Thursday finally arrived, a day I both dreaded and needed. I dreaded the thought of saying goodbye, but I needed more than anything to hold her and say hello. We left for hospital with heavy hearts and bodies that were powered only by grief. We entered the car park where only a few weeks before I had been jumping up and down trying to get my baby to move into position for the twenty-week scan, Nik was making me do a military style bootcamp, and people looked on as though we were mad. We couldn’t stop laughing, and I thought then how I would remind my baby in years to come what grief they had given me during my pregnancy, I didn’t know then that the term grief would take on a whole new meaning.
I looked up at the blue sky, the clouds swirling up above us, I could hear the birds chirping, and the distant chatter of people. I wanted everything to stop, I wanted the world to stand still and mourn the loss of my baby girl, but life continued and although I felt motionless, it somehow swept me along too.
As we walked into our labour room, I distinctly remember feeling like a little girl who was lost, alone and in desperate need of saving. I was more terrified than I had ever been in my whole life, and yet part of me felt as if I was looking in on someone else. I didn’t even know who I was anymore. Without warning I’d realise this entire nightmare was about me, and there was no waking up from it. Each time that realisation happened, it felt as though I was being hit by a speeding train, and as I tried to get up, the train reversed and hit me again.
It was as I was drowning in my painful thoughts that Claire walked in. We had already heard from all the staff we had previously met how wonderful she was, and that we would be in incredibly safe and loving hands with her, I could tell this was true by the way she smiled. A smile that showed her heart was breaking for us, and a smile that spoke volumes without her needing to utter a word. She brought Rachel and Rosie with her, who we quickly learnt were going to be our dedicated midwives. I looked into their eyes and I bit my lip, my chest heaved and hot tears poured from my eyes. Nik held onto me and once again was just lost for words.
They too had such kind faces, and as we spent the first couple of hours getting to know them, they filled me with confidence and hope that I could get through this labour, and that they would be with us every step of the way.
A few days prior to losing Aurelia, I had been to a brilliant talk about hypnobirthing which was hosted by Siobhan Miller and Sarah Turner, otherwise known as the Unmumsy mum. Sarah and I have become quite good friends thanks to Instagram, and it was so wonderful to finally meet each other, and yes she’s just as hilarious and brilliant in the flesh. I remember feeling so happy on this day, I was surrounded by incredible women, all excited and pregnant, I had finally met my pal Sarah and most importantly, I left feeling restored with confidence that I could have an incredible birthing experience, and that I could even enjoy it.
Over the days that followed, I practiced my breathing techniques, 4 in, 8 out, I purchased the yoga room spray, and I continued reading Siobhan’s book. I was crossing off the days to my due date, because I knew how ready I was to give birth and meet the life growing inside of me. Little did I know then, how quickly I would be putting my new-found skills into practice, or how the joy I felt would be snatched from me so cruelly and replaced by the an indescribable pain.
I was given another dose of medication to continue the softening of my cervix, and quite soon after that my labour began to progress. I changed into my nightie and put on the birthing playlist which I had created especially for Aurelia. It was songs by a composer called Ludovico Einaudi, every single one so beautiful and peaceful, two words which I will forever associate with my daughter. The energy in the room was so powerful, I felt able and empowered and I was determined to bring her into the world myself, and to enjoy the only thing we would ever be able to do together as mother and daughter. The only thing I would ever be able to do for her.
As Nik used the room spray, it helped transport me back to that happy evening when my daughter was kicking inside of me, when I sat with my bump in a room full of other bumps, when I felt lucky and excited, and for a moment I shut my eyes and I clung onto that positivity with all my might. This time I didn’t need to pray, because I knew I could do it. I let Aurelia’s spirit guide me, I let her give me the strength I needed to fulfil my promise of giving her the entrance she so deserved.
In total my labour was five and a half hours, and whilst the contractions were manageable, I took the opportunity to rest and conserve my energy both physically and mentally. After that, I spent the majority of my labour on a medicine ball totally focussed on my breathing. Sadly there are no shortcuts for mothers like me, we still go through the same process, the same pain, but this time we have the excruciating emptiness to manage as well. We go home with a memory box instead of a baby.
