But a friend of a friend is. She has two babies, one a little younger than the Squish, and one less than a year old. SHe thought she had a blocked duct, but it’s an aggressive cancer, and she is currently undergoing chemotherapy. Apparently, there is a 90% chance that she will still be alive in five years time.

So after dealing with a metric buttload of misery myself in the past few weeks, I am taking up my knitting in earnest. I am going to knit two chemo caps for two people who need something warm and beautiful on their heads, and I am going to go easy on myself for just a little while, and take the time to knit some love and healing.

Last week, a package came from America. A stunning shawl, knit with love from a dear friend who couldn’t be here to hug me. I wish I had a picture to do it justice, but Cecelia, your shawl has become my lucky shawl. I wore it when I went to have my mammogram done on Tuesday.

Since then, I have met lots of cool people, and I am loving living here. We’ve been worrying about where Inigo is going to go to school in 2013, and considered moving, but really, we love it here and don’t want to move. Plus, our house has increased in value by about $80,000 while we have lived here.

But today, I met some babywearing, vegetarian mums! I am so happy I could just fall over.

Except that now I have a lunch menu to plan, I have to cook something impressive when they come over

Very obviously pregnant lady approaches…

Lara – Hi, do you need some information?

VOPL – I’m having twins.

Lara – (Grits teeth) Congratulations.

VOPL – yeah, right. Do you want one?

Lara – (In my own head, I say, “yes, desperately. I want both of them). Outwardly, I just smile. If only she knew what I had been through, she would never think those things, let alone say them to a perfect stranger.

But I understand. After the shock, and the pain, I understand.

Inigo asks every day, “are we going to Fiji today mama?”, and Bev and Ted have been showing him pictures of his father in Fiji at a similar age.

I’m not excited yet, because I still feel like it’s not real. It’s too amazing, and generous, and crazy, and I suppose I am still a little out of touch with reality.

I went to the neonatal loss support group at SIDS & Kids today, and consequently was a bit of a mess this afternoon. But there were women (and a man) there whose losses were a lot more recent than mine, so it was a positive experience to reflect on the rawness of their grief, and to realise that I really have come a long way in a short space of time.

Archie would have been six months old the day after we get back from Fiji. I’d be getting info about when to start solids for his adjusted age, and watching his gross motor skills develop in leaps and bounds. His curly hair would be doing its thing, and I’d be watching him get fatter and fatter week by week as I breastfed him, and breathed in his scent as he fell asleep in my arms.

Of course, if we had Aubrey too, the fantasy has a few more vomit stained tracksuits and a lot more screaming, but hey, it’s my fantasy…

I asked for more information about the side effects of the medication (which include seizures, depression and heart problems – in retrospect, I think that I made the right decision, given everything else that was going on!). My file was marked “Refused Treatment”, and I was ignored after that.

Because I am a breastfeeding counsellor, I knew a Lactation Consultant, who reminded me to check the electronic ABA files I have access to. The ABA publish a booklet called “Lactation Suppression”, for when a baby dies or a mother is unable, or chooses not to breastfeed her baby for whatever reason, and needs to suppress lactation. I was able to log in and download a copy of this booklet from my hospital bed, and treat myself, after being punished by the hospital for asking for information.

At the funeral, I asked people for donations instead of flowers. It was my intention to use these donations to buy bulk supplies of the lactation suppression booklet, and to have them on hand in Sydney hospitals for women who found themselves in a similar situation to me. I also talked to my regional rep within ABA, and a few other contacts.

Well, my story got out. And today I was emailed a link to the ABA website where the lactation suppression booklet has been uploaded in full, for anyone to access. I feel a huge sense of relief, and I hope that if there are women out there who need the information, they are able to access it easily, and not have to suffer through what I went through.

My body was able to cry the tears of milk that should have been nourishing my babies. And now I need to find a new “mission” for the generous donations.

Amazing.

As well as chatting to a few mums that needed breastfeeding support, Ive also culled, sorted an labelled the toys, painted a birthday card for my gorgeous nephew that is about to turn 4, and started up the t-shirt printing again.

Feels much better than wallowing, but I think there is still wallowing to come

First I did the blood/urine/blood pressure thing, and by then I was in a state because little beastie wasn’t moving. Neither of us are morning people, but it makes me anxious on Thursday mornings. I had tried to find a heartbeat with the doppler that my lovely friend Kendi loaned me, but it decided to run out of batteries before detecting a heartbeat, so by 10am I was a wreck.

I saw my dr wandering around with another patient, she asked me how I was, and I told her how stressed I was. She said she would see me as soon as she could, and it wasn’t long before she called us in and found a little heartbeat. We then went back to the waiting room to wait for the Clinical Midwifery Consultant (head of the Perinatal Support Team), and the social workers.

They apologised that I had “slipped through the cracks”, apparently the womens health unit hasn’t had a social worker since April, but they had just had a new social worker start this week, and she would most likely be taking over my “case”.

They gave me a twee handpainted box with a tiny nylon nightie, a pair of lemon yellow acrylic booties (beautifully hand knitted, but the yarn is a crime against nature), and a little booklet from SIDS and Kids with space for ultrasound pictures. Apparently it’s a “memory box” in recognition of my dead baby. The horror. But I suppose some people dig that shit.

Then the new social worker (let’s call her “Heidi”) took us upstairs to meet the neonatologist. We were ushered into a tiny store room, and the doc talked to us about all the horrible things that could happen to our baby if he is born alive. Most of it wasn’t news, but there is a rare and nasty thing that can cause brain damage because this baby is sharing a womb with his dead sibling. It’s nasty, and it’s very rare, so we won’t entertain any thoughts about that just yet.

I was also able to ask questions, so I asked about their policies on breastmilk feeding, donor milk, etc. The dr assumed I was a lactation consultant, and I decided not to correct him, as he actually started to listen to me.

So now I suppose I am as prepared as I can be for what the next few months hold. We have seen the NICU, and the size of the tiny babies there (most not much bigger than my outstretched hand), and am pleased to see that the babies have stylin’ Hawaiian shirts as part of the laundry rotation.

My new social worker is going to meet with me every time I go in to the hospital from now on, and when I move in as a resident they will do everything they can to smooth the transition for me. Just over 2 weeks of relative freedom left.

Yes, I know, more boob propaganda. But hey, I have time on my hands…