Coming home, remembering Amy, visits from family and friends , bathtimes, real nappies, a routine, Toby’s weight, feeling safe, weekly baby activities.
Download Episode 15
To hear The Daddy Diaries before they are put on this blog and to download them automatically you have 2 options. You can Subscribe to The Daddy Diaries in iTunes by clicking here, or you can subscribe to the podcast feed by clicking here.
Toby’s here! The story, The West Wing, 7 hour wait, stressed and frustrated, a rush to the theatre, thinking of Amy, the operation, Toby arrives, “huge and chubby”, 8lbs 5oz, skin to skin, my parents arrive, leaving too soon, lovely time today, friends visit, haven’t yet cried, changing first nappy, new grief.
Download Episode 14
To hear The Daddy Diaries before they are put on this blog and to download them automatically you have 2 options. You can Subscribe to The Daddy Diaries in iTunes by clicking here, or you can subscribe to the podcast feed by clicking here.
The day before the caesarean, surprised by optimism, praying with Mary-Lou, a Christian struggle, crying with grief, daydreams, Wall.E, stay tuned!
Download Episode 13
To hear The Daddy Diaries before they are put on this blog and to download them automatically you have 2 options. You can Subscribe to The Daddy Diaries in iTunes by clicking here, or you can subscribe to the podcast feed by clicking here.
I’m getting alot of people looking at the The Daddy Diaries category of this blog. Tommy’s, the baby charity, have linked through to my blog and www.askamum.co.uk have begun adding my podcast to their audio resources.
My wife, Mary-Lou started a blog a few months ago to talk about life after Amy died. I’m pretty sure alot of people coming here would be interested in her thoughts too, so click here to see her blog.
Welcome to my new Podcast - The Daddy Diaries.
I wanted to record my thoughts and feelings about being a Dad and also about our new pregnancy. So I thought I’d podcast my musings since I’m doing several other podcasts at the moment too.
You can Subscribe to The Daddy Diaries in iTunes by clicking here, or you can subscribe to the podcast feed by clicking here.
I will also put new episodes here on my blog but they will appear in iTunes and in the podcast feed about 1 week earlier, so subscribe to keep up with the latest!
Here are the first two episodes to kick off The Daddy Diaries:
Download Episode 1: An introduction to The Daddy Diaries.
Download Episode 2: Our midwife booking-in appointment, my default feelings about this pregnancy and delighting in children.
This time last year, Mary-Lou and I were thinking through what type of Post-mortem we wanted performed on Amy
Today is the 1 year anniversary of the stillbirth of our daughter Amy Isabel Gibbs. She actually died on the 8th September but was delivered on the 10th. It has been a sad weekend for Mary-Lou and myself.
We had a picnic to remember Amy at Fletcher Moss Park yesterday and invited family and friends to come, and many did. It was nice to be with friends and our families, but I felt quite lonely. We released a helium filled balloon to symbolise letting go of something you know you will not get back - people seemed to appreciate that.
It was the first time we had seen some people since they found out we are pregnant again, and they congratulated us. Each time, their excitement seemed strange to me, but I just smiled and said we were happy but scared too.
We booked Minty today and went to Chorley to see the place and do some Charity Shop shopping, then we went to Preston to do the same. Neither of us felt particularly emotional, probably because we had the picnic yesterday and felt sad more intensely on Saturday.
My Amy bracelet broke months ago, but I bought a strip of suede to fix it in time for Amy’s Picnic yesterday. It feels good to have it back on my wrist, to feel something devoted to her close to me again.
I keep thinking about how excited I was this time last year. I was looking forward to being a dad and discovering my new son or daughter. How differently I feel now. I often feel drained and distracted.
I miss Amy, although I never really had her. I noticed how perfect our living room chairs are for slouching, and how Amy and I would have probably spent many hours with her lying on my chest while I slouched and cuddled her.
I’m sorry that I have been putting many of my feelings and thoughts about Amy aside over the last half year. I sincerely think that I wouldn’t have been productive in my work if I hadn’t. In no way do I put my productivity over Amy, but I have to produce something to earn the money I have been receiving for it and I have been the only earner since she died.
I feel bad that I haven’t made the time to dwell and grieve over Amy - I think I thought I would generally survive better if I didn’t. I know that is wrong, but it feels like it’s right.
