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Writer's picturePossum Portraits

This is My Story - Danielle

This series of personal stories from parents who have suffered pregnancy or baby loss holds space for talking about loss and grief and remembering our babies gone too soon.


In sharing their stories about their pregnancy journeys, feelings and insights, these parents are beginning to exorcise the double demons of silence and ignorance that afflict so many conversations in the space of pregnancy and baby loss.


Parents share their journeys and the lessons they have learned about grief, parenthood, friendship and living after the death of their baby. They tell us how they have changed, who they have become, and what truly matters now.


Angel baby boy Arlo



My partner Sophie and I fell pregnant through IVF. We found out we had a positive result at 4 weeks! We were extremely happy, relieved and excited of course! My pregnancy was fairly good - except for constantly feeling nauseous and fatigued, I felt really good and loved watching my belly grow.


Except for constantly feeling nauseous and fatigued, I felt really good and loved watching my belly grow.

The pregnancy itself was going well. I loved being pregnant and feeling our baby start to move and kick. Every test and scan came back perfect, which was always a relief. The baby was growing perfectly. We didn't want to find out the gender until birth and we were just really enjoying being pregnant.


We loved imagining how our future would look with our baby in it when he/she was born. We went to stay with my mum for a few nights, who lived about 2.5 hours away to celebrate Christmas. The day we got there I remember going upstairs for Sophie to feel my belly, as the baby was happily kicking. The next morning I felt the baby again, waking me up with some kicks. Then we were busy with Christmas celebrations and headed home the next day. I mentioned to Sophie that I had not felt the baby move since the morning kicks. The placenta was anterior, so I put it down to that being the reason I had not felt anything for a couple of days. It's not uncommon for this position to mask the baby movements.


When we got home, Sophie asked me that night if I had felt the baby and I remember shaking my head and saying no. It did not cross my mind that it was something serious.

When we got home, Sophie asked me that night if I had felt the baby and I remember shaking my head and saying no. It did not cross my mind that it was something serious. I told Sophie I would give it until tomorrow and then go into the hospital for a check. Which is what I did. I called the hospital and explained, and they didn't seem concerned but said to come in.


I went to the hospital and even though it was a public holiday, I was seen pretty much immediately. The ultrasound easily found MY heartbeat... but not the baby's, which had always been strong and active. I could see the baby on the screen, but it didn't look right. The midwife did not seem alarmed, but eventually went to get the doctor.


I could see the baby on the screen, but it didn't look right. The midwife did not seem alarmed, but eventually went to get the doctor.

It all happened so quickly and in slow motion at the same time. The doctor looked at the ultrasound, then placed her hand on mine and said “Danielle, I'm so sorry there is no longer a heartbeat." And I started crying. My baby had stopped moving at 23 weeks and 6 days. I called Sophie to come to the hospital and called my mum to come and stay with us.


Apart from being in shock, I also wanted to know what had happened. HOW could this have happened? Was it something I had done or did not do? The doctor explained they didn't have those answers yet and they would take time. She also said I would have to deliver the baby vaginally. This was never part of my birth plan. My plan was a C-section and I just didn't know how I would cope with being forced to deliver my baby who was no longer alive. I remember almost hyperventilating and saying I just don't think I can do this. I was terrified and heartbroken.


[The doctor] said I would have to deliver the baby vaginally. This was never part of my birth plan. My plan was a C-section, and I just didn't know how I would cope with being forced to deliver my baby who was no longer alive.

The day of the labour.... We had been at the hospital for the ‘formal’ scan to tell us the baby had died two days prior. This is when I was given medication to stop the hormones. Then we were sent home for two days. To this day I do not know how we got through those two days. It's such a blur of tears and heartache and numbness. I don't think I would have ever been ready for labour, it was just something that I had to do.


My mum dropped us at the hospital and thankfully the staff knew exactly why we were there. They took us into our room and I was induced pretty much straight away at 9am. The contractions started a few hours later and I said yes to all the pain relief. Why the hell not?! Eventually I got an epidural. Not much was happening apart from the contractions.


