Her Sentence Started with I'm Sorry
This time last year, Max, you were growing in my belly. Three years of trying unsuccessfully to make a baby led Daddy and I to try IVF treatment. On the 5th August we saw the blue line on the pregnancy test that we'd longed for. We couldn't believe that it had worked the first time for us. It wasn't until the six week scan, when we saw you on the screen, that it really began to sink in. You were only a little bean shape but we could see your heart beating strongly. We were finally going to be a family.
My pregnancy was textbook perfect, from the beginning. Once the normal first few months' sickness subsided, I felt great. I could hold my belly for hours feeling you kick. Daddy would put his head to my belly and talk to you.
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In February, when I was seven months pregnant, we bought everything that we would need for you - and more. We spent all Sunday sorting out your bedroom.
That night you woke me up you kicked so much. I smiled and went back to sleep. I thought that you'd be waking me up when you were hungry in the next few weeks so I should be getting used to broken sleep.
The next day, Monday February 21st was when our world fell apart. I'd been out and about all day and it wasn't until the afternoon that I realised that I hadn't felt you move since you woke me in the early hours of the morning. I wasn't too worried because you'd been awake most of the night. I thought you were sleeping, saving your energy for your next night kicking session.
I told Daddy that I hadn't felt you move all day when he got home from work. We decided that if you hadn't moved after I'd had a soak in the bath then we'd ring the hospital. You didn't move. Daddy and I were silent in the car. We were praying that you would wake up and give me a kick but I was never to feel you kick again.
The most vivid memory that I have of that night is when the consultant spoke to us when she'd finished scanning me. Her sentence started with "I'm sorry" and that's all that I can clearly remember. It felt like Daddy and I were falling into a dark hole with only the sound of our sobs. Why did your little heart stop beating?
I was given a tablet to start to induce labour and we were sent home to wait. When we left the hospital it had started to snow heavily. The usually busy area around Kings ' College hospital was peaceful and still. Maybe Heaven was coming down to take you away. When I did manage to get to sleep over the next three days, waking up was unbearable. You were still in my belly and I'd hold you thinking that I'd had a bad dream. When reality sank in, the devastation would wash over me again and again.
We went back to the hospital on the Wednesday afternoon with my hospital bag knowing that we wouldn't be leaving with our newborn baby to start our new lives. We were going to leave with empty arms. We were settled in a delivery room and I was given more drugs to induce my labour. Throughout Wednesday night I could hear other women screaming as they were giving birth but they were rewarded with the sound of their babies crying. I was never going to hear your cry.
On Thursday, February 24th 2005 at14.21 I gave birth to the most beautiful baby, perfect in every way. I have never felt so proud. The midwife quietly left the room and left Daddy and I to spend time with our gorgeous boy.
You looked just like your Daddy. We held you for hours, stroking your rosy cheeks and counting your fingers and toes, amazed at how big your feet were. I'll never forget how you felt and my arms ache to hold you again but you were made to be an angel Max, too perfect for this world.
We were put in a private room to stay that night. The midwives dressed you and put you in a little Moses basket. Our hearts broke when we had to kiss you goodbye the next day. It's the most agonising thing that I've ever had to do. Why us? Why weren't we allowed our little boy?
We left the hospital with photos of you, locks of your hair and your hand and foot prints but we also left with you in our hearts.
In the weeks that followed Daddy and I couldn't wait for bedtime just because it meant that we'd got through another day. It's been six months since you were taken from us. I think about you every minute of the day and I shed many tears when I'm alone or with Daddy.
We continue to rebuild our lives, in the knowledge that you are watching over us. One day I hope that we can have brothers or sisters for you and they'll be told all about their beautiful, big brother.
Another bereaved parent had written a sentence that I read in the days after you were born that made me smile. The words were so lovely that Daddy wrote them on the card that we put with the flowers on your tiny coffin. I think they sum up how privileged we feel to have you in our lives.
"While some people dream of angels, we held one in our arms."
We'll love you forever.
Max February 24th 2005
© Donna Kiaie
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