Blogged with Flock
I didn’t sleep at all on Saturday night.
My parents and my brother came up to see us for lunch on Saturday. Just before they arrived, I started getting blurry areas around the right side of my vision. I hoped it would disappear, but it didn’t and I realised I had a migraine coming on. I have migraines around once every 2 years and have learnt to take paracetamol as early as I can when I notice my vision going odd.
During our lunch, my head started hurting and I wasn’t able to concentrate on much, so I ended up going to bed and sleeping for 4 hours leaving Mary-Lou to entertain my family! I woke up later feeling much better but still groggy so I missed a friends birthday meal which I was looking forward to.
Sunday was the 9 month anniversary since Amy died and the days in the weekend were the same as the weekend when she died, Friday being the 8th and Sunday being the 10th. We decided last month that we wanted to try for another baby but on Thursday Mary-Lou got a period which we were both really disappointed about. I think that these things and the fact that my grief is growing made me feel the lowest I have felt since Amy died.
When Mary-Lou and I went to bed, I couldn’t sleep and just played on my laptop and phone until about 3am, then watched TV from 4 – 5am and eventually went for a walk around Platt Fields at 5.30am.
10 babies are stillborn every day in the UK, and I couldn’t help thinking of the dozens of couples who were having a horrendous weekend, not caring what time of the morning it is, but simply trying to deal with the shock of their loss. I almost felt that by staying up all night I was empathising with and sharing in their loss.
I ended up spending nearly 3 hours wandering slowly around Platt Fields, watching the birds, listening to the morning sounds, sitting while enjoying the early Sun, and thinking about how much I miss Amy.
While reading Velvet Elvis I made some notes on my Palm. They’re not extensive and are simply conclusions which hit me.
I really absorbed this book, probably because I have lots of questions about God and my faith since Amy died.
Anyway, here are my notes:
Questioning the Christian faith is mandatory in the Christian faith.
The bible needs to be interpreted to understand it’s application.
In Jesus’ time, Rabbis would call their interpretations and applications their “yoke”.
Jesus said his yoke was easy.
When a rabbi was teaching a new yoke, he was validated by two other rabbis putting their hands on him. Jesus was baptised by John, then God blessed him audibly – that’s why his baptism was so important.
Rabbis would “bind” some practices and “loose” others.
Jesus gave us permission to do that, and when we do, it would happen in heaven. He gave authority to make new interpretations and applications of the Christian faith.
When we debate, discuss, pray, wrestle, God is involved.
The whole earth is full of the “kavod” - weight and significance of who God is.
So whenever we see truth and beauty and goodness, we see God, and should claim and affirm it whether it is termed “Christian” or not – the word Christian is a noun - it is a bad adjective.
We are tour guides, pointing out what others dont see around them – God.
It is easier to remain busy than to stop, stare your problems in the face and recieve healing.
Shalom is the presence of the goodness of God. It’s the presence of wholeness, completeness.
Jewsh children memorised the torah from age 6 - 10. Then if they showed natural ability, they would learn the other Old Testament books until aged 14. Then if they were still good, they would learn the Jewish commentary and wisdom about each part. Then they might ask to follow a rabbi who would accept them if he thought they could live as he did. He would say “come, follow me”.
Jesus disciples were fishing because they hadn’t reached this stage, yet Jesus chose them believing they could carry his yoke and do what he did - be disciples.
He got frustrated with their lack of faith in themselves being able to do as he did – eg. walking on water.
God wants to restore us to who he made us to be. We are a new creation. When God looks at me, God sees Christ because I’m “in” him.
Christians are people learning who they are in Christ.
To Jesus, the goal isn’t getting into heaven, the goal is to get heaven here.
The church doesn’t exist for itself; it exists to serve the world.
We need to embody the good news by serving those around us. This will require difficulty and suffering but will bring great hope.
I’ve been busy recently. April was a busy month because I was organising ASBO, a skate competition over 4 sundays in April, and ChurchMCR launched on April 1st so I was deaing with that too.
I decided not to be busy in May. Mary-Lou was upset that I had not given proper time for my grief over Amy because of my busyness in April. I agree that it is not healthy to push away my grief so I wanted time to dwell on Amy and to work through by pain and confusion, especially about God.
