I counted the baby's movements in the morning. He moved 10 times till 10.20 AM and then a couple more times after that. Then I had to deal with the clients and their email problems and after that I checked the mail and there was the post office warning about picking up the order from Amazon which seems to have turned up after all, despite the delay.
I was really happy about that and started feeling maybe I was just exaggerating before.
It seems stupid but in my experience, when one thing goes wrong usually two or three others follow in the same day and so I'm already dreading what's to come. But it's such a superstitious thing to think that I just said to myself 'you're being stupid' and moved on.

In the afternoon I stopped by my parents' flat to pick up my mother and we walked to the doctor's office for my weekly appointment. We arrived early and sat for a bit in the waiting room before going in. I was hoping that there would be some change since last time and made some remark about how I was sick of being pregnant and just wanted the baby to get moving.
Then I went in and did the usual stuff - check blood pressure and weight and then do the routine ultrasound. The doctor started saying the usual stuff . here's the head, the body is in this position, etc. But then he started asking me if I was sure the baby had been moving alright. I said yes, I felt him move this morning. He didn't say anything else and shut the equipment off. While I was getting dressed he left the room. I started to worry - he had never done that before.
When he came back he asked if we could take another look with the ultrasound, which he did really quickly, and then asked if we could go to the Emergencies at the hospital because there seemed to be something wrong with the baby but wouldn't say anything else. We left and as soon as I got out of there it finally hit me - he didn't see a heartbeat.

My mother was calling my father to see if he could drive us to the hospital and I called Pedro to tell him something was wrong. I told him what I thought it was even though at this point I was still hoping that there was a way out of this.

I finally called my in-laws and they drove us to the hospital. I had to wait again and when I finally got in, the doctor that saw me started once again with checking blood pressure and getting a urine sample. I was so stressed out by now that my blood pressure was to the roof and just wanted to know what happened and felt this was a waste of time. But part of me knew it was all over and there was nothing to be done.

They finally took me to another room to do an ultrasound and I said 'what we need to know is if there's a heartbeat' followed by a nervous laugh, like it was a stupid notion that there wasn't one.
The doctor started checking and saying things like 'in a case like this we like to be sure' which was the final confirmation.
As soon as they were sure, the first doctor jumps in saying that she had to talk to me a bit later on about performing tests on the baby because it's important to gather data about why things like this happen and describing in minute detail (although I'm sure she felt she was giving me the short version) what sort of procedures they wanted to do. I said I didn't have a problem with it, partly because I don't and partly because I hoped it would shut her up but it seemed to only encourage her. She then followed into how we had to have a funeral because it was a full term baby and I just felt like I was being given electric shocks one after the other. In the space of two minutes they tell me the baby I've been carrying for 9 months is dead and they want to do an autopsy and they I have to arrange for his funeral and now I had to be admitted to the hospital and they were going to induce labour, which could take up to three days. Some of these doctors shouldn't be allowed to deal with people. But maybe that's the technique - give you all the shocks at once and let you digest it later. I didn't feel anything. I was completely numb. I don't think at this point I was ready to believe what was happening.

I went out to the waiting area to meet Pedro and he broke down completely. Through all this I was more worried about him than anything else. I had spent the whole pregnancy full of doubts but he was completely in love with the idea of being a father and now I had to destroy that. I felt somehow it was my fault, that I should have noticed something was wrong, that I should have somehow been able to prevent it. I felt I had failed and was completely useless. I guess I still feel that to a certain extent.

After talking to Pedro for a bit I had to go back in and sign the paperwork authorizing the autopsy and all the tests they wanted to do. Then I had to strip, put on the hospital gown and lie down in the hallway while they drew blood and connected the IV. My mother and mother-in-law were with me throughout all of this. The doctor that has been following the pregnancy also showed up and I could tell by his face that he was in a certain amount of shock as well. The nurse that works at the clinic also came over to see me. They were saying how something like this had never happened before to any of the pregnancies they follow. Lucky me.
These were the first of a great number of visits I was to have when the news started to spread.
After a while they took me up to the fifth floor and put me in a room with another woman. She was also inducing labour because there was something wrong with her baby. It was soon apparent they were keeping us special cases away from the other pregnant women.
I was shaking uncontrollably and they took my temperature which was 37¼ and felt it was normal enough so they didn't do anything about it. But since I couldn't stop shaking I asked for another blanket and after a while it finally stopped, but it started again every time I had to get up to go to the bathroom.