The contractions started a few hours later and I said yes to all the pain relief. Why the hell not?! Family was checking in on us but we didn't have much to tell them.

Sophie and I were oddly calm - we were even watching random episodes of Schitts Creek in between contractions, which we found to be comforting and a good distraction. Family was checking in on us but we didn't have much to tell them.


Around 9pm that night the doctor came in and said we will give you an extra dose of the medication to induce labour at midnight, but if nothing happens with that dose we will pause and start again tomorrow. Oh god. We might have to start all over again tomorrow!


About an hour and a half later I felt something between my legs and buzzed for the midwife. She did an examination and said it looked like it was a tablet they had first given me (first induction dose is vaginally and orally after that). Then she felt again and said, "Oh no. I think the baby is coming."


Once the baby started to come, it came out SO quickly; within about 5 minutes. I only pushed a couple of times. I didn't feel any pain because of the pain relief medication and because the baby was so small.


Once the baby started to come, it came out SO quickly; within about 5 minutes. I only pushed a couple of times. I didn't feel any pain because of the pain relief medication and because the baby was so small.

The midwife did EVERYTHING herself. The delivery, the placenta, everything. It was only myself, Sophie and the midwife in the room. The baby was born still in the sac so she cut it out and said “You don't know what you're having do you?” and then told us it was a boy. She asked if we wanted to hold him and wrapped him in a blanket and gave him to me.


As soon as I laid eyes on him I said oh my god he looks like Felix (our living son) and he is perfect. According to Sophie, I just kept repeating how perfect he was. He looked like he was sleeping and he was so TINY! We didn't know what to expect to be honest - I guess maybe something obvious to show us what had happened but there was nothing. He looked peaceful... a little grumpy actually with his left hand under his cheek, and a furrowed brow.


According to Sophie, I just kept repeating how perfect he was. He looked like he was sleeping and he was so TINY! He looked peaceful... a little grumpy actually with his left hand under his cheek, and a furrowed brow.

I felt an absolute overwhelming feeling of love for him. I just loved him. We named him Arlo. He measured 28.5cm long and weighed 480 grams. He was perfect.


The experience of baby loss for me is the worst thing I have ever experienced. I have never felt something as soul destroying as this. Something you have no control over, something that just happens to people. It has made me see how unfair the world is and has definitely changed me forever. I see myself as before losing Arlo and after. Before losing Arlo I really did think everything happens for a reason. But not this. There is no explanation as to why this happened to us and it has changed me in several ways.


I see myself as before losing Arlo and after. Before losing Arlo I really did think everything happens for a reason. But not this.

My priority has always been family, and this experience has reiterated that. I have also become a lot more protective with our son Felix. Couples grief counselling has helped Sophie and I with our different grieving styles, and combined with individual psychologists and group support and online support I've never had so much therapy in my life as I have since losing Arlo.


Unfortunately, loss has changed how I feel about potential future pregnancies for myself, or Sophie and others. That innocent excitement around pregnancy is gone and has been replaced with worries and concerns about the many, many things that could go wrong. Loss has also changed how I am with babies and people who are pregnant. I cannot hold a newborn and I avert my eyes when I see pregnant people or prams with really little babies in them. These are triggers that I navigate in the world every day. Hearing a newborn cry almost makes me have a panic attack. I just cannot handle it.


Loss has also changed how I am with babies and people who are pregnant. I cannot hold a newborn and I avert my eyes when I see pregnant people or prams with really little babies in them. These are triggers that I navigate in the world every day.

I know friends struggled to help us during our loss. Thankfully our workplaces were supportive, which made taking leave fairly seamless and eased the financial strain a little. This time was also very isolating and we needed people around us. Just to sit with us in our grief. Nothing was going to fix things - mentioning Arlo would not make us cry more than we already were. Quite the opposite, we were desperate to talk about him.


It was surprising who did turn up for us and said things that brought comfort, while others seemed to fall a bit short. Our needs changed every day, sometimes every hour, so telling people what we needed wasn’t very easy. We found ourselves alone quite a lot and this made me see what people had capacity for and what they didn't, and I am learning to accept that. It also changed my relationship with myself and my body. I have very little confidence and feel like a shell of my former self.


