Smiles......

On Friday it was Moksha's 2-month birthday. Thanks a lot to those who commented on my last post. I did manage to think of it in terms of the day that we should be marking. A friend of mine came to visit. She's had two pregnancy losses this year, one early 2nd trimester termination due to a chromosome problem and one miscarriage at 8 weeks. I showed her some pictures of Moksha. We talked and cried. I took her up to the small lake where Moksha's ashes were scattered. I had bought a rose and she also wanted to buy one so that he would have two roses for his 2-month birthday. We laid them by the stream flowing into the lake. I was very touched when she asked me if she could say a few words to Moksha.

I couldn't stop myself from looking up in my unused copy of "What to Expect the First Year" what a two month old baby should be doing. It said that he should be able to smile in response to my smile.

In the evening, after my OB appointment, DH and I bought a helium balloon and we each wrote a message to Moksha on a small card which we attached to it. We let it go and watched it disappear into the evening sky.

We love you, Moksha. Sending you my smiles :-) Are you smiling back?

On reflection, this last week since we got back from vacation has been a relatively better week. I haven't done much in terms of going out etc. but I didn't feel quite as negative. (Still can't say I was feeling positive, just not as negative....) I was able to mostly enjoy a dinner out with DH and my friend, and also a trip to a vineyard today for a marketing event. At one point I actually did manage to look at Moksha's photo and genuinely, spontaneously smile with love, albeit through my tears.

Deathday, birthday

Tomorrow is Moksha's two-month birthday. He was born in the morning on 29th July.
I'm a bit confused, should I be marking this day? He was already dead by his birthday.

Shouldn't I be marking today? 28th July was the last day he was alive. So 28th July was his deathday. Seems a bit odd to mark that too.

We did release a balloon on 29th August. So I suppose that we already decided which day was important. I don't know, neither of them feels right. But then nothing feels right about this situation. :-(

Shoot the inner voices

I've always been a thin person and before I got pregnant I was slightly underweight for my height. This didn't bother me since I'd been the same weight for 15 years, so I just figured that that was my stable weight. It's not like I had any health problems because I was underweight. And for the record, when people make comments like, "You need to eat more," to a thin person it is JUST as rude and self-esteem deflating as if you were to say "You need to eat less," to a fatter person.

But I digress. Before getting pregnant I made a big effort to pay attention to my diet and managed to gain a small amount. I am also short-waisted and all my height comes from my legs. When I drive, I need a cushion as I'm short when I sit down. My pre-pregnancy wardrobe is made up of quite a lot of short-length tops, as normal length ones would end half way down my thighs, and mostly fitted trousers and jackets (trouser suits for work). I hate my legs so I almost never wear skirts and dresses unless they're long. I'm not griping about this, that was just my body. I don't think I had any more or any less hang-ups about my body than the next person.

My trousers starting getting tight after about 8 weeks of pregnancy, depending on the cut. By the end of the pregnancy, I was pretty huge - I think in part this was due to me being short-waisted, there was no place for Moksha to go except out - and I had gained.....24kgs (53lbs). Partly in water retention towards the end. But since I started out slightly underweight, my final weight wasn't really alarming for a full-term pregnant woman of my height.

When I was pregnant, I felt beautiful and feminine. My face filled out a bit and I think it suited me. I loved some of my floaty summer pregnancy tops and the shape of my belly. Part of this feeling must have been down to the mental state of just being happy, life going the way you want it, expecting your first baby and the next phase of your future with anticipation. In short, I felt like your archetypal glowing pregnant woman. I should be glad about this, as I don't think I will ever feel that way again in my life. I had bad stretch marks, but they didn't bother me in the slightest (except when they were itchy).

After the birth, I was shocked at my deflated belly as for me it was a sign that Moksha had existed. It was going down too quickly. It too suddenly too soft and mushy. The person that had been inside was nowhere to be found. I was glad about having the stretch marks and still am. They are something tangible that Moksha left me.

But I am slowly getting sick of being limited to a few pairs of jogging bottoms and some of my earlier maternity trousers. My tops are still a bit too short. My hips seem to have expanded and my tummy is still a bit protuberant, so none of my previous rather fitted trousers fit me. When I was on holiday I hated the fact that in some outfits I still looked a bit pregnant. I felt like this would be completely bearable if I had a baby in tow like I was supposed to have. I dreaded someone asking me when I was due. A lot of this may have been in my head but my body image has vanished. I'm not the thin person from before, I'm not the glowing pregnant woman and I don't look like the mother who just gave birth because I don't have the requisite baby with me. (And of course this means I have way too much time to think about it).

I'm just non-descript slobby woman with a limited number of sloppy clothes, baggy eyes and poor posture who doesn't smile (maybe rarely with some black black humour) or look people in the eyes anymore. The fact that I still can't get my wedding ring on makes me feel like DH's poorly chosen mistress. People must be thinking, geez, if his mistress looks like that, his wife must really look bad.

OK, I need to bring this to some sort of conclusion. Why don't I just buy some more clothes? It might be good for my self-esteem. I guess I haven't because it is tied up in my future wish to get pregnant again. If I buy more clothes, it means I think I'm staying like this. When actually I want to be on the way back up in the size and weight stakes. I have an inner voice (oh, one of many inner voices) which says, "Doc said wait 4 months. It's been 2 months. You'll get pregnant within the first month of trying, juuuuust like last time. All will go well. No point buying new clothes now. Just while away the next 2 months, that's all you have to do before your life starts again. Trust me, trust me."

