Field report: My unforgotten star child
In the fifth month of her pregnancy, Mareike’s* gynecologist determined during a check-up that her child was no longer alive. In her experience report, she describes how she deals with the heavy loss.
*Name has been changed by the editors.
I had my miscarriage a few months ago at the 5th month. My baby was an absolute dream child. It should be my second child. I then took the first little one to the gynecologist to see how his sibling was developing. We were very excited and stared spellbound at the ultrasound to see the baby bouncing around just like I had seen a few weeks earlier. The doctor became more and more silent, I became very calm inside and asked: “That doesn’t look good, does it…?”. The doctor wanted to take a closer look. I sent my son out to read a book. Then it was very clear: my little baby had died in my stomach and I hadn’t even noticed it.
“We’ve been told we’ll have to go through this alone.”
A few days later I had to go to the hospital. I was admitted to a normal maternity ward and given medication to induce labor. We were told that we have to go through this alone. There is no accompaniment, but when the time comes, we can ring for a nurse.
Soon I felt uncomfortable, wanted to move, and was pacing up and down the aisles. That was very sad; All around us heavily pregnant women, the roar of newborn babies, only us – here in the middle – in a sad other world.
All of a sudden I just wanted to go back into the room. Then it started – a first contraction. The child was born quickly. I kept it in my hand for a long time, untied it and laid it in towels. Then we called the sisters. They seemed somehow overwhelmed to me, running in and out, hectic, busy. Then everything went as usual; an excision followed to remove the remains of the placenta.
“We looked at our child with love and said goodbye.”
We were allowed to see the baby again in peace. It lay in a lovingly crocheted sleeping bag (thank you to whoever made it), in a raffia basket. We looked at our child with love and said goodbye.
“I will never forget my child.”
Now the original date of birth is approaching and I am overwhelmed with deep sadness again and again. I don’t want to accept the fate of my child. It seems I only have sad thoughts and can’t find any comforting words, even if I seem “comforted” to the outside world and have actually put the experience aside quite well. But: wouldn’t it be bad if I had “processed my loss well”?!
My biggest concern at first was that I might just forget the child – a son – as if he had never been, but now I’m sure that won’t happen.