“I’m sorry, there’s no heartbeat”
At that point, all hope was gone. My husband began to cry softly and I turned towards him. I was just numb. After a while I realised that the doctors and midwives in the room had also gone silent, so I turned back to see them all looking towards us. I realised they were waiting for some reaction from me which wouldn’t come. Eventually one of them spoke and I think they then left us alone for a few minutes while they went off to arrange what happened next and to contact the bereavement team.
I knew the plan would probably be to induce me and that I would need to give birth to our baby (who still had no name) but I assumed that this would be started then and there that afternoon. I went straight into practical mode and started thinking about my half packed hospital bag and we discussed what childcare arrangements we could put in place for our daughter and how quickly our families could get to us that day as they aren’t local. One of the midwives then explained to us that they would give me a tablet to “stop the pregnancy progressing” that day (Thursday) but then they would book me in for induction on the Saturday morning. This was to give the tablet time to prepare my body for labour, and she also said that many people found it helpful to have that time to prepare. I broke down at this point as I couldn’t face the thought of going back home as if nothing had happened with my dead baby inside me. After some time for reflection though I did realise it would be useful to have time to explain to our daughter and make arrangements, and make sure I had everything I needed. We also spoke to the bereavement midwife - I couldn’t tell you if this was the same conversation above or separately, it’s all a blur - and I remember thinking what an awful job that must be. We were given a couple of leaflets about what would happen next and it was explained that after labour we would be taken to the dedicated bereavement suite.
The whole afternoon was just really surreal. I remember being hungry (my midwife appointment had been late morning, so it was now mid-afternoon and I hadn’t eaten) and didn’t understand how my body and brain could want food when this awful thing had just happened. I was too embarrassed to admit I wanted something to eat but when the midwife returned to take “a lot” of blood for some tests, I explained I had a history of fainting and asked for some biscuits to help my blood sugar. Then I needed a pre-admission covid test and another really surreal conversation about that ensued. Eventually everything was set and having swapped my maternity notes for the bereavement support leaflets, we headed back to the car park. It was now late afternoon and we were passing our daughter’s nursery on the way home, so we stopped to pick her up. I stayed in the car while my husband got out to get her - she was soon running out chatting and asking why both Mummy and Daddy had come together to pick her up. We made up some white not-quite-lie and drove home, wondering how we were going to break it to her.
That evening my husband made a dinner that I couldn’t eat, despite my earlier hunger. We put my daughter to bed and then I watched some comfort TV, trying not to think about what had happened and the days to come. I had phoned my sister to break the news and asked her to let the rest of my family know. My husband had called his parents who had instantly reassured us that they would look after our daughter, and his Dad arranged to pick her up early on Saturday morning.
A few weeks later, my husband turned to me and asked “What did we do on that Friday?”. I had to stop and think for a moment myself before I could remember. Our daughter went to nursery. We drove back to the midwife unit to get my husband's car. I remember it being an effort but we didn’t know how long we would be in the hospital or when we would be able to get there next. I must have finished packing my hospital bag (with a sadly revised list) and a bag for my daughter to take to her grandparents. My husband went out to buy snacks for the hospital. I messaged friends to explain what had happened.
I also did one of the worst google searches ever - “How to tell a three year old a baby has died”. Our daughter was old enough to understand that there was a baby in Mummy’s tummy, we had been talking about it a lot, she would also often kiss my bump and say hello to the baby. I was dreading having to explain it to her and worried about how she would react - would she not understand and keep trying to kiss the baby? Thank god for the internet though as instantly we found a load of helpful sites both around telling our daughter and more general advice and support for what we were going through. The advice we found confirmed our instincts to keep it straightforward and factual when explaining to our daughter. When we told her there was initially no reaction and she instantly went off to play with her toys. We were worried that she hadn’t understood or taken it in, but actually she had, as after we were in hospital she knew the baby wasn’t there anymore and wasn’t coming home.
Early evening we had a call from a midwife at the hospital checking in and asking if we had any questions ahead of the induction. Then it was more mindless TV and trying to sleep and not think too much about what lay ahead.
In the morning my father in law arrived to pick up our daughter. They were happily playing together in our living room, however when it was time for her to go, the idea we had sold her of a “holiday” at Nana and Grandad’s wasn’t so appealing and she started to get upset. I initially said goodbye to her in the house but my husband and his dad were struggling to get her in her car seat as she was kicking and screaming so much, so I went out to help. As the car drove off she was still crying and reaching out for me, this was the final straw and as we shut the front door I just broke down.