It was the second to last day of the Summer Term at school. One day to go and it was the Summer break. I was 21 weeks and 1 day pregnant with my baby girl. She didn't yet have a name. We had decided that over the pregnancy, Rich and I would come up with a two names that we both really liked and we would present them to his son, so he could name her.
Just a week before, we had had our 20 week scan and our daughter
was growing perfectly. The hospital were extremely happy with how she was
cooking and could only see good things and a successful, healthy
pregnancy.
Just to create a bigger, fuller picture, I have an autoimmune
condition called Rheumatoid Arthritis. Having this condition therefore made me
a "high risk pregnancy". Furthermore, after I experienced a
miscarriage back in February at 6 weeks, they discovered that I had what is
called a Didelphic Uterus. Without going into too much, specific detail (as
this is Summer's Story and there are different types of this); Di = 2. So you
can basically get the gist. So now the RA, the first miscarriage AND the
discovery of my Didelphic Uterus meant that I was absolutely, definitely, 300%
"high risk" and my pregnancy was under a Consultant. I was made aware
that the chances of Miscarriage and Premature Birth were higher because of my
Uterus and to be open to the possibility of a C-Section, though a natural birth
would not be impossible. Again, without going into too much detail, I would
bleed throughout my first trimester, plus a bit into my second. So, you can imagine
the worry and the stress. Thankfully, because of my conditions, I was seen and
scanned regularly anyway and all was perfect and okay. Throughout my second
trimester and at the 20 week scan, we were given no indication that anything
was wrong and everything was actually very positive and exciting.
Oh how things changed.
I had been absolutely fine all day at work. Hadn't done anything
strenuous and had had a lovely day catching up on admin stuff. I remember it
was about 14.50 when I had what I thought was a mild period pain. I had had
these throughout my pregnancy and so didn't think anything of it. It came and
went as quickly and a painlessly (kind of) as normal. I left work and went to
my tutoring session and again, all was fine.
As I was driving home from tutoring, I began to not feel well. It’s
really hard to describe, but I just knew I didn’t feel well and so I went for a
lie down. I told my friend that I would be running a little bit late for a meal
out I was supposed to be joining but that I would be there. When I got home,
that’s when the period pains started again. This time a lot more painful and a
lot more often.
To cut a long story short, these pains turned out to be
contractions. Rich rushed me to Calderdale Hospital and by the time we were well
on the way there, I was in that much pain that we both knew they were contractions.
We pulled up in the car park and Rich ran inside to bring me back
a wheelchair. As he got me out of the car and into the wheelchair, I could see
a woman coming outside, heading for her car. All I could think was that I could
feel another contraction coming and I was so embarrassed that I was the way I
was in the car park. As one came, I could feel the pressure and pain building up
inside of me. As the pain got worse, I had to push myself up off the seat. Then…
release.
My waters broke. Right there. In the hospital car park.
Rich thought I had dropped and broken my water bottle. As I help
my bottle up to him and told that I had not dropped my water bottle, but
actually my waters had just broke, the terror and panic of what I knew was
about to happen set it.
The pain had gone and that was a relief, but amongst the tears, all
I could think and say was “It’s too soon. She can’t come yet!”
Rich pushed me through and up into the Maternity Ward. They knew
we were coming, as Rich had called earlier when I was at home having the
contractions, but when we arrived at the door and pushed the buzzer, nobody
came. It seemed like an eternity passed by before they finally buzzed us in.
If I am completely honest, I don’t remember much about when we got
there, other than I was in an absolute state of panic and fear, crying my eyes
out. I think they had to calm me down but it’s all a bit of a blur. What I do
remember is finding myself on a bed, with Rich to my left and a few nurses and
midwives trying to talk me into controlling my breathing.
When I was calmer, I remember them asking me lots of questions
about my pregnancy; how far gone I was and if I was sure my waters had broken.
I remember thinking that yes, I was sure they had gone and if they didn’t
believe me then they would see the flood in the car park. They told me that it
did sound like I was going to miscarry but that they would like to check internally
and see what they could see.
When they checked, they confirmed that my waters had indeed gone
and that unfortunately a miscarriage was inevitable. They explained that
because I was this far gone that I would have to give birth naturally but they didn’t
know how long it would take and so I had to have antibiotics to protect her
from infection, as well as myself.
We were devastated. I looked at Rich and we both cried our hearts
out. I had only seen Rich cry once before and seeing him cry this time broke
me. I won’t go into the thoughts and feelings that I had in this post, I will
save that for another one. But we were devastated.
We were put in a private room and offered a scan to see if there
was still a heartbeat. Initially we said no to this but after a few hours, I
agreed to one. The consultant brought in a little portable scanner and did an ultrasound
around 11.30pm. I’ll never forget the sound. There she was on the screen, heart
beating so strongly. It was bittersweet. A small bit of hope followed by the
quick realisation that her chances were very slim, due to her gestation. The
consultant explained that if she is born alive then we will be in intensive
care as her lungs were not developed to be strong enough to survive outside of
the womb (something that apparently is only likely at and after 24 weeks) and
therefore they could not intervene before then (a whole new topic that I will
explore in a later post).