My brother showed up and I felt sorry for him because he almost passed out. He was trying to keep it together but I know he's really sensitive and this was quite a shock to everyone. Once again I started feeling responsible, like I've let everybody down.
They left a bit after 9 PM. Pedro stayed a bit longer and then went away as well.

I tried reading for a bit but I couldn't concentrate and finally removed my lenses (I was forced to by hospital policy) and turned off the light.
But shortly after I had another visit from the nurse that has been giving me the pre-natal classes. I couldn't see anything so I didn't even know who it was at first. It was weird seeing everything so blurry.
She stayed for a bit and said those things that people say at times like these, when there's really nothing anyone can say and then she left.
While she was there the nurses came in and my temperature had gone up to 38¼ so they plugged in a new bag into the IV with some mild painkillers.
I didn't have a watch so I don't know how long went by, but some time later I had to call the nurse again. The painkillers weren't working. She checked to see if I had dilated yet and it was all quite delayed but she called the doctor and came back with a different IV bag. This time it worked and I felt very groggy and almost fell asleep, even though the pain didn't disappear completely. I had to go to the bathroom several times and after this second drug I felt really dizzy when I got up.
After a while the pain started coming back stronger than ever and the contractions were really close together. I called the nurse again and she checked that the bag was empty and I thought she'd replace it at least but she didn't do anything. She just said 'now you have to wait a bit' and left. She didn't even check to see if I was dilated or not this time. Since I'm stupid I did what I was told and waited. The pain was quite unbearable and I just felt like crying. I kept trying to concentrate on the breathing and relaxing but that's a bit of a joke, really. It only works up to a point.

I know I should have called again but I didn't and then suddenly I started having these really severe contractions I couldn't control. I was already pushing involuntarily. I still went to the bathroom again because I couldn't take lying down anymore and noticed there was blood. So I went back to bed and called the nurse again. I told her about the contractions and the blood and she checked the dilation and said I had to be taken downstairs. At this point I stopped having any control - I was doing the breathing but couldn't stop my body from pushing by itself, I couldn't speak and could barely think.
Somewhere along the way I heard one of the nurses say I was dilated to 8 cm and they asked me if they should call anyone and if it was the number in the file. I could barely say yes and then they started moving me again.
Since I didn't have contacts I couldn't actually see anything - I didn't know where I was or who was around me.

Apparently they took me to the deliveries first and then moved me to emergencies - once more so I wouldn't be put together with other pregnant women. Then they left me alone in a room while I was just trying not to panic because of the pain.
They made me move to a different bed - something at that point almost impossible - and left me all alone once more. I tried calling someone because I felt something was already coming out, but there was nobody around and, since it was a different room, I didn't know where the bell was. I felt completely helpless.

When someone finally came in and checked me, they told me to turn so I' d be on my back instead of sideways and not push. Since I was having a particularly severe contraction there was little I could do but I tried. Then they finally told me to push, so I did. I pushed twice and the head came out. I felt myself being torn apart and couldn't help screaming. Then I pushed again for the shoulders and after that it was over. There was such an intense sense of relief after that.

When they pulled the baby out all the fluid came out and then the placenta.
The doctor saw right away there was a knot in the umbilical chord which was the reason the baby died. They asked me if I wanted to see the baby and I tried to look but without the lenses I couldn't actually see anything. I just saw a foot. Then they took him away and started stitching me up because there was a certain amount of tearing (which I was not surprised to learn because I felt it).

