January tends to be a tad difficult emotionally for me. I love summer, particularly the cooler days that arrive after an intensely hot period. We have just gratefully emerged from a string of forty degree days. I am learning to cope physically with how the heat affects my dodgy heart. Hibernation in the airconditioning has become my modis operandi, including some nights to gain a decent quality of sleep. Even with enough rest and keeping my beloved garden alive, I still have days of quiet sorrow when I contemplate my twin daughters as well as another baby whose sex I never knew.
I was seventeen weeks pregnant and very excited in my first pregnancy during January 1985. I believed that since I had passed the twelve week 'danger zone', I was safe from miscarriage and would enjoy a very uneventful five months until our baby would arrive.
We had been planing to attend the first Australia Day fireworks on the Perth foreshore on 28 January. Instead I was in hospital, absolutely petrified and having no clue that a late miscarriage was just like labour and I was losing our first much-anticipated baby.
The baby's actual birth was a memory I can never forget. Delivered into a metal bedpan, the baby was whisked away and an injection was immediately stuck into my bum. I was bleeding heavily so a D&C followed the next morning. I was discharged a day later with no advice, no information and no follow up.
Three days later, I was woken by my very painful, rock hard breasts. Only when my nipples began to discharge colostrum did I realise what was happening. My body was producing milk for my baby. No warning had been given that this might eventuate. That was when grief sneaked into my psyche and destroyed what was left of my shaky self-esteem.
Three months later, I was pregnant once more. No blissful ignorance anymore. And I bled early in that pregnancy, which compounded my terror. I was confined to bed for four weeks and the pregnancy thankfully continued. For the remainder of that pregnancy and every following pregnancy, I would also suffer from blinding second trimester headaches and intense muscular pain. There was no pregnancy glow for me.
Vanessa was born prematurely six weeks early but I finally held a living baby in my arms. She was a stupendously loved child from the second she made her appearance. Another pregnancy after she turned twelve months old was reasonably uneventful and I was actually looking forward to a new little brother or sister for her.
Christopher was born nine weeks early on Easter Saturday 1987. Initially, he appeared to be doing very well, but two days later, he became critically ill. That was when we discovered he had an extremely complex heart defect, compounded by his prematurity.
Christopher was a red-headed, cranky little bugger who fought so hard to stay alive. His body slowly but surely shut down and he died in his Dad's arm on 5 June 1987, having never left hospital. At least I was able to hold him and love him and mother him, a privilege that had been denied me with my first baby. So, we took him to the park and bathed him and dressed him for his funeral. We had his footprints and a photgraph album full of his short and sweet little life.
Fourth pregnancy. Having now experience a late miscarriage and two premature babies, I had a vaginal suture in place from twelve weeks into that pregnancy. And by then, we knew we were having twins. We were very excited, but again I was filled with anxiety. The stress, couple with my size, exhausted me and I was looking forward to bed-rest in hospital from thirty weeks gestation. From New Year's Eve 1987, I was filled with increasing dread. I was having reduced foetal movement but their heartbeats were present on that night and also on 6 January 1988. I tried to stop worrying, that the nagging fear would not lessen its grip.
On 19 January, 1988, I went for my twenty-six week checkup. I had Vanessa with me. My obstetrician expressed concern for one of my twins and suggested I drop Vanessa at the Children's Hospital child care centre, before attending one of the big ultrasound units. He assured me that he would follow me there.
In increasing terror, I left Vanessa at the child care centre and drove to the ultrasound unit. They were expecting me, but I still had to walk through a waiting room full of other pregnant women. The ultrasound attendant did not speak one word to me and then abruptly left me with an image of one of my babies on the screen.
Terry, my obstetrician, delivered the news, My twin girls had both died. I then picked up Vanessa and drove home. Alone. All I remember from those journeys was a fire in bushland on the way in and the black smouldering corpses of trees on the way home. Which was exactly how I felt.
The girls were both by caesarean section that evening as I went into labour with the shock. I had a severe uterine infection after their birth and had limited contact with them after that first night. I forgot to get footprints or locks of their very dark hair. Initially known just as 'the twinnies', they were later named Zoe and Melanie.
And this is where the bittersweet comes in to complicate matters. If my twins hadn't been stillborn, there would have been no Callum and no Alex. I can't imagine life without my beloved boys. They have provided me with such joy and love and care. But then, out of the blue, Vanessa took me to court to cease all contact with me. Suddenly, I felt completely daughter-less, which was a loss incomprehensible.
However once more, 2026 has given another gift to us. Jef and Hippy, our glorious backpackers, have, over the last couple of years, become a 'son' for Michael and a 'daughter' for me. They have just left on their magical mystery travelling tour of as much of Australia as possible before they leave on 31 March. We miss them already, but we now have happily captured was has been missing for both of us. A extra couple of young people who love and appreciate us, unconditionally.
And we are pretty sure that Jef and Hippy will come back to Heavenly Beverley, sometime in the foreseeable future, filled with wonderful stories of their travels all over the world. And in case I forget, happy birthday Hippy on 31 January!
The loss that goes on for both of us.
Jef...
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