Quick heads up.
I wrote the following as a way to process what happened to my family on Sunday 20th September 2026, which stretched into the following day. The following days and weeks are grief of their own.
The reason I am posting it here is (on top of helping me deal with my grief) because those affected usually do so in silence. I wanted to provide a vivid account, complexities and all to help those suffering and/or raise attention to this taboo subject.
I write about the day in its entirety. Mainly what went on and how I felt. It is my genuine account and is honest, sometimes blunt and pretty dark. It is also very, emotional. I don’t beat around the bush and like the day itself, things don’t make sense. I have written it this way so you get a sense of it from my POV.
It starts with a short summary and then goes from the start.
I have kept names out of it, other than Khushi’s, by design. Whilst it is how the day went through my eyes, this is about her.
It is a very, very long post (6,700+ words) so I do not expect anyone to read this. However, I hope it helps maybe one person in some way shape or form. I don't know how it would or could but i'm a hoper.
I hope you never, ever go through anything remotely like what my Wifey and I went through that wretched day.
———————————————————————————————————————————
September 20th 2026.
This was meant to be the due date of my second child. Her name was going to be Khushi. She was the baby girl I always wanted. I have told people in the past that if given the choice of winning the lottery or having my own baby girl, I would choose having my baby girl 11 times out of 10.
I can’t pinpoint why I have always wanted a baby girl. Maybe it is because of the hideous way I saw my sister treated by my own father or the fact that I had a huge hand in raising my 2 nephews (aged 16 and 19) and I wanted a change or even the fact that a father-daughter bond offers a different dynamic and it plays into my protective nature.
Either way, I wanted a girl. To be honest, I wanted a baby girl as my first child but the boy that I have has turned out perfect and is currently perfect. As of writing, he is 2 (3 in November).
I have found that the day babies are born, they are kinda ugly. Controversial to say but I’ve seen it more than 5 times to date. However, it was not the case with Khushi. The craziest thing is that she came out so perfect. Beautiful skin, long and elegant like her brother, pronounced features.
She also came out stillborn.
I messaged my mum at 10.05pm saying ‘Khushi’s out. 9.54pm’. Followed up with ‘she came out perfect. Why is she not alive mum’.
———————————————————————————————————————————
On Saturday September 19th 2026, that evening, my Wifey stated that she felt minimal movement from Khushi for a little bit. Up until that day, things had been generally fine. A fair bit of movement from her, particularly with certain sweet foods but most importantly, nothing out of the ordinary. Our firstborn’s movements were generally the same and this time around, the pattern was fairly familiar to his.
I had put my son to sleep in the other room and fell asleep with him and came to her at 2 or 3 am (on Sunday September 20th). She was awake and said she was struggling to feel movement. She was worried but thought to wait until the morning. We awoke in the morning and she said hopefully after her breakfast, she’ll feel something. I was due to go to work that day. I had to let our tradesmen into our new home for 8am so I went to do that and then the plan was to go to work. I said to her that if she feels movement and things are fine, I will go work. Otherwise, I will call in. She messaged me at 7.51am with the words ‘no change atm. Ima call birth centre’.
I let the builders in and drove back to her.
It was a weird drive back. I didn’t know how to feel but did assume everything was calm. On reflection, maybe it was naive thinking from me but how the 2 pregnancies had gone to date, the thought of my baby being stillborn, or even hurt in the slightest did not cross my mind. All I had in my head was that she must be conserving energy and Khushi is going to come out shortly.
I got back at around 8.30am and there my Wifey was, sat on the stairs, waiting for me. Her knees were up. Elbows on the knees and her chin in the v shape her 2 hands had created. Typical anxious pose.
I grab her bags, I grab my bag and I throw them into the boot of the car. 15 minute drive to the hospital. Off we go. The ride again was weird. All I had in my head was that Khushi was fine and conserving energy. I would reiterate this to my Wifey but shortly into the drive, I could sense her alarm and anxiety and I started to say my positive things but with less conviction each time. It was starting to get a little croaky. A voice you use when you feel yourself starting to well up slightly. Nonetheless, I did think something was definitely up now but not stillborn levels. That shit is reserved for movies with serious psychopathic plot twists.
