My little boy died 20 hours after he was born in January this year. He would have been three months old now. He was full-term and healthy but a couple of hours before he arrived I had either a placental abruption or a rupture in a velamentous and marginal cord insertion - they think probably the latter but aren't sure - and he was deprived of oxygen and lost a lot of blood. Despite an emergency c section, they couldn't save him and his organs started to shut down over the course of a day due to severe brain damage (HIE).
Spacefrog, whose son was due the same month as mine, has been amazingly kind and supportive and I would expect nothing less from her than the dignity and grace that she describes in her post.
What helped - knowing that we had the best care possible and knowing that people did everything they could for our baby and were moved by his very short life. The consultant who delivered him cried, the young midwife on call cried, the nurses cried. As space says, that showed that they cared about him and about us. The consultant came and visited us every day that we were in the hospital, the nurse went off on her break and got us a card and flowers.
Also - being able to say goodbye properly. The consultant also made sure that the hospital chaplain visited us and that a room was cleared that evening so that our parents and us could have a little dedication ceremony for him, where we sang a hymm and read some special psalms while holding him, right after he'd been taken off the ventilator. That was important to me. We were also given the chance to hold him throughout the day - despite me being very drugged up with painkillers, I treasure those hours that my husband and I held him. We both had the rush of love and hormones that any parents would have for their child, even though we were in total shock as I had been 39 weeks 3 pregnant and in the final days of a low risk normal pregnancy - the only thing unusual being that he was IVF as I have PCOS and it took me two years to conceive him.
I don't know if everyone would like the religious ceremony, but the ritual element was very important to me. We also were able to watch as a nurse quietly took off his onesie and nappy and gave him a little bath. I could see that his lips were chapped from the tubes, and it made me feel better to see his body being gently cared for and washed. She asked us if we had a special outfit for him and I was also able to see him and his face without all the tubes and gauze for the first time. I will never forget those moments.
One other thing - photos and videos - at the time, I was so out of it and our families were so flustered that I took photos but not as many as I would have liked. I do have one very wobbly video that I took on my phone. A nurse took one photo of me and my husband holding him and smiling, it's the only one I have of the three of us looking like a family, and it is unimaginably precious to me.
How the news was broken - I didn't realise until quite late on that my baby was going to die. I came round from anaesthetic and asked whether we had a boy or a girl, and started planning dinosaur parties and fire engine rides in my head. Everyone was asking me how I was and I told them I was fine, but worried about the baby and worried he'd be brain damaged. But it was only when I asked the midwife whether not having skin to skin was going to affect breastfeeding and she looked stricken that I realised how serious it was. You don't think it can happen to you - you hear about babies going to the NICU all the time but being fine, and 24 hours before I'd been at my 39 week midwife appointment cheerfully talking about names and doulas. I think they waited until they knew that he wasn't going to make it before telling us, which was fine. It was the head of the NICU who came in and said that our baby had severe perinatal asphyxia, and no reflexes. He never said 'and he's going to die' but it was pretty clear. Although at the time I felt like I literally could not understand the words that were coming out of his mouth, it was such an extreme shock. Your mind goes into lock-down mode to try to protect you from the massive onslaught of pain that is coming.
Things that were unhelpful - the chief midwife (whose patient I was) didn't come and see us for three days, then got our baby's name wrong when she was talking to us, and got the reason for his death wrong so clearly hadn't talked to the consultant, which I thought was unprofessional. She also talked about losing a baby but not under the same circumstances. It's funny - you can tell when people genuinely care and when they don't really empathise. It's less to do with what they say and more with how they say it.
Gosh sorry for the essay. I guess continuing support, knowing you can text or email the medical professionals to answer questions, and kindness. That's the main thing - kindness. And in general, the death of a child brings out the very best in human nature. We have been shown unbelievable kindness since losing our son, including by wonderful MNetters.