But the last couple of weeks have been hectic!
First, some of the Advisory Team for ChurchMCR have become concerned about the sustainability of ChurchMCR after the current funding runsout in a couple of months. It has been a stark warning that I need to focus on ChurchMCR’s financial future, which has meant busyness.
Secondly, I’ve got involved with Burnt To The Ground, a fundraising festival being held as a positive response to the Dale Street fire a few weeks ago. It destroyed a whole building and the work and property of many small businesses and freelancers who have been left without offices.
The organisers of the festival wanted there to be a skate area, so they contacted me. I thought it was a great idea and got involved, but it has led to a great deal more busyness which I wasn’t expecting.
I’ve been reading a book called “Velvet Elvis” by a chap called Rob Bell. It is about his understanding of the Christian faith and is brilliant and challenging. I have made notes on it which I will share soon as it has impacted me in many ways.
One of the things Rob Bell says in this book is that it is easier to stay busy and get busier than to stop and face your personal issues and get healing for them. God wants to restore us to become the people we were created to be, but we rarely give him and ourselves the chance to do that.
The chapter made me want to be less busy and to go for counselling to work through my grief and other things. So I’ve gone ahead and got a counselling session booked with Reach at Kings Church, but at the moment, it seems like just another item in my busy schedule!
Mary-Lou and I watched a film last night called Look Both Ways. I had seen it in Blockbusters and thought it looked interesting so I added it to my EasyDVD rental list.
It is a film about people dealing with Death - an unusual theme for a film. But it isn’t a morbid film, instead it is quite upbeat yet reflective at the same time.
It’s got some great quirky moments and it made me laugh in a number of places - Australian films seem to have a sense of humour at the same time as being emotionally poignant (eg. The Dish and Strictly Ballroom which I both loved).
I really liked Look Both Ways, I thought the acting was great and the story was told very well.
Here’s the trailer:
Blogged with Flock
I tried to write a letter to God the other night but I only wrote 1 line:
God, I don’t know how to approach you anymore.
For the first couple of Months after Amy died I felt God very close, I felt his comfort, love and support in very deep ways. But for the last few months, I have hardly spoken to Him, our relationship seems to have stalled. I just don’t know how to approach Him.
Part of the reason has been that I have been growing sadder over the last couple of months, as the extent to what I have lost has sunk in. I think I have grown angry with God and avoided Him. But also, my spirituality has fallen low in my priorities - it just doesn’t seem important.
I don’t want to know God the way I did before Amy died. Mary-Lou has said that, looking back, her faith was very naive. I have never really suffered in life, so I think my faith was built on the idea that life was good for me, and that was all due to God’s goodness.
So where does that leave my faith now? It isn’t due to God’s goodness that Amy died and now life seems to be about surviving, rather than living. I feel that we need to begin our relationship again. But what kind of relationship do I want with God now? What kind of relationship is available? How do I even approach God?
Mary-Lou explained yesterday that she can’t understand how “God shares in our suffering.” She has come across women on iVillage who have lost a number of children through stillbirth and miscarriage and doesn’t understand how the idea of God suffering with them is supposed to help them in any way. If God could have saved those children from death, but didn’t, how does it help that he shares the pain for our loss?
It’s Easter Saturday, so I’ve been concious that this weekend is the commemoration of Jesus’ death and the celebration of His resurrection. Sure, God lost His only Son, so he knows what it is like to lose a child - we’ve been told. But God got Jesus back after 3 days. We’re not going to get Amy back.
Blogged with Flock
Today marks the 6 month anniversary of Amy’s stillbirth. “Anniversary” seems the wrong word because in my mind it is to do with celebration and happy times, and today hasn’t been happy.
We went to Fletcher Moss park to go and see Amy’s tree (the tree we scattered her ashes around) and I took some photo’s. I was hoping that the sky would be blue for a nice background to the branches, but the sky was grey instead.
I have been getting sadder and sadder recently, a delayed grief. I am realising what I am missing with the loss of Amy and more things trigger thoughts about her. Mary-Lou is learning to cope with her sadness more and more but I amonly just realising my grief now. I find myself getting angry quickerand when I get stressed I am not able to calm myself down like I used to. Also, my concentration span is shorter which is frustrating when I’m working.
