A story of child loss and life moving forward
[Trigger warning: this article contains details and information on pregnancy and infant loss. Continue at your own discretion]
Who would have thought I would fall pregnant just before our wedding date? My fiancé Don and I laughed at the irony of not being able to snowboard on our honeymoon, or eat sushi in Japan as we drove to my 19-week scan. Ridiculous. But the universe had its own plans, and now we had something else far better to be excited about.
As I was laying still during the scan with the cold gel all over my bare belly, the sonographer smiled at us commenting at how active bub was. As if responding back at the transducer, I felt little flutters beneath my skin and smiled back at her in agreement. A moment later, her smile took a stern look of concentration as she kept scanning the same spot over and over again. I turned to the screen where a little fluttering heart was beating. A sudden sinking feeling rushed through me when she got up and said, “I’ll be right back, I just need to talk to the doctor”.
Fast forward a few days later, my bare belly was covered in the same gel again, but this time with a pediatric cardiologist. Little one kicked and danced its usual dance, yet the doctor remained silent throughout the process. It wasn’t until he was done when he calmly explained the slight abnormality in the baby’s artery attached to the heart. He said it appeared smaller than normal, but assured us that it can be easily corrected post-delivery. Despite his reassuring demeanor, the walls seemed to shrink towards me, and a ringing sound took over my head.
The doctor provided us an option of getting an amniocentesis test, as heart abnormalities are often signs of other potential disorders. He then added that there was a 1 out of 100 chance of miscarriage due to the amniocentesis test, but it will enable us to be more informed and plan ahead. If I was to go ahead with it, I would need to be tested as soon as possible since there is only a very small window when it can be done.
So, there we were. A week later in a similar room as my ultrasounds. In fact, an ultrasound machine was being set up again, but this time, it wasn’t there to observe my baby. It was there to guide the long thin needle through my belly and safely navigate around the baby and placenta in order to get amniotic fluid. I held my breath as it pierced my skin, and only exhaled after the needle was out. Three weeks. It was going to take three weeks or so to get the results— around the same time as our wedding day. Confusion mixed with fear filled my chest, and it continued to echo on each week as my belly grew bigger.
Standing in front of the large wooden cathedral doors with my champagne colored veil blurring my vision, I exhaled a sigh of relief. The results came back negative of any chromosomal conditions. The test was also a spoiler alert— a baby girl. With that, the wooden doors parted, and I touched my belly as she and I walked down the aisle.
We had come to terms with the heart disorder, considering that it was something we could get through when the time came. I picked out yellow baby shower invitations, as I was never into pink. Who would have ever thought I would learn to knit?! I mean, I can only make square shaped items, but it was good enough to make a rainbow colored baby blanket, and it kept me busy during the so-called nesting period.
At 34 weeks she was very active. I could predict the exact moments when she loved to dance around— after meals or cold drinks, and when I slept. It was like clockwork. Sometimes, when I’m bored, I would intentionally grab a snack just to see her little footprints on my belly, and I would hum a tune or rub my belly in gratitude. Will she have a love for dancing like I used to? Or perhaps something completely different like jiu jitsu?
It was a weekend, and as usual, we stayed over my in-law’s house after a party. By this stage, I was already starting to get uncomfortable in bed and slept lightly. While I was asleep, a sudden kick in my belly struck me hard. So hard that I sat up and vaguely noticed the time. Three-something in the morning? I don’t know. I can’t even remember if I got up to go to the bathroom or if I went straight back to sleep.
The next day, I woke up realizing I had slept in. I made my way downstairs and greeted everyone good morning. Breakfast! Once I was done eating my food, I paused. That’s strange. I closed my eyes hoping I could concentrate harder, but nothing. She was still. No usual kicks or flutters within to greet me back after a meal. I reached for a cold glass of water. That usually does the trick, and heck, even I slept in today so perhaps she did too. Despite my inner voices attempting to make sense of it, a tiny wave of doubt rolled over me. I gulped the cold water down. Then I waited. 1 minute. 3 minutes. 10 minutes.
A silent panic began to shallow my breath and I called for my husband. “Babe, something doesn’t feel right.”
We drove to the nearest clinic and saw a GP. She pulled out a small fetal doppler, rubbed gel over my belly, and began scanning for a sound. Aside from the friction sounds of the doppler against my belly, it was silent. She kept rolling it around and asked me to reposition my body. Deafening silence. After another attempt at another position, she turned the doppler off.
“I’m sorry to say this Mrs. Diaz but there is no longer a heartbeat. Your baby is gone.”
Everything else after that was just noise. The same white noise you hear when you have the fan on or when crickets chirp at night. Except it was far from calm. Images flashed past my vision, but it felt like I wasn’t there.
The shattering cry in my husband’s arms. The drive to the hospital where I booked my delivery. The nurses with looks of condolences and concern. Being undressed to a gown and set up with an IV. Vague instructions from my OB-GYN about the benefits of inducing labour over a caesarean. Family members arriving. My mother in law panicking that waiting too long might put me in harm’s way. So many faces awaited my decision when all I wanted to do was miraculously wake up and realise this was all a dream I failed to wake up from.
Finally, I swallowed back the urge to vomit all over the hospital bed and took a deep breath. 34 weeks she fought on. 34 weeks where she may have had a quiet battle for so long and now, she’s finally at peace. I owe it to her to get through this and fight on.
I nodded at the doctor about a natural birth, and with that, she recommended an epidural. I originally opted out from it on my birthing plan, but in this circumstance, she explained that it would be highly recommended as it is far more painful and harder to push, now that bub is gone. She wanted to reduce the pain I was already going through and focus more on my safety. Don squeezed my hand agreeing with the doctor.
Hearing those well intended words stung me with a guilt that I’ve never felt before.
After what felt like an endless pattern of monitored contractions and pushes, there she was. She arrived into the world without a whisper of a sound. Wrapped in a bundle, eyes closed. She had a heart shaped pout and her face crowned with tiny little curls. Madison Rose, the most perfect little angel I have ever seen.
I was thoughtfully placed at the far end of the hospital floor, far from sounds and cries of newborn babies. The next day, we drove home without our child.
Days after I delivered her, I repeatedly asked hundreds of “what-ifs”. I blamed myself for the little things I could have done better. I bitterly reflected on other mothers who made little effort to deliver perfectly healthy babies. I was fearful of trying again, let alone being pregnant once more. My chest tightened at the sight of babies or little girls. Yet, the facade of strength was cemented on my face as I went about my day.
On the day we said our farewell, she laid in a white little casket wrapped in the rainbow knitted blanket I made. White balloons were flown into the sky and my heart was overflowing with wrenching pain, guilt, and love all at the same time.
Years later, sitting in the back porch watching my little boys playing with the hose on a hot spring day, I remind myself that Maddie would be 9 today. Her little brothers always wanted to hear stories about her and my youngest would casually say “I wish she was alive too”.
She is alive. She lives on whenever I watch my boys giggle at the silly little dance moves they make up. She lives on in every jiu jitsu class my eldest loves to attend. She’s alive in the very same heart shape pout my youngest has. The same button nose my husband wrinkles when he says a joke. The same curls I have that I now embrace.
She is alive. She was stillborn, but she’s still here.
Mary is a mum of 2 beautiful little monster boys in Sydney Australia, and an advocate for raising kind kids. She is in finance – project management and currently has a secret love affair with the ukulele and calligraphy.
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