The doctor gave me a shot of anaesthetic and I had to have quite a few stitches and it was terribly uncomfortable. I asked what time it was because I had no idea. It was a bit after 6.30 AM. I had spent the whole night in pain and gone through the whole thing without the epidural which I has specifically said I wanted. I felt a bit cheated because I had gone through all this pain for nothing.

After that they left me alone again and it started to really hit me and I cried for the first time. My baby's dead and I didn't even have the chance to see what he looked like.
After going through the whole pregnancy and the delivery, no matter how much I complained at the time, I now knew without a doubt how much I wanted this. Even as I was trying to see the baby and knowing he was gone and there was nothing I could do, I still wanted to pick him up - I wanted my baby. And it was such a strong feeling that I never thought possible. I would have given anything to make this whole thing not true.

Time went by and nobody came and I had to pee so I checked around me for the bell. They gave me a bed pan - another lovely experience - and changed the pad that I now have to wear because of all the blood that will be coming out for a while. Then I asked if they had called anyone. Apparently they called home but nobody answered. I figured Pedro stayed with his parents so I gave his phone number. There was also no reply. I finally gave my mother's number and she answered and called pedro herself who had his phone in silent mode. I was running out of phone numbers I know by heart at this point, so it's a good thing someone finally answered the damn phone.

They told me I couldn't get up for six hours and I think I still waited almost an hour before anyone turned up. But at least I wasn't in pain anymore.
I started having visits a bit after 7 Am - first a doctor that works with my in-laws who stopped by on her way to work and then my mother and husband some time after that. My mother brought me birthday presents, which was weird but I guess fits into her whole 'trying to cheer me up' attitude.

My birthdays have always been bad ever since I was a teenager. So bad in fact I even wrote a song about it. When I was younger it was just stuff like I'd invite people over and nobody would show up - even my best friends would call and cancel - and later on, on two consecutive years, people in the family died around my birthday. It became such a depressing thing that for years I stopped celebrating it. Then last year my cat died the day before and so it seems to go on although I never thought it would get this bad.

Then they gave me breakfast and some time after took me up to another room where I was going to stay until released. This time, at least, it was single room.

From this point on I was never alone. My mother, husband, brother, in-laws, etc, were taking turns to be there at all times. My father also came over later in the afternoon. I think he had been avoiding it till then but my mother kept pressuring him. He's pretty broken up about the whole thing, like everyone else, but his away of dealing with stuff is more along the lines of denial and staying away from things. Men always feel like it's shameful to cry or something, which is one of the most repressive things in our society.

I was still hanging on to the whole 'it's OK, don't worry about me' attitude. I think I felt responsible for causing so much pain to all these people and didn't want to make it worse by breaking down.

I was finally able to get up around 1 PM and went to shower and change. I still didn't have my bag cause Pedro insisted on staying with me the whole morning and only went home to eat lunch and bring me my stuff when I already needed it. The problem was that I didn't have any underwear and couldn't walk around without a pad because I would drip blood all over the place. So I had to keep my legs closed and walk to the bathroom really slowly to keep the pad in place. It was pretty pathetic.

Then they brought me lunch and the first pill for stopping the milk. I have to take 2 a day for the next 12 days.
Later in the day the baby's blood test came back and they gave me a shot to keep me from producing anti-bodies against RH + blood.

Everyone left at the end of the day except for Pedro who stayed with me till 9 PM. Then they examined me again and afterwards I read for a while till I felt sleepy. I was really tired because I hadn't slept at all the night before, so I did manage to sleep for a few hours but I woke up around 4 AM and couldn't get back to sleep after that.

I spent the rest of the night just lying there, staring at the ceiling and the whole thing finally hit me. I never thought it would be possible to feel this much pain. Compared to this utter sense of loss and desperation, all the physical pain from the night before was nothing. All I could think was 'I want my baby' but I knew how impossible that was and it tore me up inside.

Around 7 AM they came in to change the sheets and then I was alone again for a couple of hours. When they came in with breakfast I was crying again and took a lot of self control to be able to say anything. But from that point on people kept coming and going so I just shut down again.