We get to the hospital. Thankfully on Sundays there is free parking. We make our way to the ward. The nurse within the reception of the ward hands Wifey a urine kit and I go to the waiting room.
After a 10 or so minute wait, they call us and another patient and usher us into a room with 4 beds. They have the left side bed, we get the right side bed. My Wifey lies on the bed and the first time of many times (in person), she describes what has happened in the last 12-18 hours and ultimately, why we are there. The nurse grabs her really old looking ultrasound device and does her thing. She calls over another more senior nurse for what I assume is a 2nd opinion. I look at this device and think ‘of course this piece of shit isn’t going to pick up anything, it’s older than me’. I'm 35. I hear something akin to a heartbeat on it but the nurse didn’t flinch or anything. She goes she is going to send us to a different room to get tested with a proper ultrasound machine. We go. They say that they are calling a specialist nurse for us and proceed to apologise for the wait. The wait seems like an eternity. In that time, I am pacing and reassuring my Wifey. I mention to her the sound I heard and she said that can be her heartbeat.
Finally, another nurse comes into the room. The original nurse who saw us is in the corner of the room. She puts the gel on the handheld part of the ultrasound machine and does her thing. On the machine’s monitor, I see the red and blue heart a few times but no sound. I suspect that the machine is on mute. Then she leans slightly into Wifey and proceeds to say ‘I’m sorry…’.
I don’t know what she said after that but I knew from there on, my baby girl was dead. I burst into tears and my Wifey also but she’s beside herself. She is hysterical. I take a few breaths for myself to try to compose myself and all I can hear from her is denial and things like ‘I'm crying but why are there no tears’. I console her and she asks me to confirm that it’s all a dream. A really bad dream. It’s not. My Khushi is dead.
What is even crueller about this was that my son was born on his due date. At 9.24am. The lean in followed by the ‘I’m sorry…’ was at…you guessed it… 9.24am. I don’t know why but to me, this was a real dirty low blow.
The nurse who broke the news said that even if we had come earlier, the outcome would have been the same. That provided no comfort nor would it ever.
She then said she will get someone to come in for a second opinion but I knew it wasn’t a mistake. Maybe I knew I was delusional all along and the baby conserving her energy was a facade and there to just give me hope. After all, I have had a pretty tough upbringing and delusion and hope are tools I have used previously to help me from losing my marbles.
30 or so mins after the devastating news, my Wifey wanted to call her mum and then I wanted to call my mum. My Wifey’s mum didn’t answer the initial call. She was looking after my son. I then call my mum, but my Wifey’s mum calls back, so I cancel my mum’s call (which had just rang twice) and answer hers. I tell her our baby’s gone and she says it out loud but via shock and I hear my little boy in the background questioning what happened. The phone abruptly cuts off so I call my mum and I tell her. Absolute shock from her. My Wifey calls her mum from her phone and I can just hear her crying on the phone. I don't remember much from the phone calls but I do remember stepping out the room after the calls at around 9.50am and calling my mum back again 10 mins later asking her why this has happened and at that moment, wanting to be consoled by her. I don't like to be consoled by her or anyone for that matter.
After the phone calls, we get briefly explained the process from the nurses and I get the shock of my life. They mention key words and phrases like labour and ‘c section is more dangerous’. It dawns on me that my Wifey was going to have to give birth to our dead baby.
To their credit, the nurses were very compassionate and straightforward with their outlining of the process. They maintained that we are in charge of the time frames and we can go as fast or as slow as we want. Essentially, my Wifey would need to give birth to Khushi and what would happen after the birth occurred. From that moment forward, I did not want to be in that death zone (even though my son was born a couple floors down a few years back).
My Wifey is an absolute soldier. She gave birth to my firstborn with just gas and air and in a pool of water. She said she wanted to get it done and not take our time on this. I didn't convey that I wanted it done ASAP but I internally thank her so much for this. The nurses would go prepare the room in the labour suite.
