I woke at 6:30am to use the toilet. I had what felt like a clot which didn't want to come out so I pulled on it. Realising that it wasn't a clot I looked down to see it was in fact grey.
Panicking that it was the baby I called my OH to wake him and asked him to call an ambulance. He was a little panicky himself when he realised that I was serious but he repeated what to do from the person via the phone.
This seems so odd to type now but at the time it made perfect sense; after the phone call was made and we waited for the ambulance to arrive, I brushed my teeth and washed what I could. I wanted to go to the hospital ‘respectfully’.
A paramedic car arrived first on the scene and it turned out to be an ex work colleague, who had trained to become a paramedic while working together. We had a little joke until the ambulance arrived and in all honesty it was nice to see a familiar face.
Two lady paramedics arrived next in the ambulance and had a look down below and explained that it was the baby's umbilical cord which had ruptured through my cervix. They asked my OH to get a soaked through sanitary towel which they placed in my knickers and told me to hold onto in order to keep the cord wet and warm.
I was taken to the hospital via the ambulance, while my OH stayed at home to pack a bag and follow on afterwards. Once there, I was taken to and examined in the Triage Room. I was told to prepare for the baby to have already died because she could not feel a pulse from the cord.
A male Doctor came in at this point; the three of us listened to the monitor and after a few moments his heartbeat was heard, beating away loudly just like nothing was wrong. Our baby was still hanging on and sitting on my right hand side. It was at that point that I said ‘thank you’ in my head for still being alive and a well done for being so strong and proving the Doctors wrong.
I was then taken to a private delivery room and told that the Doctors where at that time in an emergency operation but they would come round to see me as soon as possible. By now it was now 7:30am.
8:45am I had still not been seen, and I can not explain it properly as it was a feeling rather then an emotion but I suddenly became panicky, sweaty and I seriously thought I was going to have a heart attack. Something had changed inside of me from that moment. I felt ‘different’. I pressed the button for a midwife and she told me I was probably just panicking and told me to take my medication for the infection.
At 10:20am I was finally seen by a Doctor.
All this time I had been holding onto the sanitary towel in the hope that I could keep it warm enough to keep baby alive. The doctor did an ultrasound which showed inevitably that the baby had no heartbeat. Our baby had died.
Looking back now, I truly believe my baby had died around the time I had the panic attack. In a strange way I feel privileged to have felt that moment pass but knowing I felt a strong sense of panic; I wonder if that is what he had felt at that time too. It is something I will never know.
As my OH hadn’t yet arrived at the hospital - I found out later that day it was due to our car not starting of all the days to do so - I sent him a text explaining that I was sorry but our baby had died. Again in hindsight it was a cowardly way to tell him and I should have waited until he arrived but at that time I could not speak through the tears and I did not want to hear his reaction.
I was at that point left in a midwife’s care who before leaving the room, explained that they were waiting for medication to arrive from the pharmacy of which they would use to induce labour.
Up until that point it had not occurred to me that I would have to give birth to our baby.
During the 10 days we had spent at the hospital, I had asked a Doctor if anything were to happen, would I be allowed a c-section but was told ‘its best not to think about that now’. Well I now had no choice but to but had it explained that a c-section would not be allowed as it could lead to complications in later pregnancies.
My thoughts then turned to my parents and my MIL.
I know that my OH would have automatically made his way to his Mum’s which in a way was a comforting thought. Knowing that my parents were at work and not wanting to tell them over the phone, I text my Aunt; explaining the situation and when she called me back, I asked her to tell my Mum in person. She agreed and it is something I will always be thankful for.
My OH arrived just before the first tablet was placed inside of me just after 2pm. We cuddled and I went into autopilot, explaining what was going to happen next and we discussed if we wanted to see our baby at birth. We both agreed we didn’t. As shocking as that may sound; it was purely down to not knowing what to expect. I was scared of what our baby might look like.
My parents arrived just after 3pm and they and my OH stayed with me until the very end.
By this time I had managed to go through the labour by just breathing but the contractions were getting too strong to withstand so I asked for something to ease the physical pain.
By this time the darkness of the night was turning into the light of the morning and the birds were beginning to tweet. Both my OH and my Dad had been in and out of consciousness all through the night while Mum had sat next to me in a chair every single second.
At 4am I was finally given a pethidine injection which made the last stage easier to withstand.
After the injection it is a blur. A little like when you are so drunk that you can not see straight nor hear clearly and yet you know you have to try to sober yourself up otherwise you will be in trouble the next day; but nothing you do makes a difference, everything stays a blur.
I do remember feeling our baby being born, I do remember seeing my Dad walk out of the room as a flood of midwives run in and I do remember my OH’s head buried deep into my right shoulder, crying hysterically into it.
I remember my Mum to my now left and the midwife Sarah at the bottom of the bed talking to me and yet I can not remember a word she said.
I remember the strange mix of hysterical crying and yet the eerie silence of the room; the birds now tweeting in full glory accompanied by the sound of traffic outside.
Most of all I remember Sarah asking if we would like to know the sex of our baby.
Our Son Bobby was finally delivered breech at 5:48am Friday morning at 22 weeks and 2 days weighing a tiny 460g (1.01oz).
Because he was breech, his head got stuck during his birth. It took a further 30 minutes to deliver the placenta.
The next 6 hours went by so fast. The pethidine made me sick immediately after Bobby was removed from the room – maybe shock had something to do with that too.
My parents went out for some fresh air and to make a few phone calls while my OH packed my unused bag and prepared to leave to make another trip to his Mum’s and then on to home.
I had my bloods taken to be tested. I was told that I would get over this and that we would go on to have another baby by a (male) Doctor funny enough.
I declined a post mortem and had to make the decision there and then as to having a cremation or a burial; as though I was simply being asked to decide on which wallpaper I preferred; the white or the black.
The most important question asked was what our Son’s name was. I had tried to discuss names with my OH but he was adamant that we wouldn’t have that conversation until we found out the sex at the 20 week scan. As it turned out, due to what happened at the 20 week scan; names were never mentioned, not once.
Because Bobby was known as Bob all throughout the pregnancy it seemed natural to call him Bobby. It was never a name I had thought of; in fact I had wanted Nate but Bobby suited him like a glove and I can now not imagine him to be called anything else.
We were finally discharged at 12pm that afternoon.
From 1pm until 7am this morning, the OH and I have slept.
I have hardly eaten all day. I have spent most of it crying. I have read through the leaflets given by the hospital on ‘miscarriages’ and I have started to email funeral directors about funeral arrangements; even though I have no clue as to what I am doing or what it entails.
It seems so unreal at the moment until I look down at my deflated belly and then it truly hits me that there is no longer a baby in there and I will never again feel his kicks.
After not wanting to see him at the birth, I have decided to visit him at the mortuary some time next week. The need to meet him is so so strong. I know that if I don’t then I will regret it forever. My OH has made it clear that he does not want to see him; it’s his way of coping and I respect that.
We have been told that the mortuary will take a photo and prints of his hand and feet for us to keep. The hospital has already given us an envelope with his wrist band and his cot tag in. It bothers me a little that he is down as ‘Baby Boy (my surname) but I guess that is something little on the grand scheme of things
His clothes are currently hanging up, washed and smelling new in the wardrobe and his nappies are packed away in a box; I do not at this moment in time know what to do with them. Do I keep them for the next baby or do I sell them.
I'm not even sure if there will be another baby yet but what I do know is that Bobby will never ever be forgotten and he will always be our first born, much wanted, forever loved little man.
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