The consultant booked me in for an emergency scan the following
morning for 11am in the hopes that we would still hear and see a heartbeat.
Even though there was always a glimmer of hope, we both knew that
we were not going to leave the hospital with our baby girl. We just knew and at
around 3.15am I woke up with contractions starting again. The midwife came in
and checked me, and gave me pain killers. There was nothing more really to be done
at that point.
At 11am we were taken down for the scan and, just as we expected,
they confirmed our worst fears. There was no heartbeat. Our baby had died.
Even though we knew and had known all along what the outcome would
be, our hearts just broke and the tears fell. The nightmare didn’t end there.
Not only had my baby died, but the midwives came back and explained that I would
have to give birth to her and that they would induce me to help me go into
labour. Plans were made to have me induced over the next few hours.
My lunch was brought in about 12 and I remember asking if I should
eat or if I should wait. They told me to eat if could to get my energy that I
would need to push and that they would start the inducing process in a few hours
after I had eaten if nothing happened naturally.
I didn’t need a few hours. I finished my lunch and at around 12.50
the contractions began again. The midwives checked to see how dilated I was and
all of a sudden I was told it was time. My baby girl was coming. The midwives
explained to us what was going to happen and what to expect she would look like
etc. They were amazing. So kind, calm and helpful. All together there were 5 of
us in our room; 3 midwives and Rich all helping me to deliver my baby.
The labour didn’t last long. Again, I don’t remember much of it
other than the feeling of her finally coming out and then trying to get the
placenta out. That part was harder than getting her out, but I did manage to
get them both out without needing to go for surgery or anything else that I was
told may be necessary if things went not to plan.
At 13.25, on Friday 23rd July 2021, I gave birth to our sleeping beauty. When they asked us
what she was called, we didn’t know. We initially said we didn’t want to name
her because we hadn’t picked out a name for her. I remember seeing Rich walk
from my right side of my bed to my left and then back to my right again,
looking at her, watching as the nurses did what they had to do to clean her up etc.
Then he just said, “What about Summer?”.
As they wrapped her up and passed her to me, I looked at her in
awe and wonder. I loved it. Summer was her name. As I cried and held her, I
just said “Summer? Yes, that’s her name”.
She was beautiful. So perfectly formed. Fully formed. Ears, Head,
Nose, Mouth, Body, Arms, Hands, Fingers, Finger Nails, Legs, Feet, Toes, Toe
Nails, Eyebrows, Eyes. Her eyes were closed and her skin was red; both of which
the midwives had prepared us for. She was small. She was perfect. I was in
love.
My baby girl was perfect.
There is so much more I could write, but I think those things I
will share and explore in future posts.
I wanted to share Summer’s Story because Summer is my everything. She’s
my daughter and although the worst thing has happened and it has knocked both
of us massively, I do believe that there is a purpose to our story bigger than
us. Now that I am in a better place mentally, I feel able to share in a
positive way. So I will end with this thought, which I wrote for a separate post....
This season I’m walking is teaching me and showing
me that we are forever changing. Growing. Developing. Whether that’s positively
or negatively.
Our experiences change us.
So many people have said that they’re worried that
I haven’t been “myself” over the past few months. I would go so far as to agree
with them, as I was worried I wasn’t “myself” either. I knew I was broken. I
knew I was acting, thinking and feeling differently. I even looked in the
mirror and would weep because I knew it wasn’t “myself” looking back at me. And
that was all the more scary for me because I didn’t know who it was who was
looking back at me.
This girl, the woman, who had lost her baby. Whose
body had failed her again and could not keep her baby safe. This girl whose
heart was completely shattered and whose mind had just stopped functioning and
spiralled out of control. This girl who had become fearful and anxious of
literally anything and everything. This girl who knew she would NEVER been the
same again.
The thing is, I’m going to be honest with you, I
look in the mirror and I still see that girl. The girl I don’t recognise.
But as I reflect and take the time to heal and
accept this girl, I see and feel strength emerging. Yes I will never be the
same person I was back in early July.. but actually I’m coming to realise that
I’m okay with that.
Because I’m a mother now. And I have a partner who
is the father of my child. And we created something, someone who is literally
the definition of perfect. Yes our baby isn’t with us, yes she’s in Heaven, but
our baby is PERFECT. Literally flawless. Never done anything wrong, never
thought anything unpure or tainted or bad. She’s literally perfect. And ALWAYS
will be. She will never do anything wrong. She will remain PERFECT.
You always hear of mothers being proud of their
children. And I long for the day of where I am proud of my living children.
But I’m overwhelmed and find absolute peace,
comfort and immense pride, because I can say my baby Summer is literally
perfect. And I am the proudest mother in the entire world. ☀️💖