As the pain worsened, and the contractions got closer together, I took two paracetamol and had gas and air. This helped me keep my breathing in control and allowed Rachel and Rosie to assess how far along I was. I had no choice but to block out the fact I wouldn’t be taking Aurelia home during the labour, it was the only way I knew I would survive it.
Nik was my rock throughout, we were so in tune and he championed me on as the pain intensified. He kept me going and the magnitude of my love for him is something I cannot describe as a result of this experience. As the hours passed, the contractions got even closer together, until eventually they were back to back. I continued the breathing techniques I had learnt to keep my focus and to get me through the pain.
Towards the end, exhaustion hit me like a tonne of bricks, I felt myself getting dizzy and wanting to give up, but Rachel, Rosie and Nik worked together to support and mentally lift me when I needed it the most. I made my way onto the bed and remained in an upright position, I needed gravity on my side. Rachel told me she could see her, that my daughter was just behind the last bit of waters which I too needed to give birth to. Hearing these words gave me the burst of mental energy that I needed. I pictured what she would look like, the feel of her body in my arms and in those final two minutes I used every ounce of strength in me to push her out. “She’s here mummy, she’s here, and mummy, she is absolutely beautiful…”
I’d done it, I had actually done it, I was about to meet my baby. As I was waiting for Nik to cut the cord so that I could come out of my upright birthing position, Rachel and Rosie were describing her beauty to me. They kept saying she was absolutely beautiful, that she looked just like her daddy, had amazing eyebrows and very big feet. This made me smile, and I suddenly felt desperate to see her.
I told them to let Nik have her first, I wanted her to be cuddled by one of us, and as they helped me turned around, I was finally able to see her, my beautiful Aurelia.
I didn’t cry, and instead of being overwhelmed with sadness, my body and my mind were flooded with peace and the energy in the room was as pure as my daughter. She was a vision, and exactly as the midwives had described. Her beautiful heart shaped face had lips that were as red a rose bed, a nose that was so perfectly shaped, and eyes so big, I knew had she opened them, you would simply drown in their beauty. She looked so tranquil, my beautiful sleeping angel.
We spent the next few hours with her, I dressed her, held her and kissed her. I read her a bedtime story and just lay watching her and taking lots of photos that I will cherish forever. She somehow gave me the strength to enjoy this time, I felt so proud, like any new mum, and it felt so lovely to potter about our hospital bedroom just knowing she was there. We invited the grandparents to come and meet her, and their eyes were brimming with pain, but also with pride. I think they drew strength from seeing Nik and I so united, and of course from their beautiful granddaughter Aurelia. We decided that we wanted to let her go before the day was over, I somehow didn’t feel able to go through the night with her, I didn’t want to give myself false hope into thinking she would by some miracle wake up and That I would be able to take her home.
Just before midnight, I kissed Aurelia goodnight for the first and last time, and the midwife took her away...
Nik and I climbed into bed and for a while he just held me, but eventually we turned to be on our own, and we just slept...
The next day I didn’t want to leave the hospital. It somehow felt comforting to know she was under the same roof as me, albeit not in the same room. Our funeral director Kat called to assure me that she would pick Aurelia up herself and promised me she would be well looked after until the day of her send off. With a heavy heart, we left the hospital with only a memory box in our hands, and made our way home. New parents with an empty space in the car where our daughter should have been...
In the two days that have followed, the pain of losing our baby seemed to intensify. I felt the need to be surrounded by her, and so went out to print her photos. As I stood at the screen picking photos of Aurelia for her album and frames, I sobbed uncontrollably. Was I really here doing this in the wake of my daughters’ death? Me?
As I made my way back to the car, I seemed to only see pregnant women and newborn babies, it was like the universe was trying to kill the tiny bit of soul I had left. My anxiety was through the roof and I was struggling to be out and without Nik. I wanted to run back home and hide in my room away from everything and everyone. I had done too much too soon.
I got home and shut the door behind me. I felt safe again. I knew Nik was upstairs and I could feel my heartrate begin to stabilise. That evening my small house was full of family that loved us. Family that wanted to be there for us in our darkest hour, and family that we trusted, but I was feeling suffocated. The noise, the people. I wanted everyone to go. I wanted silence. I wanted solace. I wanted Aurelia.
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