Waiting For Darwin

The Days Between Loss and Birth

After we were told that Darwin had no heartbeat, life became a bit of a blur. On one hand, things moved really fast and on the other, it came to a grinding halt.

What surprised me about what happened next is how little time we were given to really let things sink in. Perhaps this was deliberate. In reality, no amount of time the hospital could have given us would have brought Darwin back, and equally, no amount of time would have made any of this easier. I presume the clinicians know we will have questions, so they choose to provide a level of information almost immediately.

A Consultant explained that my wife would need to be induced at some point in the coming days and deliver our boy naturally. My wife, through a combination of choice and some small risks, had been planning on having a C-section, so this came as quite a shock to me. Although, my wife didn’t even question the possibility of having him via a C-Section. I did ask the question, and the Consultant explained that the recovery from a C-Section, whilst dealing with the loss of our son, would be an extremely tricky thing to navigate. Seven weeks since we lost Darwin, I would agree that this advice was good. I am not sure my wife and I would have made it through the darkness of this journey without the many long walks we have been able to take. Obviously, these would have been impossible had she been recovering from surgery. Also, and more importantly, our time with Darwin would be limited, so I feel thankful my wife was at least able to spend that time not in physical pain and discomfort.

The Consultant also discussed future pregnancies and the need for a longer recovery before another pregnancy if a C-Section was opted for. At the time, this blew my mind. Why on earth were future pregnancies being discussed within forty-five minutes of being told our much-wanted son had no heartbeat? However, looking back, this advice was important, and it makes total sense that these practical issues were brought to our attention so quickly.

After that, the Consultant advised us that my wife would need to take a tablet, wait forty-eight hours and then come back to the hospital to be induced. We were both devastated, and our ability to take in any of this information was severely limited. I recall asking my wife what she thought about this and if she wanted to take the tablet now. A completely ridiculous question on my part, but at this stage, it felt very much like this was the expectation.

As I asked my wife this question, the Consultant seemed to recognise the speed at which all this was happening and put the brakes on everything. Suddenly, all of the conversations we had just had seemed irrelevant. We were told that we didn’t need to go home, and we could stay in the hospital instead of going home, and that my wife did not need to take any tablets today.

From what I could work out, most people go home for a few days before coming back to be induced. Honestly, I could not have thought of anything worse. I didn’t care about my home; the idea of it felt distant and irrelevant. I was so grateful that the hospital had a space where we could just hide from the world whilst we waited for Darwin to be born.

The room itself serves one sole and very sad purpose; it is where parents-to-be, whose world has just crashed around them, can stay both before and after their much-loved and lost baby comes into this world. It had a small double bed, a TV, an en-suite bathroom and overlooked a memory garden for other babies who had sadly died. I didn’t know it at the time, but we would end up spending ten nights in this room.

Of the whole time we stayed in the hospital, the first few days are where my memory fails me the most. I sort of know what happened, but not in what order. I can recall feelings, but not when they occurred.

On the Tuesday, the day after we lost Darwin, we were introduced to the Bereavement Midwife (incidentally, one of our close friends). This was a strange moment. I knew what our friend did for a job, but to suddenly be thrown into a world where her job was our darkest hours was surreal. This blend of trained professional who could answer our questions whilst also being a great friend was a unique situation, but one I feel lucky to have had.

Again, my timings are all over the place with this part of Darwin’s story. We had parents come to visit us at some point, and my wife’s sister spent most days with us. Bringing people into this situation is something we both found tough. My overarching feeling was just one of guilt, knowing that we had no comfort to bring to anyone and that what comfort people brought to us was, in reality, almost irrelevant. I don’t say that to be nasty or sound ungrateful; it is just the truth that nothing could fix what was happening to us, and nothing about the future being brighter again felt relevant. Nothing mattered. All we wanted was the impossible, which was for Darwin to be born alive.

Having said that, throughout this journey, the love and care that so many people brought to us in those days will stay with me forever. A family that dropped everything to just be there with us. Friends whose hearts broke with ours, dropped hampers off at the hospital and left. Not needing to see us but being all around us at the same time. Messages filled with love and reassurance that they would be there every step of the way. Colleagues at work who gave me the space I needed to just be with my wife. Finally, people we had never met, who provided a level of care in that hospital that made the unbearable just about bearable.

What I saw time and time again whilst staying in the hospital was a maternity ward full of women empowering women. Stepping into our room and making us feel like our story was the only one that mattered. I witnessed their genuine sadness and sorrow, even though they did not know us, and then found the strength to leave again and go and help countless other women have their babies.

On the Wednesday, my wife took the first tablet; nothing happened (as expected), but it felt significant. We knew that in just a couple of days, we would meet our son. Not how anyone would ever imagine they would have to, but at least for a short moment, he would be in our arms. I do not think we took much comfort from this. If I am honest, I was truly terrified. Terrified about how I would support my wife through the delivery, and also, honestly, I was so scared to hold a baby that had died. Looking back, I of course know that these moments were actually magical, and I will treasure them forever.

The next two days were, in a sense, uneventful. We continued to have my wife’s sister come and visit us. This brought moments of relief from the cycle of sadness and heartbreak we were in. It wasnt that we had a nice time or forgot what was happening, but it was a semi-distraction.

I felt like a little kid in the hospital; my ability to function and make decisions was all but gone. We did nothing for ourselves. It felt like existing was about all we could do. I would occasionally leave the room to go and grab a hot drink, seeing the ‘real’ world was bizarre. Ofcourse life outside of our horrific bubble existed, bad things happen to people every day, and we all just carry on. But being on the other side of that, being the person that a really bad thing had happened to and having to witness life and people just carry on like nothing was wrong, was really tough.

On Friday, 31st October at 01:05, Darwin was born.
Already loved more than words can describe, we had a beautiful boy.