I submitted the final version of the story tonight, so thought I would share it here, because I know a few people were interested in reading the reviewed/rewritten version!
(Here is the original version of the story)
The story is about a couple who experience a late miscarriage... so if this is likely to be something that triggers you, perhaps give it a miss, or read it when you are in the mood to cry. I think that pregnancy loss (particularly late miscarriage and stillbirth) needs to be spoken about more so women (and their families) don't feel it is something they need to keep hidden inside. Many of my friends have experienced late miscarriages and have had babies born still, I myself have had four first trimester losses, so it is something very close to my heart.
and with that said, here is my story... I hope you... I don't think 'enjoy it' is the right term... but I hope it strikes a chord.
*********************************************
They Would Remember Her
Lucas
was torn between wanting Jenna to wake up and wanting her to stay in
the drug-induced sleep she was in. Jenna waking up meant that part
of the nightmare would be over for him; his beautiful Jenna would be
awake and his fear that he was going to lose her as well as their
baby would be a thing of the past. But Jenna waking up also
signified the start of their new life together – life as parents
whose baby had died – and he wasn't ready for that. How was he
supposed to support Jenna when he could barely hold it together
himself?
The
voicemail kept replaying in his head, 'Luke,
I need you... the baby, I'm... something is wrong, Luke. I'm
bleeding and these cramps are... oh god, Luke, I need you... I have
to ring... ambulance, I... oh god...'
there had been a cry of excruciating pain before the voicemail
abruptly ended. It had been a deep-seeded cry of agony that he knew
would haunt him forever.
What
had started out as a day of hunting and other manly pursuits with
his best friends had concluded in the most overwhelming panic he had
ever experienced. The second he'd heard the terrified tone in
Jenna's voice, his entire body had tensed up, his heart had begun
racing and his palms had grown sweaty; the voicemail still going as
he'd torn through the pub, gasping for air, hoping the silence
outside would calm him and he would realise he had misunderstood the
whole thing.
Sadly,
he hadn't misheard.
Jenna
was blurred by the silent tears he couldn't stop, but even through
his distorted vision she looked peaceful, angelic even. Her pale
hands were resting protectively on her belly and there was the
slightest hint of a smile on her lips, their usual redness drained to
a dim, almost lifeless pink. Perhaps she was dreaming about their
baby, perhaps she was dreaming that she was still pregnant, that
their hopes and dreams for their little one were still obtainable.
That
Jenna was oblivious was something Lucas envied. How he would have
loved to go to sleep and escape the grief which was strangling him
like a noose pulled tight around his neck. Every breath he took was
a struggle, it hurt going in and it hurt even more going out. With
every pained breath, the fog cleared a little more and their new
reality became more real, more focused, sharper.
Lucas
shifted in the uncomfortable metal chair −the
nurse had offered to move a more comfortable chair in for him, but he
had refused her offer. Jenna had gone through the scariest
experience of her life alone, while he was off laughing and having
fun, so why should he accept the offer of anything that would make
life a little easier for him? He should have been there with her,
the panic should have been something they shared, she shouldn't have
had to call for an ambulance, she shouldn't have had to be alone.
Alone. Because of him, she had been alone.
A
nurse came into the room and quietly set about recording Jenna's
vitals on the blue clipboard at the end of the bed. Lucas tried to
avoid making eye contact with the young woman, but when she addressed
him he had no choice but to turn toward her.
“She
is stable,” the nurse, Lucy according to her name badge, informed
him and then gave him a sympathetic look. “Is there anything I can
get you?” she asked softly.
“My
baby back?” Lucas replied bitterly and then cringed. It wasn't the
nurse's fault. “I'm sorry, I... no, there isn't anything you can
get for me,” he told the woman, who again gave him that sympathetic
look.
“She
will be awake soon,” Lucy reassured him, “Are you sure you don't
want the doctor to talk to her about the surgery?”
“Like
I told the doctor, it needs to come from me,” Lucas sighed,
dreading the moment when Jenna was with it enough to ask what had
happened. The nurse nodded her understanding.
“Just
press the call button if you or Jenna need anything,” Lucy said
quietly and again gave him that look.
'The
look'. He was already sick of it. It was a mixture of pity and
sympathy combined with a huge dose of 'I'm so glad it didn't happen
to me' and a dash of 'oh crap, is he going to cry again?' The doctor
had given it to them, the nurses who had been involved in Jenna's
care had given it to them, the anaesthetist had given it to him. He
knew it was only the start too, because other than him, Jenna and the
staff at the hospital, no one else knew their baby had died yet.