The doctor came in to examine me and I asked if they were going to release me today as I had been told yesterday. He said no, I had to stay for 48 hours, which meant another night. I was pretty upset about that because I just felt I needed to go home and start confronting things - I felt the need to put all the baby things away and start dealing with what happened and what I'm going to do next instead of being surrounded by stuff that reminds me of all the plans I had and how I'm never going to have that now.

The other thing I became sure of was that I need to try again. I went through the beginning and the end in less than a year and I need all the stuff in between that I'm not allowed to have now. I don't want to replace the baby - I could never do that - but I have all these feeling and needs that I have to find a way of expressing and that can only be fulfilled by actually having a baby that I can take care of.
I kept saying that I was never going to go through another pregnancy, but after a result like this all those discomforts seem laughable. I'd go through ten times that to have my baby be alive right now.

The worst part is that I did everything right - all the exams, followed all the recommendations - there was nothing anyone could have done to prevent this from happening. But I still feel guilty - maybe if I had set a date for the delivery instead of waiting. The baby wasn't descending and I started walking everyday to make him descend and it ended up killing him. I thought I was doing the right thing and all I did was make it worse. How can I live with that?
I know there was no way I could have known but that doesn't matter. It makes no difference and it doesn't hurt any less.

After realising they were not going to let me leave I went to have a shower and change into my own clothes and prepare to sit and wait for another whole day.
The weather had changed. It was cloudy and there was a little rain. It felt appropriate somehow.

Pedro and my mother were with me all day again. My in-laws were out taking care of the funeral. We opted for cremation. I couldn't bare to think of the baby decomposing slowly underground. I have too much of an imagination and it wouldn't feel over. The funeral was set for sunday morning. I said I'd prefer it if people didn't go because I don't think I can face it with lots of people around trying to make me feel better. I'd end up worrying about everyone else and trying to keep myself under control and that would just make the whole thing unbearable.

Another doctor came by in the afternoon and this one said that if everything was OK till 7 PM they would let me out. I think basically my mother talked to him and said she would take responsibility or something like that. So he went to deal with the paperwork.

Some time later the hospital psychologist came over to talk to us. It wasn't easy to say it all out loud and she didn't say much we didn't know already except maybe that we don't need to force ourselves to explain everything to each new person we meet. Because that's my worst fear now. I think I'll be afraid to leave the house because I may bump into someone who doesn't know yet and have to tell them, or someone who does know and feels they have to give the same speech I've heard a million times these last couple of days about how I need to move on and so on. I realise people don't know what to say and they want to be sympathetic but there really isn't anything to say and talking about it just keeps bringing everything back. I think in a way I feel I've been branded and now everyone will feel sorry for me and I don't want that.

My doctor dropped by around 4 PM and said I could leave the hospital - there was no point waiting around if everything was OK. So my mother went to take care of the paperwork and I got dressed and prepared to leave.

It was raining when we left. I waited by the hospital door while Pedro went to get the car. It's really uncomfortable to walk because of the stitches.

When I got home I changed into some comfortable pants and sat on the sofa for a while trying to figure out how I felt about being home. It wasn't as bad as I feared.
We had some more visits - from my sister-in-law and Pedro's cousin - and then everyone left and I went to the baby room and started putting things away while I still had the nerve. I took the clothes out of the hospital bag and put them in the drawers and pilled up everything else around and on top of the bed so as to concentrate the whole thing in one corner of the room.
I think I still need to take the bed apart because through all this something really stupid has stuck in my head - a superstition passed on by my cleaning lady that it's bad luck to have the baby bed assembled before the birth. I don't believe in this sort of thing but it keeps coming back to me, and since I can't blame anyone for what happened, an inanimate object is the next best thing, I guess. When you don't have any logical reasons for things, illogical ones start creeping into your head. I guess a stupid reason is better than none at all.
Apart from that it was fairly OK because none of those things actually belonged to the baby. There's no connection between the two. They were just there, waiting to be used but never were.

