The life and death of Suri

I think absolutely everyone in life has had a heartache of some sort. I remember when I was a teenager, the things that hurt me to the very core of my being seemed like pain I’d never overcome. That nothing could ever be worse. And that really is the reality for us at the time. Our teenage years seem to be our prime suffering, don’t they? A break up. Being bullied. Our weight. Acne. Or whatever it was that caused your pain at the time. The REAL challenges that teens truly endure make mine look ridiculous now.

I had a normal childhood. My mother raised my brother and I alone and there is so much about that time that taught me to be the adult I became. Welfare very sadly usually breeds welfare. It’s a cycle that can be near impossible to break out of for a family because they know no other way in life.

By god, we were poor. But on my mother’s pathetic single parent pension, she kept us fed and managed to get a government funded home loan. The house we lived in was a run down old thing but it was sturdy and it was ours. My mother taught me over and over again – bills first. She never ever spent a cent on herself as far as my memory goes. But I do recall her selling belongings important to her from before her divorce to give my brother and I the things we needed.

Tim, my brother, is barely 18 months younger than me. My older siblings have a 12 year gap, but my sister Kylie is someone so desperately special to me.

Tim and I being so close in age were inevitably going to be the best of friends. We fought like animals as children but as we grew older we developed a bond that would be hard for anyone to match. The hardest and most challenging times in our lives, and the most joyous, were always ours together in our own special ways. We have held eachother together in some of the darkest hours of our lives and my mother gifted us the siblings we could have not have dreamt of being so close to.

When we were teens, Mum began cleaning peoples’ houses. She had no other skills. Back then, women raised children and maintained homes because we lived in a time where mens’ wages made that possible. Our father left when Tim and I were four and five, and Mum was left with only her outstanding financial management and a hardworking attitude that changed our future.

For $10 an hour she scrubbed toilets to give my brother and I a better life. She built her own business doing the only thing she knew and in time she had a full-time business.

Tim and I watched that. We watched my mother refuse to settle for a pension. We watched her work herself to the bone and it was because of that that we became who we were.

By the age of 18, Tim was a Civil Foreman. I remember how proud I always was of him. He had struggled in school because of undiagnosed ADHD but he powered through like a damned champion and his amazing brain and ability to lead without being a dick meant he was always universally loved. I worked admin job after admin job until I began my own business and became my own boss. Tim did the same and began his own civil business. I hope every day Mum remembers that what she showed us is the reason we aspired so highly. Yes, she was a cleaner. But she showed us what it meant to build something from nothing and the true importance of hard work.

I was married at 29. I prefer to only remember the wonderful parts of that marriage. We were magnificent team in many ways and we built incredible things together. We travelled. We ran our businesses. We adventured.

It came to a sad and very volatile halt and this isn’t the time or place to go into why. But it definitely affected me very badly. At the time I thought I’d never recover and I’d end up becoming a bag lady on the streets giving wristies for meth or something equally awesome. My family pulled me through and a year later I met Adam. Adam is the man you meet and are immediately suspicious of. No one is that nice. He was also the first man I had met since my divorce – I probably wasn’t ready to date and I pushed him away. I dated quite a lot of men over the course of the next few years, but gentle Adam always seemed to just be patiently waiting in the wings, He was always there with an ear to listen to me and was the kind of man who wanted nothing in return, ever. As time went by I realised he was exactly as he seemed to be – the kindest, most selfless gentleman I’d ever known. He was so soft spoken and whilst he was a very strong man both physically and emotionally, he would NEVER say a bad word about another human. In the times I would lose my temper about something or someone, he never fed that anger. He would take the time to help me see things from others’ point of view and to learn more tolerance. More patience. More understanding. I know it’s cliche but he made me want to be a better person. In 2018 we finally became a couple and were inseparable ever since.

I was 37 by then and children weren’t on the cards for me. Adam so desperately wanted to be a father, and he really did change my mind about a lot of things. He ADORED children. He knew how to play. After a very very long time of not using contraception it definitely knocked me for a six when one day I felt super off. Having poly-cystic ovarian syndrome meant having babies would never have been easy for me, but I took a test anyway. And there it was. I was pregnant. It was such a shock I literally couldn’t SAY the words out loud for weeks... I know how odd that sounds but I've always had an issue with trying to speak – but I finally told Adam and whilst he was surprised, he was DELIGHTED too. We had our first scan at 9 weeks. We held hands in the sonographer’s darkened room and I saw her face as she searched. I knew. Anyone who has had a scan that isn’t right KNOWS that look. “I can’t find a heartbeat”. Those fucking words. She said “It’s entirely possible its too early. Baby is only measuring 5 weeks and 6 days and we almost never get a heartbeat that early.” But I KNEW my dates. I was 9 weeks.... She said we needed to come back in a week for another go. That was one hell of a fucking week. I have never googled so much in my life. I prayed. I Youtubed every single story where someone had been told the same news I had, and had gone on to have a healthy baby. There were lots of stories. I held onto hope.