Mary-Lou and I often think about the alternate universe where she didn’t die and what we would all be doing at that moment. It is such a strange idea that the last 6 months could have been filled with joy (and tiredness!) as we looked after her, watched her develop and, most of all, got to know her.
Blogged with Flock
On the evening of Friday 8th September, I was in a meeting at Projekts until midnight. When I arrived home, Mary-Lou said that she had been having some pains in her tummy for the last hour. We decided to see if they lasted another hour and if so, we’d phone the community midwives. After that hour, the pains were a bit stronger so we phoned the midwives who suggested Mary-Lou should take a bath as a pain relief method, then phone again afterwards.
After her bath, we phoned and Pam, the Community Midwife on call, came round. We chatted a bit then she felt Mary-Lou’s bump and used some equipment to hear the baby’s heart. Pam tried for a while in all sorts of places but the noise which we had heard before of the baby’s heartbeat didn’t sound. Pam said she couldn’t find the heartbeat but that this wasn’t rare and can be because of the baby’s position or faulty equipment. She suggested we went into hospital so they can do an echo scan to find the heartbeat.
We had been on the Domino scheme for childbirth which means the mum stays at home in labour for as long as she can, then goes into hospital to give birth when she is dilated 5-7cm. So I got a bit flustered because I hadn’t packed my hospital bag so I asked if we should bring our packed bags with us and Pam suggested we did because we could be there a while. So I dashed upstairs and got some clothes in a bag and collected all the last minute things which were on the list Mary-Lou had made. While we were upstairs, Mary-Lou said she was scared that they hadn’t found the heartbeat, but I reassured her that things would be OK.
Pam drove us to the hospital at around 3am on the Saturday morning. On the way I remembered that I had forgot to bring the car seat to bring our baby home with us, but I didn’t tell Mary-Lou because I didn’t want to worry her anymore than she already was. When we arrived, I texted a couple of friends to pray for us and for our baby, and I phoned Mary-Lou’s parents and my parents with the news. It was so hard - I had never given such bad news - but I wanted to tell them, not text them, and ask them to pray for us too.
We were taken to the Triage unit of St. Mary’s Children’s Hospital into a room from which you could see West over Moss Side since it was on the 6th floor. Pam made us feel comfortable there as we waited for the obstetrician to come and see us. His name was Brett Winter-Roach and had a very kind and sensitive manner. He came in with the echo machine and said that he would do some scanning for a while, then he would chat to us afterwards.
As he was scanning in silence, I held Mary-Lou’s hand and I began getting more and more nervous, thinking that there could really be a problem. It was quite eerie. Pam was with us too, but no-one was speaking and it was obvious that everyone was very tense.
I was born with a congenital heart problem called Transposition of the Main Arteries, so I am used to echo cardiograms and I know what I am looking at on the screens. As Brett was scanning I wondered whether I should look at the screen, or whether that might scare me. I did glance at it a couple of times, and immediately wished I didn’t. I saw the cavity where the heart was, but I didn’t see and valves flapping around, like I have seen in my heart. I knew it was the heart because the ribs were casting shadows down through the chest.
I looked away and decided it didn’t mean anything. After all, I’m not an expert on echo cardiograms. I began watching him move the scanner around Mary-Lou’s tummy and then noticed that his hand was shaking. I squeezed Mary-Lou’s hand and looked at her. She was just staring straight ahead at the opposite wall. I didn’t know how to feel, all the signs were pointing towards the worst thing, but I was determined that this wasn’t the case.
When Brett had finished doing the scan, his demeanor and eyes were very sorrowfull. He apologised and told us that he could not find a heart beat. Mary-Lou started breathing really heavily and saying “No, no, no.” I tried to hug her but it was very awkward because of how she was lying. I didn’t know what to think or say, I just focused on Mary-Lou and trying to hold her.
Brett said he very sorry to give the news but that it was almost certain that there was no heart beat. He said that they have two separate obstetricians to confirm that there is no heart beat and that he would try and contact the on-call obstetrician to come and scan again. I asked if there was anything they could do for the baby. Brett replied that there unfortunately was nothing that could be done.