Some of these inner voices need lining up and shooting.

P.S. [footnote removed]

Angry?

Not sure if I'm entering the anger stage of grief.

Email received from a not very close friend, who I haven't been in much touch with for a long time. She is due in October, and I know she has been trying for a long time to get pregnant. She was on the list of emails for people to get the (happy) news when Moksha was born, and so she instead got the (sad) news that Moksha was dead, since we sent it to the same list of people. English isn't her first language:

"Dear _____

I did not answer your last mail because I wanted to find the right words for you. As I told you before, I imagine how you are and [DH]. I have to tell you that I am praying for you and [DH] and I hope God can cure your souls. Unfortunately I still can not find the right readings in the bible for you, but with all my love I tell you that God is taking care of you, I can not tell you why the things happen, just he knows why, what he wants you to do now is to continue your life, and help each other to walk this hard path, You are suffering and I can not tell you it will pass soon, but remember that you have each other to support and the love of God.
With all my love, I hope next time I have the right words.
Isaiah 60:1-2
Rise up in splendor! Your light has come, the glory of the Lord shines upon you. 2: See, darkness covers the earth, and thick clouds cover the peoples; But upon you the LORD shines, and over you appears his glory."

I wrote this back:

"Dear _____,
I know you are trying to find the right words and I thank you for thinking of us.

But I will never understand why God would take away a little, loved, wanted baby whose parents were ready to do everything for him. I am not a Christian and so this doesn't really help me. I do not think God is shining a light my way and I am not covered in glory.

It may help you to think of it in these terms but it doesn't help me. I'm sorry for a harsh mail, but I think it's better if I tell you how if what you're writing is helping me or not.

I hope you are well. Your due date is in October, isn't it? Good luck with everything.
____"

Was I too harsh? She does say that she couldn't find the right words for me in the Bible. But then why put any words? If she was really really imagining her own baby, due imminently just like mine was, being born dead at the very last hour, then I don't think she could really think that someone saying "God is shining a light on you and you're covered in glory" would be comforting.

Heigh ho. I know, people don't know what to say. I don't know what I want them to say. But that wasn't it. Life sucks.

Books

Delphi's recent request for book recommendations made me reflect on a particular series of books I've read over the past months. I was a prolific reader as a child and even now when I need information, I have a tendency to just go out and get a book (or rather, stay in and order them on Amazon.co.uk since I live in a French-speaking country). I haven't been reading that much recently and I like Delphi's idea of book recommendations and might steal some.

I always keep books I've read, whether I like them or not, and I don't like lending them to people because I get nervous about when I'm going to get them back. One day I'd love to have a room in my own house which I could make into a personal library. It would have rows of shelves of books, a wooden floor and a comfy leather armchair to curl up in. I imagine it with a sunny window and maybe a fireplace, although in reality I don't think this would be very good for the books.

Anyway, this particular suite of books goes like this:

July - August 2005:
Lent to me by a friend:
Fertility and Conception: The Future Parents' Essential Guide to Ensuring Fertility and Conceiving a Healthy Baby by Karen Trewinnard

October 2005 - July 2006
Bought in a fit of initial excitement (book not recommended)
Your Pregnancy Week by Week by Glade Curtis, Judith Schuler

Given to me by a friend:
What to Expect When You're Expecting by Arlene Eisenberg, Heidi Murkoff

Given to me by my SIL for Christmas 2005:
The Girlfriends' Guide to Pregnancy: Or Everything Your Doctor Won't Tell You by Vicki Iovine

July 2006
Bought but unfinished:
What to Expect the First Year by Arlene Eisenberg, Heidi Murkoff (no chapters on expecting your baby to be dead during the first year and all subsequent years)
The Best Friends' Guide to Surviving the First Year of Motherhood by Vicki Iovine

Given to me by my MIL:
Les 100 premiers jours avec bébé : Journal intime d'une jeune maman et les précieux conseils d'une pédiatre by Véronique Mahé

August 2006 - present day:
Given to me by my brother:
Empty Arms: Coping with Miscarriage, Stillbirth and Infant Death by Sherokee Ilse
Empty Cradle, Broken Heart: Surviving the Death of Your Baby by Deborah L. Davis

September 2006 - present day:
When a Baby Dies by Nancy Kohner (part of my holiday reading in Sicily)

Bought in September 2006 but yet to read:
Pregnancy After a Loss: A Guide to Pregnancy After a Miscarriage, Stillbirth or Infant Death by Carol Cirulli Lanham
Trying Again: A Guide to Pregnancy After Miscarriage, Stillbirth and Infant Loss by Ann Douglas

I think I could actually start my own a specialist pregnancy and loss library. Hooray.

Unrequited, unconditional

When we went on vacation recently, we took a few pictures of Moksha along with us. We both looked at them often although not always at the same times.

I recalled the French film Jean de Florette, and its sequel Manon des Sources. I've seen this film several times, the first time must have been when I was about 18 and studying French at school. I won't go into the whole story, but in the second part, one of the characters, Ugolin, falls obsessively in love with another character, Manon. He doesn't really know her as a person. His love is completely and utterly unrequited, Manon despises Ugolin (for some pretty good reasons) and finds him repulsive.

Ugolin finds a ribbon that Manon used to tie her hair and takes it home. There is a scene in the film where Ugolin, in private, physically stitches Manon's ribbon into the skin on his chest, near his heart, so that it can always be with him. I always found that scene pretty gross, as you might imagine.