A week later, there was baby. The same size. Still no heartbeat. No growth. Just a little lifeless fetus who had been in there for a month.

My obstetrician offered a D&C or some sort of pill, I can’t remember, I just marched out. I couldn’t compute. I just marched to the car and sat down in silence with poor Adam trying his best to ease my pain.

I remember going home and having some wine knowing it didn't matter anymore. I couldn't bring myself to go to the hospital for the D&C and it turned out I didn't need to. I began to bleed an hour later.

And didn't stop. The next few days are a blur to me. A blur of an ambulance, the intense physical agony I did NOT expect with such a young gestation. Waking up in hospital being told I'd lost 2 litres of blood.

Finally coming home, fainting and ending up back in hospital for several transfusions.

It's hard here to explain the emotional pain. It was of course insanely overwhelming. But I did still have that impression that nature had simply taken its course. It took many weeks but we recovered. We continued trying and 6 months later, still nothing. Every month - nothing. One day i asked my GP to refer me for IVF and she said "Look... Dr Helen here at the clinic is EXCELLENT with fertility. Can we try her first?"

Two rounds of medication later and I found myself in a restaurant, secretly asking the bar staff not to add alcohol to my cocktails. I was going to surprise Adam that night with the fact that he was going to be a daddy - and that's how I did it. The bar staff watched us like hawks, so excited to be in on the secret.

We went outside to the privacy of the balcony and I gave him a little onesie I had made which said "Will you be my daddy? April 2021". We were SO happy. Scared but happy. Because of my previous miscarriage, Dr Helen insisted I use progesterone suppositories through my pregnancy to support it. And other than that, I was essentially a pregnancy unicorn. Barely any morning sickness. That gorgeous glow. So much energy, Not a single stretch mark. It was a true gift. I couldn't NOT know whether we were having a boy or a girl so I discovered in secret it was a little guy. Noah Quinn Nicholson. He began kicking at around 20 weeks and from that point he never bloody stopped. If it wasn't a kick or a punch or a stretch, it was hiccups. CONSTANT hiccups. Trying to make polite conversation with a stranger with that constant jolt against your nether regions isn't easy.

I made him the most beautiful gender neutral nursery so no one would know he was a boy. I bought boy clothes in secret. I had EVERYTHING prepared.

Noah was huge and was induced on March 30 2021. I never even made it to the Pitocin - my Obstetrician simply broke my water and I can only describe it as exploding into labour. There was NO gap between contractions, Just an all consuming agony I couldn't even breathe through. I regret that induction. If only I'd experienced normal labour I might have made some different decisions later down the track...

Noah was a very difficult baby early on. I didn't know what colic was and I just thought all babies cried constantly. He wouldn't sleep for longer than 30 mins at a time and the only way I could function was to swaddle him to my body and go about my business. He would sleep on me that way and I HAD to be playing music. But it worked. However I had to leave him with my sister in law briefly one day so I could work. She lives 2 mins from me and Noah HATED the car. By the time I got to her house I was a shaking mess. I was crying and I remember her saying something about following this beautiful mother on Instagram. You know the accounts - the ones where somehow everyone looks perfect and smile perfect and not a single photo could ever make you believe they could have even the slightest challenge in life. I looked at that mother and HATED her. I couldn't even comprehend being able to wash my hair. My baby would have just screamed. Even going to the toilet was hell for me. By the time I got back from work, my sister in law, Laura, had said "I hope I haven't overstepped here, but I've bought you a bottle of colic drops to try. Do you wanna give them a go?" I put them in Noah's next bottle. He slept for six solid hours. He was never the same again. He still had his whingey moments but the grunting, crying, writhing baby was a completely different human! I will always be grateful to her for that.

I also remember finally thinking "I can see why people would have more than one, now..." Well surprise. One evening when Noah was only 3 months old, I turned the kitchen tap on and could smell the water.

I instantly knew. I had SO many pregnancy tests leftover from Noah and a few mins later we knew we had some Irish twins on our hands. Adam.... he was SO delighted. Me, terrified. Two sets of nappies. A double banger pram. Two car seats. It all seemed so overwhelming.

Noah was a TERRIBLE sleeper. I struggled at the best of times but Adam made such a good point - We were already tired. We can stay tired. And I admit that my age made me think it was for the best.

Of course I couldn't NOT find out that the was a girl. It's how I bond. But this time I didn't even let anyone know I KNEW she was a girl. I began secretly buying the most gorgeous clothing for her and hiding it in the garage. She was my little secret. I KNEW how much my mother wanted another granddaughter so I put my energy into that. I could only imagine Adam with his sweet perfect little girl.

