Peter and I went to a parent's bereavement support group a few weeks ago. I had been meaning to go for a long time. Every month the day would come and it was just too hard or I was too tired etc. Something always got in the way. Not this time. I felt like I was 'ready'. As fortune would have it, my mum was staying with us and at the last minute, Peter was able to come too.
I am so glad I went.
It was the first time we had had any interaction with other bereaved parents and for me, it was a positive experience. I knew it was going to be hard to listen to other parent's stories of losing their children, and it was. But it also gave me some perspective.
It was heart wrenching and I cried many tears for others, but it also made me feel 'normal'. As I looked around the circle of people, I thought, "Gosh, they are just like us, normal people". It made me appreciate all the support we have received since Leroy's birth and death, and how dedicated Peter and I have been to healing and working together to support one another.
The parents we met that night had dealt with incredibly hard situations to deal with (and still are) and it was a privilege to have met them.
The other night I was surfing the net and came across an extensive research paper on shoulder dystocia. It had some medical language in it, but was also written in a very clear and easy to understand way.
It mainly dealt with the question of whether shoulder dystocia can be detected/predicted (and therefore prevented) prior to birth. Well, after trawling through the article, the answer is no. I was not in any of the risk categories (obese, diabetic etc) and the statistics for interventions like episiotomy (in an attempt to help get the baby out more quickly) were bad, with mostly worse outcomes.
From previous conversations and research I knew this already, we were in the best place (for us) birthing Leroy at home, with our fantastically experienced team (ie midwives!) who managed to get Leroy out quickly and calmly. It was just plain old bad luck. Sometimes that bad luck is such a bitter pill to swallow.
My darling Leroy
With eyes so blue
I feel you so near me
My beautiful boy
I love you xxxxxx

There's something so affirming about a 'normalising' experience. So glad you got that. And again, thank you for continuing to share your journey with us. Bless!
ReplyDeleteYou are so welcome Tathra, thanks so much for your love and support. xxx
DeleteTarsh, as always am moved and inspired by your courage, and your willingness to include everyone in your world.
ReplyDeleteJennie, what a breath of fresh air you are. Thank you for your positive feedback, it makes me think it's still worth blogging (and that people aren't sick of me yet!). xxxx and yes, I love that photo too.xxxx
DeleteAnd what a divine photo of Dylan with Leroy. Just outstandingly beautiful.
ReplyDeleteNatasha, I was one of those parents you met at the RCH Bereavement Group. That night, I went home and found your blog about your precious little Leroy. I read every word and was truly overwhelmed and touched by your amazing journey. You and Peter have been, and continue to be truly wonderful parents to Dylan and Leroy. I hope that your Angel Leroy and our Angel Sian are playing together in God's heavenly playground.
ReplyDeleteClaire, I am so glad you found 'us' and the bog, and thank you for your kind words.
DeleteWhat an amazing woman you are. In some way, I feel as though I know Sian through your sharing the other night, thank you so much for being so open and honest and generous.
I hope to see you some time in the future.