But suddenly, whilst I was on vacation I had that exact feeling. I wanted to physically stitch Moksha's photo to my heart. Not because I wanted to harm myself, but because I wanted to get as physically close to him as possible. It was a very intense feeling. I needed more than to just be able to touch or hold the photo, I needed it to be part of me. (No, I didn't actually do it). Actually I need him to be an integral part of me and my future life again, but the photo is all I have. I wanted to claw myself open, and put the photo inside.

Yes, he is in my heart already blah blah blah, but for the moment, that's still still too abstract. I need something physical. Which is unfortunate as I'm not going to ever receive it from him.

Unrequited love, that's what I have with Moksha. He isn't here to love me back. But I'll never stop loving him. Isn't that what loving parents give to their children? Unconditional love with no expectations of what you might get in return? No matter what they do, you love them anyway. It's always there even if its not manifested on the surface. Even if they aren't here.

Or do I just have a completely idealised view of parenthood?

Questions, questions

I found this post confusing to write so I sure as hell don't know if it makes sense to anyone else. I wrote it as a step to try to resolve my own confusion.

I'm never been a particularly religious person. I don't really understand who or what God is but I do believe that we all have souls and that these souls are not just extinguished along with our bodies. I am more influenced by Hinduism (my family's religion and whence the title of my blog) than by Christianity (the religion that surrounds me in the society I live in). But I wasn't really brought up in a Hindu tradition*.

I've realised, however, that I did believe the existence of universal justice, be it divine or non-divine. For me, universal justice meant that if you live your life correctly, try to be a good person, helping others when you can, being generous of spirit, of time, of money etc etc, then really bad things won't happen to you.

This is obviously bullshit. Nice young people get cancer. Nice people have children who die before them. Nice people's husbands or wives are murdered in the street for no reason. Nice people get maimed in freak accidents. Nice people get sucked into war and become refugees or amputees. But all those things happen to mean people as well. So, what's the point of choosing to be nice or to be mean?

It's also bullshit as the flipside of universal justice is that somehow we must deserve our children dying because of something bad we did which I clearly do NOT believe. (Or rather I manage to quite strongly not believe it for other people but not so strongly for myself. I must have done something to deserve this, right? There's that universal justice again..... Actually I do think I'm making some progress on my own guilt factor).

Despite Moksha dying at the last hour, despite reading about people losing not one but two or even more children, or who want children but are having trouble getting pregnant, I still deep down believe that those things couldn't possibly happen to me, not now, because I've already paid my dues. It's someone else's turn. It's another one of those get-it-with-my-head-but-not-really-with-my-heart things. My conscious mind knows that it could happen again but my subconscious is saying, "Rubbish". Why, why do I still deep down believe this? It must be because I still believe that universal justice protects me. Even though it doesn't protect other people. Even though they already paid their dues as well.

I think I want to believe in universal justice as believing it means that I believe that I can influence the way in which my life turns out and therefore have some sort of control over it. But does this mean that I only do nice things for other people because I'm buying protection from the universe? I don't think so. I suppose I do them because they make me feel good. But why do they make me feel good?

I'm by no means an authority on the matter, but it seems to me that Hinduism teaches that the karma, good or bad, that you accumulate in this life will influence your next lives and not this one. But it also teaches that to be freed from the cycle of rebirth, you need to stop desiring to reap results from your actions (things, outcomes). That's how you attain moksha. I think this means I'm expecting too much from universal justice, at least in this life and that I'm not close to attaining moksha. One of my cousins, a life-long practicing Hindu, told me that he believed my son's soul only needed to spend very little time on earth for this last, earthly life before attaining moksha. I found his words comforting, despite never having been very religious.

Or am I just confusing universal justice with hope? If I am then I suppose it is a good thing as it means I still have hope. Which is supposed to be a good thing, isn't it?

*Well, other than not being allowed boyfriends - until I was 18 and went away to university and could throw that rule out of the window on my own. For the record I don't think the rule did me any harm but I obviously didn't think that at the time.

Non-inspirational

We got back yesterday from a week's holiday in Sicily. I've done so much thinking, I have so much to write, that I don't really know where to start. So I'm starting with some fairly basic things about Sicily. This post certainly isn't very inspirational.

We only went to two main places in Sicily as we didn't want to be packing up our bags every day to change hotels. We flew to Catania on the eastern side of the island (nice view of Mt. Etna when there are no clouds). If we ever go to Sicily again, we'll fly to Palermo and visit the other side of the island. We stayed in Taormina and on Lipari, one of the Eolian Islands. From a boat trip, we saw the active volcano of Stromboli, another one of the Eolian Islands, spewing red lava into a very starry night sky.

We took a lot of pictures but I don't feel much like posting any. I do remember from back reading Laura's blog that the picture of the Smart car was popular. So just for you here's one of the Smart car's tiny classic predecessors: an old-style Fiat Cinqueciento. The difference being that a Smart car is a two seater and the Fiat Cinqueciento is for 4-5 people....



I learned that Saturdays in airports are not good if you want to avoid seeing little kids. (The bigger ones are already back at school). I cried every day we were there but there was a difference to each day in terms of despair levels. I don't mean it got progressively better, just that at least there was a discernable difference to each day. I had a two extremely low lowpoints (maybe more about them later) and the rest was just your general run-of-the-mill deep sadness and ordinary despair. There is no taking a vacation from what happened to Moksha.

