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Life Inside the Rainbow

After our daughter died from unexplained Stillbirth, we took some time out to decide if we would try to conceive again. We already had two beautiful living daughters and we were still adjusting to the heartbreak of losing our third daughter, Claudia. We had all been through so much as a family that the decision to try for another pregnancy was not a forgone conclusion.

As the months ticked away, we were still deciding if another pregnancy was appropriate. I remember saying to my husband, “No amount of time is enough to grieve for her, if we're thinking of having another it’s going to the hardest pregnancy we’re ever going to go through.” And of course, in every conceivable way yes it was.

We’re pregnant but…

I knew another pregnancy would not be like any previous ones, this one would be fraught with anxiety, the full-blown fear that only occurs after experiencing the death of your own baby. Little did I realise just how gripping that fear would be.

Early in the pregnancy I was cautiously happy and able to contain any niggling fears. However, all it took was eight months, to go from a normal well-functioning optimistic adult to a mess of fear and anxiety who couldn't trust her body to keep this baby alive.

Throughout most of the subsequent pregnancy I had a handle on the fears. Then we hit eight months, the gestation our daughter died at, and although I knew it was going to be hard, I was shocked at how much I fell into the fear.

It engulfed me, slowly choking me. It toyed with me and feed into my ever-present anxieties. As my baby became more ‘real’ to me, so did the fear of losing this child as well. The fears swarmed and the continuous chorus of doubts became louder.  “Can my body do this? You know that they can die at any time, it's happened before, it can happen again.”

In addition, I knew the stress of feeling anxious was not good for the baby. My small sliver of rational mind knew that all this fear was producing extra stress hormones in my body. This wasn’t good for my baby. Day in, day out, it felt that my mind and my body were working against me. My battle to say positive was getting harder, and I knew I had a finite amount of strength left to draw from.

Just promise me the baby will be alive. The truth is I didn't want to be pregnant, I just wanted the baby at the end. As the pregnancy progressed, I couldn't wait for it to be over. Every minute of it felt like a ticking time bomb.

Don't get me wrong, there were moments of absolute joy, we call them glimmers, and there was definitely always love. Love for the growing baby inside me. However, the fear held my mental health hostage for the entire pregnancy. The fear reminded me that yes you can enjoy it and love it, but you also know it can unravel at any moment.

This was a pregnancy not full of baby showers, and gender reveals or even the simple pleasures of putting a nursery together. It was a pregnancy of 2am calls to the maternity ward, ECG’s every second day, nighttime travels to the hospital and crying with the midwives about how there is no way I could last to the due date.

Each day I would plead with myself not to crumble, not to be stressed for the baby. I constantly second guess myself every time I went to sleep, hoping that we both would be here in the morning. From the point of passing the gestation Claudia died at, it felt like borrowed time. The fears ramped up exponentially.

I was sick of this pregnancy, sick of how stressed I was. Tired of worrying about the effects of the stress on the baby. I just wanted my baby here in my arms safe and sound. I felt with our baby here I could finally move forward. I was sick and tired of being pregnant. My body and mind were beyond their capability to cope, and I’d entered this new realm of surviving moment by moment.

I was done with hearing people say “It won’t happen again”, by now I knew too much. So although unlikely, yes it 100% could happen again, do I explain this to them in response? I was sick of smiling through a reply when “You must be so happy” came up. I’m sure that beyond the all-consuming fear there is happiness inside me too. “You deserve this, after all you've been through” I wanted to shake them for being so naïve, bad things happen to good people every day. And of course, “You can relax now” Truthfully, I could do anything but.

We are one of the lucky ones, we delivered a healthy baby after loss.

I was inducted at 35 weeks because of stress. Within the last two weeks, I was at the point of seeing the doctor every second day and being hooked up to the monitors. These visits, I joked with the midwife were my “Mental Health” visits, but joking aside, it was exactly what they were.

The stress was catching up with me faster than I could run away from it. My doctor was happy that this baby was healthy and we proceeded to plan an induction. I cried that I finally had an end date, then I cried even more because I couldn't last to my due date to guarantee the best health of my baby. I felt so guilty, I felt so shattered. I was a mess. I knew my mental health was in the balance and this was the right decision, but it didn’t make it any easier.

To even think of not giving every possible advantage to our baby left me guilt ridden. I hung onto the small thread of sanity left in me. I knew our baby was okay, but I knew I wasn't going to be okay if I stayed pregnant.

Our son was born healthy. He was never delayed in his development and caught up in every way. Had he not been so strong, my guilt would have been unbearable. At times, it was hard to separate the grief around one child’s death and enjoy the connection to this new baby. I didn’t celebrate the pregnancy because I was always so scared the baby wouldn’t make it home.

I felt guilty because how our son was born was directly affected by the loss of his sister, he came out early because I couldn’t stop the worry. I loved this baby as much as I loved his sister, but I got to keep him and not her. I felt guilty that my body didn’t keep her alive like it did for him. I continuously felt that we were pushing our luck or playing with fire to even be pregnant again.

Most importantly, we knew our son was never a replacement for our daughter.

If bereaved parents choose to conceive again, then understanding what is normal during this time can be of great comfort. My advice from having gone through it, is take one day at a time, take care of yourself, be honest with your family and medical professionals, treasure the little things, enjoy the calm when you get it and keep putting one foot in front of the other. You’ve already proven how strong you are.

By Till Heike, bereaved mum & red nose community engagement coordinator