Telling
other people was something he was dreading, almost as much as he
dreaded telling Jenna how serious things had been for her. Both sets
of parents needed to be contacted, his sister, Jenna's brother and
sister, his grandparents, their friends, their colleagues, the old
lady who lived across the road. How the hell was he supposed to
retell the awful story over and over... and over?
Lucas
had been preparing for the day he could share with the world that
their darling baby had arrived. He had been so excited about
announcing their baby's name, their baby's weight, the time he or she
was born, whether Jenna had had a natural birth or a caesarean. It
was a day that was going to be full of the overuse of the classic
cliché statement 'Mum and baby doing well', a day full of
introducing his pride and joy to their family and friends. He would
over-enthusiastically share photo after photo after photo of their
baby – with anyone who would look – and he would say dozens of
times that he was so proud of Jenna.
A
fresh wave of grief hit and he felt angry with himself. How dare he
be upset after everything he had made Jenna go through without him?
He didn't deserve to feel upset, it wasn't him who had had to go
through hours of bleeding and contractions, it wasn't him who had
been alone in hospital while strange doctors examined him and
prepared him for the likelihood his baby was going to die soon. All
the while he had been laughing, he had been making jokes, he had
pretended to be sad that that particular outing would be his last
before the baby arrived and he was – as he had put it – 'tied
down forever'.
He
slumped forward and buried his face in the firm mattress and stiff
cover of the hospital bed, while gripping onto the cold metal frame.
A loud scream erupted from somewhere deep inside him, it felt as if
every single nerve in his body was screaming. His muscles clenched
and shook, his heart started to race, he could feel the blood
thumping in his head; the scream was long and continuous, he was
trembling violently and couldn't stop. There was no heat in the
room, he was frozen and could feel his teeth chattering together,
even through the scream.
The
scream was replaced by loud sobbing and he was quickly aware of the
rough bed cover feeling wet and salty against his face. His eyes
felt almost raw because of the amount of tears he had cried since
that voicemail which had changed everything. No. He lied, the tears
hadn't come until he'd answered the phone call from Jenna's doctor,
requesting that he make his way to the hospital as fast as possible.
He was told that Jenna was experiencing a 'likely
impending miscarriage'
and the 'pregnancy'
was coming to a 'natural
end', as the doctor had
so coldly put it after quoting some stupid statistic about instances
of 'late term
miscarriage'.
Lucas
had cried angry tears as he thought of the doctor's wording,
referring to their baby as 'the pregnancy', using the terms 'likely
impending miscarriage' and 'natural end', rather than being up front
and saying “We suggest you get here quickly, we believe your baby
is dying.” It would have been blunt, but it would have been
realistic. Did the doctor think that by de-humanising what was
happening the pain they were going to feel would be lessened?
The
journey after that was a blur, all Lucas knew was that Jenna was in
room 4 on the obstetrics ward and that he needed to be with her as
fast as was humanly possible. He drove with his foot far too heavily
on the accelerator and his hands gripping the steering wheel so hard
it hurt. He yearned to be by Jenna's side and couldn't remember ever
feeling so desperate to get somewhere. When the city had come into
view, his tears fell even faster, turning the cityscape into abstract
art, bright shocks of light and vaguely rectangular shapes which
formed a picture that didn't quite look real.
Lucas
stilled when he felt fingertips brush against the nape of his neck
and he let out a loud, shaky sigh as that hand came to rest lightly
on the back of his head.
“Lucas,”
Jenna's raspy voice was barely a whisper.
He
didn't want to look at her because he knew she would see right
through him. At the same time, he needed
to look into her eyes, to see for himself that she was alive and he
wasn't imagining it. Slowly, he looked up and was surprised to see
she was smiling. Had she forgotten that before she'd begun to crash
the doctor had confirmed their beautiful baby had died?
“You're
here,” Jenna observed and he nodded as he placed his hand over
hers.
“I'm
sorry I left you,” Lucas told her, his voice wavering as more tears
threatened.
“You
didn't leave me,” Jenna reminded him, her voice surprisingly full
of conviction. “I wanted you to go to Trev's stag night,” she
added.
“I
shouldn't have gone,” Lucas replied, shaking his head, his anger at
himself simmering back to the surface. “If I hadn't gone I would
have been there with you and this wouldn't have happened,” he
proclaimed.
“Luke,
look at me,” Jenna demanded. She only ever called him Luke in
their most intimate or emotional of moments. Lucas looked at her,
his eyes brimming with tears. “This would have happened if you
were there, or not,” she declared, her voice breaking as tears
began to cascade down her cheeks.
