I’d like to warn you all about one thing. My story is about stillbirth and it may trigger some emotions within you.
As I sit here, staring at the screen, I wonder how to start my story. I had nurtured a dream for nine beautiful months. I believed, wholeheartedly that my dream would transform into reality after that. And I find it hard not to imagine what our life as a family should look like right now. As a young mom, never in my darkest of nightmares did I ever think that I would bury my own child…
The journey has to start. But I wonder if I will ever be ready for it. Somehow I still always feel I will never be ready for it. Yet here I am telling you all the story of the life of my angel baby…
When I got to know I was pregnant, it was a life-changing phase. I was all prepared to be a young mom. It was so beautiful to even think that I was going to be a mother and very soon a part of me would be in my arms. I connected to my baby all through the day and night. I would speak to my baby in a language that only both of us understood. Sometimes, like now, I still do…
I dreamt of you day and night. I always wanted to see you. Soon. Do you know that as the final days were nearing, I was very scared too? I had so much fear about how I would take care of you. I wondered if I was ready for the responsibility and whether I would be able to give you my 100%.
Our journey together started on 6th April 2019. The date is still clearly etched in my heart. It was a special day for your papa and me. Your papa and I had spent 5 years together. Yet never in our wildest imagination did we even think of this beautiful phase. We were totally zapped when our wondrous journey as mom and dad began. I will cherish every moment of that phase that we shared together forever. And we spent the next eight months preparing for you to join our lives and the world.
Yes, I can go on forever sharing the details of what it was like to be pregnant. I suffered from constant nausea. And I vomited like clockwork. I had an overwhelming desire to eat cheesy food. But I struggled through an unreal amount of heartburn too. Yet at that time all this felt like a small amount of torture. And you know what? All of this would disappear whenever I walked into the doctor’s clinic. I could hear your heartbeat or see you on the ultrasound. The doctor and I always shared amazing remarks every time I visited her.
Your heartbeat was always strong. Your fundal height was right on track. And all the ultrasounds were filled with talking about our ‘perfect baby.’I fell in love with you every time the doctor pointed out all your tiny features. I spent more than eight months with you. And I celebrated every single milestone with gratitude.
I somehow felt and believed that the closer we got to December, the less likely things were to go wrong. It was a Friday afternoon. I was waiting for you to arrive as I was already due. The doctor offered us a choice. We could choose between 8 p.m. and 8 a.m. We opted for the latter. So we headed to the hospital in the evening with the hope that when I returned home the next day I would be holding you in my arms.
The following morning your papa and I decided that we were ready to usher you into our lives. But that afternoon our lives changed forever. I had gone for my regular check up just the previous day. I had seen you, my ray of sunshine, on the scan too. But that was the last time I saw you before your arrival. I remember that moment so clearly even now. Your papa held my hand as we both looked smilingly at the screen with eager anticipation. But when the doctor started the ultra sound, my heart skipped a beat instantly. I knew exactly what a beating heart looked like on an ultra sound….and what I saw on the screen just wasn’t it.
I spent the next several moments in silent agony. They seemed so empty somehow. I hoped and prayed that I was wrong. And then the doctor’s hands stopped moving on the ultrasound probe. She looked into my eyes with absolute sadness. I could see in her eyes the truth that I already knew. My mind pleaded with my heart and said, “Please don’t voice your fears aloud. They are not true. Please convince yourself that this is some kind of a terrible joke. Don’t say it. Don’t…”
I broke out of my strange reverie only to hear the doctor say, “I don’t see a heart beat.”That was the moment when the shock and the disbelief sunk into my heart and mind at the same time. I went numb to even think that THIS could actually be happening…it felt like a sick cruel joke…
I felt light all of a sudden…and felt as it a ton of bricks had fallen over my chest. Tears sprang to my eyes as I sobbed uncontrollably. Your papa grabbed me and we sobbed together now. The doctor too was shocked because she couldn’t find a single thing that had gone wrong. So much so that she could not even explain any of this to us. You were gone – just like that. And I had never imagined that I would go through this entire gamut of emotions during that brief span of time.
Yes, we found out in the 40th week and 1 day that I was nurturing a stillborn child. Words fail me even as I type this out. There is simply no way in which I can describe the intense emotions that we experienced from that point on.
But there was more in store for us. I felt another wave of emotions that seared through my soul when I came to know that I would have to face an induction of labour and give birth to our lifeless baby.