Great news upon my return. Last night, my period returned. Yes, after just over one week since the last one. WTF is going on? Is this normal?

Two, my brother also has the heterozygous version of Factor V Leiden. He got tested as soon as I told him I had it. My mum told me this morning - she's pretty upset as she was holding on to the idea that there was somehow a mistake in my test. Guess there's no need for me to get retested. My pregnant SIL is also going to get tested to see if there's a possibility that their baby has the homozygous version and if she is at risk too. (She's Caucasian and it's more common in Caucasians). I don't know what my brother is going to do, he does tens of long-haul flights a year (US-Europe and US-Asia).

Is this why Moksha gave his life? To warn the rest of his family about FVL? It's clear that we never ever would have been tested for this if he hadn't died.

8 weeks old today

Dear Moksha,

You should be 8 weeks old today. Daddy and I just spent the week in Sicily, without you. We took some pictures of you with us and looked at them often. I thought a lot about you - almost all the time. I love you so much, I can't even find the words to say it.

Wherever you are, I don't know whether you're still a newborn or if you've grown into an 8 week old baby, or whether you're a pure spirit much older and wiser than I can ever be in this world or whether you've been reborn as someone else.

If you're still a newborn or an 8 week old baby, I so hope that someone or Someone is looking after you. Otherwise how will you know what to do? Who will feed you when you're hungry or soothe you when you wake up after a bad dream? I love you even if I can't do it for you. I can't do it because we're in different worlds. How could you ever understand this? You're just a little baby. Please don't think that I didn't or don't love you or that I abandoned you.

If you've been reborn to someone else, I so hope that you're in a happy family that love you. Maybe you have brothers or sisters already? That would be fun for you.

I want more than anything to be with you again. I think we have to wait for that. Can you wait? Sometimes I don't know if I want to wait very long. Maybe time goes by at a different speed for you. (In that case I don't know how old you are).

Daddy said you're with me in my heart all the time. He said, "Do you know any child that doesn't want its mother to be happy?" I suppose this is true. Children are happy when their parents are happy. But I miss you so much, it's hard for me to be happy. I'm sorry. I can't pretend. You would know anyway.

I love you.
Mummy

When I assume I make an ASS, mostly of me

I have been caught out assuming things will turn out in a certain way again.

The results of the very last test for which I gave blood after Moksha died have come back. It was a blood coagulation test, one which had already been done once at the time of the birth and which was repeated 1 month later to be sure. Since the first test hadn't shown anything, I assumed that this test wouldn't either. But I should have known better. I assumed on the last day that I was pregnant that nothing would change the expected outcome of having a live baby and I was very wrong. So why did I think the last blood test, a repeat test, wouldn't show up something?

The OB called me two days ago. It turns out that I have the heterozygous version of Factor V Leiden, a blood clotting disorder in which you are more likely to have thromboses or blood clots.

I find this unbelievable for two reasons. One, I am of Asian descent. It is extremely rare to find FVL in people of Asian descent. Looks like I hit the jackpot again. I have no family history of thromboses. My parents and brother will need to get tested. My brother does a huge number of long haul flights.

Two, and this just shows that the universe is playing a joke on me. I knew about FVL already. Why? Because both my MIL and BIL have it. My BIL (aged 37, no other risk factors) had a pulmonary embolism (blood clot in the lung) in April and was very lucky to get to the hospital in time. In May or June, I nagged my DH to get tested because I wanted to know if Moksha could have it as well. Get this - his test was negative. So we know all about FVL and even went so far as to check it based on family history. How many more fucking precautions can we take?

We don't know for sure that this is what caused Moksha to die. There were no blood clots or swellings in the umbilical cord and it was a normal three vessel cord. Moksha didn't have any IUGR either. But the OB did tell me two days ago that the placenta had a slightly increased level of fibrin, which could indicate a clotting problem. The level wasn't high enough for it to be conclusive.

So now I have to see a hematologist to understand the risks and care for me in general and during a subsequent pregnancy (of course, I'm *assuming* I will get pregnant again, how stupid can I be? I just can't bring myself to think otherwise). And when I see my OB again I really need to go through all of the results of the autopsy again. I had understood that the placenta was completely normal.

In my thoughts, I have been getting used to not having a reason for Moksha's death. I had been getting used to the idea that he had suffered something similar to cot death but in the womb instead of in his cot. I had been telling myself that if he had been born earlier, his heart might have stopped for the same reason, but in his cot. Now it seems that he was just completely perfect and had we got him out earlier he would be with us. It's throwing me to suddenly have a potential reason.

Tomorrow we are going to Sicily for a week's holiday so I won't post for a while. I am going to try to "enjoy" it and not dwell on how this should be my first holiday as part of my own little family unit. Actually, I am looking forward to spending some more time with DH.

All over the place

Today I got my period for the first time in almost a year. The last one was at the beginning of October 2005 and then I got pregnant. Just yesterday evening I was wondering how long was normal to wait for your period to come back - I mean in the case where you give birth to a full term baby and you're obviously not breastfeeding. (I was given two tablets after the birth which were 100% efficient in preventing my milk from coming in). I was wondering whether to call my OB ahead of my next appointment to check if I should be concerned. I looked in a stillbirth forum I sometimes read and decided that not having one six weeks on didn't seem to be unusual at all. I'm not on the Pill and I don't want to be. I wasn't before and I think it was a contributory factor to me getting pregnant on almost our first try last time.

