Burying my Baby I buried my baby today. It felt like the right thing to do. I put her in my engagement ring box with a message of love for my angel to take to heaven with her.
It was only two days ago that I lost her. She was almost 12 weeks old. Or maybe not even that. It looked she'd stopped developing some time ago. She was so tiny.
I don't think I'll ever forget that day. I'd taken my little boy to playgroup but I didn't feel well. That morning there had been some spotting. It's the worst thing to see when you're pregnant because then you know, for sure, something is wrong. I rang my friend. She had spotting. But for her it was ok. She had her little girl.
Standing in playgroup I tried to hide the crippling spasms of pain, knowing I was bleeding more and more heavily. Knowing that I was losing her. I just thought this can't happen. If I just keep going it can't happen. I wonder if any of the other parents noticed anything.
I rang my mum. I always ring my mum when something isn't right. She knew the moment she heard my voice. Ring the birthing centre she said. They'll scan you. My 12wk scan appointment was due next week. They'd know what to do. But they didn't. They didn't deal with my kind of problem. Call your doctor the not very kindly spoken lady said. They couldn't help either. Go to Queens Hospital A&E, they'll get you seen on the Early Assessment ward.
Queens Hospital is two trains and a bus away. My husband was at work when I rang in tears. He asked if I could get there some other way. I wanted to scream at him – You fix this! You fix it now! Don't make me do this on my own. He met me at Stratford.
I couldn't speak. I knew I was losing her and there was nothing I could do. I just cried and tried not to show it.
By the time we got to the hospital, the real pain began. Waves of excruciating agony crashed through my abdomen as my body laboured to be rid of her.
The man at the desk said he would fast track me to the triage nurse. I waited 40 minutes, in an open waiting room, unable to stop myself bending double when the pain struck in regular waves. Two or three minutes apart.
The nurse dealt with me briskly. Another man. Sympathy and concern in his manner both tinged with a desire to move me on as quickly as possible.
Walk down here, round there, along there, get the lift, up several floors then through a couple of sets of doors and hand in your paperwork.
Another waiting room. Full of people. More gut wrenching agony. Tears and gasps escaped. I couldn't help it.
My husband – somehow – kept our little boy going. I could barely communicate. But he wasn't with me as the pain ripped me apart.
Three and a half hours after arriving we were seen. All I could think of was that I had publicly lost my baby in a room of strangers and no-one gave a damn.
The instant I was examined I knew it for certainty. The nurse spoke in a low voice. I'm very sorry. There's no heartbeat. She had died. And now I had a dead baby inside me.
I was given options. Wait and let the body do what comes naturally. Take some pills to hasten everything. Or have surgery to remove it.
Will I see anything? Yes. You'll have to pass the fetus. Oh god. I can't … I'll get the doctor to speak to you.
I was taken to an empty relatives room. My baby boy was hungry so Daddy took him for dinner. The doctor seemed extremely uncomfortable to have to talk to me alone. She didn't want me to make any decisions. Surgery comes with its own complications. Take a day or two to come to terms with it all.
Spend a day or two with a dead baby inside me? Because you think that will help? I just looked at her.
Can I have the photo? The doctor looked worried. We need it for your file. Bitch. I took one with my phone.
And that was it. They sent me home. I had to come back in a couple of days and tell them what I wanted to do. I couldn't call them on the phone.
My body still thought it was having contractions. The pain was sharper than ever. My Mother-in-Law tried to help us by coming to pick us up but she got stuck in traffic and so we waited. People came in and out of the hospital. Bustling. Walking with purpose. Not sitting on a metal chair with a dead baby inside them.
This morning it happened. Going to the toilet just felt different. I caught her with my hand. She was in a small sac of fluid. A perfect circle. But not so perfect after all.
I buried my baby today. And the world just carried on.