I am overwhelmed with grief. I went to my last OB/GYN appointment last Friday. That was my due date (40 weeks). Heartbeat was strong, he was active and kicking. We were ready to start talking about induction. She says that we will wait another week and have me scheduled to be induced the following thursday evening/friday.
So on Monday I get a confirmation that my induction is scheduled to be on Friday afternoon. The week leading up to it was full of nerves, waiting for any signs of labor. I would get contractions here and there, as well as some aches and pains but never having consistent constant labor pains. Later in the week his kick counts have slowed, but still at the 10 kick check. He was also very weird about kicking. Some days very active, some pretty quiet. I chalked up the last two days of barely any movement normal.
Around Wednesday or Thursday I started having a sick feeling that something wasn’t right. It felt like my body was trying to tell me something. I was having panic attacks, and when my partner tried talking to me, I kept telling him I don’t know why, but something bad is going to happen, I don’t know what. My last couple weeks were kind of rough, so again we chalked it up to pregnancy kicking my butt. My cat was also acting very paranoid and strange the night before I went in. She wouldn’t leave my side.
Induction day finally comes and the last time I felt him “move” was when I ate breakfast in the morning. Now I’m doubting if this was even true, or just a shift in where he’s at.
We arrive in L&D and they were delayed in putting us in a room because I’ve stayed low risk my entire pregnancy. The only time they were concerned was the high protein in my urine but my blood pressure was fine. We ended up getting our room about an hour later. Maybe it was a bad idea, but there was another couple that came in after us who looked very distressed. She had signs of preeclampsia so we ultimately let them sign in first. Again, we were under the impression we were low risk anyway.
After an hour, we were finally settled into the room. Nurse immediately takes out the machine to find the heartbeat. Nothing. At first we were joking around, saying sometimes it takes a couple minutes to find it. But she kept checking and nothing. We thought we heard a heartbeat, but it ended up being my own. At this point, her face changed. I knew something was wrong. I started crying. I turned back and forth while she continued scanning and nothing. She eventually called someone to bring in an ultrasound.
We had two more pairs of eyes look at the scans. At this point I was sobbing. By the time they turned away from the screen to look at me I knew the answer. All I did was wail, realizing that my baby had no heartbeat and ended up dying. We kept asking, how could this happen? I swore I felt him move earlier today after noticing how happy he was mommy was eating pancakes. As the realization hit, I might of misjudged when he last moved. I don’t know when, but it could have been day of or a couple days prior before.
The nurses were fighting back tears telling me that there was no movement and no heartbeat. How? Well, there could be an infection, the placenta detached, or the cord got tangled up or wrapped around his neck. Our world was crushed. He was a happy accident. My partner was thrilled to be a dad. I looked forward to growing our family. We put so much work into having a healthy pregnancy. My work was kind enough to give me an extended paid maternity leave. Our baby shower was so beautiful. We received so many gifts and diapers. The nursery was everything we wanted and more.
And now, it was all for nothing. All the suspense, my body going through changes, the excitement and love everyone has shared, and me looking forward to show everyone our baby boy. Taken away from us so suddenly.
Over the course of the day, we called our parents first who rushed over immediately. We then ended up telling family and friends that they’ll never get to see him alive. I’ve never felt so heartbroken in my life. My partner, who has always been the positive optimistic one, is already facing serious depression.
I’m not blaming myself or the wonderful nurses on Friday. We’re mad that we waited. More specifically, we are furious at our OB/GYN. I felt stupid because she said she’d schedule us the following week. If we induced at 40 he would have been alive. My sister who gave birth last year got scheduled an induction right at her 40 weeks. It felt cruel and unfair. Even the doctors at L&D were shocked learning about this. Unfortunately there’s a loophole because she “recommended” inducing at 41 weeks and we could have pushed back and said no we want to be induced today. We had no idea we could say anything, and ultimately, we trusted her advice. Looking back at it, she really didn’t give a reason why we should wait a week, but we blindly took her recommendation because… she’s a doctor and it’s our first pregnancy. We were naive and clueless.
Once we let family know, I decided I was sick of being pregnant. I just want to hold him as soon as possible. So as of now, it is 2 AM and I have a feeling it’s going to be a long induction. In order for my safety, I will have to go through the entirety of a traumatic labor and birth my dead baby. Avoiding c section unless it’s an emergency.
Throughout the evening, many doctors have come visited us explaining different options of birthing and what to do after he’s born. We decided that if they have no idea how he died then we would send him to autopsy. Then the options of a funeral and whether we want him cremated or not. As they were talking options (while high from pain meds) they silently handed my partner a form. After discussing some things and they left, he started sobbing. The paper they gave him was his death certificate. Now, I understand that they need this information, but we could not fathom how cruel and twisted this became in an instant.
I’m still in early inducement (2cm, 50 ripening). It’s now the next day and I feel like I’m in literal hell, waiting forever to give birth to my dead son and still having to recover after that. The only thing that sounds somewhat rewarding is that I want to donate my breast milk to struggling moms, but other than that I don’t know how to continue life like this. I don’t want another baby. I don’t want to be heartbroken like this ever again.