Weekend Ramblings

I’ve never written so many posts in all my life but they are helping a little.

I wasn’t going to do one today but I’m feeling a little fed up with everything.

We are skint; so skint that we have £10 to last until ... god knows.

I started a new job - temping - on Friday after getting a random call out of the blue Thursday evening. It’s for a call center and it’s far from what I want to do for the rest of my life but we really need the money. It’s good that I’m working for a short while but I’m back to being in a crap job just to pay the bills.

Another thing that’s making me fed up is that it’s Bobby’s funeral on Tuesday. I thought I was ok with it but now that it is getting close it’s starting to scare the shit out of me.

One positive thing to write is that I managed to fall asleep last night without crying but that hasn’t stopped the tears today. I’ve finally started on his memorial box and I have gathered up his special purchases and gifts as well as the pictures of my belly and his scans and the hospital records. His clothes are still hanging up in the wardrobe because I still can’t bear to take them down even though it hurts to see them there.

I contacted a solicitor yesterday about a possible claim towards my Doctor for not checking me when I went in to say I thought my waters had broken and towards the hospital for the way they left Bobby to die after it was confirmed he had a heartbeat. They say they will let me know on Monday if I have a case or not. We can only wait and see.

Meeting Bobby

Tuesday 7th July. The day I finally got to hold my Son.

He was wrapped up in a blue blanket, dressed in a funny white outfit, lying in a white mosses basket with a blue teddy keeping him company.

The room he was in was dimly lit because the curtains were drawn and it was made out to look like a nursery, with teddies of all sizes propped up in one corner of the room.

I was worried about seeing him at first because I wasn’t sure what to expect but it was surprisingly ‘easy’. I will never forget the image of him in his basket when the door was first opened or the way I took in a little gasp, it never occurred to me that he would appear red but once I had him in my arms it didn’t matter. I held him for forty five minutes. We spent that time together just the two of us. I tried to speak to him but I could only manage whispering and because the room was so peaceful it didn’t seem out of place. I told him quite a few times that I was sorry and that I loved him and I made sure that each tear fell away from him because I didn’t want to get him wet. It all felt strangely natural.

The one thing I will never get over is how much he looks like my OH. I have always wondered which part of us our babies would take on and there is no doubt that Bobby is his Son. He has his Daddy’s nose and his big lips, his long legs and he randomly has quite big feet even though both his Daddy and I have small feet. The only glimpse of me I could see was his chin and his tiny sausage fingers.

I was told at his birth that he would be the size of my hand but he was a proper little baby. His head alone was the size of my fist. I think he would have been quite long at full term because wrapped in his blanket from head to toe he was the length of my inside elbow to my fingers. I still can not get over his perfectly formed finger nails and his little black eyebrows. I just wish I could have seen what colour his eyes were.

I had brought a hat, mittens and socks with me to put on him but he was far too small for them so I gave them to the lady to put into his coffin. I also gave him the dummy and the letter from us and our photo.

Before I had gone in, I sat down outside the room by the lady who explained what I would find and advised that babies up to a certain gestation do not go stiff in death. She had asked me if I wanted to see his photos first before I went in but I declined because sometimes photos do not portray the real soul of someone.

After my visit his photos and his prints were given to me and I made my way out into town to meet up with a good friend of whom we had met via my old Birth Board. She infact the first ‘real’ person I had met up with since his death.

His funeral has been booked for next Tuesday at 9am. In a strange way I’m looking forward to it because then we can finally lay him to rest and we can then go and visit him whenever we want. Plus he will be with the other baby’s who will unfortunately be there with him.

In a strange way, seeing Bobby has given me a little bit of peace. I still cry every day but since seeing him, something feels slightly different inside. I now know what people mean when they say that the love you feel for your baby is a different love to that of your family or partner.
I may have only got to spend forty five minutes being a ‘proper’ Mummy to my Son but I will love him the same way any other Mummy loves their child for the rest of eternity and nothing and no one can ever take that love away from us.

Our Last Post

 

Dear Bobby,

I think this will be the last post written directly to you as this time last week I was in the process of giving birth to you. Not that you need to be told, as you were there.

I have already written you a heartfelt letter which has been placed in your coffin so there is nothing more I can add to this post right now; except for me to reiterate how much I miss you. There hasn't been a day since you fell asleep that I haven't cried. I hate what my body did to you.

You were perfect and had it not been for my body you would be kicking me in the stomach right now.

The 10 days we spent together at the hospital, I felt so close to you. I talked daily to you, you kicked every time you were prodded by the nurses and we would play a game where Id poke my belly button and you would push it back. Why did you have to leave?

