If I had known, would it have made a difference?

There is a temptation, now that I know what caused Monty's death, to investigate the current state of scientific research into the links between viral infection and stillbirth. Somewhat ironically, the virus in question (human cytomegalovirus) is one that I spent six months studying during my biochemistry degree, although I was investigating it for reasons unrelated to pregnancy.

I don't plan to research very deeply, as I believe nothing could have prevented what happened to us - I was just unfortunate to pick up the virus in the early weeks of my pregnancy. However, it is interesting to know that CMV is beginning to be recognised as a potential cause of stillbirth: Pregnancy and cytomegalovirus

I never expected my baby to be stillborn. No-one does. If I had known about the risks associated with CMV infection, would it have made a difference? I don't know but I don't think so.

Brokenhearted

Today, by rights, you should be 8 weeks old.

Today, fourteen weeks after the last time I heard your heartbeat and felt you moving inside me, I went back to the hospital to find out why you died.

It seems I picked up a viral infection in early pregnancy. A virus that is carried by the majority of the population and which causes asymptomatic infection in most adults. A virus that is not routinely tested for in antenatal bloodwork and which cannot be treated or avoided. A virus which took hold in the placenta and prevented you from growing.

I am so sorry that there was nothing I could have done to save you. There is nothing anyone could have done to save you. There was no sign to suggest anything was wrong until it was too late...

******

Even before your big sister was born, you were on my mind. I knew I wanted children: more than one. You were an idea long before you became a reality. I planned you. I wanted you. You were conceived on purpose. You would have been loved but I never had a chance to show you how much.

I lost you and now I am lost without you. You are the hole in my heart that will never heal.

My precious baby boy.

I'm not sick but I'm not well

I'm in a state of anxiety.
I can't rest my mind.
It's exhausting.
At least I can sleep at night now.

This morning I was in a deep sleep when my daughter woke me up. Every morning, when her 'gro-clock' changes colour, she pads across the landing, opens the door to our bedroom and climbs into my side of the bed for a snuggle. I enjoy a few minutes of holding a wriggly toddler (she's always been wriggly, that's why we called her 'the wriggler' before she was born...) before she decides which of us has to get up and make her breakfast. This morning it was my turn.

One of the things I was looking forward to was lazy weekend mornings in bed. All four of us. Me, nursing the baby; my husband reading stories or watching something on iPlayer with our daughter.

As I cuddle my daughter each morning, I feel so grateful to have her and so sad that I don't have her brother. I start every day tired and sad. It's exhausting.

I'm still on maternity leave (not sick leave) and am waiting for test results before I decide when to return to the office. I don't know how I will feel after we've seen the consultant next week. Do I want to know if there is a reason why Monty died? Will it help to have my questions answered? Am I strong enough to hear the answers if they are there?

I can't summon the energy to do things that I used to love. Will I ever find the strength to sing again? Why can't I bring myself to cast on stitches for the cardigan I started making for myself before I knew I was pregnant? Will I wear it once it is finished or will it just remind me of what should have been?

I can't shift this cold. Together with the pregnancy-related rhinitis, I don't think I've been able to breathe clearly for about a year now. I'm taking multi-vitamins to boost my immune system.

I worry about the impact of my anxiety and grief on my family, particularly my daughter. I decided weeks ago that I didn't want to be a sad mummy. Yet, I spent most of yesterday afternoon close to tears. A few trickled out as we sat on the sofa together, watching "Wallace and Gromit".

Bereavement: it's exhausting.

Why today?

Why, today, do I feel so sad? Why do the tears flow so readily? Yesterday, I was fine.

Why, today, do I feel emptiness where you used to be?

I've been thinking and talking about you a lot. I miss you. I want you back.

Tonight, I will talk about you and think about you some more, in the company of other people who are in this club that no-one wants to join.

Our one night was special. Precious. Too short. It's all I have of you and I clutch it tightly.

Thinking of Monty

It has been three months since I found out Monty had died. In two days' time, it will be three months since he was born. Later this month, I will return to the hospital to see my obstetric consultant and receive the results of the postnatal tests and post mortem. I really don't know what to expect and I feel more and more anxious the closer it gets.

I've been feeling low again this week and I've been thinking about Monty a lot. I don't know if that's because these dates are hanging over me? Perhaps it's because of all the baby-related news I've heard? Maybe it's because a friend of a friend organised a candle-lighting to remember her baby? It could be because the next Sands bereavement support meeting is next week and I'm building myself up for it.