Mary-Lou started groaning and almost crying then stopped and just stared at the ceiling, still breathing deeply. I wondered whether it was really a problem since the baby gets is oxygenated blood from Mary-Lou, but the sadness and sorrow from Brett and Pam made me realise that actually, the baby was dead. It then occurred to me that of course this was true because the baby’s heart needs to pump the blood around it’s body, and since it wasn’t, it was surely dead.
As this dawned on me, hundreds of things were going through my head about what this meant, memories of our hopes, confusion about what needed to happen next, fears of it’s implications on Mary-Lou. I felt this was the worst thing that could have happened. The baby was 9 days late by then, and was going to be induced on the Monday. It was full term and fully developed, it had grown these 9 months, and now, nothing.
Brett said that if it is confirmed that there is no heartbeat, they will recommend that Mary-Lou gives birth to the baby. The horror I had felt as a child when I learnt that some ladies have to give birth to their dead babies flooded over me and I thought “There is no way I’m gonna let Mary-Lou give birth, it is the most horrific thing she could ever go through.” So I asked Brett if she could have a Cesarean section under general anaesthetic so that she could be knocked out while they took the baby out and not have to experience giving birth to the dead baby.
Brett said that it would be up to us, but that every doctor would highly recommend a vaginal delivery since a c-section is a serious operation with risks of complications in future pregnancies, whereas vaginal delivery was natural and far less risky. I then asked about when the other obstetrician might be able to come and scan, Brett then said he would try to contact her as soon as possible.
When we were left alone, we cuddled. We didn’t know what to say. Mary-Lou was still in shock. I started to think about where Jesus was in all this, I really couldn’t work it out. I said to Mary-Lou that I felt I should remind us that Jesus is here somewhere in this situation, but that I couldn’t see it. Mary-Lou hugged me and I began crying. I started repeating through tears “I don’t want this, I don’t want this.” I really felt desperate for things to be different, for there to be no problem.
Eventually Brett and Pam came back having got hold of the other obstetrician and took us to another room for the scan with a more accurate machine. When we entered, the obstetrician was there in a large t-shirt and shorts, as though she had just got out of bed - I think she had. When Mary-Lou had settled on the bed, they turned the machine on, and it took ages to start-up causing an awkward silence, and making Mary-Lou and me more nervous.
The obstetrician scanned Mary-Lou’s tummy for about 20 seconds then said she was sorry, but there really was no heart beat. I asked her if we needed to talk to her about having a c-section, she said it was her but that she highly recommended a normal delivery because it is far less risky.
Back in our room, I phoned our families and friends to let them know that our baby’s death had been confirmed. I had never had to deliver such bad news, and it was hard listening to people cry for us. By this time it was about 8am on Saturday and I was phoning people all through the morning, taking large breaks to re-gain the strength to phone someone else.
Mary-Lou’s contractions were getting stronger so she accepted some Pethidine from our new midwife, Caroline. After the injection, the pain died down and Mary-Lou began sleeping because she was so tired. I was still making the odd phone call and eventually tried to sleep in a chair - but it didn’t work.
I had told our parents that we didn’t want anyone to come to us, we wanted to be alone and go through this together. However, my Mum and Dad decided to drive up to Manchester fromCrewe so that they could help if we needed them. When they arrived at about 7 or 8 am they called, and we decided to see them after all.
When they came in, we hugged then they sat down. Mary-Lou held my Mums hand because my Mum was crying, no one talked much. We told them more about what had happened and what we were thinking. I mentioned that we thought we wanted a c-section and that we didn’t think we wanted to see the baby. After a while, when my parents were about to leave and go back to our house for a while, my Dad asked to chat to me outside the room.
He was troubled that we didn’t want to see our baby. Mary-Lou and I had chatted about it earlier, I had said that I would like to see it, but Mary-Lou didn’t want to because the idea was so horrible. My Dad explained that many couples who go through stillbirth and don’t see their baby regret it afterwards. He explained that before God, our baby was a person from it’s conception, that we will meet him or her one day in heaven and that we should name it and he encouraged me to see our baby and hold it with Mary-Lou.
