Out of control

I feel like my daughter was murdered. And that the perpetrators of this heinous crime are getting away with it, without the punishment a crime like this warrants.

They walk the streets, they participate in life, they laugh, they love, they function in society in a normal way.

Meanwhile, I have been left totally bereft and wandering around in the dark, lost confused and alone. No baby, no motherhood. All my plans for the future totally shot to shit.

No child should die before they are born, in what is supposed to be the safest place on earth - our wombs. However, sometimes these deaths cannot be prevented. This is a tragedy, and I have read about so many of these tragedies with heartbroken mothers and fathers trying to pick up the pieces. But when I child dies in utero and it was preventable, then it is an absolute fucking catastrophe. If Hope had taken just one breath, we'd have had an Coroners Court inquest in to her death. People would have been asking questions, those who could have been deemed even partially responsible could have been appropriately reprimanded. However, given she emerged without a heartbeat, she is simply written off as bad luck - better luck next time. Simply a "fetal demise". Words that make me feel physically unwell. No one said they were "sorry" to me, as none of them wanted to end up with a law suit on their hands. They are all treading very carefully around me now. One slip up, and I call a lawyer.

I have written email after email to the hospital in the last four months. We have had meetings and phone conversations. My mother, mother in law, sister and close friend have also made contact with the hospital to express their outrage and deep sorrow. I continue to pester them and to fight for change. I am determined to know my Hope's death was not in vain. I am determined to know no other first time mother in early labour will be treated the way I was. Being left to labour at home for days on end without any physical examinations. This was the difference. Time killed my daughter. Yes the infection made its way it, but it did not have to be a death sentence. She just needed to be born a day or two earlier. Those days I was still past my due date and still battling through my persistent early labour. I sound like a total fucking broken record, I know.

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I have been busy the past few days opening up and seeing a few more people. A friend and her eight month old yesterday and a work friend last night for dinner. First time I have seen either of them since the funeral. I feel bad, as the friend who came with her baby during the day did not know why or how Hope had died. So she'd spent four months in the dark. We were actually due to have dinner with those friends the day after my due date, the day I first went in to labour. This was arranged as a bit of a joke, as I hoped we would have to cancel thinking I'd be in labour, or with my newborn. When her baby was born eight months ago, we'd been out for dinner to this same restaurant the night before. A spicy Thai restaurant. We joked the curry must have kicked her baby in to action. In the end, I didn't need curry, Hope had already made up her mind it was almost time to be born. I texted this friend on the way to the hospital to say I would have to cancel and that I'd be in touch very soon with our exciting news. She got the call three days later that Hope was dead. And she's obviously spent four months trying to make sense of something that make absolutely no sense. Much like everyone I know has.

With the work friend I saw for dinner, I had a hard time telling her I was pregnant 12 months ago. It weighed heavily on my mind for weeks on end. She's almost 10 years older than me and has suffered through two miscarriages. She is so desperate to have a family. Yesterday when we caught up, she told me she was 14 weeks pregnant. Now I could not be happier for her, but it is still an impossibly painful situation. Just like I was 12 months ago, she's spent the last few weeks stressing about how and when she would tell me. She was going to wait until after Christmas, but when I invited her for dinner, she figured she would not be able to lie to me. She also had the cutest little bump that I would not have missed anyway.

She also proceeded to tell me one of the other girls in the office is pregnant and that my boss has started IVF. That makes five people pregnant in my office - with possibly another one on the way. This is not making my return to the workforce any more likely any time in the near future. No thanks, I'll stay here on my couch just a little while longer. I don't need to be smacked about by any more baby bumps than necessary at this point. Babies (bigger ones) I am finding ok. Pregnant women are hard work. As we all know, that's all I got with Hope. Not fucking enough.

My best friend is having her second baby at the same hospital I had Hope. I can only imagine just how heavily this has impacted her. I feel awful for taking away some of the joy from her pregnancy. It was not just me who lost my innocence when Hope died, it was every pregnant woman I know. And pushing 30, I obviously know a lot of them.

At her latest appointment, she commented - realising she was probably being over-cautious because of what happened to me and Hope - that her bub had been a bit quiet. She told the Obstetrician on duty about me, and she seemed to remember me. And so she bloody should. So, erring on the side of caution, they sent my friend off for an ultrasound to check fluid levels and an hour of fetal heart monitoring. Bub is fine and my friend could breathe a big sigh of relief. And so can I.

But I'm still sad. Sad that I had to learn these lessons for people. This is the same level of care Hope and I deserved. I may not have told the midwives when I was in labour that fateful weekend that I was "worried" as I wasn't overly sure I had anything to be worried about, but it had been going on for three days and my Hope's welfare had not been checked for more than 24 hours. With what I know now, this was simply too long to let me go. These so called experts would know how quickly things can change. That 24 hours is a LONG time when it comes to labour - early labour or otherwise. That contractions over a long course of time can wear a baby out. That it is always better to be safe than sorry.

Four months on, I have not yet reached any modicum of acceptance. I have made no peace with anything. I cannot move on and forgive. I am mad as hell. I want her back god damn it.

Hello again, angry stage. Clearly I'm not done with you just yet.