Wednesday 15 June 2011

Plucked from the brain of the sleep deprived

Those people who tell me that now I have concluded the matter properly and/or tell me how relieved I must be to have had a 'normal' pregnancy and childbirth don't understand that it is actually Reuben's birth that, to me, was the extraordinary one.

***

Serious conversation with a whining Jessica . .

"What noise does Jessica make?"
"Whinge . . whinge . . .whinge"
She laughs, knowing that I am imitating her.

"What noise does Baby Reuben make?"
"Wah, wah, wah . . WAH"
Giggles.

"What noise does Mummy make?"
"NO . . don't do this, don't do that . . NO!"
Faux stern waving of finger.
Bigger giggles.

And, inevitably, I think. Although I know that I should not. But whenever we do anything which involves counting family members, my mind goes to her.
I don't think that Georgina ever made a sound. Ever. Perhaps a gasp or two.

There, in the middle of a supermarket aisle, I would like to sit on the floor. Just for a minute.
To catch my breath.
Because that lack of sound seems so very sad all of a sudden.
Although it's been true for a long time, no big revelation.

***

Whilst watching Desperate Housewives (a major vice of mine but, to be fair, I do my ironing whilst watching) this little snippet of dialogue snags in my brain.

Bree to Gaby (of a mutual friend who has recently received a kidney transplant)
"Whatever topic you bring up, she (Susan) manages to steer it right back to kidneys."
"Tell me about it." Sigh.

And I realise that I am Susan.
And my children, dead and living, are my kidneys. The circumstances of their birth, Georgina's death, the NICU. The whole sorry thing.
It as though their births removed my flesh, my pith, leaving a hollow woman, only animated by discussion of them.
Of course I do talk about other things but, more often than not, I don't particularly care about whatever it is that I am supposedly discussing. I merely pretend to.
And I'm not even brave enough to bring my children into the conversations.
Instead my thoughts spin uselessly around and around them.

***

Perhaps my total and utter avoidance of anything resembling a birth plan or, indeed, any information entitled something along the lines of 'your labour - what to expect' was a little unwise.
The first part was pretty much exactly the same as, sadly and annoyingly, the cervix does not differentiate between babies of different gestations and opens to exactly the same amount, causing (in my experience) a fairly similar level of pain.
The pushing part was a little different. I had a while to reflect on just how different this pushing business was as Reuben was stuck for over two hours.
I had thought that giving birth would be terribly sad and remind me of the birth of the twins and have all these resonances. That I would think of my girls and wonder about my boy. That I would labour with tears running soulfully down my face.
But I had forgotten my wuss-ily low pain threshold which quickly put paid to any romantic or melodramatic notions I might have had.
In reality, I spent approximately 10% of the time screaming my head off, 10% of the time blacking out, 20% of the time thinking smugly to myself, "he he he, I am the sun and nothing can hurt me", 40% of the time thwarting the midwives' brave attempts to prise the gas and air from my hands (see the previous 20%) and the remaining 20% burbling away to my husband. Including the lines "Time is running backwards and he has already been born" and, apparently, thanking and apologising to everyone in the room multiple times.
Hmm, not my finest hour.
But, after his birth, those anticipated tears ran down my face.
Tears for him and for my girls who stood such a slight chance.
Who had such a different experience in the first few days of their lives.
No simple comforts of holding, feeding and looking for them.

It is only now that I know what I lost. What they lost.
What so many of us have lost, those of us who hang around in these parts.

And I wish that it could always be simple and happy and healthy.
For every mother and for every baby. Every single time.
I wish that with all of my heart.

***

If you have a slightly more complicated obstetric history you may wish to wear a laminated card around your neck explaining your situation prior to going into hospital to have a baby. Or due to staff shortages and shift changes you may end up having some rather surreal conversations.

"So, this is baby number four."
Umm, nope. Three. Ummm, one? Really? It's complicated. Try the lady labouring in the next room perhaps?

"You have very good stomach muscles for someone who's had twins."
Why thank you. I like you. A great deal. Do come around to this particular hospital bay again. Smug smile. Then remembers that the twins didn't really get a chance to bust my stomach muscles. Feel sheepish. Attempt to suck stomach in. Fail.

"Well you'll know all about that having breastfed your daughter."
Hmmm, not sure where you got that particular piece of information from but thanks for giving me a few maternal experience points. You should see me in action with a Medela and an NG tube.

At the registry office, registering Reuben's birth. . .

"Just the one baby? Not hiding a twin anywhere are you?"
She smiles, expectantly.

No.
Believe me.
That was the previous child.
She is the one with the hidden twin.
We're still hiding her, even now.

And of all the people who come into this registry office, you had to pick me to make this comment to?
Seriously?
I reply, "No, just him."

***

No matter how fast I run, how many books I read,  how many meals I prepare, how often I tell them that I love them, how many trips to the park we make, how much money I put into their savings accounts, how many times I get up in the night.
It isn't enough.
To thank them for living.
To compensate her for dying.
It will never, ever be enough.
I could wear myself down into dust trying to balance the books on that one.

23 comments:

  1. This is what I feel. I don't have a living child but how you explained your true thoughts while conversations are happening. In the beginning, I just sat mute or didn't put myself in a situation where there were even conversations and now, pat on the back (1+ year later), I can partake in conversations but it always circles back to my son, my child, who is gone. Uggh, the hollow woman..so true.