From our phone calls, I know now that my mum, my Wifey’s mum and Wifey’s older brother are coming. In that time, my Wifey and I’s conversation is erratic in flow and is far from cohesive and structured. Topics range from talking about her work and when she goes back to how we tell people to if this is even reality and to the hardest one of them all, blame. My Wifey blames herself. I know she blames herself til this day. She shouldn’t. I have no doubt in my mind that this is not her fault. Not a single shred and writing this weeks later, I still feel the same. If anything, I remember feeling more to blame than her (and still do). One of the hardest things in life is trying to change someone’s opinion. Trying to console her and tell her it isn’t and wasn’t her fault followed that same pattern.
2026 has been a very hard, busy and challenging year for me. My Wifey was pregnant for all of 2026, I had (no particular order of importance and non exhaustive list):-
- ACL knee revision op rendering me on crutches for a long time (along with the fact that it has a notoriously long recovery period),
- We just purchased a house, which is widely ranked as one of life’s most stressful events,
- A load of weddings which I was best man for 1 of them and my Wifey was bridesmaid too,
- A 2 year old being a 2 year old,
- My father dying (even though he was a cunt, the bit that tore me up was that I was robbed from going to his funeral and closing out that chapter my way)
- A job with genuine job security issues which I was committed to making the company the best I could.
- This is on top of all of the shit going through my head as a man regarding his own value, adequacy and worth.
A week to 10 days before the due date, I noticed this trend about how I hadn’t been as present as I possibly could have. I apologised to my Wifey about not being there enough for my baby girl to be. Not reading to the bump or playing enough music (whether it was hardcore hip hop/rap or classical music) but mainly paying attention to the bump or giving it (or my Wifey) enough cuddles. Maybe it was settled by that point. Did I stress my Wifey out too much? Did my Khushi feel devoid of love from daddy? Did she think she was coming into a world unprotected by the one man who should always protect her, and decide against it? Did she think her Daddy wasn’t fit for purpose? Was she not important enough for her Daddy even though this is what he had always wanted?
The 3 of them come and my Wifey breaks down straight away. They take it in turns to console us. I don’t react. My arms aren’t around any person, rather languishing by my side or on my arm rests. I don’t want any consoling. Mother in law was due to have twins when my Wifey’s younger brother was born. Only 1 survived and the other was miscarried around the 20 week mark. I remember her recounting that experience.
After some time had settled, I get up and go to the long window at the end of the double room. Unlike other windows in the building, surprisingly, this one can extend out a lot. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t think about it. The pain of losing your child, knowing that they have to come out one way or another and dead and we would have to arrange an autopsy, funeral proceedings, go through investigations and all sorts filled me with so much pain that a jump from the 3rd floor onto scaffolding very briefly seemed like a viable option.
After a little while, we get ushered to the labour ward. The room is quite large. It even has a single bed for me and an ensuite. It also had a ‘DO NOT ENTER’ sign when coming into the room within its own corridor. The sign was written which made the feeling a lot more ominous.
I need some time to myself. I understand that we are probably going to be there for a while, likely overnight unless dead baby comes out in the next 1 hour so I go the loo. Not ensuite but one on a different ward. I play LinkedIn games which I am pretty good at but my scores are the worst they have ever been. I cannot concentrate properly.
I eventually get back to the room and my mum informs me that the nurse has come around and told us what to expect. I zone out after hearing ‘induce labour’. I do remember her saying the nurse was very forward and direct, which I appreciated at the time. In times like this, nothing will soften the blow. If anything, those beating around the bush or softening their language would really grind my gears. I just want facts. No bullshit. No god shit. No ‘she will be with you forever in your hearts’ shit. Just facts.
I sit there on the single bed. The 3 of them are really trying to help my Wifey and I but for me, nothing helps. At one point, my mum says something which I don’t remember and I say ‘My baby is dead’ and she looked at me and told me not to say that as it’s not true and she is with us in our hearts forever. Maybe this is true but I can’t hold her. I can’t play with her or show her any love. To me, this is the cold hard truth of it all and it felt like I was the only one accepting of it and willing to say it like it was.
It was approaching 1.30/1.45pm and mum, mother in law and brother in law left us to attend to other important matters. Before BIL left, he set up NOWTV on my Wifey’s phone. The nurse comes back and talks us through the process. This is like the 3rd time the process has been talked about but this time, it was a comprehensive one because it was the first time in our final destination. The below is how I roughly recited it to myself.