My pregnancy went perfectly, as before. The 12 and 20 weeks scans were amazing. The harmony test - perfect. She was just SO alive. So healthy. I felt her ALL day long - and I would sleep with Noah on my belly every single day and feel her touching him. It was the most intensely amazing feeling. EVERY DAY.

Then came Christmas. I should be grateful for the timing in some ways - I had family to help when my entire world turned to shit.

I just felt unwell. Christmas eve... thankfully my mother was staying with me and kept bringing me cups of tea to ease the nausea. Problem was, my whole body felt wrong.

Ever since I was a teenager I termed myself a hypochondriac. Nothing was ever real to me. Pain, illness. It was nonsense and I built an entire persona that disregarded any pain or illness I felt as being "BULLSHIT".

This time I learned I have problem.

Christmas day I was in agony. I tried to let NO ONE know. I was sure it was regular pregnancy discomfort and pretended I wasn't getting worse.At around 3pm I couldn't concentrate on a conversation anymore. I couldn't understand the words people were saying to me and I still did NOTHING. The pain in my body was so intense but I refused to speak up. It was all over, too. My back. My sides. It was very weird. So I tried to sneak off unnoticed to drive myself to hospital. I didn't want to ruin anyone's Christmas.

Adam noticed straight away and insisted on packing Noah into the car and taking me himself. We went to the Prince Charles hospital at Chermside but Adam wasn't allowed in with me. The Vaccine mandates meant that because he wasn't double vaxxed I had to go alone. It was getting late so he drove Noah home to put him to bed and I ASSURED Adam I was fine. It was probably nothing. The Prince Charles took me to a room and let me lay down immediately. The nurse was a beautiful sweet woman. She tried to be reassuring and was very kind. Just what I needed when I was nervous.

Then in barged the doctor. A large, powerful looking woman who's first words to me were "We don't do pregnancy here". I laid there, scared and not entirely sure how to proceed. She said she would do a speculum exam to see if I was leaking amniotic fluid - a speculum exam isn't pleasant but gives a doctor a good view of the cervix and whatnot so I was happy with that. She did the exam and said "I can see fluid pooling but you have an infection. It could be from that." She sent me to the bathroom to do a swab test for amniotic fluid and a urine test to see about the infection. I had a low grade fever at that stage of 37.7. I told her I hadn't felt Suri moving much that day. She mentioned she may need to transfer me to the Royal Brisbane Women's Hospital by ambulance. I returned to my room with the swab and urine tests, however they just sat there, on my table. No one came to take them or speak further with me.

Some time later the doctor returned. Told me to get dressed and just make my own way to the Royal Brisbane Hospital. She didn't ask if I had any way to get there. Nothing. She handed me a letter for my GP and I'll never forget her next words. "When you get to the hospital, tell them you need antibiotics because I'll forget by the time you get there."

Those words will never not haunt me. Never.

So fast forward to me sitting outside in the rain. I had been so blown off that I almost just went home. Instead, I had to order an Uber. Little did I realise I was in labour and had been all day. So there I waited in the rain so I could sit quietly in the back of a stranger's car, in labour at just shy of 23 weeks pregnant. By the time we arrived, I could barely walk from the pain. I somehow made my way to the Obstetrics unit and the intake took so painfully long that by the time I had been entered into the system - I KNEW was in labour. The contractions were regular by then and I was becoming more and more terrified as the minutes passed. I was taken to a room.I don't recall how long I spent in there but there was no phone reception. All I could do was text. A beautiful nurse said "Don't be scared - there are ways we can stop labour". By that stage my contractions were 3 minutes apart and I could barely stand the pain. But I was alone.

When finally a doctor could see me, she did another speculum exam. And a scan. I knew. I knew from her silence I was in trouble. I could see Suri moving on the screen and her little heart beating but I just knew. Her silence said so much. She was one of the most beautiful humans I've ever met and I wish I could remember her name. But she had to break the news. I was 3 cm dilated and my membranes were bulging out, along with Suri's cord. There was little to no hope. And again - there I was with no Adam. No way to tell him except by text.He kept trying to call me but he couldn't hear what I was saying. I could hear him crying so hard even though he didn't understand exactly what was happening. All he could hear was "I'm so sorry honey... it's not good news."

As I lay there alone, the contractions became so strong and close together that I was terrified I would give birth alone in that room without so much as a nurse by my side.

The neonatal team came in and sat on my bed a short while later. In between contractions they explained to me that at Suri's gestation, her chance of survival was very small. One more week and things would have been very different. But they needed me to make a decision. "Do you want us to resuscitate her when she passes?"

Everything this poor man had to explain to me I had to try to absorb in between crippling contractions. I knew Adam was on his way as fast as he could come, however the vaccine mandates meant he wasn't allowed in with me, regardless. I'll never get over that feeling. Of all the times I needed Adam... it was THEN. When I had to decide what to do about my baby girl's life.