There
was no way Lucas could simply sit at her bedside and hold her hand
while she cried. She needed him and he needed her. He slipped his
shoes off and without even thinking about it undid his jeans and
removed them too, placing them in a heap on the chair he had been
sitting on. Hospital beds weren't made for two people but somehow he
managed to get in and lie on his side next to Jenna. He held her as
close as was possible considering the monitors she was attached to,
and the fact she had had abdominal surgery. It may not have been as
close as he would have liked, but to finally have her in his arms
felt amazing. He hadn't realised how much he had needed that contact
with her.
The
sounds of their grief combined and created a haunting symphony which
echoed around the room; if he cared to think about it, Lucas would
have been sure their cries probably carried right throughout the
obstetrics ward.
“I
need to know what happened,” the hushed tones of Jenna's voice
shook him from his thoughts.
“You
should rest some more,” Lucas suggested, trying to stall the
inevitable.
“Luke,”
Jenna's voice was firm. There was no way he was going to be able to
put it off any longer.
“How
much do you remember?” Lucas asked, wondering from which point in
time he needed to start recounting the story for her.
“I...
I remember the doctor... and the ultrasound... saying the baby was...
was...” Jenna started, then took a minute to compose herself. “I
know the baby died... I remember the pain getting worse, I remember
the doctor telling me I was dilating... I... I remember that I was in
labour... then I felt dizzy... I remember you pushing the button for
the nurse... and she didn't come... and you said they were fucking
useless and you left the room... you were running... I could hear you
shouting about blood... I was going to yell at you for yelling at the
nurses...” Jenna continued between sobs. She took another deep
breath and carried on, “And then you were in that chair screaming
into the mattress, and I wanted to hug you, but I couldn't talk...
and you couldn't see me... and I needed to touch you...”
Lucas
lifted Jenna's hand up to his mouth and kissed each knuckle. Jenna
moved her fingers between Lucas's and gently squeezed his hand.
“I'm ready,” she told him and Lucas kissed her on the cheek before finally starting.
“When
I got back to the room with the nurses you had passed out, one of the
nurses called for the doctor while the other checked your blood
loss,” Lucas began, squeezing his eyes shut as the scene replayed
in his mind. “The nurse called the doctor again and said it was
urgent, that you were haemorrhaging.” He had to stop, the image of
the blood-soaked sheets was too much for him.
“Take
your time, baby,” Jenna whispered soothingly and squeezed his hand
again.
Lucas
exhaled loudly and picked up where he left off. “The doctor arrived
and told me they had to get you into surgery immediately, he said
they would do an emergency cesarean and try to stop the bleeding.”
The next part was the hardest for him. “He warned that you might
not make it through the surgery.” The memory of that alone stopped
him in his tracks, and again he began to cry.
“I'm
okay, baby. It's okay,” Jenna whispered. There was so much
compassion in her voice, it had so many soothing qualities that it
caused his heart to break all over again. She would have been an
amazing mum. Would be. When their time came... again.
“What...
what about the baby?” Jenna asked, there was a soft quality to her
voice he had never heard before.
“Doctor
Bishop said that if we would like to spend some time with the baby we
can, when we are ready, but that we don't have to, in which case we
need to let them know and they will advise us of the options for..
well... what happens with the...” Lucas started to relay the
information the doctor had given him, but Jenna cut him off.
“I
need to see my baby,” Jenna insisted, her voice full of conviction
and strength. “Before we even think of cremation or burial, I NEED
to have my first cuddle with my baby,” she added and Lucas felt a
lump rising in his throat, not because he was sad, but because Jenna
sounded as desperate to see their baby as he felt.
“Do
you want me to ring for the nurse?” Lucas asked and Jenna nodded.
“Please,
I want to see our little... wait, do you know if it is a girl or a
boy?” Jenna stopped him before he rang the call button.
“The
doctor said they were able to determine the sex but I wanted us to
find out together,” Lucas informed her.
Jenna
and Lucas had agreed early on in the pregnancy that they didn't want
to find out the sex of their baby until he or she was born. Both
looked forward to that special moment when their baby was placed into
Jenna's arms for the very first time and together they would peek
inside the soft blanket their child was wrapped in to reveal whether
they had a son or a daughter.
It
was that thought that got them through the weeks of morning sickness
Jenna had experienced. Every morning at 6.45am Jenna would wake up,
groan, stumble out of bed and rush to their ensuite. Lucas was always
close behind and would crouch down beside her as she leaned against
the toilet to throw up. He would rub her back and tell her it was
okay, even though he didn't know if it was normal for her to look so
pale and for every movement she made to seem so sluggish. Every
morning for ten weeks she would slump into his arms and he would
pepper kisses all over the top of her head while she tried to get the
energy to stand up and go back to bed.
