...we might have a problem here guys... (Peanut's story)

There has been so much discussion about when life really begins. At conception? 12 weeks? That magical 28-week marker? Birth? I don’t know the answer. All I know is that, when there is love, there is life. And I loved her from the moment she was conceived. I loved her so much, there is nothing I wouldn’t have done for her.

I knew straight away that I was pregnant. Don’t ask me how – call it maternal instinct if you like, but I just knew. It took two weeks to get those magical pink lines, but I didn’t doubt it for a moment. To say I was thrilled would be an understatement. Containing my excitement whilst awaiting ‘formal’ confirmation was almost impossible. And the happiness on Kym’s face when he realised that he was going to become a daddy was a moment that I will treasure forever. I pushed away my flicker of doubt that this was all too good to be true, dismissing it as typical first pregnancy nerves.

Where do I go from here? I guess anyone who has been pregnant will know what followed. The excitement, nerves, and decisions… to go public or private? Obstetrician or midwife? Hospital or home birth? So much to consider. And for someone with a known phobia of the medical profession, these were pretty big decisions. Kym promptly vetoed the home birth option, but left the rest up to me. Whatever I was comfortable with. I’d done my research and knew what I wanted. And, looking back, it is such a blessing that I did. I honestly don’t think I could have chosen anyone better, considering what was to come.

The weeks passed and I could not have been happier. It’s hard to find the words to explain that kind of happiness – just knowing that we had created this little life and that I had the amazing task of nurturing her until she was ready to face the world. It was both amazing and humbling, and I appreciated every moment – even the tiredness, nausea, and cravings. They were all good signs. Right?

Hardly anyone knew. Only a couple of close friends and our employers. We hadn’t really decided when we were going to tell people, and we weren’t set on waiting until 12 weeks – we just figured we would know when the time was right, and it wasn’t time yet.

So we reached 8 weeks and had our first obstetrician appointment. Seeing that little heart beating just took our breath away. I think that’s when it really sank in for Kym. This was real. And this was good. A heartbeat was a good sign, and we were relieved. But she was measuring too small for 8 weeks. By dates we were 8 weeks, but by size more like 6 weeks. Again, that flicker of doubt arose, but again I dismissed it. We had a heartbeat. So she was a bit small. Maybe my dates were wrong after all. Maybe my (clockwork) cycle had done something strange. Maybe… maybe… maybe… Our ob wasn’t overly concerned and neither was Kym. I pushed the doubts away once again, as our expected due date was pushed back from 5 March 2011 to 19 March 2011.

Our little one had about a thousand nicknames already: little rabbit (because she was due in the Year of the Rabbit), Little L (like the song), munchkin, and bubby just to name a few. But the one that stuck was Peanut. And that is what she became known as. Our little Peanut.

The heartbeat seemed to be the signal for Kym that it was time to start telling people, beginning with his family. They were thrilled, as was expected, given that they had been at us to have children for years! We told close friends next, and the reaction was awesome! I could tell you about that weekend, but I would just write forever and never stop because it’s a memory I am desperately clinging to like a life raft: the last time I remember feeling really happy. Everything from seeing my beautiful friend Leah for the first time in months, catching up with my girls for coffee and cake, getting stranded in the Big W carpark for 2 hours because we couldn’t fit a canvas print in Bec’s car, and our girly movie night which Kym kept ruining by belching loudly in the background during the sad parts. Then there was the beautiful wooden baby rocker that Leah just happened to have in her car, the impromptu baby shopping in Big W, Leah buying a heart and dedicating it to ‘Peanut’, getting lost in Burnside Village, Walle the way-too-cute kitten, Zumba, popcorn, M&Ms, and Super Jaffa saving the day… There are no words for how much I love my girls, or for how much I will treasure the memories of that weekend.

We planned to tell my family a week later at a gathering to celebrate my mum and aunty’s (twins) birthdays. It was becoming more and more real every day. I’d almost forgotten about that lingering doubt in the back of my mind. Almost.

Then came Monday 16 August 2010. A day that I would now quite happily wipe off the calendar if I could. Except that it’s also our cousin’s birthday, so that wouldn’t really be very fair… (sorry Juliana!)

We had our next appointment scheduled for that morning. It was supposed to be a 15 minute ‘reassurance’ appointment to make sure that our little Peanut was growing. I’d almost managed to convince myself that everything would be fine – the symptoms were still strong after all. And we already knew she had a heartbeat… that alone significantly reduced the risk of miscarriage… everything was going to be fine. Right?

She couldn’t find the heartbeat at first. Maybe it just wasn’t very clear. The doubts were back. I wanted to push them away but I couldn’t. Peanut had grown. That was good news. But… heartbeat?

We’ll try an internal scan instead – that will be clearer.

Nothing.

Maybe it’s the wand – I’ve had some trouble with this one.

Change of wand. Nothing.

…
…
… We might have a problem here guys.

I feel like I lived a thousand lifetimes in that moment. I remember lying there, looking at the screen but not seeing. I remember Kym gripping my hand. I remember silently making deals with God…

If she’s okay, I’ll never complain about work again.
If she’s okay, I’ll never complain about anything again.
If she’s okay, I’ll be a better person, I swear, just please let her be okay…

I remember the look in our ob’s eyes, and the sound in her voice, and I knew that things weren’t okay. I remember she went out to organise another scan for us downstairs at Bensons. I remember sobbing in Kym’s arms and the cracking in his voice as he held me and whispered ‘I’ve still got you’ over and over. I remember hearing babies in the waiting room and feeling like I could never face going back out there. Ever. But I did. I put on my brave face, and we went downstairs to Bensons.