And that's the other thing - no matter how awful the whole thing is I know it could have been worse. I think losing a baby that's 2 or 3 months old is still worse than what I went through. Or if someone had killed him. There's all sorts of scenarios that would have been marginally more painful even than what I feel now, but that doesn't help much.

I still spent the rest of the day finding things that were connected to the baby all over the flat and gathering everything up. I've spent the last few months focusing on nothing else so the whole place has little things that have some connection to the pregnancy. I also started realising that it'll take a while to adjust to all the stuff I can do again - I can eat salt, I don't have to disinfect all the fruit and vegetables anymore, etc. I have to keep telling myself 'I can do this now', ' I don't have to do that anymore', and it stings a bit. Part of me wants to still be pregnant.

We spent the rest of the day watching TV and trying to do normal stuff. What else is there to do? We need to adjust to the fact that it's going to continue being just the two of us. Considering that it was always just us, I never thought I'd feel such a huge gap. All I can think about is 'when can I start over'. But I know next time I'll panic all the way to the end. I know something else might happen and I'll have to go through this all over again. But giving up makes me feel desperate. The only way I can go through this is if there's still hope I can be a mother one day.

I slept until 7 AM and then had to get up. I decided to do my whole beauty routine as a sort of desperate effort to make me feel better - if I don't look like a corpse when I look in the mirror maybe I can start to feel more normal as well. Plus, it takes my mind off things for a while.

Then I had breakfast and watched some tv show. Half way through it I broke down again. Mornings are the worst. It's like starting over every day and then having to go through the whole process of sadness and acceptance all over again. Not that I expected it to be better so soon but it just hurts so much that I just want it all to go away.

Pedro got up and decided to go shopping because we were out of food. I said my parents should probably do that but he insisted he had to go out and do it himself. In the end I think it was more painful than he anticipated, especially after realising there was a couple with a new born at the check-out next to his. There's no way to escape it. Everyone else's life goes on. Ours is the one on hold at the moment and facing reality can be tough.

When Pedro got back we went on watching 24 season 3, stopping in between episodes to talk and try to make sense out of things. It was a long day.

I had to get ready to leave as soon as I woke up today. I knew it was going to be really hard, going to the funeral of a son we never even got to see. We agreed we'd ask to see him if it was at all possible. I don't think I could spend the rest of my life with this image of a generic baby, without knowing what he looked like.

Since I knew I was going to be completely destroyed after this I put on my armour with considerable care - painting on the face of a normal person to hide what's underneath.
We left at 10.30 AM. Pedro's sister drove us and her parents and my parents followed in their own car. We got to the cemetery around 11 and had to wait around for at least half an hour. The crematorium looked like one of those buildings where they burned people in WWII, which didn't help. I was feeling uncomfortable because of the stitches and could neither stand nor sit down properly.

They finally called us and we went to the viewing room. They brought in this tiny coffin and asked if we wanted to see the baby. We said yes and they opened the lid. The baby's head was hanging to one side and the man tried several times to straighten it until he succeeded. I had to look away at this point. Then I finally moved forward and looked at him. It was devastating because he looked absolutely perfect. I spent a while looking at his little hands and was trying to look at his face for as long as I could so I wouldn't forget. I was crying and so was everyone else around me but I think it helped. I couldn't bear not knowing.

They closed the casket again and took him away.
We moved to the waiting room but a man came over shortly after saying that because the baby was so small there would be no ashes left so there was no point in waiting around. It was painful to hear but it was probably better that way. Except that I couldn't help thinking we just left him there.

So we drove back and tried to deal with it for the rest of the day and kept trying to do normal things like eating, reading a book, watching TV, doing laundry and stuff like that.

It's over. It's really over now and nothing's going to fix it.

I keep waking up early. This time I had clothes in the washer that I had to hang out to dry. I couldn't even do this simple task without weeping. Mornings are the worst. Especially today that was the actual due date.

It's not like I don't know what happened when I wake up - I always know, even when I'm just half awake for a few moments in the middle of the night - but when I get up in the morning it's like I have to go through everything all over again.

