This may trigger a lot of raw emotions for those who have experienced the loss of a child but I need to put my thoughts down so if you have the time please read on as I want to tell as many people as I can about my beautiful boy born still, Christopher.
This will read a bit oddly, like a diary in a way, it may even seem a little cold, but I’ve just finished another fit of tears and have the numb calm that lingers afterwards.
This will detail my pregnancy so please PLEASE do not let my experience scare you, in fact I would say don’t read ahead if you’re pregnant as my situation is NOT the normal outcome and I don’t want anybody to worry themselves because of it.
I will start with when we found out I was pregnant, I was terrified and my partner wasn’t sure about proceeding because he was absolutely terrified at the thought of not being able to provide adequately for a third child as our lovely twins (boy and girl) were only just turning 9 months old when I discovered I was pregnant again.
After discussing it I decided I could not terminate and so he accepted that we were going ahead. As the pregnancy progressed his apprehensions lessened as he too began to feel the excitement of welcoming our third child, our second son, into our family.
My pregnancy with my twins was traumatic - they were not growing well in the womb due to blood supply issues from their placentas, and at 32 weeks my waters broke and our tiny babies were delivered by emergency C-Section, they fought every day in NICU and thankfully, they pulled through all of the challenges that faced their fragile lives and came home after 5 months in hospital. So suffice to say my pregnancy with Christopher was filled with worry that something may go wrong....
First scan, all looked fine and he was developing well (of course we didn’t know he was a he then), a bit of anxiety lifted but we still could not rest easy.
Second scan, it’s a boy! We were elated, my partner cried with joy, another son, we were blessed. He was looking a bit small but all development of his little body was going well. The reading from the placenta and umbilical cord showed no indication of issues with blood flow or oxygen. I started making sure to eat no matter how sick I felt, I followed every bit of professional advice I could to help my baby boy grow big and strong.
Third scan, Christopher was a right little wriggler and made his presence known mostly in the wee hours of the morning, but was a bit lazy during the daytime... only occasionally rolling or poking me to remind me he was there and safe. The sonographer took an hour and fifteen minutes to get his femur length because every time he felt the poke of the ultrasound reader he wriggled away, he was showing better growth, but still a tad small, but all signs were good. I had truly started to let go of my fears of another pre-term birth and couldn’t wait to welcome my boy to the world (but I told him that didn’t mean he should come early!)
I continued regular monitoring and time seemed to fly forward to my due date, with no indication of what was looming in the very near future...
Christopher’s Due Date passed, I grew a little impatient, I wanted to bring my boy into the world already... I spoke to my midwife and it was agreed we would wait a week (as Due Dates are not exact predictions) as all seemed well, I felt him move regularly, I felt the tickle of his hiccups, I even knew when he dropped as his little head was bopping against my cervix quite happily.
My appointment at the hospital, Wednesday 24th April 2019 - I felt apprehensive, I was to visit the antenatal clinic so that we could check his heartbeat and decide from there if we would induce that day (I desperately wanted to give birth naturally so opted for a VBAC) or wait a little longer for nature to kick in.
The silence from the Doppler was deafening - my midwife reassured me that once a baby was “engaged” it could make finding the heartbeat rather difficult... a part of me knew but didn’t want to know. So we waited as she moved the Doppler as calmly as she could, but the minutes that followed were completely quiet.
She reassured us again that a scan should manage to do what the Doppler couldn’t, she left the room and my partner and I were already fighting tears. But we held out in naive hope, the scan dashed those hopes into dust. “I’m so sorry” my heart broke “I am SO sorry but I can’t detect a heartbeat.”
Our world crumbled, the sonographer said a second scan would be carried out as maybe she was mistaken, we knew this was a beautiful lie, but the second scan took place and the poor lady who carried it out had to confirm it again “no heartbeat”
Nothing can prepare you for this, NOTHING, I am only just reaching 6 days since this news was broken and I was broken.
What followed was extreme sorrow nobody can describe, then a lot of decisions needed to be made, quickly.
After a consultation with the delivery suite Doctor (“I’m so sorry for your loss” everybody who said this meant it - truly - but I just wanted them to stop saying it) we decided to proceed with vaginal birth and we wanted to get this done as quickly as we could because I just needed to SEE him, to hold my little Christopher. I still had a blind hope that maybe, when I held him, he might fight himself back into the world. I knew I was dreaming but - the hope would not be deterred...
I was induced and delivered our beautiful forever baby at 9.02am on the 25th April 2019. Our boy born still, Christopher.
I held him, skin to skin, I kissed him, I howled, I cried, I begged, I apologised, I cuddled him. My partner then did the same. The midwives who were supporting the birth looked exhausted and utterly devastated - the sadness in that room was palpable. We were all heartbroken in that moment.
Gently, the bereavement Midwife entered the suite, Christopher was in a “cold cot” which we dubbed the “cuddle cot” she advised that the hospital had a private suite and that we could spend as much time as we felt we needed with our Son there, in private, should we want to. We said yes.
My partner could not stay more than an hour, it was too hard for him and our beautiful twins were at home with my Mum, he just wanted to get to them and hold them tight. He cried and apologised to me over and over. Oddly I was calm enough to understand, I told him to hold them tight for me too as I needed time with Christopher. I said I know we are going to grieve in very different ways, but made him promise that we would not lose each other through this tragedy. He went home - which was the hardest thing he has ever done, he hasn’t told me this, he doesn’t need to, I know this because I know him.
I stayed with Christopher until Saturday just gone and then I knew I had to get home too. I won’t write what lovely memories I made with him in that short time because for now I want to hold that close - but the time I had with him was beautiful and devastating all at once. But it was necessary. His grandparents visited him before I left and I knew then it was time to let my boy rest for now and for us to start the long and harrowing road of mourning and planning his funeral. Something no parent should ever have to do.
That is our journey so far, it’s so raw, it’s tearing at me every minute and whilst I am now home with my twins who light up my world, my grief is just beginning, as is my partners.
Yesterday into today I have cried since the twins went down for the night at 8.30pm last night. We haven’t hidden our sadness from them but I can’t let them see me so broken - plus they are such rays of sunshine that when they are awake I can smile and laugh because of the constant joy they bring. But now I can’t sleep, I know I will eventually but only for one or two hours, then I will have another dream of my beautiful boy who hasn’t come home with me and wake up a little numb.
I’m in the extremely early days and I know I’m in still in shock, the love I feel for my twins is fuelling me and I can get lost in familiar routine from when they wake until their bedtime.
I have written a rather basic poem for my little Christopher and would like to end my post with it. And thank you for sharing in my brief account of this horrible time. By sharing it I am sharing Christopher and for anybody who may read this, I am saying that my baby boy is real and his existence is meaningful - as I am most scared of his memory becoming a subject never raised again after his funeral, because the people around us won’t want to discuss it in case they can’t or they think WE can’t handle it anymore. I want to acknowledge his precious memory now and forever - so thank you in contributing to that by reading this.
Christopher - My Forever Baby
“Our forever baby, held always in undying love,
We may not follow any faith, but hope you wait for us above,
So that one day we can meet you when our time on Earth is done,
It will take a long time but we welcome that day to come.
For now we are apart, but Mummy and Daddy hold you near,
And we will carry you, for the rest of our lives, my little dear,
So rest in gentle peace my Son, Mummy and Daddy promise this,
You will never be forgotten and though you are sorely missed,
We will not taint your precious memory with hopelessness and sorrow,
Instead we will hold out in love, and wait for **our “tomorrow”.