Visiting you at the morgue on Tuesday is the hardest thing that I have ever had to do. I was so scared at what you might look like but you were/are perfect.

You have my chin and your Daddy's nose and lips. You even have his long legs, fingers and toes. Everything right down to your mini black eyebrows are perfect. I wish we had got to see what you would have looked like at full term; to know what colour your eyes would have been.

Holding you for those 45 minutes, talking to you, saying goodbye has helped a little but the hurt will never go away. I hope you didn't mind too much your Daddy not coming to see you. He deals with things differently from me and he has taken you leaving us in a bad way.

Naming you Bobby was so easy. All the way through I knew you were a Boy and everyone knew you via your nickname of Bob so Bobby seemed so fitting. I hope you like it.

Yesterday was my birthday and I felt so so down; it wasn’t supposed to have been like that this year. Surprisingly out of the blue late in the afternoon I had a call regarding a job with a tomorrow/today start! I really really hope you had something to do with it. I promise I will make this job work and that we will get our life back on track.

I hope you like your memorial tattoo I had done of your initial on my wrist today. It hurt like hell but it was worth the pain because now every time I look down, I see nothing but your little face.

I love you Bobby. I love you so much.

Love Mummy xox

Happy Birthday to Me

It’s my birthday today.

I’m going to try not to turn this into a moping post but its hard not to.

I’m 28, I have no job and this time last week I was waiting to give birth to my dead Son.

Since Bobby's death I have been thinking a lot about my life and wondering where to go from here.

Despite not having a baby to look after I randomly feel old and wise. Ok wise isn’t such a great word but maybe worldly is more of an appropriate way to describe it.

Since moving to London 10 years ago I have lived like a sheep. I’ve always gone from job to job following the money, working in shitting offices, being treated like a bimbo, always knowing there was something else out there but never knowing where to find it or how to find it.

When I got made redundant in April, being pregnant I was upset but not overly upset because I knew I couldn’t get a permanent job so I looked for temporary work but even that never turned up so, I resigned myself to the fact that I would be on benefits until the baby was born. I was happy to take a break from it all and concentrate on being a Mummy.

Now I hate being on benefits and suddenly living like a sheep seems appealing. I have no reason to be out of work anymore and being stuck in this house with its reminders is driving me potty. I need to get back out there again and get back to ‘normal’ as quickly as possible; if that is at all possible.

Ok enough with the moping around, I’m going to pop next door and treat myself to a birthday doughnut.

A Bad Day

This morning I felt so positive. I had plans to do some housework, to go out of the house for the first time since Friday and to clear Bobby's bits from the bedroom. Instead however I have sat here all day in the same spot. I haven’t washed and nor have I dressed and I have only eaten a bowl of cornflakes. I don’t feel hungry even though my belly hurts with hunger.

I’ve spent the past hour crying. It hurts so much. I can not explain the pain I’m feeling but I just feel so empty and as though there is something missing that I’m never going to get back. I’ve been looking at old photos before I got pregnant and I don’t recognize the person looking back and I honestly don’t think I will ever get to meet her again.

People keep telling me that I’m brave but it’s all a front.

I can’t cry in front of people; it’s my way of coping so therefore I seem ok but I’m far from it. The need to be pregnant again has been overwhelming today. My brain still doesn’t register that despite my still swollen tummy, there is no baby inside, and it is now just fat that I really need to get rid of because it’s yet another thing to remind me of what I’ve lost.

I’m going to visit Bobby tomorrow at 12pm.

It will be the first time I will have met him so I’m nervous but at the same time I can’t wait to finally see him and touch him. I’m hoping it will somehow ease the pain. I’ve written him a letter to go into his coffin, saying sorry more then anything else and I’ve printed off a picture of the OH and I so that he doesn’t forget us and so we are always near.

I’ve also sorted some things out to put into his coffin to go along with the letter and the photo. He's too small to wear any of his clothes so I’m taking a blue hat, some mittens and a pair of socks; just so he won’t get cold. I’ve also got his dummy and I will buy him a small teddy tomorrow on my way there.

I don’t know what to do with the rest of his stuff yet. There is just so much of it and its starting to bother me being in the bedroom. I think I’m going to buy a big container and put it all in and maybe one day we can use it for real.

Tomorrow I will also be talking to the woman about his funeral. The lady at the morgue told me that they had already taken a photo of him as well as his hand and footprints, so I shall be coming home with them and they will go into his keepsake box that I’m in the process of putting together.

I just want this pain to go away.

The Day We Lost Our Son

2nd July 2009 will forever haunt my memory.

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.