Living in the Rainbow

17 October 2008

(let me say now, the next few “My Story” posts are written a few days in advance)

My wife felt Abigail kicking early in the morning (about 7.30) before we headed into the hospital for a scan and probable C section.  It was exciting to think that our daughter could be born later that day.  But mostly it was scary and we were apprehensive.  What if she died shortly after birth.  How would it be for my wife being operated on?  She hates hospitals anyway.  At least we could relax for the scan this time as Abigail had been kicking that morning.

We went in for the scan.  As well as Paul our consultant there was a young medical student and a doctor we knew slightly through church.  She had actually been there at the first scan after our return from Africa.  Anyway the usual routine kicked in about 10.40am.  My wife got on the bed, the jelly went on, the scan began as usual.  The picture came in and out of focus.  The doctor went to look at the heart as he always did.  Nothing was said but within 2 seconds everyone in that room knew the same truth – Abigail had died.  Nothing was said as the doctor looked from a few angles.  I took my wife’s hand, she was crying.  The doctor checked a few settings on the machine.  It seemed as if time had stopped.  Still the doctor said nothing.  The world was suddenly different – as if the sun had just been switched off.  Everything seemed darker.  The silence must have lasted about 30 seconds but it seemed exactly like a lifetime.  In some ways it was.

My wife spoke first – “there’s no heartbeat is there?”  “I’m really sorry the doctor said”.  And that, was that!  With those few words, our lives changed.  The life of our family changed forever.  This doctor had seemed quite harsh when we first met him, but at this moment he was visibly upset for us, close to tears.  I was so grateful to see him cut up like that as I knew he had done everything he could for our daughter.

The rest of the day was a blur.  We waited around a long time.  My wife took a pill to cancel the pregnancy hormones and prepare for induction.  We were given lots of leaflets about grief, funerals, stillbirth.  We had come into the hospital with a whole pregnancy file we left with a few leaflets for undertakers, councillors, crematorium.  Not much of an exchange.

I was always the one who did the calling so I rang both lots of parents and our friend who was looking after our son.  Every time I told someone Abigail had died it started to feel more real.  We went back to pickup our son.  We sat with him for a little while before we told him.  I told him Abigail had died.  His first response surprised me.  He said he was glad, because it had taken such a long time.  I wasn’t angry, he had no idea what we were saying.  He said a lot of things over those few days some profound, some less so!  He was only three and it was quite a lot to take in.

Later that afternoon I sent this email to our friends

Sent: 17 October 2008 16:16
Subject: The email we hoped not to have to send

Forgive an email on such a topic but it really is the easiest way to spread the word.

After 12 weeks of hoping and fearing, the ups and downs on our particular roller-coaster, we now know the ending to this particular chapter.

Our Daughter Abigail died sometime this morning.  [My wife] felt her move first thing but by the 10.30 scan today her tiny heart had stopped beating.  We both knew within a few seconds of the scan starting – we have had over a dozen scans and 20 appointments over the past couple of months and know quite a lot about what they are looking for.  We have known for nearly 3 months that this was a possible outcome but I guess with all the talk of C Sections and Neo-Natal Intensive Care this particular scenario had faded from our thinking.

Please pray for us on Sunday when we [my wife] and I will go into hospital to deliver Abigail’s body – clearly this will not be an easy process!  Pray also for [our son] that we will have wisdom to help him understand and process what has happened in a way that is appropriate to his age.  And yes of course we are gutted at this outcome, we had dared to hope despite the negative prognosis!  We are not sad for Abigail, she has gone to a better place and is suffering no more, but we are so sad that we will not get the chance to welcome her to our family, to get to know her and to love her.

I had already uploaded a photo of Abigail from Tuesday’s scan.  She was very active then with lots of movements.  This will be our last positive memory of her.  You can see it here if you want to.

We appreciate that it is often customary to send flowers etc.  If you had wanted to do something in this vein then we would like to channel the money to something more positive.  Having recently visited Africa, we have fresh memories about how much need there is there.  In fact on Tuesday when we toured the Neo Natal Intensive Care unit in the [local hospital] with all its ventilators, monitors, machines, doctors and nurses I couldn’t help remember my trip to a hospital in Africa with its’ Special Care Baby Unit that simply had a couple of cots and no such life saving machinery.  So if AND ONLY IF you want to do a donation to help in Africa.  It will last a lot longer than flowers and mean more to us to think that some good had come from our loss. [to see how this money was used see here]

It is too early to say in what form but we are planning to have a funeral service in due course.

Please feel free to forward this on to anyone who has been following our situation.

Thanks again for all your support and prayers.

Love

[Me, wife and son]

We had friends around that night to sit with us, cry with us.  I can’t remember for the life of me what we did that night.  Everything was a blur.

In the night we didn’t sleep much.  I held my wife.  We cried.  It was difficult to think of the ordeal ahead of us.  Of Abigail’s body, for surely that was all it was, still insider her.  It wasn’t a beautiful thing now but terribly sad.  The hope was gone and we were just left with the cold certainty that life would never be the same again.