I have been considering writing this post for a while now, due to a forthcoming event and a recent book i read the time is now. So my sixteen year old daughter is due to give birth to my grandson in less than three months, yes i am completely aware of all remarks about teenage pregnancy. Blaming the parents blah, blah. Did i want this to happen? Hell no! I am strict with my teens, they have to come home at 7.30pm even though their friends are out much later. Even now sixteen and pregnant my daughter has to be in by 8pm. This however is not the subject of my post, most parents are excited to have a grandchild. Although not wanting to see their child in pain during childbirth is the normal reaction for worried grandparents to be, mine runs deeper.
2004 was the worst year of my life, having had four children already i was pregnant with my fifth which would have been my fourth son. Totally normal pregnancy throughout i reach 38 weeks and woke up in the morning knowing that my son had died inside of me. How i knew for certain i really can’t say i just did, totally numb by then i went to the hospital where the scan confirmed what i already knew. I was given some sort of tablet to bring on labour and was told to go home, knowing that the cot and all the other stuff was there waiting i had to go elsewhere while my parents removed all that i had brought for him. They took the kids to stay with them i was in no fit state to look after them and to be honest at that time i am ashamed to say they didn’t even cross my mind nothing did.
Surrounded by other family members who where offering condolences hugs etc all i wanted was to just disappear, i remember praying that it was all just a dream keeping my hand on my stomach willing him to move again no one else mattered to me at that time. i stayed up all night on my own in the dark, there but not really my mind was totally blank. When i got to the hospital i was put in a room next to someone else who was in labour, the heart rate monitor of their babies heart beating loud and clear for me to hear. The cries of other babies on the ward reminding me of what i wouldn’t have. I refused pain relief needing to feel at least something, when he came out i was still praying everyone was wrong that i would hear him cry but it never happened.
The midwife asked if i wanted to hold him, i was not prepared for that. At first i couldn’t look at him then i wanted him so i held him. Looking down at my son so cold in my arms, no movement or beating heart killed part of me that day. i can’t even begin to describe how it felt, having to leave him behind that day never to see him again was just too much for me.
I refused to see a councilor, wouldn’t take any medication either. I didn’t want my kids back, i didn’t want anyone. I don’t remember the days after that, i know i went out of my way to hurt myself all i wanted was to be with my son nothing else mattered. Then i started playing the blame game, feeling like i did something to cause his death. My husband also blamed me saying i must have done something since the other four children were fine, i refused to let them do an autopsy no one was cutting open my baby. I have racked my brain over and over for years and not once come up with any reason that i may have caused it, the doctors at the time said they think it may have been his heart but i guess we will never know. His death changed me for life, he took a big part of me with him that day and i will never be the same. After all the hurtful things we said through those dark moments i don’t think my marriage will ever be the same either. During times like these you either support each other through them or it will tear you apart, sadly mine was the second option.
We did go on to have another two children after, through both pregnancies i barely slept i was a complete wreck but what eased it slightly was that they were both girls. When my daughter announced she was having a boy my blood ran cold, now everything is fresh in my mind as it was all those years ago and i am terrified that history will repeat itself. I can only hope that it was some twist of fate that it happened to me, a one off never to be repeated in my bloodline.
You never get over something like that, the pain doesn’t lessen. Writing this now i am crying my eyes out. I never talk about it to anyone, it takes me to places i don’t want to go. When we meet new people and they ask how many children we have i always say six but my husband chooses to include my son. This is the point where i will walk away, i refuse to explain where my seventh child is. I know exactly how many children i have had, how many i actually have by my side is six. My seventh child will always be in my heart and my mind.
Not the nicest of posts but one i really had to tell, if anyone has been through a similar experience i would love to hear from you i haven’t actually spoken to anyone who has been through having a stillborn child