Thirty-one years ago, I went to see my obstetrician fairly early in the morning. I was officially twenty-six weeks pregnant with twins. I was enormous, felt exhausted and unwell and just wanted to rest. I was due to go into hospital for a break in the next couple of weeks. I was hanging onto that promise.
The morning was hot, hot, hot. En route I passed a fire on the edge of Bold Park. The fire was alive, fierce, crackling. I shuddered and drove on.
I had been concerned with my babies' health for about the previous three weeks. Every time I was checked, two heartbeats. I felt stupid and needy. Reduced foetal movement? Obviously in my fertile imagination. I'd had a success rate of one live baby from four pregnancies. Christopher had been born and lived his short and ultra-tough life for seven weeks in 1987. Of course, I was anxious.
Into the waiting room. On the scales. I'd lost weight. First warning bell. Then examination and ultrasound, Can you leave Vanessa anywhere whilst I send you up to a specialist ultrasound unit up the road? Why, I asked? Because I think there is something wrong with one of your babies...
Up to the unit. Ultrasound with silence from the operator. I chatted frantically. Oooh, I felt one of them move...
Except I hadn't. Both my daughters were stillborn. They had died separately over the previous 2 weeks.
Zoe Louise and Melanie Clare were born that night. As a result of shock, I'd gone into labour. Except I didn't progress, so another caesarian section. Zoe, white, tiny and bloodless. Twin to twin transfusion killed her. Melanie, red, bigger, full of blood. Died from cord asphyxia.
Today, the day is also very hot. No fires around us, thankfully. We are inside, waiting for the furnace to subside so we may venture out in an hour or two to water our struggling plants.
I feel pensive rather than sad. Zoe and Melanie's images are unforgettable. Tiny babies forever and together. Placed together on a deep red blanket as they were born. I have photographs and footprints and handprints.
Losing Zoe and Melanie began my metamorphosis into a Fierce Mother. I refused to accept bullshit or be fobbed off or reassured with pathetic platitudes. I fought for my two surviving sons with every breath in my being. I have battled medicos and hospitals and government departments for the last thirty years.
And when I look at my children who remain with me, I am bloody proud. This doesn't mean that I don't love and miss Christopher, Zoe and Melanie less.
I do. Every day. They are together in a special compartment within my heart. Except when I catch a glimpse of the three of them playing in the trees.
Images of stillbirth -
And my other children -
Callum Timothy
Alex Christopher
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