- 2 tablets to start the labour process, followed by 2 further tablets every 4 hours for up to 24 hours, including one or 2 potentially given vaginally.
- Go through the full labour process, no matter how long it takes. Vaginally, not C section.
- Whether we want to see Khushi and whether my Wifey does immediate skin to skin. The nurse explained the baby could come out kind of deformed. We agreed the nurse delivering will do a very quick check and if things were fine, skin to skin with her would happen.
- Spend as much time with your dead child as you like.
- ‘Lots of paperwork’ in between and after.
- We will be there overnight.
The nurse then talks to us about a charity called ‘4Louis’. The parents of Louis also had a full term stillborn baby. They set up this charity to provide memory boxes and other support for parents experiencing stillbirth, miscarriage or the death of their child/children. She explained the origin story and the contents of the box.
I was absolutely disgusted by the idea of it. My child is dead. Khushi didn’t survive. Why the fuck am I going to have their handprints and a notebook and other things in this box. She was never alive. Why would I delude myself like this? Why would anyone delude themselves like this? To top it off, the yellow box had the words ‘Sweet Dreams’ written on the bottom corner of it. The double entendre/irony really made me angry. This whole thing is a fucking taunt. It felt like I was meant to believe my baby is alive but instead I bring back with me this stupid box instead of her. My anger was palpable but I refrained from lashing out for the sake of my Wifey.
Don’t get me wrong, I could see how this could be beneficial to others and how it can make someone feel. My Wifey liked it. That is what mattered to me more than my own disdain and we agreed to this box. To this day, I have not looked inside the box. Maybe 1 day. For now, I can’t. I won’t. I can’t fathom seeing a ‘certificate of life’ with her name on it. She was never alive. She never got to meet her Daddy.
At 2.35pm, Wifey took the first dose of her labour inducing medication.
My Wifey supports Liverpool and I support Manchester United. Liverpool were playing at 2pm. Us at 4.30pm. We put the Liverpool game on and whilst our eyes were on it, we both weren’t watching. I could feel our eyes on it but our minds were not. My mind would check intermittently hoping for a Bournemouth goal. I get a real kick from seeing Liverpool struggle. They ended up winning which antagonised me further. We ‘watched’ some of the game and then decided to have a nap together around 3.30pm. After all, we had to wait a minimum of 4 hours for the next dose. I consoled my Wifey and kept reminding her it wasn’t her fault. She sobbed in my arms.
We sleep for a bit and then get up at around 5pm and I put my game on, hoping for a little flicker of light. My mind was thankfully a little quieter when we awoke. Not for long though. Whilst watching that dross, my mind went back to the window from the ward earlier in the day. When things are bad, other things can make it worse, like that game. We played rubbish and had no urgency, no intensity, no oomph. We were pedestrian in more ways than 1. Fulham have been shit too but we couldn’t even play well against them, let alone beat them. We were fortunate to walk away with a point.
Thankfully the final whistle came in that game but as soon as it did, we were kicking off again. This time with the 2nd dose which was administered vaginally, accompanied by a membrane sweep. Don’t quote me on this but a membrane sweep is a manual method used by the nurse to help open the cervix. It was audibly painful for my Wifey. When my baby boy was born, the cry of pain from my Wifey was encouragingly unpleasant. This cry of pain was simply harrowing.
After the sweep, the nurse told my Wifey to rest and stay in bed for 30 mins. After that, we were instructed to go to the stairs and do curtsey lunges on the steps for 10-15 minutes. Before being given the 2nd dose, my Wifey could feel the tablets working. Now, after the 2nd dose and the sweep, they were in full effect. Whilst we were finishing the lunges on the steps around 7.30pm, contractions were coming thick and fast. We went back to the room.
Our nurse was going off duty at 8pm. She introduced her replacement. She was the opposite of our current nurse. Diplomatic, softly spoken but green. It didn’t seem like she had done many rodeos like this before. I questioned whether she was cut for this kind of job but then my internal dialogue reminded me not to judge a book by its cover.