I was thinking about it as our OB has told us to wait at least 4 months before trying again. She had originally said 4-6 months and I asked her at the last appointment how much of that was for physical recovery and how much she had added on for mental recovery. So then she said to wait 3 more months for physical recovery. My last appointment was on Moksha's one month birthday.

(And my next appointment is somehow on Moksha's two month birthday. Through my tears at the end of the last appointment, a date was suggested and I said OK. I don't know whether I want to change it to another day. In some way I feel that going to her office brings me closer to Moksha as that was the last place I saw him alive, on the ultrasound machine, and heard his heartbeat. It was a happy time with no worries - or worries that pale into insignificance against what actually happened).

Anyway I'm not sure if she meant 4 months elapsed time or 4 cycles which is why I was wondering. Hopefully it will end up being the same thing.

*******************

I live in a place where very recently (last year in fact) 16 weeks paid maternity leave was made obligatory. I am in week 7 of my maternity leave and so haven't gone back to work yet. Nobody from work is pressurising me to come back either. I don't know if this is a blessing in disguise as I am just spending days with no routine, mostly on my own and mostly in an appartment which seems oh-so-empty now, thinking about how Moksha isn't here and how busy I'm supposed to be now. I wake up late and when I do I lie in bed in the dark for a while trying to fight the panic of what is another empty day. Maybe if I had to go back to work it would help me? Maybe it would be completely overwhelming. But will going back after 16 weeks be any different from going back after, say, 10 weeks? I'm going to meet with the local head of HR soon to discuss options.

So I have been trying to fill in my empty days. I try to have the odd lunch with friends (they're usually spent in tears and involve many packets of paper tissues). This week I am starting two exercise classes (today I'm going to try Pilates for the first time). And yesterday I did some volunteer work at a European conference on education. All I had to do was man the registration desk, check participant names off on a list and give them a badge and pre-prepared welcome bag. Fairly mind-numbing stuff. I didn't know any of the other volunteers. I held it together mostly whilst I was there.

But I did get The Question for the first time. Do you have any children? No, I said first. Then immediately I said, well yes I do, I have a son but he died six weeks ago. The last six words said in an uncontrolled sob. The lady who asked me was obviously shocked and said how sorry she was that she brought it up in my mind again. I said, "Don't worry, I think about it all the time anyway" and told her that's why I wasn't at work and had time to volunteer. We didn't have any more conversation about it.

From afar in the car on the way home I saw a woman from my antenatal class pushing a brand-new pram in front of her. I got home after DH for the first time in a long time. He was pleased that I had gone out and done something rather than stay in the appartment all day. But I was in tears, as on the way home I had realised that all I want from morning until night is for the day to go by as quickly as possible so I don't have to think about Moksha not being here anymore. It will be the same whenever I do go back to work. I don't want sleepless days. I want sleepless nights.

This post is all over the place. Kind of like me.

Please come back

I'm so sad that you're not here Moksha. My beautiful boy, my darling son. You will never go to school or learn to walk or cry or laugh or get married and have your own children. You won't learn to ski or to ride a bike or come crying to me with a scraped knee so that I can kiss it and make it better. You won't come to snuggle in our bed in the mornings or have a pet rabbit. You won't learn your first words or your ABCs. You won't play with your cousin or get to know your grandparents or your uncle. You won't learn how to play a musical instrument like Daddy.

I am only very slowly realising that you are never coming back. I am only just realising that you left us and that you're not another little boy who left someone else. I am stuck in a bog of incomprehension. I'm so sorry for whatever I did. I promise I'll do better. Please come back.

Royal rant

A boy hasn't been born to the Japanese Royal family in 41 years and there was a national debate over a possible succession crisis as currently girls are not allowed to accede to the throne. The debate was somewhat shelved when it was confirmed that Princess Kiko, wife of the second son of the current King, was expecting. Now she has had a healthy baby boy, the debate is in grave danger of being taken from the shelf and thrown into the dustbin.

That's maybe a national cultural thing. I don't really know much about Japanese culture or national identity. I feel for the poor kid with 41 years of expectations already on his little shoulders.

A few days ago I read this article with the words "So the rumours were right. Princess Kiko was carrying a boy after all. She has produced the first male heir to the Japanese throne in 41 years." Is this some sort of industrial production line then? I hate the use of that word "produced" in relation to having a child. She gets a extra shiny medal for turning out the right brand?

And I just read this article. Scroll down to the views of the 24 year old financial trader*. "I don't feel content with just the one male heir. I would like Crown Prince Naruhito to make a further effort to have one more." WTF? Just keep on churning them out until you've got the right number of boys. What sort of effort is Crown Prince Naruhito supposed to make? Does his wife get a say in it? What will happen to the waste-product girls?

The article also shows someone from the other side of the debate (to allow female heirs). But even she says "Perhaps Princess Aiko [the daughter of current heir Crown Prince Naruhito] is relieved. There would have been tremendous pressure if she were to continue the line." Men and women don't have children as part of an individual effort.

* Yes I know, he's just one 24 year old guy who views on childbirth are probably not at their most mature. But I felt like ranting.

Moksha's story Part II - the ending from hell

...continued from last post
(This is still really long despite my having split it in two - but it's what I want to write).

On Friday afternoon, I had calls from several of my friends who had become new mums and who knew I was going to be induced the next day. They were excited about welcoming me into their new club as I graduated from pregnancy to motherhood.

