That fateful Sunday morning finally came around…after what seemed like an eternity of trying to act normally mainly for BabyMibs sake ( my now four year old firstborn son).
I got a few clothes together, and got to the hospital, even remembering to stop at a shop on the way for a box of chocolates for the midwife!
Isn’t it really strange what you remember to do at times like these, I mean, I have had to attend some three funerals in my entire lifetime….and always wondered at those oh-so-organised widows who seem so prepared and unruffled………..well, since Andre I know exactly what it feels like.
Am currently sat here on a Friday night, listening to some fantastic chill-out Euphoria music, really wanting a drinkie and only having to hand some really nasty non-alcoholic grape crap that I have doctored with leftover voddy from Xmas, and kind of wishing that I hadn’t started these postings…BUT……………I am digressing again…
Once at the hospital, still in a daze of sorts, scared yet also glad the whole episode would soon be over, knowing that the baby inside me was dead was something of a really surreal feeling..I had really hoped that all those experts were wrong but somehow also knew that they weren’t.
When I had BabyMibs, I chose a homebirth with no drugs, my only concession then was some gas and air, this time I wanted the experience over with as fast and easily as possible so opted for whatever they could give me, which owing to events progressing so fast after their “induction” wasn’t a great deal, some injection in my leg and more gas and air. Indeed the whole giving-birth episode lasted a mere two and three-quarter hours, although at the time it felt like an eternity.
It has to be said that the staff present ( and for some reason there seemed to be rather a lot of them, 5 that I remember), were all very pleasant and understanding given the circumstances, bar one lady in a suit who appeared right at the moment of birth with a handful of papers she wanted me to sign with regards to some testing and possible organ donation!
I really wanted to scream at her, but somehow even through the pain, and believe me childbirth is bliddy painful, I remained polite.
I remember the actual birth, and not wanting to hold him, I remember rushing downstairs in my flimsy nightie for my first cigarette for months ( I know, weak minded me) and regretting that the instant I stood there outside alongside another single mom who had just given birth successfully and was happily telling all and sundry about it. And I remember rushing straight back upstairs, dressing and getting the hell out of there as fast as I could. All I wanted to do was get home by then, and once home, all I did was sleep for the rest of the day!
I did go back the next day for a viewing, where the wonderful staff had dressed Andre and displayed him in a cot for me to say goodbye to properly. I still couldn’t hold him though, and just sat next to him, gently rocking him and trying to sing a lullaby ( something I was never any good at with BabyMibs, so I have no idea what possessed me to try it then!)
The same staff had taken some photos for me to keep, and cut a lock of his hair, and even done hand and footprints for me, which I am grateful for, but have only managed to look at today!