Janet's Story

After six years I finally feel able to write about the experience of losing my baby, Janet, and how things have turned out down the track.

On the 21st May 1989, Janet was born by forceps, having died not long before from anoxia. No particular reason was found for her death though there were some possible indicators during labour. It seems it was just our turn. After the initial disbelief and profound shock, I was the recipient of some very ill-informed and uncaring treatment from some of the staff of Boothville (now closed). They seemed to have no idea how to look after parents in this situation. I was lucky to have a friend who had gone through it herself and, except for her, I would not have managed to get such precious things as photos and a lock of Janet's hair. Even now it is hard to describe the horrible things which happened to me courtesy of the various members of the staff who seemed to have been educated in the "blame the victim" school. I now realise that in hospitals death is often seen as failure and that some staff try to cover their backsides at the expense of their patients emotional wellbeing. I couldn't get out of there quick enough. Most of our relatives live in Sydney. My sister came down from Mackay to be with us, but she was newly pregnant and not happy about it, and was somewhat insensitive to our agony. My aunt came up from Melbourne for a while but her marriage was breaking up and she ended up needing support more than giving it. Many times over the next few months we had to sigh and try to forgive well-meaning but burdensome friends and family. However, we did have solid support from friends who, while not really understanding the depth of our grief, let us express it without recoiling. One incident set off an avalanche of anger in me. Five weeks after Janet's birth we went to Sydney to visit the relatives (semblance of normality - big mistake!). One of Arthur's uncles thoughtlessly commented on how fat I was looking and I exploded "I've just had a bloody baby!". They'd forgotten! Actually his family, because of their ethnic origin, ignored her birth. Basically, if the baby is not alive, it is a nonevent. The only people from his side who wrote to us expressing sympathy were family friends whose son had been stillborn in 1984 - they knew how we felt. On the other hand, my Grandmother happily had a silver disc with "Janet" engraved on it made for her "great-grandchildren" bracelet (there are 20 or so of them). I really appreciated her acknowledgment of my little girl. (By the way I also splurged and bought myself an antique gatelink bracelet and put Janet's name and birthday- on the heart shaped clasp - something tangible to keep with me.)

During the first 6 months I thought the pain would never let up. I wanted to be dead too - even though I had two other kids to care for. It was hard to look after them - I just wanted to sink into nothingness to escape the intolerable grief. Arthur was my rock and my saviour. He loved and cared for me and it brought us closer together. However I can understand how marriages go bust when a baby dies - we certainly had our moments of non-understanding and fed-upness with each other. Grief is so exhausting and you can't escape it. I used to wish I could lay down the burden for just an hour and get some rest from its constant weight. It is amazing how physical the pain of mourning can be. A broken heart hurts like hell and empty arms really ache! At the beginning my body also used to pretend it was having trouble breathing. Of course this was the manifestation of the massive stress I was under. Actually after a couple of episodes of not being able to breathe I realised I didn't really want to die after all so I stopped doing it. After 7 months I became pregnant again. From initially wanting to conceive as soon as possible after losing Janet I then dreaded the thought of going through it all again. And of course when you have a stillbirth you are perceived as high risk and totally dangerous by the medicos. This doesn't necessarily mean you get better or kinder care but it does mean you get all their fear dumped on you from a great height. Naturally this did not do much for my confidence. Eventually I opted for prenatal care with an independent midwife who was marvellous - she views each pregnancy as normal until proven otherwise. My calm pregnancy care lasted until I rolled up to Redcliffe Hospital in early labour. The doctor there abused me for not having a private obstetrician and expecting him to rescue me. I got up and walked out - there was no way I was having my baby with this doctor in the hospital. Shortly afterwards I had a bright red gush of blood and I was panic-stricken thinking I was losing my baby. My midwife reassured me after listening to the heartbeat but I was thoroughly frightened and just wanted the baby out. (The bleed was caused by the doctor having roughly examined me and torn my cervix.) I then rang another doctor who unluckily, was away on holiday. His partner saw me and said if I stayed with him he would do a Caesarean and not let me labour any further. So be it I thought just let this baby be born. Two days after David's birth this doctor let me know in no uncertain terms how stupid he thought I was for even attempting a vaginal birth and by the way he'd done a classical (vertical) cut on my uterus so I would not dare to labour again (for fear of rupture). To this day I have not taken him to task for doing a totally unnecessary procedure without my consent. I guess you can only take so much abuse in one lifetime. I used to dwell on death a lot when David was a baby. How could I ultimately condemn him to death by giving birth to him? I had strange dreams where dolphins carried my baby away to an unknown under water home. Gradually over time I became more rational and stopped fearing unduly that something terrible would happen to one of my family. But that's what happens - your blithe assumption that all will be well is blown away after your baby dies. I made quite a few changes to my life and more or less became a different person. Some friends couldn't cope with the new me (often, the feeling was mutual) and melted away. Others emerged from unexpected places. I became stronger and more compassionate, yet more vulnerable, angry and less tolerant of stupidity and ignorance. Now that I had suffered, I felt I had grown up and become a real member of the world. In January 1994 I gave birth at home quickly, fulfillingly and unafraid, to Grace. She was not exactly planned, but she was much wanted. Her birth really helped me to heal. She was a girl which, for me, signified grace and forgiveness. This pregnancy was when I finally decided to be in charge of my own health. So I chose to trust my body to do what it was designed for and birth her safely. In this I was supported by my midwife once again. In a sense this last child has closed a particular chapter of my life and I feel very fortunate that it happened this way for me. I know others are not so lucky.