After my Parents left at around 10am, I told Mary-Lou what my Dad had said, and as I explained, it slowly dawned on me how precious and individual our baby was. We chatted it through and both realised that we had been distancing ourselves from our baby as OUR baby, and that it was a human whom we should honour and respect. This helped us greatly in making decisions later on. One of the first difficult decisions was about how our baby was going to be delivered.
Having realised that we didn’t want to distance ourselves from our child, or treat it as a “thing”, we though the most honouring thing to our baby was to complete the pregnancy through a vaginal delivery. To have a c-section under general anaesthetic was - in our mind - trying to shun our baby and not have anything more to do with it. We felt we would be neglecting the last 9 months of discomfort and sacrifice we had gone through for our child.
Mary-Lou’s Pethidine began wearing away, so we decided to try the TENS machine we had rented from Boots. She found that if she switched to the more intense mode just at the beginning of a contraction, it worked quite well, but if she missed that moment, it wouldn’t really work. At around midday, Caroline came and told us we could more to another larger room which was at the end of the corridor and was therefore a bit quieter. We decide to move room, and were very glad we did when we arrived in the new room. It was about 3 times larger than our previous room and had windows along two of the walls looking out over Manchester City Centre and the East of the City. The immediate view however was of a building site since the hospital is having a lot of work being done, so the skyline was mostly cranes.
For me it was refreshing being in a much brighter room with such a great view, and having more space to walk around in was a blessing too. I was still phoning people every so often and reading text messages of condolence and support to Mary-Lou. She had another Pethidine shot and began to get sleepy again.
At around 2 - 3pm my parents came back with some stuff we had forgotten to bring, and some much desired food. It was a quicker visit this time because they knew we wanted our space but it was wonderful to have seen them and to have chatted to someone else who was a part of our, and Amy’s story.
The contractions continued getting stronger and Mary-Lou was dilating at about 1cm per hour, which is the normal rate. Caroline brought Mary-Lou some Gas & Air to help with the increasing pain, we had given up on the TENS machine long ago. She loved it! Not only did it help dull the pain, but it gave Mary-Lou something to focus on - her breathing. We also had another distraction, The X Factor!
By 10pm, Mary-Lou had dilated 10cm, had her legs put in stirrups and was encouraged to start pushing whenever she had a contraction. She initially had a problem in that she didn’t know how or where to push. By this time Pam was on shift again and was looking after us - we were very grateful to have her and not another new person. Her contractions were quite infrequent and irregular so our baby wasn’t really moving much.
At about midnight, Brett came - we were grateful to have him again too - and advised putting Mary-Lou on a drip which would help regulate her contractions and hopefully speed up the delivery, so we agreed to that. After an hour, our baby’s head had crowned and Pam could see the hair - it was like Mary-Lou’s, she told us. Yet even with Mary-Lou pushing really hard and doing so well at it, our baby wasn’t moving very far.
Every time Mary-Lou pushed I kept encouraging her saying things like, “That’s it, push, push, push. Keep going, keep going. You’re doing really well. A few seconds more, keep going. Chin down!” For each contraction, Mary-Lou had time for two pushes, holding her breath. In between the contractions she used the Gas & Air excessively.
When Brett came back he decided the best thing was to do an epesiotamy and use forceps to pull our baby out. We had chosen not to see our baby being delivered so a sheet had been hung over Mary-Lou’s tummy. Eventually, in one giant push, our baby was delivered, no sound, no noise, just Mary-Lou panting for breath and sighing with relief. Our baby was taken away by Pam and when she returned she injected Mary-Lou with something which helps the placenta be delivered quickly.
Once the placenta had been delivered and Mary-Lou was cleaned up a bit, Brett explained that she had suffered a 3rd degree tear and that she would need stitches straight away. We briefly discussed whether to have general or local anaesthetic and decided on local. Mary-Lou wanted me to be with her during the surgery and they agreed that I would be allowed to be with her.
When they had wheeled Mary-Lou on her bed into surgery, I was left on my own in the room waiting for some clothes to wear to go into the theatre. I felt quite lost and lonely and started shaking a bit. I wanted to text people to pray for Mary-Lou while she was in theatre but thought that I would be called to surgery straight away, so I panicked and began writing the text quickly, still shaking. The nurse didn’t come to get me for some time, so I had quite a few minutes after writing the text just sitting in the chair with nothing to do. I realised that I should be taking care of our living baby at this point while Mary-Lou was in surgery, but it was a short lived thought - my mind was racing but completely incoherently, I couldn’t focus on a single thought.