DH came home from work that evening all excited. I started feeling a bit more apprehensive. We were to go the hospital at 3pm on Saturday. After another nice dinner cooked by my Mum, we had a Skype conference call with my Dad in the UK (he was to fly out the next week) and my brother in the US. Somewhere during this call, I started to wonder when the last time Pumpum had moved was. In the early afternoon during a physiotherapy appointment for my aching shoulders and lower back, I had felt kicks. DH said he saw one when he came home at 7pm and did his usual caress of my belly to say hi to Pumpum. Now it was 10pm.

I lay down on my side and concentrated. Nothing. I spoke to Pumpum. Nothing. I poked the hard bits on my belly. No response. I had had itchy stretch marks in the last week (PUPPP) and since it was so hot I had rubbed a piece of ice wrapped in a towel on my belly a few days before to cool down the itching. Boy, Pumpum hadn't liked that much! The ice was kicked immediately and vigourously. I tried that again. Nothing. That's when I started to feel worried although I still didn't really believe that it was possible something bad could have happened less than 24 hours before being induced. DH called the hospital and they told us to come in for foetal monitoring just to be on the safe side.

My mum, DH and I jumped into the car and we took my prepacked hospital bags with us. Mum and DH were excited rather than worried. The baby car seat was already installed. We drove the 15-20 minutes to the hospital. I really still believed it was just going to be a reassurance check and they would tell us to come back the next day as scheduled.

When we arrived we went up to the maternity wing. A midwife was waiting for us. We went into a birthing room and she put the sensor on my abdomen. Silence. No heartbeat. She moved it around. No heartbeat. I think I knew what it meant straightaway and shock started to set in. She mumbled something about the baby being turned the wrong way and kept moving it around. I knew that every single other time I had had this monitoring done, the heartbeat could be heard immediately and the sensor was just moved around to get the stongest signal. She said she would call our OB and left the room.

I should point out at this point that my mum is a hospital doctor. She's not an OB but she is used to hospitals and hospital equipment. She told me afterwards that she thought the midwife was dumb as clearly the machine was broken. (I didn't think this for one moment). I said to DH and my mum, "There's no heartbeat." DH told me not to worry and reminded me of what the midwife had mumbled.

Whilst our OB was on her way in, the midwife came back in with a colleague and an ultrasound machine. They smeared on the familiar gel and took a quick look. Nothing moving on the screen. The only looked at it for a minute as we were all getting distressed. That's when Mum and DH started to understand. It was a possibility that the foetal heart rate monitor was just not picking up sound, but for the picture on the screen not to show any movement indicating a beating heart as well....

My OB arrived. She switched on the ultrasound machine again. She took less than 30 seconds to look at it and then took my hand and looked directly into my eyes. I have some bad news, she said. The baby is gone. I don't remember her exact words. My DH and I wailed together in agony. He put his head on my belly and held my hands tightly. I will never ever forget that moment. It's burned into my brain with a branding iron. My mum asked the OB blankly, "How can this happen?" "It's an accident of nature," said the OB. I started repeating to DH and Mum, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry". They and the OB jumped in to say it wasn't my fault. But that wasn't what I was thinking. I was so sorry for the pain and suffering and disappointment they would have to go through. My mother and my husband. Grandmother and father. No-one wants to see their loved ones suffer.

I asked the OB if she could tell us whether Pumpum was a boy or a girl. She said she could tell me but didn't tell me immediately. She said I would be induced immediately but that it might take 6-12 hours before contractions started. I asked if it was possible to have a Caesarean. I could not imagine giving birth to a dead baby or staying there waiting for 6-12 hours. She persuaded me that it was better for me to avoid a Caesarean if possible. I asked again: is it a boy or a girl. She paused and said, it's a little boy. We had the name ready for a boy - in this blog I've given him a virtual name: Moksha

By now it was about 1am. We had to tell our immediate families. I called my brother in the US first. I had been Skypeing him just hours before, all of us were excited. I wanted to make the call myself as I didn't see why it would be easier for anyone else to make. I was in shock and I remember feeling strangely calm. I wasn't crying. I called him and he was on a busy street somewhere. I heard the excitement in his voice but he couldn't hear me. He ducked into some building and said, now I can hear you.

My baby died in utero I said. I heard the shock in his voice as he said how sorry he was and said how much everyone loved me and did I know that. Obviously that is NOT the news he was expecting on getting a phone call from me. In addition my SIL is pregnant, expecting her second baby for Christmas.

DH called his parents. We debated about calling my Dad as he was on his own at home. But then we did anyway, we couldn't keep it from him. Everyone expecting a phone call with such different news. I am so glad that both DH and my mother were there.

I was given Prostaglandin pessaries at 2:30am. Contractions started not 6-12 hours later but within 15 minutes. My itchy stretchmarks became almost too much to handle. The midwife brought some emollient cream to try and soothe it. DH said he would to rub the cream in - he had been gently doing that for several weeks and afterwards he would lay his hands on my belly, feel the movements, and read a story to Moksha to familiarise him with his voice. As he rubbed in the cream he dissolved into tears in front of me and said, I can still feel him inside - his limbs, his buttocks. I'm so sorry, I said again. Another moment burned into my memory forever.

I gave birth to Moksha at 8:28am. My mother and my DH were by my side. The OB used a ventouse, I'm not sure she would have done so so quickly if we hadn't already known what was coming. They put Moksha on me (they had asked before what we wanted to do when he was born).