    However, if I were to truly share how much I bring it back to Liam, I fear I would be a one-upper..."Oh, you lost your job?? That does stink but...my son died at birth." "I'm so sorry your grandparent passed away (but he/she had a long life and my child had less than an hour)".

    So, I guess, pretending is better than being honest. I just wish I could figure out to be more completely human and not circle back to me and my pain.

    Congratulations again on Reuben. It truly is wonderful for your family!

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  2. ((HUG))....Your words....they always touch me so deeply. So very very deeply.

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  3. It is extraordinary that they sometimes (most of the time) make it.

    What clueless hospital staff!

    Hope everything is going well and that you can get some sleep soon.

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  4. Gorgeous writing Catherine. Giggling with you about the gas, sniffing with you about feeling that G is hidden, not here.

    There's no balancing of the books or debts needed - everything you give is given freely, just as they give to you. It's difficult, but it's enough xxxxx

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  5. Hardly seems that something so beautiful could accompany sleep deprivation;)

    The registry part...when I went to get Sev's birth certificate, I also filled out forms for Cayden's birth and death certificate. The guy actually said, "You know this is a death certificate request, right?" "Yes, (jackass) I do."

    The last section took my breath away. Seriously took it away. You are a beautiful writer, Catherine. It will never be enough. xo

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  6. I want to echo Paige and the others. You're a beautiful writer. So much more I could say about this post, but that's all for now. You take my breath away.
    xo

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  7. As often happens, the tears fall and I lack words to respond to your post. The hollow woman rings so true with me too, everything is really about my girls too in my mind. I know others do not see it like that.

    What Hanen has said is so true about balancing the books, it is not necessary. Doesn't stop me trying (and failing) though either.

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  8. I loved your whole post, but that last paragraph gave me chills. You are a most talented writer.

    The unbelievable things the unknowing unknowingly say...we will deal with that always, unfortunately.

    Glad to hear you and Jessica and Reuben are doing well, WAHing, whinging, and shaking your fingers, and GIGGLING. :)

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  9. I don't know what to say, but wanted to let you know I read this. As everyone else has said - so beautiful!

    It does remind me of one of my first trips out with my rainbow baby and a stranger commented - oh, how sweet, she's so tiny - is this your first? And the words were caught in my throat and my husband answered first and said yes. He later told me he was very aware of the question and his answer... During pregnancy I learned (as best I could) to handle the questions of - is this your first pregnancy. But now that she's here - the question keeps coming, and once again, I'll find a way to answer (that might vary just as the moment varies).

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  10. Love this post.

    It will never, ever be enough.

    I think I need to get that concept into my head. It will never, ever be enough.

    Also, why do people say statements that could never be funny and are a bit painful/cruel in the wrong circumstances?!?

    Had an experience with counting off last night. A coworker had stopped by the house to pickup a textbook and my older son was playing with a tape measure converting everyone's age to centimeters. Then he asked the question of how many is Aurelia (his stillborn sister). I know it's probably selfish, but I love how my older son seems to count his stillborn sister as a sibling the same he does her live twin.

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  11. "not even brave enough to bring my children into the conversations"
    You are not alone. Laura has become the lens through which I now focus and live my life, but how many know she lived?
    Really beautiful writing.
    Grey's Anatomy is my vice and I don't even do the ironing while I watch...
    xx

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  12. Perils of a shared computer. That last comment went through my husband's google account and I sent it, not him.

    xx Louise

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  13. I think I would like to be a bit more like that character from Desperate Housewives... I rarely mention Emma, although I would like to.

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  14. So beautiful. Sending you much love. xoxo

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  15. So beautiful. I understand what you mean at the end there. Sending love and good sleep vibes your way :)

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  16. Catherine, even sleep deprived you manage to write so beautifully. Very touching post... Even though I don't have living children I manage to "pull a Susan" and steer the conversation back to my my kidney, if only in my mind(similar to what T in the first comment wrote).

    So glad that Reuben (lovely name btw) is doing so good and can't wait to see a picture of the wee one.

    But seriously... Universe?
    "Just the one baby? Not hiding a twin anywhere are you?"
    Sorry that had to be you... even though I suspect her to say that to every other person coming along. Grrrrr....

    Sleep well my dear and enjoy those WahWahs...

    xo

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  17. As always Catherine, beautifully written.

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  18. I went through this post tearing up, saying GRRRRR aloud, rolling my eyes, and letting out a big sigh at the end.
    You write what I feel. Or I feel what you write?
    Either way, thank you for writing it.
    Love to you, sweet friend.
    xx

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  19. This is lovely. And also, parts of it, incredibly funny. I'm still giggling about your pushing percentages. And crying about what came after - those simple comforts. You're right. Every mother and baby should get them, every time.

    Your writing about that moment in the supermarket made me shiver. I can't turn my mind away from Teddy when counting family members, either. I shouldn't be surprised any more, and yet...

    Love to you.

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  20. I don't really have anything to say here as it would all fall short. Loved this post. Love that Reuben is safely here and you were able to write this story.

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  21. I so appreciate you and your writing. <3

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