Pam came in to help clear up and take away the stuff they had used for delivery and asked me if I wanted to know what sex our baby was. I said I didn’t and that we would rather find out together, so she had a tricky time telling me how the delivery went and how big our baby was!
When I was called into the theatre, Brett and another surgeon seemed to have already started adding the local anaesthetic. I was given a stool next to Mary-Lou’s head and I stroked her head and held her hand while I told her how much I loved her and how proud I was of her. She seemed to drift in and out of consciousness according to any pain she felt but I just kept stroking and whispering to her, there was nothing else I could do.
The stitches took longer than Brett had expected but once we were back in our room Mary-Lou, already quite dosy, fell to sleep so I decided to go and ask Brett how the surgery went. He said it went very well and that they were very happy with their work. Then he expressed how sorry he was for us and shook my hand. It was quite bizarre since I didn’t feel like I had done anything to deserve having my hand shaken.
After only 5 minutes with Brett, I came back to our room to find the lights off, the drip machine beeping loudly and Mary-Lou panicking and moaning for help. My heart sank immediately with guilt for not being there and I rushed over to her bed and pressed the button to call for a midwife. I kept telling her that I was here with her as she was hyperventilating and looking into my eyes as if asking why I wasn’t there when she woke up.
Once Pam had come and sorted out the machine and helped to calm Mary-Lou down, she got me a camp bed to lie on, so for the first time in over 2 and a half full days, we both got some proper sleep…for 4 hours!
When we woke up, we were happy to realise that Caroline was looking after us again. Mary-Lou was bleeding alot and was very uncomfortable despite the pain killers she was given. She also had to take a pill which would stop the production of milk, which can be very distressing for mothers who produce milk but with no baby. After our hospital breakfast, we asked Caroline to tell us about our baby. She told us we had had a “wee girl” who was 10lb 3oz - not so “wee” after all! When we heard we had had a girl, Mary-Lou burst into tears and I couldn’t quite take it in. We had both hoped for a girl, but as the pregnancy went on, we became more and more convince we would have a boy.
I started wondering what we would name our daughter, we had got names for a boy or a girl, but I wondered if it was “worth” giving the name to our dead daughter, or saving it for a future daughter. But when Mary-Lou told Caroline we would call her Amy Isabel Gibbs, I realised and felt that it was entirely right. Caroline asked if we wanted to see Amy, but we didn’t feel ready too, it was something that had a sense of fear and dread for us both, to see a dead baby - our dead baby.
Later on that Sunday afternoon, after lunch and organising for some friends and my parents to come and be with us in the evening, we decided to go and see Amy. Mary-Lou was very scared about it, but I really wanted to see Amy at this point, and Mary-Lou didn’t want it to just be me who saw Amy. Caroline took Amy to the room next door and dressed her in a body suit and hat we gave her from the bag of clothes and nappies we had bought with us. Then Caroline came to get us and we helped Mary-Lou walk next door.
Caroline had explained that Amy looked a bit red and that the forceps had left a scar on her right cheek and scalp, but as we went into the room and saw the Moses basket, then walked further in to see Amy in the basket, we were both quite shocked. Amy looked more purple than I thought she would, and her parted lips were very dark. She wasn’t actually purple, but wasalot darker than I expected. The initial shock was quickly washed away by amazement at how much she looked like Mary-Lou! She was definitely Filipino looking with Mary-Lou’s mouth and lips, and long black hair. And she was huge! She completely filled the body suit we had given Caroline, and the hat we gave was obviously too small, because she was in a completely different hat!
After just looking at her for a while, Mary-Lou said she needed to sit down, so we sat on a sofa at the end of the room and hugged. Caroline came and sat next to us and asked us how we felt and if we wanted to hold her. We said we didn’t want to hold her, but I asked if her hat could be taken off so we could see all her hair. So Caroline took the covers and hat off her and we got up to see her again.