I managed to hold it together until we reached the quiet privacy of the Bensons ultrasound room. Seeing that screen, knowing where that heartbeat should be and seeing nothing – the tears started falling again. And I just couldn’t stop. I saw those dreaded letters at the bottom of the screen: NO FHB.

I knew what that meant.

All I could do was lie there and cry. She was gone. We’d lost her and she didn’t even have a real name yet.

Back upstairs to our ob’s office. Our 15-minute appointment had already lasted over an hour. Waiting room full of babies again, but thankfully we were ushered straight through into the office. To hear what we already knew.

I really didn’t envy our ob at all. It can’t have been very nice for her to watch our hearts break as she confirmed the worst, and then have to get down to business with what happens next. I was pretty numb by then. I know how cliché it is to say that it felt like a bad dream, but that’s exactly how it did feel. This could not be happening. It just couldn’t be. We were 11 weeks… we were nearly ‘safe’…

And at the same time, deep down I was feeling like I had somehow known that this would happen all along. Perhaps that same maternal instinct that first told me I was pregnant. Those doubts that I had been constantly pushing away – how it was too good to be true, how my dates had to be correct, how there is no way my cycle would do anything that strange, how she just wasn’t growing properly… how our little Peanut just wasn’t meant for this world after all… sometimes love isn’t enough after all…

The rest is kind of a blur. Obviously we hadn’t miscarried naturally so I was booked in for surgery the next day. This wasn’t the way I’d imagined Peanut coming into the world at all. I think I was in shock, as I couldn’t stop shaking as I tried to fill in the admission forms. The rest of the day was spent organising leave from work and trying to come to terms with what had just happened. Poor Kym had unavoidable commitments that night, so he organised for the beautiful Bec to stay with me until he came home. Bec already knew – the girlfriend grapevine worked well. She came armed with Lindt hot chocolate and endless hugs, and she was my lifeline on the evening of the worst night of my life. I’m forever grateful.

I think Kym and I got about an hour’s worth of sleep between us that night. Even if I could have slept, I didn’t want to. I didn’t want to miss a moment of my last night of being pregnant. Even though I knew our little one had grown her angel wings, I still wanted to keep her safe inside me. The thought of what was going to happen the next day made me feel like screaming. I wasn’t ready to let go of her yet. The tears just wouldn’t stop.

It really hit me the next morning. I knew it would. Sitting in the day surgery waiting room after admission, looking down at the hospital bracelet on my wrist and knowing that it was all so wrong – that’s when it suddenly became real. And again, the tears wouldn’t stop. I couldn’t stop. It was all over and it was hitting me like a tonne of bricks. Kym was my rock. I couldn’t have made it through without him. I can’t imagine how hard it must have been for him, but he held me together every time I fell apart.

For someone who always had a phobia of hospitals and needles, I think I did pretty well. Although truthfully, I was so distraught, I couldn’t have cared less what they did to me. I’d have done anything – anything – to keep her alive. The blood test was the hardest thing. Because I’d always associated those with having healthy babies… not with this. She was so gentle but I was shaking too much for it to be quick and easy. I was just a mess. By the time I went into theatre, I just wanted it to be over. I was still crying when they put me to sleep.

I’m sorry baby. I’m so sorry. I love you.

And I was crying when I woke up in recovery. A nurse was asking if I had pain. I think she meant a different kind of pain, but I nodded anyway. Fuzzy drugs helped.

After a while they wheeled me into a private recovery room, and the sun was unexpectedly shining brightly through the window. I love the sun. It made me smile and it helped me feel calmer. I’d like to think that the sun was our little one reassuring me that everything was okay. I was still crying, but it helped.

It’s been over a week now. I can say without any doubt that last week was the worst week of our lives. I’ve now been back at work for two days, and it’s hard. I’m not really sure that I should be back yet, but taking more time off isn’t really an option (even though our ob did offer to give me more time). We had our follow-up appointment this morning. It went as well as could be expected. I got through it, made it out the door and around the corner, then dissolved into tears again. That seems to be the pattern at the moment. Put on brave face, get through whatever it is, then find somewhere private and fall apart for a few minutes. I’m sure it will get easier. It will just take time.

I’ll be honest. I’m scared that it will happen again. One thing we have learned from all this is how desperately we want to start a family. And this has really shaken my confidence in my ability to carry a child. I know people suffer multiple miscarriages and get through it, but I don’t know how they keep going. I’m just not sure that I could. But this has also proven to me that there is nothing – nothing – that Kym and I can’t handle together as a couple. At the end of the day, we’ve got each other and everything else in life is a bonus. We’ll try again once we’ve got the all-clear and we feel emotionally ready.

We may have only had our little Peanut for 11 weeks, but it was the best 11 weeks of our lives. We will cherish that time forever, and I feel so blessed that we were chosen to be her parents for a while. I just wish she could have stayed with us - I'd have given anything to be able to hold onto her. Nothing has ever hurt this much.

I don't know how to end this. It's the hardest blog entry I've ever written, but also the most important. So important that I deleted my old blog with it's seemingly meaningless blurb as it didn't seem a special enough place to keep this memory. And I don't want to forget a moment of Peanut's time with us. Even though she has broken our hearts and taken a piece of them to heaven with her, I need to hold onto her memories here. Heart Shaped Box seems like the right place for that. A place to keep her memory safe, with everything else I hold dear. It's all I can do.