It was surprising who did turn up for us and said things that brought comfort, while others seemed to fall a bit short. Our needs changed every day, sometimes every hour, so telling people what we needed wasn’t very easy.

I wish I had known how common stillbirth is in Australia. Six families experience this every single day. I wish I had known what to do after the birth. There is such a short time to squeeze a lifetime's worth of memories into. I wish someone had said: take a photo of every little part of their little body. Take photos together, take videos. It feels weird at the time, but my god you treasure every single precious memory you have and you always want more.


What I would say to families who have recently been bereaved is I'm so so sorry. You didn't deserve this. None of us do. Feel the feelings: they will come up no matter what. Say no to things you don't have the energy for and focus on what you need. Do what you need for yourself. You're not alone, but your friends might not understand how you're feeling. Others do, so reach out.


What I would say to families who have recently been bereaved is I'm so so sorry. You didn't deserve this. None of us do. Feel the feelings: they will come up no matter what.

I found comfort in reading about other people's experiences online on Stillbirth Foundation, Red Nose Foundation and Bears of Hope. We also joined a support group and connected with others who had experienced loss. Connections I will treasure forever. I also found podcasts like the Glimmer Project and Little Life Big Loss helpful. Sophie is a reader and ‘Resilient Grieving’ was one of the books she found helpful.


Sophie and I also found comfort in getting tattoos to honour Arlo, something we will always have with us. If tattoos aren't your thing, we also have a few pictures of Arlo and his ashes in our living room and we look at him and talk to him every day. We both also have necklaces with his name and birthdate engraved, which we wear everyday. He is still a part of our life, he is still our son, we are still his mums.


Possum Portraits is an invaluable service for bereaved parents. Having a portrait done especially in this style makes it more personal and commemorates the life of a precious little being who didn't get a chance to experience the world. Seeing a portrait of Arlo is comforting and allows me to share my love of him with the world.


Seeing a portrait of Arlo is comforting and allows me to share my love of him with the world.

We have one living child, Felix. He was almost 3 when Arlo was born sleeping. He had only just started to understand that there was a baby in my tummy. We made the decision for him not to come to the hospital and we will explain things to him when he is older. In the meantime, he points to my tattoo and says ‘baby Arlo is sleeping’ and knows that it is Arlo in the pictures at home.


As for how to talk to your living children about the death of your baby, I think this is a personal decision. We didn't think Felix was old enough or would understand the concept of life and death, and therefore decided not to go into detail whilst still making Arlo a part of our lives. I think it is important to acknowledge the emotions - ‘mummy is sad’, ‘mummy misses Arlo’, because he understands emotions - and it was difficult to hide the crying all the time, and explain why his grandparents were there almost every minute.


I think it is important to acknowledge your emotions [with your living children] - ‘mummy is sad’, ‘mummy misses Arlo’.

I would say though that including your living children when commemorating your loss (if age appropriate) might be healing and might help them to understand things better. Things like making a garden, or drawing pictures. Our friends bought us a family portrait with Arlo in it, and we have that proudly on display, so something tangible like this might be helpful too.


Losing Arlo has made me realise you can do everything right and it doesn't make a difference. It has made me realise connections with new people who have experienced something similar are actual gifts. I hope more research will be done in the future. I hope for more education around safe pregnancy and stillbirth prevention. Not all stillbirths can be prevented - ours could not.


I hope more research will be done in the future. I hope for more education around safe pregnancy and stillbirth prevention. Not all stillbirths can be prevented - ours could not.

I wish the government provided funds to support bereaved parents such as every hospital having at least one cuddle cot and staff who can support parents through this horrible time, not just major hospitals. I hope there will be more funding provided for research into stillbirth and possible prevention - nothing was picked up on my scans, but perhaps with technology evolving this could be an area of focus.


I don't expect to ever feel like our family will be whole, or that Sophie or I will be the people we were before losing Arlo. But I hope to one day feel a little bit happier, a little bit more human and a little bit more complete.




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