I had breakfast and read a bit, always trying to fool myself into a sense of normality, and then I felt I needed to write down everything that happened in the last few days. It's a form of letting everything out but also of keeping a record of something I don't have the right to forget. And even though I don't believe I'll ever be able to forget it, I know the pain will become less sharp over time and I'll eventually be able to feel a certain degree of peace and maybe even joy (although at the moment that seems impossible). So I need to take these feelings while they're fresh and preserve them somehow. It's like pouring it all into a bottle and sealing it. I may never feel up to looking at it again but it exists. I feel that to just try to forget what it's been like would be disrespectful to the baby. And even though I have to try and move on I can never deny that he existed and I loved him more than I ever expected and now he's gone forever and it hurts like hell.

But it was really hard writing all this and after describing the birth I had to stop. I asked Pedro if we could go out because I didn't think I could stay home all day again. I still can't walk properly or for very long but I needed to be out in the world for a little while.
First we went to the mall and tried shopping but my heart wasn't in it. So we went to the beach but the sun by this time was so strong that we gave up within five minutes. We drove to the park instead and sat on a bench under a tree until we got too hungry and left.
It seems that we managed to pick a day that coincided with some kindergarten's outing so there were children everywhere. I tried not to let it bother me. In the end I want my baby, not someone else's. But it does hurt to know other people keep having perfectly normal babies everyday and we were the statistic - the one in a million that goes wrong. It just feels that after this nothing bad should ever happen to us, but unfortunately that's not how it works. There is no cosmic balance.

It's been a hard week. I've been trying to keep busy and I'm starting to have moments when I forget. But that just makes it worse because as soon as my brain is free again it comes back and seems even more painful.

Physically I'm still not OK but I keep testing my limits everyday because I need to start exercising. I've lost 4 kg since I came home but I need to lose 8 more and rebuild my muscle mass, especially the abs, because it's non existent at the moment.

This morning I dismantled the baby bed. I couldn't bear looking at it anymore, like it was waiting for something. I can't keep waiting for something that may never happen. There are no guarantees that a second try will work out any better so I have to prepare myself for the possibility that all this effort and investment was completely useless because for the next year at least it will be true.

We've been working on the songs, as a way to pass the time, and I've written a new one and started a second one. I'm a bit afraid of what's going to come out of this but it's one of the few ways I can express myself so I'll try not to censor too much.

I've also decided to put the site back online because I need to write. I don't care if anyone reads it or not, I've always done it for myself, so I can keep a record, but if it's online it means I have to acknowledge that I've thought and said certain things and can't pretend I didn't. It makes it more real somehow and it makes me face up to things if I'm going to continue being honest. Plus, I don't care that people know about all this. At least I don't have to keep explaining it over and over again. It's easier to write than it is to say the words while looking at someone's face while trying not to cry.

I went out to lunch with my mother. It was actually the last thing in the world I wanted to do. I must be stupid because I keep saying yes to these things. I know people are concerned and think it will do me good to get out of the house and everything, but it's too soon and I just end up having to talk about it, in public, where I don't want to start crying and it just makes the whole thing turn into complete torture. I wish they'd just leave me alone. I can deal with things on my own and having to be reminded all the time of every single detail or being told once more I have to move on, simply doesn't help.

Plus I think it's my mother who needs to talk about it, and since my father won't, she tries bringing it up with me. It's just making it worse.

I guess I have to start putting on a happy face before leaving the house and learning to say 'I'm fine' and change the subject as soon as it comes up.

During the afternoon I started exercising. I can't do much yet but I had to start.

Later my parents came by to pick up our old table and chairs and that helped clear the room some more, which has now been converted from baby room to exercise room. It means I have to go in there everyday and get used to it being empty.

At night we went shopping. I felt I needed to compensate for the lousy day. I bought a couple of tops and a bag, all very inexpensive, and then we went to the supermarket to buy food.
When we got home we had dinner and watched Lost. The way this show never goes anywhere is really getting on my nerves. I'm not sure I'll bother watching a second season unless I have absolutely nothing to do.
Desperate housewives, on the other hand, I like more every week.