August, you bitch

This really was a very bad time of year for my lucky Chinese bamboo plant to die. It is not the first one I've killed and I suspect if I keep kidding myself and buying them, it wont be the last. I don't know whether it will torment me more to leave the dead and shrivelled up thing sitting on my bench or to finally bite the bullet and throw it out. Seriously, did it need to happen in August? And this August in particular, at the end of yet another one of my pregnancies?

The pointy end I spoke of in my last post is only getting pointer as so many things in my life all build to fever pitch.

I've been in a bit of a bad place and I probably don't need to really list the reasons why. Crying at the drop of a hat, barely surviving on limited sleep and starting to worry myself senseless. I'd very much like to go to sleep for a month and wake up when much of this is over, so I can at least know how it ends. I refer both to the birth of baby number three and Hope's birthday. If the previous years have taught me anything it is that the build up is generally worse than the day itself. And while I've often felt flat in the days after her birthday in years gone by, at least this year I can only hope I will be busy tending to the needs of another baby, instead of wallowing in the sadness that remains from the baby who is no longer. And yes, even after three years, there is still so much sadness. And it is still so hard to know what to do with it.

The penny has finally dropped with me, after months of denial, disbelief and busying myself with the needs of a toddler, that I'm about to birth another baby. And the not knowing of how and when that might happen is something that is also starting to get to me.

And before anyone chimes in and asks "but why don't you set a date!" it is because we can't, really. Nor do I want to - just as I didn't with Angus. Plans no longer sit well with me, because no matter how well intentioned those plans are, they can still always go up in smoke - even at the very last moment. We'll attempt a VBAC given Angus' caesarean wasn't essentially medically necessary (just mentally necessary in the end) but because of the caesarean, I can't be induced due to the risks it poses to my scar. I could only mentally and emotionally get myself to 38 weeks with Angus and I'm hoping I can last a bit longer with this one, but I know once I get to a due date, I'll most likely be done. So if that happens, it is back to surgery I go to have this little one lifted out of me. I have these whimsical notions of how lovely and healing it would be to push out an actual real live baby, especially in the August, but I know too much now and realise it doesn't really matter. Still, that's what I would like and that's what I'm aiming for. Not to mention, the quicker recovery and less time in hospital would be best on a practical level, but I'll take the safety of this baby over practicalities any day.

So for now I wait. And I worry. Because I'm so damn tired I wonder how on earth I'd even cope with natural childbirth right now. I wonder if I have it in me. Really, could I cope? Could I manage going through all of that again, but with a baby's life on the line? With Hope, it was all so simple really. All I had to do was labour and push her out. There were no longer any risks. No one was in a hurry. There was nothing, essentially, to worry about. No monitors to be hooked up to, no endless checking of the baby's welfare. It was just me and my body working to do something bazillions of others have done before me. Of course everyone was concerned about me and making sure it was as pain free and peaceful as possible but as for my baby, well all of that hope and possibility that lay ahead of her, that is so clearly evident in the birth of a live child, died when she did. It was simply a corpse removal process, as "special" as it was to have been able to do her that final honour and birth her that way. I just want to try and have that situation reversed but I know there isn't a great deal I can do about things. What will be, will be.

This pregnancy has been a roller coaster from day one. Initially I felt pretty good about things (for about two weeks), then I was smacked down with the CMV diagnosis at seven weeks which could have had disastrous consequences for this baby, then there was the wait til the amnio at 21 weeks, then the week long wait for results, then the elation when the news was good and the baby was in the clear (from the CMV at least), then a few weeks of smooth sailing where I almost felt good and certain about things, now the final weeks of fear and fatigue where nothing anyone says makes me feel any better. I could fall over on my front step. The baby could get his or her leg tangled in the umbilical cord. I could begin to leak fluid again, without knowing, and another infection could creep in and snatch a life. Or there could already be something disastrous wrong with this little one that the amnio and my 8,000 ultrasounds haven't picked up, and baby number three could simply drop dead after birth for no clear reason at all. I would just like to know. It seems like knowing would make things so much easier right now.

We're just over a week out from Hope's birthday and there is still nary a plan in sight. I'm only getting bigger and more exhausted each day so even a day trip or nice meal out is sounding a bit beyond me now. And heck, I could even have a baby by that day, if Mother Nature decides to get this show on the road. A real live August baby to care for - not one that I need to bury. I'm waiting for someone to just drop a plan in my lap but so far that hasn't happened so I just have to keep surviving as best as I can until her day and hope something works itself out.

I'm literally counting down the minutes until Simon finishes work next week which means I should finally be able to schedule some rest in to my days. Still, there is so much to do to get ready for this new possible baby in our lives, that I realise I probably wont be so lucky.

Little things like washing a few more clothes, buying a few newborn essentials and setting up a few more baby things in the house. We also need to get a baby capsule fitted in our car again, just like we have two times before, and I was reminded of this in an email yesterday.

"Hi Sally - how is Friday 19 August at 3.15pm to get the capsule fitted?"

I wanted to reply to the lovely lady at the baby hire place that no, that day and time wouldn't be any good. That it was our first daughter's birthday. But that before she got too excited that no, there would be no cakes, balloons, clowns, festivities or fun. That our daughter was dead. That she was in fact dead before she was born. That she was stillborn. Yes, that's right, stillborn. That yep, that still happens. Even to young healthy mothers when the pregnancy has been perfectly normal. And that yes, it was as horrific as she might have imagined, and on many days, still is. Especially birthdays. I wanted to tell her that at 3.15pm, exactly three years earlier, I was pushing with all my might to give birth to a baby who was already dead. A baby who would never draw breath, never cry, never glance in to my eyes. A baby who would never require a nappy change, never really need a bath. Never feed from a breast, never, ever come home from hospital in a professionally fitted baby capsule. But instead I just replied that no, that date wouldn't be any good, so we booked in the following Monday instead.

"Great, see you then!" she replied. Great, just great.

I still want to shout her name from the rooftops. I still want to tell everyone about her. I still want the world to pause a little each August and for everyone I've ever encountered to stop and remember how hard things are for me, even with the passing of time. It is pointless wanting these things though because I know how much things have changed and moved on for others, when I'm still so lost and broken without her.

This August, just like the two that have come before it where she hasn't been here is different once again. But the one thing that is constant is that I miss her and I want her back. Getting the old me back couldn't be a bad thing, either.

But all I can really do is wait. And Hope. And send all my love to the countless others I know out there who are struggling this August as well. August seems to be a bumper time of year for missing babies, at least in the babyloss circles I mix in. I wish we could have them all back.