Ok guys, it’s getting a little scary how many people have read my post about Cailee’s birth now.

It was never my intention to garner any kind of attention, only to purge myself of some distasteful memories. I wrote that for myself and assumed only a handful of people would read it. There’s a few more digits on the page views than I ever thought I would see in my lifetime (unless I was some kind of super famous celebrity person, in which case I’d have just had my own personal jet on standby and there’d be no story to tell).

Please know that I can not fault my treatment at the Private where I gave birth to Cailee. The beautiful staff there stayed long past the point where they should have gone home and tended to their own homes and families – as I recall I was one of the last patients to leave. I was treated well up until the point I was transferred to Cairns Base where the disorganisation began. The Ambulance, SES and Air Force staff were also beyond reproach. They were doing the best they could with what they were given from whomever was responsible for organising the evacuation.

I’ve said my piece and that’s the end of it. I’m not interested in taking it any further. What’s done is done and I have a fantastic kid who is smart, funny, articulate, mostly toilet trained and still sleeps all night (when she stops fighting the sleep, that is. She’s scared she’ll miss something fun). I think that’s good enough. I wouldn’t say with total certainty I would go through that again if I had a do-over, but if it was the only way to guarantee I’d keep the kid I have now, I would because she’s worth every bit of it.

It’s kind of alarming to know that so many people have read something so intimate and personal that was never intended for such a large audience. I guess I can be pleased about the fact that I am generating conversation on issues that are not generally talked about. It’s time to take a lot of these issues off the taboo-list. Mine is by far not the worst story I’ve ever heard. A lot of women don’t speak up about their birth traumas because they have happy, healthy babies at the end of it and society seems to think that’s enough. There are women out there who don’t get to take their children home, who fall into deep depression around anniversary dates and cry at the drop of a hat because a passing moment made them think of their lost child and all the things that could have, should have, been, who aren’t allowed to speak of their debilitating grief for fear of upsetting others. There are women out there who have tried every trick in the book and made up a few tricks of their own trying to have children, who have sacrified all semblance of a normal life and every penny they have and are so regimented by the cold reality of fertility treatment that there is no room for spontaneity anywhere. Everything is scheduled. Even sex. The sight of a pregnant barefoot teenager sends them into a homicidal rage. These are the women who need empathy and understanding more. If I can impress anything upon anyone, I hope this is it.

I also hope that one day when I’m a published author (preferably the super famous female Richard Castle kind), I can get as much buzz as I have today.