Whatever the reason, he's been on my mind and I'm missing him.

Family tree

There is an heirloom tablecloth that Grandma would bring out on special occasions. At birthday parties, Christmas and Boxing Day dinners, any gathering that required two tables to be pushed together: the tablecloth would be brought out and take pride of place.

Originally a bed sheet, from when Grandad was in the Royal Navy, the cloth is good-quality cotton and has been laundered many times. After Grandad left the Navy and became a Coastguard, Grandma re-purposed the sheet as a tablecloth and embroidered her family onto it. Ma and Freddy (her parents, my great-grandparents) are at the centre and spiralling out from them are three generations of names - their children, grandchildren and great-grandchildren. There are some place names too, around the edge of the cloth, indicating how the family has spread across the globe, from Canada to Australia.

After Grandma died, my mother sorted through all her possessions and passed the tablecloth to me. I think she wanted me to continue updating the family tree but I've never felt able to - I wouldn't want to spoil it by not stitching as neatly as Grandma did. Besides, there are so many names to add now (the next generation is growing rapidly!) that it would take a lot of research for me to gather all the missing data. Finally, Grandma would unpick the names of people who died and re-stitch them in white and I can't bring myself to do that to her name. So, the tablecloth is wrapped in blue tissue paper and stored in my 'treasure box' in the bottom of my wardrobe.

I have been thinking about Ma quite a bit recently. She died when I was about a year old. There are a couple of photos of me, sitting on her knee. Her name was Mary Annie Giles. She married my great-grandad, Frederick Smith, and they had nine babies. There were 18 years between their eldest and youngest children! Six children survived to adulthood. Leonard and twins, Donald and Florence Mary, were the babies who never grew up. I wonder how Ma coped with the loss of three newborns? I wonder how she found the strength to go on to have more children? I wonder how she coped, years later, with the loss of a grandchild, Annette, who also died in early infancy?

I find it comforting that, within living memory, I'm not the only person in the family to lose a baby. I am glad that Leonard, Donald and Florence Mary, who were born more than 80 years ago, are not forgotten. I want the same remembrance for Monty, which is why his photo is on the windowsill, why I talk about him often, and why I will make sure my daughter knows about her brother. I have a memory box with photos, hand and footprints and a lock of my baby's hair - did Ma have keepsake mementoes of her babies, too?

Perhaps, one day, I'll feel ready to update the tablecloth and include the names of my children and nephews and fill in the rest of the gaps? Until then, the cloth will remain frozen in time, as it was nine years ago, when it was passed from Grandma to me...

(Pictured above: Ma, Grandma, my mother and me on my christening day)

The best laid plans...

I'm one of life's planners. I'm organised and always have been. I used to be embarrassed about this (as a child, my family teased me for setting lots of rules for the games we played) but I now see my planning skills as a huge advantage and I try to exploit them to maximal benefit at work and at home. I'm ESTJ and proud!

The disadvantage of being a planner is that I find it hard to deal with chaos and spontaneity. I prepared, before going on maternity leave with my daughter, so that I wouldn't expect too much of myself. It was hard to let go of my routines but I positively embraced the freedom of my year as a SAHM and learned a lot from the experience. My mantra was: any day on which we all get dressed and eat is a good day!

The last two months have challenged me in many different ways. I'm dealing with the emotional response to bereavement and my physical recovery from giving birth. I have felt alarmingly unsettled, to the point that I haven't known how to think about the future. The baby I longed for, planned to conceive and carefully gestated was stillborn and we may never know why. The coming year was supposed to be a second year at home with my young family.

It has only been 8 weeks since my son was born, which isn't very long, but I've had a nagging feeling that I should be doing something. I have imagined a question mark hanging over me - who am I now and where do I go from here? The bereavement pack we were given at the hospital contained some excellent advice: don't make any big decisions for at least a year. However, I need focus and cerebral challenge, I can't just sit at home all day, watching daytime TV, knitting and convalescing. My GP is right - I need to get out of the house and find social things to do to fill my time until I am fit to return to work.

Thankfully, over the last couple of days, I have started to feel calmer and less panicky. Perhaps that is the benefit of finally getting a good night's sleep? I can still work towards some of my goals but more flexibly and in a different order. I can make new plans; some of them may come to fruition. Most importantly, I don't have to rush into anything. I'm suppressing my J.

Although I don't make New Year resolutions, I am resolved to give myself a bit of a break this year. I need to adjust to the 'new me' and take time to enjoy the family I have.