After
Lucas informed the nurse they were ready to meet their baby, the
nurse helped Jenna get more comfortable, propping her up on pillows
and changing the angle of the bed so she was as close to sitting as
the pain in her abdomen would allow. Lucas and Jenna sat in silence
while waiting for their baby to be brought to them. He wanted to
talk, he wanted to find something comforting to say, but they were
about to hold their dead baby... he knew there were no words that
would suffice.
The
door finally opened and not for the first time that day, Lucas
struggled to breathe. All he could see was the small off-white
blanket the nurse was cradling in her hands. A baby wasn't meant to
fit in the palm of your hands, it was meant to be cuddled
protectively in your arms. Lucas felt tears sliding down his cheeks
as he watched the nurse carefully place their baby – wrapped in the
tiny blanket – in Jenna's hands.
They
finally had their baby.
Before
she had gone to get the baby, the nurse had informed them what their
baby would look like, the mottled colouration, the disporportionate
body and head, the fragile nature of an under-developed fetus. Lucas
had imagined the sight of their child would upset him, that it would
possibly even scare him, and now he felt immense guilt that he had
worried the sight of their child would give him nightmares.
What
he hadn't been prepared for was that when he drunk in the sight of
their precious baby, he would be looking at a miniature version of
Jenna. There was nothing 'mottled'
or 'disproportionate'
or 'fragile'
about the angelic baby he was looking at. The only word that came to
mind was 'perfection'.
“She
looks beautiful, just like her mother,” Lucas whispered.
“She?
How do you know?” Jenna whispered back.
“My
darling, she looks just like you, there is no doubt in my mind we
created a little princess,” Lucas told her in the same hushed tone.
“I
don't see it,” Jenna replied, her voice still a quiet whisper.
“The
little nose, it is a replica of yours,” Lucas began. “The little
lips, the same beautiful bow shape as yours,” he continued. “Even
the eyelashes, they would have been long, I can tell,” he turned
and smiled at her. “And I bet she has the same bright blue eyes as
you, eyes that would get her out of a lot of trouble growing up,”
Lucas surprised himself by chuckling quietly before he adding, “Like
you... I can never stay angry at you, one deep look into those eyes
and I am rendered useless.”
“I
need to see for myself,” Jenna stated, and had their hearts not
been crumbling piece by piece, he would have been sure she sounded
almost upbeat. Grief did funny things to a person.
Lucas
moved a pillow onto Jenna's lap and she gently placed their carefully
swaddled baby on the pillow, Lucas heard her inhale deep and long and
held his breath as she opened the blanket. For the first time –
and the last – they took in the sight of their perfect baby girl.
Normally Lucas would have exclaimed 'I
told you! I'm always right!'
and Jenna would have rolled her eyes as she shook her head and
giggled quietly.
Not
in that moment though.
He
needed to get to know his daughter. He needed to touch her hand, to
gently run the pad of his thumb down the sole of the smallest foot he
had ever seen, to stroke her cheek... and through tears he did it
all. Through tears he watched Jenna committing every tiny feature of
their daughter to memory, her touch so delicate, so protective... the
touch of a mother, he realised.
“We
need photos of her,” Jenna suddenly said loudly, her voice full of
panic.
“I
have my phone, we can ta...” Lucas began to say, stopping abruptly
when Jenna gripped tightly onto his forearm.
“We
can't call her 'her'! She needs a name Lucas!” Jenna exclaimed,
clenching his forearm so tightly her nails dug into his skin
painfully.
“Sweetheart,
try and breathe... I want us to name her as well,” Lucas assured
her and felt the tension leaving Jenna's fingers before her hand fell
from his arm to his thigh.
“Sasha...”
Jenna's whispered, she swallowed loudly and seconds later her sobs
filled the room.
“Sasha,”
Lucas said nodding his head, his throat burning and jaw clenching as
he began to weep.
When
there was a break in the tears Lucas silently took the only photos
they would ever have of their darling daughter.
They
were photos he knew they would look at in fifty years time and cry as
they thought about the beautiful child who had been a physical
presence in their life so briefly but would always be their first
born child.
On
her birthday, they would remember her. On Mother's Day and Father's
Day, they would remember her. At Christmas, they would remember her.
Every single day, for the rest of their lives, they would remember
her.
No
matter how many times they were blessed with a new addition to their
family, no matter how rich their life was, no matter how much
happiness they had, no matter how many great memories they created
and shared, there would always be something missing. Their first
born. Their Sasha.
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