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Newsletter
3 Article
WHY?
A cold early June morning,
thirty years ago, 18 years old and facing a pile of post holiday
washing. Tired, heavy with babe and 6 weeks to go. Must get on with
it!
Babe felt 'tight' last
night. Probably aftermath of jolts and bumps on rough, dirt track
leading to Thurlga Station, visiting my pregnant cousin. She's due
a month after me, so we exchange our thoughts and feelings about
our forthcoming births and babies.
The visit was great.
Photos, big bellies and big smiles. Home now.
'Oh, my God'. Blood! More blood., soaking thick stockings, slippers.
Cleanup. No 'phone. Telephone exchange. 100 yards up road. Girls
doing early day shift . Knock at door. Blood again. Hot, soaking,
down legs.
'Oh my God' Ring her
husband, Ring hospital, country hospital.
Bells ringing, wheeling beds, curtains pulled. Nurses, Sisters,
quick, quick, hush. The pains begin. "Where's husband? Where's
Doctor?" Together, for quiet chat. Vomiting, diarrhoea, pain
comes again. Husband gone 50 miles to get blood for transfusion.
Needles, drip, messed
bed, pain, worried. Too much happening. Too much pain, crying. Need
my Mother. Not here. Don't know what's wrong. Don't care anymore.
Anesthetic. See what is happening. Maybe a caesarean. Chaos.
Jenny, Jenny. Wake up
(Blurry). We are sorry Jenny. We had to do a caesarean. We are so
sorry Jenny. Your baby passed away. It was a girl. Only lived for
a little while. Breathing abnormalities.
Hazy, drugged, not true,
enormous weight on my chest, go away, cold, shivering. Lonely. Oh
so lonely.
What did she look like?
Can I see her? No! It's best if you don't. Why, was she deformed?
No, she was a lovely little baby. Hush, Jenny, be a good girl. It
will be ok.
Husband gone to get a
coffin, white, I think. Fifty miles away.
Change dressings, drip out, tight bandage around breasts to stop
the milk.
"IT" has to
be named, registered and a "real" burial. Do it while
she is still in hospital. 14 days all up. Can't remember visitors.
Hushed talk, sideways glances.
Everything's going great.
You can go home. Don't worry, you will be able to have other children
and the next time you won't feel guilty, because you will already
be married. Won't you dear. Pat, Pat.
I'm frying chops and
boiling vegies again. Who am I? No-one talks about "IT".
Am I a mother? The crib is ready. Still. The mosquito net with the
lace trim is still draped over the pretty white bassinet. I'm cold
in this old rented flat. My husband is at work or is he out riding
one of his horses somewhere.
I go into the "spare"
room and feel the little singlets and the little booties that the
Nana-to-be knitted, and the little coloured bunny rugs that I bought
on special. I guess I will put it all away soon. Soon.
Life goes on. My scar
is healing. I go shopping, aware of the stares, muffled whispers
and people I know, trying to avoid me. Did I do something wrong?
I go into the "spare"
room because I heard my baby cry. I lift the lacy mosquito net and
look into the crib. I'm sure I heard "IT" cry. Am I going
mad? I must not tell anyone about this. Now, is the time, to put
it all away.
I feel lonely, scared
and hollow. But in the back of my mind I can hear people saying
"she's a strong girl", she's a survivor", "put
it all behind you", "get on with life".
Now 30 years later, I
realise how wrong they were. I didn't survive nor was I strong.
I just lived my life with unresolved grief.
My husband and I divorced after 10 years of marriage, nearly costing
me my lovely daughter and two handsome sons. I have since been blessed
with a marriage to a wonderful, caring, gentle man for 12 years.
It is only this year,
the year 2000, 30 years on, that I have faced my unresolved grief
and it's consequences, now realizing the profound ripple effect
of the past, is still affecting myself, my second husband and my
adult children.
With courage, love patience,
support and education, I am going to smooth out and stop the ripples.
By the way. HER name
was DIONNE RACHEL.
Jenny
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Last modified:16/7/04
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