Day 7: Listen to classical music

Almost six years ago I met a group of women who had been through the same war of losing a child within months from me. We were all part of a Sands support group and we always say that we wish we would’ve never met under the circumstances but we couldn’t live without each other. I called us Awesome Mums. Their kids feel like part of our family and we say good night to them every birthday that passes. I’ve cried with them and for them and today I have the honour of sharing the first of their stories.

My friend Salina went through three rounds of IVF until she was able to conceive her first daughter, Inaaya. The pregnancy went great, Salina enjoyed it (even through a scorching hot summer!) and she loved to play classical music for Inaaya. The famous due date arrived (40 weeks) and they went to her midwife appointment and they were told all checks were fine. Three days later, Salina got up to eat in the early hours of the morning as Inaaya was doing a big stretch and had some hiccups. Later that morning, Salina woke up and had breakfast. She went upstairs with a cold sweet drink, lied on her left side and felt nothing. She called triage, went to the hospital and they told her the same words that haunt some of us: There is no heartbeat… In her text, Salina then wrote to me: “And so began a lifetime of pain, regret, anger, shame…”

The world understands our anger and pain, those are feelings everyone is comfortable with. What most people don’t get is the regret that consumes us at times and the shame that we feel, even though we wish we didn’t. When I first read Salina’s message I immediately wanted to write: Please don’t you ever feel ashamed and don’t let regret haunt you, we did what we thought was right in that moment. I believe that, 100% I do. BUT, I also know I’ve been, and probably will be again, in that place where Salina was this morning. I hate that I feel shame, because that’s how I think the world sees me “the one with whose baby died” and that I should hide somewhere not to give my bad juju to someone else. I hate that I can’t fully share how great my pregnancy was with Olivia, because who is going to want to take advice from a person whose baby died? I’ve talked about this with many friends and, of course they say that this is never the case and I should never feel that way. I get it, in a logic driven world, they are right. But what happened defies logic and makes no sense, so everything goes out the window and we feel what we feel and the world at large validates those feelings when they shun and hide our stories. Well, as long as I’m having a good day I will share our stories. In the good days I can trick my brain away from the never-ending loop of what ifs from the days leading up to their death and I can stop the blame from walking away from that hospital room, because I did know better, I just didn’t trust myself enough.

Today is a good day and I want to tell you that Salina is strong, amazing and manages to have Inaaya present in every day family moments. 

I’ve heard classical music all day (that was an interesting workout!), and before bed we turned the lights off and hugged the girls whilst playing Olivia’s song.