Here is a sort of time scale of my emotional progress. I hope that anyone reading this who is more recently bereaved may take comfort from the slow but steady healing which time seems to bring about.

• 
  First three days; Horror, disbelief, emotional shutdown.
• 
  First six weeks; Inability to see the future, devastation, difficulty in doing everyday tasks, didn't appreciate my kids.
• 
  First six months; Thought about Janet almost every waking moment. Felt lonely, depressed, guilt-ridden. Hated my loss of emotional control (e.g. spontaneous weeping in shopping centres). Paralysed, robot-like, couldn't make decisions. Thought I would never smile or laugh again.
• 
  6 months - 2 years: Self-esteem still low, still feeling guilty and responsible. (Visited a friend who had a baby a Boothville. She was in the same bed I had been in. Staff were uneasy with my presence. Excruciatingly sad.) There was still a gaping hole in our family where Janet should have been. David's birth helped. It was so sweet to have a warm baby in my arms again. But I still thought about her many times a day. The first Christmas was horrible. Had to pretend to be normal, none of our family remembered who should have been there. SANDS and Relaxation Centre were my lifelines during this period.
• 
  2 - 5 years; Slowly, slowly stopped thinking of her on a daily basis. Grace's birth definitely helped. Gradually regained my natural optimism. Started to use my experience to help others.
• 
  These days; My self esteem is pretty well recovered, I realise we are not always in control. I feel as though my emotional work is done. I am at peace, though I have not forgotten what the pain has taught me. Learned that we all suffer sooner or later - it is a condition of life. We can sink under it or it can make us stronger. (But I wish we didn't have to learn the hard way.)

I could go into much more detail. Every moment of Janet's birth/death is clear in my mind. I don't need to look at her photos or video of her funeral - my memory is perfect. I have a beautiful drawing by Sue Fernandez which I have photocopied and given copies to people, and I have two or three around the house. I refer to by name - she is the missing third child of our family.

This is an account of my experience - Arthur's is quite different. He, being a man, had expectations of himself to support me but he did not have the same level of support from outside that I did. He has a whole other perspective of the birth which I did not experience. He had to look on while I was knocked out and Janet dragged out, injuring me. He watched while they tried in vain to resuscitate her, using bizarre and horrifying methods. He held her in his arms for two hours while I was unconscious and being repaired. He had to tell me she was dead and endure my anguish, while putting his own on hold. I don't know that he has resolved these events as I have. The father is often forgotten.

Best wishes to everyone who is travelling along this road.

Alison Athanassiou
Reprinted from SANDS (QLD) Newsletter
January 1996, Volume 116