Remembering my innocence

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Michelle lost her child, Oliver, to fetal intolerance to labor in February 2020. “Reading other people's stories about their feelings and losses has been a comfort for me,” she says. Today she joins us as a guest writer, sharing with us her own.

I remember when we first saw our baby on the ultrasound screen at 7 weeks, my body pulsing with excitement and a nervous, eager fear at how my life would be changing for the better in less than 9 months.

I remember posting our pregnancy announcement on social media with no worries — “Baby S arriving in February”!

I remember arguing with my husband about what baby monitor to buy, and what crib I wanted. I remember spending hours trying to decide what area rug to purchase for the nursery, and perusing baby stores to find the perfect gender-neutral coming home outfit.

I remember scrolling through the many baby apps on my phone on a daily basis, eagerly learning about how my baby was developing that week.

I remember taking weekly photos of my growing belly to send “bump-dates” to my friends, and attaching the matching size vegetable to the picture.

I remember listening to podcasts and reading books about baby sleep schedules and breastfeeding.

I remember taking the labor and delivery class offered by our hospital, and not worrying about asking any questions on our tour.

I remember my husband and I going out to eat and sleeping as much as we could in the week before our due date, soaking up our last quiet moments together.

I remember going into labor late on a Friday night and telling my husband on the way to the hospital that the empty car seat in the back of the truck would soon not be empty anymore.

I remember the feeling of excitement as we were admitted into the hospital, and when my water finally broke.
I remember thinking, we were having a baby!

I remember feeling so excited to send pictures to our friends/family of my husband and I in the delivery room to let them know the baby we were so anxiously awaiting would soon be here.

I remember labor progressing quickly and harshly, the pain coming with it unrelenting.

I remember the nurse kept coming in to check on us, and suddenly became concerned with our baby’s heart rate.

I remember feeling relieved when our baby’s heart rate would return back to normal after a contraction.

I remember the doctor coming in, and telling us it was time to have a baby.

I remember pushing but to no avail, only to see the concerned look on the nurse’s face when she saw our baby’s heart rate on the monitor dropping during each contraction.

I remember the doctor grabbing my head and looking into my eyes telling me we need to go into a C-section. Our baby was in distress.

I remember being wheeled into an operating room, and suddenly being cut open from hip to hip.

I remember my husband holding my head and comforting me while he sat at the end of the operating table as I yelled and begged for the pain to stop.

I remember the feeling of the doctor struggling to pull our baby out of me.

Suddenly… I was empty. I lost two things: my baby and my innocence.

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Every time I see a pregnancy announcement on Facebook from new parents, I see the flood of congratulatory comments. I would be lying if I did not say I was jealous of the innocence held by these expecting parents and their families. I feel no desire to say “congrats” but instead to warn them: did you know your completely healthy and normal pregnancy can end in a shit show with your baby dying in your arms?

Mood killer.

I remember how innocent I was. I was naïve to the potential of bad things happening during my pregnancy, and to my baby.

It pains me to remember my own innocence. Why didn’t I ask questions about what could go wrong during labor? Why didn’t I read books or blogs and learn about fetal distress? Why was I not prepared for something like this to happen? Why didn’t I know healthy babies could die?

Ignorance truly is blinding.

People who still have their innocence say that bringing a child into this world is a beautiful thing. People like us, who have had their innocence stripped of them, understand now that child birth is absolutely terrifying. There are no guarantees. Modern medicine cannot save everyone, even a perfectly healthy full-term baby.

I see and feel and hear things that remind me of my forever lost innocence every day, and what could have been if my baby had lived.

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I remember my innocence as I wake up at 2 AM like clockwork, my body crippled with anxiety as I remember my baby usually would wake me up at this time with his kicks.

I remember my innocence as I reflect on the memory of kissing my son’s cold forehead for the last time before closing the casket lid.

I remember my innocence as I look at the photos of my beautiful son from the two days we had together.

I remember my innocence when I drive by a hospital, and now realize that not only sick or old people die there.

I remember my innocence when I look at my husband’s face when he is sleeping, and see my son’s face in his.

I remember my innocence when I visit the grave of my dead baby, and ask God “why him?”

I remember my innocence, and it haunts me.

What do you remember? What is a source of comfort?