In between all the contractions and before the nurse left at 8pm, she gave me a makeshift heat pad made out of towels. From about 7.40pm, I was holding this heat pad on my Wifey’s lower back for the duration of her contractions every 60-90 seconds right up until Khushi was out. I did have some thoughts of why we were doing this but there was no real time for the thoughts to materialise into anything. There was no time to pee even. I had to be ready to support my Wifey at a moment’s call and I was - helping her sway, watching and helping her with her breathing and trying to make her as relaxed as possible. This went on for nearly 2 hours. My knees were aching. I couldn’t even imagine how hers were feeling.
At this point, the new nurse was in the room helping deliver the baby. She called for support as my Wifey gave birth whilst squatting. I guess everyone has to go through different scenarios in their jobs. The baby came out dead at 9.54pm on her due date. 12 hours and 30 minutes from when my baby boy was born.
Wifey took hold of Khushi straight away. She initially held her on the floor and then they moved to the bed.
The sobbing from my Wifey was pure heart wrenching. She had just given birth to our baby girl. She had carried her since 2025. Albeit December 2025 but still 2025. She had felt the kicks, the turns, the growth, the movement for the entire year to date. She had nourished her and looked after her at all costs. Most decisions that my Wifey made for the entire year of 2026 were made with Khushi in mind. As a man, I will never know what that feels like. As a result, my heart bleeds for my Wifey. At that moment, I wished I could take her pain and put it on my shoulders. I can firm it, I can take it because I am her husband and that is the least I can do. The only issue is, what I want to do in that moment is impossible. This whole experience was not fair on me but it’s particularly unfair on her.
Then I look at my dead baby girl. Mateeeee, she was perfect. In a weird and twisted way, I was hoping that there was something obviously wrong with her physically. That way, we could have a plausible explanation there and then. But she came out perfect. Lovely hair on her head, long fingers and toes exactly like her brother and smooth soft skin. She was beautiful. Babies aren’t beautiful when they are born. I cannot believe the 1 baby that was an outlier in my hypothesis was my dead baby girl.
Initially, I was adamant that I didn’t want to hold her. I was told I could by the nurse when she broke down the process several hours ago. But why would I want to hold her? She won’t be a part of my life. I can’t do anything with her and she cannot do anything with me. Nor her mum or her brother or anybody else. She’s dead and she’s not a part of me and my life and we need to move on was my thinking. Whilst I blamed myself, a part of me was a bit bitter towards her. The pain to my Wifey, myself, my mum etc. was a lot. Coupled with the fact that all my life, other than my mum, grandma and granddad, every single one of my family members and extended family have hurt me and not given a shit about me. Some intentionally but most via their own greed and selfishness. The worst part is I didn’t do anything to the family members to warrant the hurt. I didn’t make the wills that were fought over. I didn’t insult anyone or fight anyone. I didn’t make her run away. I didn’t do anything. I thought my baby girl made that list.
But then I had this sudden urge to hold her. I did, and the nurse transferred her to me from my Wifey. My already complicated emotions got even more complicated.
My bitterness towards her evaporated almost instantly. It wasn’t Khushi’s fault. She didn’t let me down like so many others did. I just looked at her and thought she was so gorgeous. Then the questions came in random orders. Why did this happen? Why are you so perfect? Why are your eyes permanently shut, Khushi? Why can you not close your mouth, Khushi? I’m so sorry for thinking you were on the list that had my shit family on it. Can you please forgive me? What did I do to you, my Khushi, so I can make it right and we can fix this? Why could you not hang in there baby? You came out small but it doesn’t matter because your brother did too. I would have protected you and you would have been bigger than him and he’s an absolute unit now. I would have made sure of it.
The amount of different feelings I had at the same time was difficult to comprehend. Being in awe, devastated, hurt, guilt stricken and so much more, all simultaneously. Nonetheless, the underlying fact remained the same. She was dead and I couldn’t shake that off.
I gave her to her mum. The nurses came over and spoke about how beautiful she was and how lovely her skin was, plus a bunch of other compliments. Their verbiage was as if she was alive. This angered me because she wasn’t alive. Why are the nurses saying the same thing they would if Khushi were alive? Why are we living in this fake reality where seemingly I am the only one that sees and feels the truth.