Now the moment I am so ashamed of. I feel like I didn't deserve to have Moksha because of this moment. Moksha was perfect, only his lips were a little blue. Part of me was repulsed as I thought, "he's dead".

Part of me didn't know how to hold him as I don't have much experience with newborns and I was afraid of doing something wrong. I so wish I had cuddled him against me and held his head close. I held him gingerly cradled in my arms. His skin was soft. He was warm. He had a head of black hair, like mine. My mother lifted one of his eyelids to reveal beautiful unseeing blue eyes. I'm so glad she did that as I don't think I would have thought to do it. Of course we don't know if his eyes would have stayed blue. (Mine are dark brown, DH blue). The only time I saw my son open his eyes was through the grainy screen of the ultrasound. What did he see? What did he perceive?

I know with my head that I couldn't have physically held him any differently, I still had my legs in stirrups whilst I was being stitched up. But I question whether I wanted to hold him differently in that moment. Today, yes, you cannot imagine how much. But then in that moment, the magical moment of his birth?

The midwife dressed him in a pyjama suit which we had originally wanted to take him home in. DH had the reflex to take a photo of him whilst he was still naked. Once the pyjama suit is on, you can only see head and hands. DH held him and played with his little arms and hands and took more photos of him. He wept - one photo we have (out of the grand total of 13 photos) shows his utter sadness with tears rolling down his face as he holds our son in his arms.

My mother and DH's parents, who had arrived in the morning, all held Moksha in their arms and kissed him. DH's parents took my mother home and we were moved to a ward room. Moksha came with us and was put in a little hospital cot. Another time I deeply deeply regret. Instead of holding Moksha, getting to know his little body, talking to him, we went to sleep! After about two hours, since we had agreed to an autopsy, they had to take him to a cooler room. I said goodbye before he left and I never saw my beloved son again.

* * * * * * * * * * * *

The autopsy results showed that nothing was wrong with Moksha. His internal organs were all normal. He showed no sign of infection. He was 6lbs 14oz and showed no IUGR. Tests on me showed no sort of infection, no mismatching of blood type, no liver problems and I don't know what else - just no problem. There was nothing wrong with the placenta. The cord was around Moksha's neck but only loosely, like a scarf. My OB* said that might have been a problem had I gone into labour, but I hadn't. The amniotic fluid was clear and plenty. His heart just stopped and nobody knows why. I think that he probably didn't suffer and died with the familiar sounds of my body in his ears. I regret that he must have heard me yelling at his Daddy, the best one he could have wished for, during the last weeks of his life. I love you little one. I hope you knew that.

Moksha was cremated and a week after his birth we scattered his ashes in a small peaceful lake in a forest near our home with only immediate family present. The heatwave ended on the same weekend as his birth and the rain fell softly. I found the change in the weather somehow comforting as if the world acknowledged that Moksha was gone. Each of said something. The streams running out of this lake flow into a much bigger lake and eventually to the sea. I am agnostic but I think I believe that Moksha's soul has gone to some other place.

*I don't believe that my OB could have done anything differently. I had so many check-ups and ultrasounds, I can't imagine it to be possible to have any more without spending 9 months in hospital. Three days before Moksha died in utero, my check up with ultrasound showed everything to be perfectly in order. Her follow-up since has been exemplary.

Read Moksha's story Part III

Moksha's story Part I - the pregnancy from heaven

This is so long that I've split it into two parts.

I got married in May 2005 to my DH (erm... obviously) whom I met in 1999. We had planned a trip to India in October 2005 and we had already decided that when we got back we would start trying for our first baby. We did, the day after we got home. I didn't like my job very much but the pay was pretty good and it certainly wasn't the right time for me to switch - it's at a large multinational with good maternity policies. I was prepared to keep trying for up to a year and stick the job out since my life priorities were about to change anyway.

Well, bingo! I got pregnant almost on the first unprotected try! I was a bit surprised since I didn't even think I was ovulating at the time but my cycle may have been delayed due to the travelling. People joked that with my love of things being organised, the baby didn't dare not come when planned.

My pregnancy coasted along - no morning sickness, just mildish nausea in the 1st trimester, no spotting, no scares of any kind. Got through all the standard tests with the desired results. DH nicknamed our baby Pumpum after the strong heartbeat we had heard in one of the early ultrasounds. I felt Pumpum moving in February 2006 - I didn't realise what it was at the time. It was amazing to feel those first kicks; little did I realise how big the ones that were to come later would be! When I read a book or a magazine and rested it lightly on my ever growing belly, Pumpum would kick it out of the way - the whole magazine would jump. Towards the end, during the July heatwave we had in Europe, I got swollen legs and feet and felt generally knackered, but there's nothing unusual about that in late 3rd trimester.

Meanwhile, from January to July, about 1 million people we knew had babies. I was last on the list of due dates. We traipsed in and out of maternity units visiting new mothers with their new babies. I looked forward to having my baby in my arms - seeing the others made the whole thing seem more real.

I did get rather irritable, especially when I stopped working in the last weeks and was utterly bored at home and confess to yelling at DH on several occasions for no good reason. I was carrying so far in front it was hard to walk, hard to sleep, and it was too damn hot.

I live in a country where healthcare insurance is expensive but got me many ultrasound checks in addition to the standard ones where measurements are taken. We wanted the sex of our baby to be a surprise and so asked not to know. Everyone except my DH but including me thought it would be a boy. DH was thinking a girl. We picked out names for both. DH came to so many appointments with me. He's a fantastic, caring, sensitive man. I'm so glad he came and saw our Pumpum on the screen, moving around.