The next 26 hours of our lives flashed past quicker than I could have imagined. The process started. The doctors put me on a cervical ripening agent overnight to initiate the induction. Labour took a while to get going as is typical for a first-time induction. I don’t know what time it was when my family showed up.
But when the time came to push, it was as if time itself had slowed down. Especially for me. It was the most beautiful moment of my life. I was scared. But in a strange way happy too. I was able to connect very very deeply with my baby even though I knew that the life had already ebbed away.
But I wondered what was going on when I heard the nurses and doctors rushing around me. I could hear them talking in whispers and clear crisp instructions were being given by my doctor. I somehow sensed that they were facing medical issues because I wasn’t able to deliver my baby normally. The doctors immediately shifted me to the operation theatre. I delivered my baby the next evening on the 7th of December. And when I woke up I was surrounded by my family and friends.
I will never ever forget that moment of utter heartbreak that I experienced. And I just don’t have the words to describe that moment. I never even got a chance to see and hold my angel baby once.
It was at that time that I was able to sense my husband’s loving support. My husband did more for me at this crucial juncture of my life than I could ever have asked for. I just ran into his arms and hugged him and all my friends too. And I allowed them to witness my messy and angry thoughts. I allowed myself to feel whatever I felt during those moments. My husband too was grieving. Yet he was so patient. Never once did he make me feel like I was behaving like a crazy woman. And suddenly I just burst into tears.
It was at this time that I saw another facet of his love. I knew how hard it was for him to process all of this. He put all his emotions on the back burner, became my pillar of strength and stood by my side through all this. And he took utmost care of me from the ninth month of my pregnancy and when things took this kind of an unexpected turn he was with me for the next few months of postpartum too. Both of us found it hard to move on. Even today, we often think about and talk of our baby…
Yet I couldn’t help but notice this strange thing. I was “allowed” to grieve for the first week but after that I somehow felt that I was supposed to be grieving over my loss in secret. I sensed that I would be labelled as “dramatic” and “attention seeking”if I did not have a smile on my face. It was as if the world had moved on and I was still the only one who was falling off it – much like how we all feel when we take a ride on a roller coaster and your stomach suddenly turns when the roller coaster drops sharply from a great height. I felt I was experiencing that kind of a free fall even when I was surrounded by so many “well wishers.”
But I could easily dismiss all this when I was with my husband. I saw how his tender looks and touches warmed me to the core, even when I wasn’t necessarily aware of them at the moment. He has been my biggest support. I could get through all our challenges only because he has stood by me. Firmly. Always. We would sob our hearts out whenever we looked through the pre-pregnancy photoshoot pictures. They were so incredibly beautiful. These moments that I shared with my husband gave me the strength to crystallise those special moments in my life.
Having your child die inside of you at the very end is something I wouldn’t wish on any parent. Yet one of the most surprising takeaways from this whole experience was this – so many people I already knew and new individuals I met along the way had experienced some form of child loss in their lives. But they never spoke about it because of the stigma that is associated with this topic. These wonderful souls came out of the woodwork to help me heal.
That is when I decided to follow my heart. I created a memory box for myself. I could dip into it as many times as I wished to on any given day. Some times, the mere fact that I had something tangible to remember my baby by was enough for me. And in a strange sort of a way, this memory box helped me cope with my loss – slowly – but surely.
I knew that, like me, most women who lose their baby early on during their pregnancy never get a chance to see their babies or even say goodbye.So now I encourage other parents like me, who had lost their babies due to a miscarriage to create a memory box for their babies too.
I wanted every parent to have what I had -something to hold onto, something to remember their babies by. Yes, I think it is for this one reason alone that I created a memory box for my angel baby.
What surprised me even more was this – I began to get the answers to all my questions. I knew something good would come out of so much brokenness too. I knew I had found a way to help others heal because I had found a lot of comfort and even healed a bit by creating this box of memories.
So instead of bottling up my feelings, I realized that if I talked about it, it would truly help me heal a lot more. And I also hope I am able to give some other mother who is struggling through this kind of pain some form of comfort by sharing my experience. I want them to know that they aren’t alone. That I too can feel their pain and know that our hearts refuse to listen to reason and the questions never stop and the void remains a void no matter what. For a mother’s love is whole no matter how many times it is divided.