The nurses ask what clothes to put her in. Earlier in the week of the due date, I was going to the likes of Next and Zara to find the perfect ‘going home’ outfit. I couldn’t decide so bought so many different outfits. My Wifey asks me which one they should put her in and I choose the outfit. Tears stream down my face as I deliberate over which one. I choose such a cute floral one. 100% pure cotton. The only outfit she will ever wear in her life.
The nurse has to do my Wifey’s stitches. Our current midwife calls upon her mate to do it. She wasn’t confident to do it and it takes guts admitting this. Her legs are separated and her calves are on these supports that looked mighty uncomfortable. My Wifey directs me to massage her calves but I can’t get properly underneath and I hate myself for doing a shit job because I am generally good at massage. It was too difficult to move and hold her leg whilst she was getting stitches added, whilst massaging at the same time. I did my best but I wish I could have done better.
In between my Wifey’s contractions, I asked my mum via WhatsApp if she wanted to see Khushi once she was out. I honestly wouldn’t blame her if she said no. I would have said no if I were her. She said she didn’t think she could. She was impacted too. I genuinely understood. Then, I let her know she’s out and how perfect she is and she ends up coming to see Khushi. She is coming along with brother in law and mother in law.
They all arrive after 11pm.
They console both of us 1 by 1 before gravitating towards the freeze cot which was Khushi’s bed. At this point, I am despondent. I sit on a chair near to the top end of the room, closest to the entry/exit door in a position not too dissimilar to how my Wifey was sitting when I picked her up at 8.30am but this time, there is no anxiety in me. That has been substituted for dejection. They stay for a while and nothing moves me. They try to console me but again, I don’t want to be consoled. I don’t think I strung together a sentence whilst they were there. I could see my Wifey ushering me to come closer. I didn’t.
They take photos with her. I don’t want a photo but I do take a quick selfie. It’s a pretty shit one but I don’t care. Proof it actually happened was the reason for it. I haven’t yet looked back at the photos. Maybe I never will. When I took the selfie, I thought that her skin should be a lightish brown like mine. Not grey.
They stay for a couple hours and then it’s time to leave. My brother in law is like me when it comes to sober hugs. Awkward. He didn’t know what to do with me when he came at 11am but to his credit, he gave me a big hug that lasted a few long seconds. Even though I didn't respond, I respected him for doing that. It wasn’t going to be easy for him but, at that moment, he put me first.
Just before they leave, I move closer to the freeze cot. I notice that Khushi's hands are out and not cuffed in her sleeves. I cuff her hands gently and tell her it’s cold so we need to keep her warm. I whisper to her that I love her. I look at her and I'm quickly reminded that she can’t hear me, nor will she ever hear me and these actions are essentially fruitless. Feeling really opposite emotions at the exact same time was causing so much fucking pain. It just doesn’t feel right, logical, practical or real.
They leave and upon Wifey’s instruction, I ask the midwives to do the hand and footprints that I don’t want or plan to check. The nurse we have kindly given good experience to says she’s just about to go on lunch but she can do it now if we want. I tell her to do it after her lunch.
Khushi will stay with my Wifey and I until morning.
At this stage now, I’m exhausted and revert quickly back into despondency. I don’t want to be where I am. I don’t want her freeze cot there with her in it. I felt her dead body was taunting me. Not her, just her body. It was taunting me by letting me know that the thing I wanted most in the world, that I thought I was going to get at any moment, was gone without any notice. I wanted to get the cot gone and go home. However, my Wifey wanted it there so it remained without a single objection from me.
It is like 2.30am and we decide it’s time to go to sleep for a bit. We sleep together on the hospital bed. My Wifey cries again. I endeavour to be strong for her as the days are not going to get easier.
Before going to sleep, I decide to make my bed just in case my Wifey wants me off as she needs space or if I need the space. On the bed was a big yoga ball. It can help pregnant women loads during different stages of their pregnancy. My Wifey goes to the bathroom to get changed. I leave the room to put the ball back. The level of internal conflict was unruly. At no point would I ever dream of leaving the room without a set of eyes on my newborn baby. This time though, newborn baby was dead. I am able to leave. I drop the ball and come back to the lifeless room without a single thing in that room moving, other than in the ensuite.
