mother's life. we become members of an exclusive club that no-one ever wants to belong to. A club of silent tears and hollow hearts. your hug, your card saying ï'm thinking of you", message, phone call or flowers might be the only acknowledgement that mother gets of her grief that whole day/week or month. please don't withhold it because you feel uncomfortable. to my lovely friends who have been through this themselves; Sarah, Nikki, Steff, Rachel, Sara, Jess, Gen and anyone i have missed, i'm so sorry for your loss. i wish you had never experienced this pain and that you were holding your son or daughter now rather than mourning them with empty arms. I hope that you have a chance today to remember your baby and the love you feel for them. xoxo

As i said above i have had some absolutely lovely friends who have done some absolutely lovely things to show they care. i would like to publicly thank them now.

To Rachael, Katy and Cath thank you for the beautiful flowers, that put a smile on my face whenever i walked pass them. it meant more than i can say.

To Nikki words cannot express the love i felt when i opened my little "jonathon heart" i have been wearing it constantly and it makes me feel close to my baby boy, thank you so much.

To Jacqui, your letter and your heartfelt words of sympathy had me in tears. i love you girl and value our friendship so much, thank you for being there.

To Darla, Deb and Steff. thank you for your words of wisdom, encouragement and support. you three women have been the backbone of my slow journey back to the land of the living. i don't know what i would've done without you

To simone, thank you for your visit. having you here to actually hug and talk to in person meant so much to my healing process. your letter was hard to read but i'm glad you shared it with us

To Cilla, Aunty louise, Nanna, dad and sandra, Kristy and everyone else who sent cards, you made our day/s. Simply knowing that someone cares and is thinking about us eases the grief just a little, so thank you from the bottom of our hearts.

To Kel, kate, Sarah and Fleur. thank you for the regular messages on my facebook wall telling me you are thinking of me. its really nice to know we're not forgotten.

To my mum and steve's mum... thank you seems like hardly enough to fully express our gratitude for your continued love and support. you grieved our loss with us, you felt it as deeply and personally as if he were your own son. we are sorry for the loss of your grandson.