Mom to Odin Jimi
Born March 15, 2016 and Died March 18, 2016
Hi there men and women of the world. Thank you for reading, on the subject of the loss of a baby. I’m not going to lie, losing a loved one in any way, shape or form is horrible. It’s actually pretty shit… that is the best way to sum up the loss of a loved one in a few simple words. It’s completely shit. But to lose a tiny human that you’ve prayed, cried and taken many, many, many pregnancy tests for is beyond a feeling or emotion that I can describe.
My husband and I tried for nearly 2 years to conceive. The moment those 2 beautiful pink lines showed up on the pregnancy stick, I was beyond ecstatic as was he, but days later I had my first of 3 miscarriages in 1 year, each more painful emotionally and physically than the next. Every time I saw the pink lines pop up on the stick was a moment of pure joy shortly followed by blood, pain, a trip to the hospital and grief. I did all the right things, took the right pregnancy vitamins, drank 1 cup of coffee a day as opposed to the 12+ before wanting a child, but alas, I couldn’t remain pregnant.
One day I was feeling pretty down in the dumps and I took the last pregnancy test hoping to see the 2 magical pink lines that confirm you will be a mummy. I waited impatiently in the bathroom and bam, 2 pink lines. “I’m going to be a mummy,” I said out loud to myself. Tears flowing, the skin on my face went all red and splotchy from the happy tears (I’m an ugly crier), I couldn’t wait to tell my husband. But, my happiness was met with fear, a whole lot of it, I told my husband; fear was lurking.
I was on top of the world, every day with this amazing gift from the gods growing inside me felt indescribable and yet I held back on getting attached. Sitting with friends with this secret, I was desperate to let it out, it was beyond annoying. I’m not a patient person, which makes it even more difficult. On the day of the 12 week scan it was my dad’s birthday, what a fabulous birthday gift indeed! I was walking with one of my soul sisters through the carpark of a shopping centre. We were talking about what groceries we needed and I said, “We need champagne so we can celebrate” and she said “What are we celebrating?”, I told her right then and there in the hot, underground carpark that I was going to be a mummy. Wow, the cuddle I received was the most loving and genuine one a person could ask for; her face was priceless. My friends and family were over the moon with happiness, well wishes and love. It was amazing.
I woke up every day looking at my ever growing tummy with love, wonder and always a bit of fear. Every twinge and weird pain I felt in my body I researched and scrutinized (Google does NOT help by the way). My pregnancy was going fine, all check-ups and ultrasounds were fantastic, all was right in my world. I thought, maybe this baby won’t leave me. I couldn’t actually believe I made it to 27 weeks! I did however have an anterior placenta [so] I could hardly feel the baby kick or move, which turned me into a nervous wreck until the next doctor appointment where I could hear his heart beat. I was always thinking the worst kind of thoughts, “My baby is dead. I should be feeling him move”. But no, my little man was growing and thriving which was astonishing me. Maybe my luck has turned around [and] maybe this little guy will become reality. All was absolutely fabulous in my world.
All was fabulous in my world until 11:20pm, 14th of March 2016. I started feeling horrible stretching and pulling in my stomach. I was thinking, “Oh yeah, must be baby growing/moving/stretching,” but the pain grew progressively worse. I woke B up at 4:00am and told him all about what was going on. We both thought it was Braxton Hicks. I laid down and thought this pain would stop; nope, no it didn’t. I rang the hospital, told the midwife what was going on and was told to come in immediately. As we drove to the hospital, my mind was in panic. My body kept on giving me pain that was indescribable. The midwife was waiting for us. I thought “Oh, she’s either incredibly bored and decided to escort us into the unit OR this is serious.” As it turns out it was serious, as I was in labour. My mind was racing. “I can’t be in labour. I’m only 27 weeks!” I said. The doctor replied, “Well you are honey. You’re 6cm dilated.”
The next few hours was all a blur; pain, doctors, midwives, panic, fear, anger… every emotion that one person can feel I felt…. the gas and air did absolutely nothing for me… I was about to be rushed to another hospital to deliver my son but my waters broke. I was 10cm dilated and it was too risky to move me then. The next thing I remember was kissing my husband goodbye as I was wheeled into surgery for an emergency C-section. I was shaking on the operating table, crying, full of fear. It was traumatising. I woke up however many minutes later groggy and asking for my husband and newborn son. I saw B & my soul sister J, they were smiling. I thought I could relax but I couldn’t see my son. I was being transferred to another hospital equipped for premature babies. That was the longest ambulance ride ever. I didn’t get to see my son until the next day but I did see pics B took of him. He was perfect; small and tubes everywhere, but perfect.
I was too afraid to place a hand on my little man when I saw him, but I did. He was so warm, smooth skin, perfect nose. B and I discussed what qualities little man inherited from us. It was amazing. We had 3 days with our sweet little man when we were asked to go to the NCIU immediately. We arrived, washed our hands as usual (I’ll never forget the smell of that soap) and saw our baby struggling,.His stomach looked bruised, he was suffering from necrotic enteritis. Everything happened so quickly. hTe next moment I remember was a midwife setting up an expanding privacy curtain around us. This is my nightmare, I remember saying to myself. The doctor came over and told us, “There’s nothing more we can do…”
I sat there with my son in my arms as he was dying. A noise I’ve never heard [before] escaped from the deepest part of me, a noise I will never forget, a pain I will never forget. Baby O passed away in B’s arms… Our little man put up such a good fight and I am so proud of him. We were escorted to another room set up with a little bath and clothes so we could bathe and dress our little man before an amazing volunteer from Heartfelt drove 2 hours to take photos of us as a family.
After the photos were taken, family members were told about Baby O’s passing. That was incredibly hard, one of the most difficult things I’ve ever had to do. B and I returned to the hospital room where I needed a sedative to calm me down. We slept that night with our son between us in a little cot where I would touch him every few minutes. A few hours later our mums and my sister arrived, such a sad moment watching the mums and my sister holding little man…
The day after that we asked if little O could be taken from the hospital room; we couldn’t bear it anymore. We wheeled him to the lifts where a nurse took him down to the morgue. B & I clung to each other crying. We looked out the window and saw a small piece of happiness, a gorgeous rainbow, big and powerful, such a touching moment for us both.