The nurse does the prints while we fall asleep. I let them continue without going to check their work. I have no desire to get up.
We get up early in the morning and there she is, still in her freeze cot. Nothing has changed, apart from her temperature. Now she is colder than ice. Greyer than ‘Blue Monday’. The taunts remain in full force. My first thought is that I just want to get back to my baby boy. It is around 6am. The first nurse comes back in to check in on us. She tells us that 6am is when her shift starts. She only finished at 8pm. I don’t know whether to be impressed or concerned. She tells me she is worried about me as I don’t want to eat or anything. I tell her it’s fine. She says I'm being manly. I reply back with venom in my voice that I am being me. She doesn’t mean to cause offence. None is taken.
My Wifey and I decide that Khushi will be leaving us around 10am. We make that decision around 9am.
She shouldn’t be allowed to leave us. We should be going to jail if we leave her and rightfully so. We both decide to call it in a little earlier and say goodbye. I tell Khushi that it’s my fault and none of it is her mum’s. I hoped her mum heard that part and would truly believe it. I apologise for not looking after her. I kiss her on her ice cold grey cheek. Mum says her goodbyes. There are droplets of tears in that freeze cot. A nice thought comes to my mind that at least she won’t be completely by herself when she goes.
The nurse is called in and takes Khushi away. I console my Wifey. Maybe this time we consoled each other.
I decide to go down to the canteen to go get some food. It’s also a time for me to get away and be by myself for a bit. My wife insists that she doesn’t want anything. Breakfast had already come to her. The canteen closes at 11am. As I walk past the nurses, they ask how long I will be as they are ready to start the paperwork. There are 2 senior nurses. I state that my food can wait and we can get it on now. It is now just after 10am.
The nurse asks us what kind of autopsy we want. The choice is between MRI autopsy, specific autopsy and full autopsy. We were trapped between 3 shit options. We wanted to know what happened and the realisation was that in 3-6 weeks, my Khushi will be cut open, dissected, investigated and put back together with needle and thread in the hope that we find a cause. The nurses tell us there is a 30-40% chance we find anything from the full autopsy. That’s so low considering the world we live in. AI agents have started hacking major and influential companies unaided by humans and we are statistically unlikely to find out what is wrong with my baby girl. Give me a break.
We also have to discuss registering her death, organ donations and the funeral, amongst other heavy shit. Cremation or burial. No parent should ever have to even entertain this kind of conversation. Even in a ‘hypothetical’ sense. We must entertain it because we have to action it. I am so cold at this point. I’m reminded how cold Khushi is. My blood feels the same temperature whilst answering the nurses questions. After 45 mins, it is done and I take a long walk to the canteen. It’s on the other side of the hospital. The only thing happy is my step counter. I arrive at 10.55am, and thankfully, there is still food there. I am pleasantly surprised by the price. Then I remember why I am looking at the breakfast options available.
I come back to the room after 30 or so minutes. My mother in law, brother in law, brother in law’s wife and their 6 month baby girl have come. Before they came, I make it abundantly clear to my Wifey that I do not want to see their little one. It’s too soon. The last thing I want to see is a healthy and happy baby girl because I see it as taunting. They understand and are fine with it. I say I will go out and they can come in. I do go out and sit outside for a bit. However, I decide to go back to the room and see the little one. Thankfully I catch them before they are leaving. I take her off her mum and play with her a little bit. I can’t decide exactly why I went back, but I think it was a mix of me not wanting to set a bad precedent for myself, thinking she has nothing to do with this in the slightest and that it would be nice to see a smiley face and not get asked questions about things like how I’m feeling or get obnoxious and generally bullshit statements like ‘let me know if you need anything’ or ‘I'm there for you no matter what’. She wasn’t there to taunt me.
Whilst I was outside, the nurse had come in to check my Wifey to make sure all was good for her health. Thankfully it was.
They tell us that we don’t have to leave and we can stay as long as we want. I tell them that they are making me feel like we have to stay and I want to go. Thankfully, so does my Wifey.
I left with my baby boy in his car seat when he was born. I left this time as I came. Just with my Wifey. Nobody spoke a word on the way back to the house.