I read many books (I'd started with a book on conception, then a few on pregnancy, and in the last weeks bought a couple on baby's first year) and felt pretty knowledgable and informed. We attended antenatal classes, a class on looking after a newborn and even a short class on the effect of a baby on a couple relationship! My parents came over the weekend in June and my mum filled the freezer with food for afterwards when I wouldn't have time to do anything. My Dad and DH put together the nursery. My Mum had made a beautiful quilted wall hanging with matching curtains. The cupboard filled with clothes - ones that we bought, ones we were given by grandparents, my brother and SIL and by friends. Everything was ready - remember what I said about liking to be organised?

At the one of the last appointments with my OB before my due date, my DH and I saw our baby open his eyes on the ultrasound. I was amazed and couldn't wait to meet Pumpum. We made another appointment for one day after my due date and I joked with the OB about hoping I would have to cancel it.

Due date came and went and I turned up at the last appointment, this time with my mother who had already come over to help. In fact she timed her whole retirement so that she could spend time with us around the birth time, helping and getting to know her second grandchild (I have a niece in the US). Another ultrasound, foetal monitoring - the heart beat was so strong, the assistant came in to turn the sound down. Pumpum's head had descended well and everything was hunkydory except for my cervix showing no interest in impending birth.

The OB said if I really couldn't bear the heat and weight anymore we could induce almost immediately but due to the lack of effacement and dilation, and the fact that Pumpum, the placenta and the level of amniotic fluid were all fine, she would prefer to wait a few more days to see what happened. I said I could handle it if I had an end date in sight. We agreed that whatever happened, I would be induced that weekend at 40 weeks + 5 days. I was excited and apprehensive at the same time - reading lots of books is one thing but actually go through L&D is another. To tell the truth I was a little bit scared of the pain and of the potential episiotomy. Whilst absolutely sure I would give it a good try, I felt a little ambivalent about breast-feeding. I worried that I hadn't completed an infant CPR course (not at all standard where I live). The pediatrician I had chosen was leaving on holiday the next week and would be back the week that Pumpum should have his one month check-up. I made the appointment on the Friday morning and told the receptionist that I was being induced the next day.

At no point whatsoever did I ever contemplate that I would not have my much desired and highly anticipated baby crying in my arms that weekend. My DH has always said I'm a bit of a worryer by nature. I had said to myself several times - millions of women have babies all over the world with little or no access to medical care and it works! I really believed it - I really had faith in Mother Nature not screwing up. At least not with me. In fact since getting past the 5 month morphology check, I hadn't ever thought about any sort of problem happening. I didn't know anyone who had had lost a baby after the 1st trimester.

Read Moksha's story part II

Jekyll and Hyde

Things I'm aware of with my brain:

• Moksha dying was not really my fault
• I was not hand-picked for this experience. There is no hidden "lesson" I am supposed to learn so that the universe will be nicer to me next time around once I've proven myself to be worthy
• We did not "deserve" this - shitty luck isn't dished out along the lines of merit. Neither is good luck for that matter
• It could happen again - I know that - but it is unlikely
• I still have things in my life to be happy about
• My own life was never in danger and this is a good thing at least for those who love me (see previous point)

Things I feel in my heart:

• How could I not have known the very instant that Moksha had died? He was living inside me and his life was physically connected to and dependent on mine for crying out loud!
• There must be a reason why this happened to us. I cannot accept the inherent injustice
• I didn't pay enough attention to the kick counts. I thought I was home free. I was caught out naively counting my chickens (before they had hatched.... what an appropriate expression)
• The very word "loss" implies that I lost him in some sort of careless manner
• I have failed and have let everyone around me down. My womb is a place of death
• It was unlikely to happen this time, so the fact that it's unlikely to happen again isn't comforting at all
• How could I ever be really happy about anything else again when my child, my son is dead and all of his future is gone? It's just too big and casts a black shadow over everything else

I hope I will make some progress one day on the second list.

Here goes

So here goes. I am new to blogging and before five weeks ago, I had only read a couple of blogs. Then my first child, my son, was stillborn at 4 days past his due date after a perfect pregnancy with no hint of problems. Nothing dramatic. His heart silently stopped beating. He stopped moving. We went to the hospital a few hours later when I realised. Too late. His induction was already scheduled for the next day. He was born a few hours earlier than planned. The autopsy and tests on me all show that nothing was wrong with him or me and the reason why his heart stopped is unknown.

Now I find myself in some sort of wrong parallel future. There has clearly been a mistake on behalf of the universe, of Mother Nature, of God, whoever.

In my utter incomprehension of what happened, I turned to the internet and stumbled upon Anam Cara. I read through her archives and through her links to others I discovered a community of blogs from women - and a few men - who have had the misfortune to go through similar experiences. I have somewhat obsessively read through many archives and sadly recognised the sentiments. To you all, I want to say thank you for showing me what the future might hold, good or bad, in a few months or in a few years.

I worked up the courage to leave a few comments and received some encouragement from Three Minute Palaver to start writing my own blog, which until a few minutes ago had the exciting name of "Test". I have so many thoughts constantly circulating in my head, day and night, maybe it might help to write them down.

Since I am a bit paranoid about people in real life discovering my blog, I'm going to try to keep it anonymous. I figure that if my son had lived, he would have ended up having his own virtual identity. Therefore I'm going to call him Moksha.