Prelude Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 5
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!
Looking at those things- good that you can do that now. The writing must have been healing in some way. Loads of hugs, Mibs. You have such courage to face writing this down.
Only took me 3 1/2 years to get around to it, thank you for the hugs, and it wasn’t courage, was more like some odd feeling of guilt heavily laced with a couple bottles of wine for dutch courage!
I’m so sorry. I miscarried my daughter the first time. The pain of miscarrying was awful, and all I could think of was, “God, keep this baby safe, but if it wasn’t mean to be don’t let it be born and then die, or let it be still-born”. I”m sor sorry you have to go through this. I can’t imagine the pain.
I’ve read the four posts… and just wanted to say thank you… and send you a great big hug. I’ll join you in the drinkie, here’s to wee Andre – sweet dreams little angel!