|Bio||I am a mother to three beautiful girls, and an angel in heaven. I live in Wauchope NSW. I grew up in western sydney in a childrens home. I have always wanted to be a writer, and dream one day of writing my autobiography.|
The midwife looked at us with sadness and told us that it wasn't looking good. Both of us panicked as we watched the doctors and nurses work on him, trying to get him to breathe. All I could hear was screaming inside my head as they were working, The tears rolling down my face, as I begged him not to die.
We were ecstatic as we were told our baby was a boy. My husband was so excited, he cried, "Yes! I've got my boy!". After having two girls this was something we both wanted and were over the moon. My pregnancy was smooth sailing, and I had no troubles. The morning I went into labor was easter Sunday of 2014. I waited until mid-morning before calling the hospital and getting told to come in. After arriving at the hospital, I was checked and told that I was about 5cm dilated. The register who examined me wasn't sure what she was feeling was Adams's head, but said that my contractions were strong, and as yet, my water hadn't broken. Time went very fast, from the time we arrived till the time I was wheeled into the delivery suite. I was examined again a couple of hours later, and the register said again, that she could feel my bag of water pressing against my cervix each time a contraction hit. All of a sudden, my water broke and I needed to push. They had attached a tracer, and after I had gotten up to relieve myself, they couldn't find his heartbeat, so did an ultrasound. I don't remember when things got bad when the doctors all rushed in, or them telling me that I needed a C-section. But they must have, as I do remember them taking my jewelry.
"Push!" they said, so I pushed as hard as I could, and in three pushes he was "out". What we didn't know at the time was that he was breach. There was a register who delivered his body, and a specialist who managed to get him out properly. The physical pain of his delivery was something that I have never felt in my life. The doctor had to use forceps to manipulate his head to be able to get him out, while at the same time, pushing down on my abdomen. I remember screaming so loudly because it hurt that much.
We expected to hear him crying, but there was silence. Not a sound from our beautiful boy. His arms and legs were dangling down beside him as they lifted him over me to take him to the humid-crib. His skin was grey, not pink like it should be. It seemed like it was taking forever them to get him to cry. We waited, and waited and waited. Still, there were no sounds. Both of us asked the midwife what was going on, to which we got the response, “they're just working on him” We didn’t realise just how serious his condition was. The doctors and nurses kept working to get him to take a breath, as we were panicking and wondering why he wasn’t crying. After an hour, the doctor approached us. We both knew what was coming, what he was going to say. “I’m sorry, he has passed away”
We both burst into tears, as they wrapped him up and handed him to me. Our dear sweet boy was gone from this world. He was already cold. I could feel how cold his skin was even through the wrap. He was grey, and his fingertips were already black from lack of oxygen. My husband couldn’t bring himself to hold him after he died and has told me since that he sometimes regrets not holding him.
No parent should outlive their child. It goes against nature for them to have to decide between burial and cremation. We decided on cremation, and his service was held a week later. The day we went to pick him up from the cemetery was one of the worst days of my life. They handed him to us in a shopping bag, one of those nice ones with the rope handles. It just seemed so wrong. He was in a bag?! He was on the table, in a box and bag. I just wanted to scream at them that it's not right, that he should be here with us, not in that bag.
It will be six years next week. Six long years without him. As time passes, his loss doesn’t get any easier. Our girls are getting older, and are starting to ask questions about what happened to him. I cannot put into words what it felt like to try and explain to a two and four-year-old that their baby brother was never going to come home. Even now, they are ten and eight, and they still sometimes don’t understand that death is forever. That there is no coming back from it. Every year we try to do something on his anniversary. Some people who have lost their babies, or child, bake a cake and have a party. But I can't bring myself to do that. To us, it's not a day to celebrate, it’s a day for mourning. Mourning the loss of what could have been. But what will never be. We miss our boy more than words could ever express. I hate having to put on a brave face for the world. I just want to show them my real face. But I feel that people think we should be over it by now. The death of a child is different. It's not something you can just “get over”. It's not something you can just move on from. The pain changes you, and in some ways, hardens you, so that you’re not the same person you were before your world was rocked to its foundation. If I could tell him one thing, it would be that I love him and think of him every single day.