When I was finished a contraction, the neonatal doctor gently explained the enormous likelihood of Suri having severe disabilities if she had to continue to grow and develop outside my body. But it was still my choice and they needed to know NOW. If I was to choose to try to keep her alive, I needed an urgent steroid injection to strengthen her lungs. He softly told me to be prepared that if they did resus, the chest compressions would be very painful to her, also. I could hardly take it all in. I could feel myself becoming sicker and more feverish and confused. But I managed to pull my mind together enough to decide the fate of our baby girl. This sweet perfect little human was still kicking and moving inside me as I considered everything I'd been told. Between begging over and over again for some sort of alternative outcome, it became clear to me: choosing to keep her alive would only be to spare me the immediate horror, grief and total heartbreak I was about to feel. To do that to my daughter... to have her live with such serious physical and mental challenges just to spare myself... I'm crying as I remember that moment...the moment I chose. "I can't do this to my little girl. Let her go."

The doctor took my hand and said "there are no right or wrong decisions here. But you are one very brave, kind mother. That's all I can say."

The staff were rushing to get me to a birthing suite as soon as possible. They were horrified that I couldn't have Adam with me through all of this and the only way to bypass the mandate was for me to be officially giving birth. They got me to the suite and everything got hazy. I was so unwell and felt so weak. The staff couldn't get an IV into me for the lives of them.So many tried but my veins just wouldn't cooperate. Even an anaesthetic doctor came to try. Not even my feet were working, so getting antibiotics into me was horribly delayed. I remember the moment Adam walked in. His eyes red, he came in when I was in the middle of a huge contraction and it broke my heart that this was what he had to walk in to. I asked the neonatal team to return to explain to Adam what Suri's fate would be should we choose to try to keep her alive. I needed them to give him that information as my contractions were on top of each other by now. Adam cried as he looked at me and agreed we were doing the kindest thing for our baby girl. Adam, however, didn't realise Suri would be born alive. No one including me thought to make that clear to him. That haunts me. I begged for an epidural. Not because I couldn't bear the pain, but because I couldn't bear feeling her moving inside me and I couldn't understand how I could deserve the agony of the birth alongside the horror of what was going to happen. The team finally got an IV into me and began pumping me with anti biotics. It was a little too late but it did save my life, I can say that at least. I had sepsis and felt so sick and weak. The anaesthetist sat beside me and explained he couldn't administer an epidural as there would be a risk the infection would travel up my spine and into my brain.

I took a deep breath and looked at Adam and said "Suri deserves me to feel this. She deserves everything I've got." And from that moment, every excruciating contraction became something I felt nothing but pride over. The immense agony was an honour and even at this moment I am so glad I felt it all. That I powered through that pain for my sweet little angel. I am so proud of myself. Adam held my hand and I did everything I could to comfort the heartbroken man in between contractions. But as 2am boxing day approached, I knew it was nearly time. I remember willing my body to just hold her inside me. "Please God, don't let her out." Instead, I quietly said "She's coming." I didn't make a sound of pain from that moment onwards. It was like the pain in my head and heart completely overwhelmed anything my body felt.

Suri was born breach. I felt her little body as I birthed her. They held her as I waited for another contraction so I could finish pushing my darling out.

As I pushed her out, I heard a midwife ask Adam if he'd like to cut her cord. He said yes. They tried to hand her to me but it was too late. I began convulsing from the fever the moment she was free of my body. "Give her to Adam, quick!" I managed to say. The next words I heard I have heard over and over in my mind every single day and night since I gave birth to Suri. Adam said "Is she meant to be moving?"

"Yes honey she's alive."

Then I was gone. When I was finally lucid enough to understand what had happened and where I was, I'd been seizing or convulsing/post-ictal for maybe an hour.

Adam was beside me and I was surrounded by what seemed like 30 doctors and nurses. I could see Suri in her crib, all alone. "Adam, is she okay?" He seemed confused. A midwife asked if I'd like to hold her. Absolutely of course - give her to me! I held my beautiful little girl across my lap and couldn't understand why she wasn't grasping my finger. Not a movement. I felt so confused. I handed her back to Adam who held her for a while then put her back into her crib. It was then I realised. "Has she passed away?"

A midwife answered "Yes sweetie I'm so sorry."

Suri had lived almost an hour. She died in Adam's arms as I had fever induced seizures all due to the infection that had become septic. Adam had held our daughter and watched a medical team simultaneously try to save me as his little baby girl passed away in his arms. I have so much more to say but I'm too overwhelmed right now. In following posts I'll try to compose myself and express what that moment of realisation was like. Oh my darling baby girl... you deserved so much better than this.