These are my thoughts from the early days. There are parts I didn’t think I was ever going to talk about. Parts I felt I needed to hide, because of shame and fear. Grief morphs all the time and what all this change has done for me is that I am open and able to share my whole story as it is. There is still a lot of trauma that I feel about how everything happened, but there is also all the love for this little boy I get to call my son.
My first medical appointment in the pregnancy didn’t really go as planned, there were inconsistencies, the baby was not big enough according to the gestation. But I believed that everything was fine, and 2 weeks later it was as it was later, month in and month out. I remember looking forward to every medical appointment that would let me see my son or hear his strong heart, he was always there just waiting to be heard. He is so loved and was so expected.
I wish I could forget, but I am reliving it over and over… the moment I knew something was wrong, the moment I realized that it was not good news when I recalled and was sure that I knew exactly what the moment was when he died. I wish I would have had myself checked, would insist on being seen by the doctor… when the realization came it was too late already, but I wish I didn’t know, I wish I could forget.
I also wish I didn’t remember exactly how every person that saw me in the hospital looked like… the nurse that admitted me, was short, blonde, wearing white scrubs, she had a white wristwatch and a blue pen behind her name tag… the doctor that did the ultrasound, had mid-long strawberry hair, her face full of freckles, she had two crooked teeth, hands full of freckles and eczema… she was stroking my knee when she said: “Sorry, there is no heartbeat”. I wish I didn’t remember, I wish I wasn’t there.
I wish I remembered what came next, remembered what my thoughts were because the blank space filling that time couldn’t have been it, could it?
I wish I remembered how I got to my room, but I wish I didn’t remember the look of it, a single, with light orange walls, big window, two paintings of fish on the wall, a rocking chair with a blue yoga ball on the seat, a hospital bed, bedside table.
I wish I could forget the sun coming out the next morning, the worst morning of my life. The way the first midwife that day spoke English, with a very strong Finnish accent, but not afraid to talk.
I hope I always remember the pain of labour both physical and emotional… I hope I always remember why I chose to labour and delivery alone, I hope I remember that that was the best bonding experience I could have given us at that time, the only bonding experience.
I need to forget the sound his body made when it hit the metal of the portable toilet I needed to give birth in. I need to forget the thought that if he wasn’t dead then, his head surely cracked open when he hit the metal.
I wish I could forget the calming words of the new midwife when she found me crying, cord still attached on the bathroom floor and told me that delivering my son was what I was there to do, that that was the purpose of the day.
I wish I didn’t know what was the day and time of the news of his death and his birth. I wish I remembered them as happy moments.
I wish I could forget that I didn’t fight for him, that I let them distance me from him, that I let them get into my head.
I wish I could forget I didn’t kiss him, didn’t tell him I loved him…
But I always want to remember how it felt holding him, how light his body was in my arm.
I want to remember how much I loved him and how much I continue to love him every day. I just want to remember that.
With Love, Tina
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