This is My Story - Hazel

In this series of personal stories we hear from parents who have suffered pregnancy or baby loss. We hold space for loss and grief, and we remember our babies gone too soon.

In sharing their stories, these parents are beginning to exorcise the triple demons of stigma, silence and ignorance that afflict so many conversations in the perinatal bereavement space.

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.

Michael and his monkey

When I found out I was pregnant, I had gone off to do a test not expecting much. We had been trying at that point for nearly a year. When I got the positive

result, I ran as fast as I could down the hallway to Jayden, who was doing the

dishes at the time.

I placed the test down on the bench and he assumed, without looking, that it was a negative result somehow, and apologised - despite my grinning ear to ear. When he saw it was positive, I don’t think I’ve ever seen him more happy.

Baby Michael gave me a great pregnancy. He was my first baby. I had no first

trimester symptoms, and only a little bit of a gag reflex in the second trimester. I

was very active the entire time, and I had the best body image of my life. I rocked

that bump. I was grateful every day to be pregnant. I loved it.

I went to the antenatal assessment unit because I hadn’t felt bub move in a couple of days. I was only 24 weeks, and after hearing all the time not to worry too much about movements until 28 weeks because they’re still so little at that stage, I figured he’d just found a dark spot in my womb.

The night before we found out, we went in and we got a heartbeat on their doppler. We thought everything was fine and went home.

Even though I felt reassured at the time, that same night, I couldn’t sleep due to a feeling of impending doom, and kept startling awake.

I decided I didn’t feel okay anymore the next morning, and decided to go back to the AAU. This time they were unable to trace his heartbeat on the doppler, so they ordered a bedside scan. I was hysterical and could not breathe.

The midwives and obstetrician were trying to reassure me that everything would be okay.

In my head I was asking myself how I was going to react “when I found out”. Then I realised that deep down, I already knew - and I was already reacting. Immediately following that thought, I went completely calm and became entirely dissociated.

Then they told me. As for Jayden, it took another two ultrasounds, and an hour later, for him to believe what had happened.

He was shocked at first and couldn’t react. He wanted to look after me, as my health

was deteriorating from pre-eclampsia. We were staring down the barrel of

delivering in the next couple days. It wasn’t for a few hours, until we had a moment of privacy for the first time since arriving, that he broke down.

That night I was given the oral tablet to begin the very first steps of the labour process, which would officially begin in 48 hours from then. On the day of my delivery, I went into labour quickly after being given the second tablet, within 15 minutes, beginning at 8:30am.

Despite the circumstances, with the help of morphine and Jayden’s ability to keep my lemon cordial ice cold and respond to my thirst cues, I actually had a positive labour experience. I delivered Michael at 11 on the dot, 2.5 hours after labour had begun.

When we held Michael, we thought he was perfect. He was a lot bigger than I had imagined he would be. He even had black hair on his head.

He had my ears, which we found adorable. The discovery followed a discussion we'd had a week earlier with Jayden’s side, who all share the same detached ear lobes, and mine being the only ones in the family that are attached. I now shared that trait with Michael.

He had Jayden’s long fingers, with my stubby thumbs. He had Jayden’s long feet, with my bean like toes at the end. We thought it was hilarious and perfect, and we cried, along with our midwife.

Losing my baby has been the hardest thing I’ve ever lived through. It has changed me completely, and now my life now feels like it has been divided into before and after.

My priorities have changed. Before I lost my baby, I cared a lot more about keeping the peace, making sure others were comfortable, and trying not to upset anyone. I always bent myself to fit around other people’s needs. Since the loss, I can’t find it in me to care about those kinds of things anymore.

When I was in the most acute stage of grief, it felt like some people acted as if what I was going through was no big deal. Then I realised that when the same people I always bent for didn’t even show up for me, I needed to stop living that way. Now my priority is being true to myself, even if it means feelings will get hurt along the way, and to surround myself with those who support me and love me even when times are hard.

I also prioritise remembering my baby, and keeping him present in my life. I honour him every day and I never let anyone dismiss him or minimise what happened.

To parents who are recently bereaved: I want you to know your grief is valid, no matter how it looks on the outside. There is no right way to grieve. It is okay if you can’t function in the same way as you could before, and it’s okay if you can.

The way you grieve might not look the same every day, and that’s okay. Allow yourself to grieve in your own way, and give yourself time. Remember your baby, and honour their place in your life.

For me, my Possum Portrait will be one of the ways I keep my baby present in my life. It is a reminder that he existed, that he mattered, and that the love I feel for him doesn’t disappear even though he’s gone. Looking at his portrait will give me a place to focus my emotions on and remember him, even when the rest of the world moves on.

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