I remember bending over to look at her face closer with my hands behind my back, as though I was inspecting her. I felt quite sad now and afraid to touch her, as though I wasn’t allowed to. After a few minutes Mary-Lou need to sit down again and Caroline asked if we wanted her to leave so we said yes. When Caroline had left, we hugged closer and Mary-Lou cried. I didn’t feel the need to cry, it was all a bit surreal. When we went over to Amy again we looked at her in silence, then I plucked up the courage to pick up her left hand from on her chest and began talking to her, saying how much we loved her, how beautiful she looked (the initial shock had completely dissolved into pride by this point) and I thanked God for giving her to us and asked Jesus to look after her and let her know how much we love her. Mary-Lou then held her hand in mine too but was too upset to say anything. So I said Goodbye to Amy, rubbed her hand with my thumb and put her hand back onto her chest.
We called Caroline back then went back to our own room and chatted about what she looked like and about how glad we were to have seen her. Then we cuddled and I began crying as it all began sinking in. The tears and snosh and dribble - which I had seen so many times on Mary-Lou’s face, and wondered how annoying they must be - didn’t bother me, nor did the fact that I heard someone come in our room, and hastily leave after seeing me crying. I was overwhelmed with grief and pain like I had never felt, I just wanted to be held by Mary-Lou, nothing else seemed to matter.
I went for a cruise today on my bike.
I rode around Alexandra Park and talked to God about how I am feeling about Amy. I feel so broken over her death. I love her more than I knew I could love, and want to father and care for her. It wrenches my heart to know I can’t actually be her Daddy.
Tuesday was the 1 month anniversary of her stillbirth. During the evening I walked into the kitchen and had a sense that someone was behind me. I turned round to see no-one, but immediately wished it could have been Amy, toddling round the chair, seeing me and grinning, then toddling faster to come and have a cuddle. I started crying, sat down and continued crying. I imagined her coming down the stairs at different stages of her life, and it hit home again that I’ll never see her grow up into a beautiful girl, and a holy woman.
It was good to cry. I cried a few times in the first 2 weeks, but not since. I don’t like the way I am grieving. Most of the time I feel quite detached from the situation, but still sad, as though it was someone else’s baby who died. I also feel very sad for Mary-Lou as though it was her baby that died, and nothing to do with me.
Mary-Lou has cried inconsolably at least once a day since Amy was stillborn. I wish I felt Amy’s loss as intensely as Mary-Lou, I wish I could cry each day. I wish my grieving was really intense over these first few weeks, then I reckon it would be easier from then on.
The books and websites we have read suggest that fathers bond with their children after they are born and the dad can hold and see his baby. Mothers bond much more while the baby is in the womb since they are with them 24 hours a day and can feel every kick and hiccup. It really hurts that I will never know Amy as much as Mary-Lou does. I couldn’t wait to meet her and get to know her, and I hoped that we would have had “things” together, just her and me, like finding the same thing funny, and Mary-Lou not knowing why. But I will never have that, and I will never know Amy as much as Mary-Lou.
But on Tuesday it hit home again, that Amy was my daughter, and that my love for her, and all the sacrifices I was prepared to make for her, will never be actioned in the ways I wanted.
The last few weeks have been very odd emotionally. Like I have said, I mostly feel detached from the situation, but every now and then, I will become sad about it all again, but not as intensely as on Tuesday. Mary-Lou and I have been taking each day as it comes, actually each hour as it comes. We have rarely got through a whole film because our moods change so often. At other times, I just don’t know what mood I’m in, or what I want to do, like this morning. I was umm-ing and ah-ing about whether I wanted to go for a cruise, and if I did, where I wanted to go.
While cruising around Platt Fields, I also told God how afraid I am of coming close to Him. To know that my Father has such wonderful healing and comfort for me - for free - reminds me that I just don’t deserve any of it. The knowledge of my unworthiness of His gifts breaks me even more. I know that the extent of my shattered heart will be revealed in His light, as all things are, and I fear that it will hurt to see it…hurt lots.
Yet I know it will be good to come near to Him. I have had this fear of intimacy with Him many times before, and the few times I have drawn close, despite the fear, have been some of the most awesome times with Him I have known.
After Alexandra park, I cruised all the way down Brantingham Road because it looked like it went on for miles and I wanted to know where it led. On the way, I saw a dad and his daughter riding their bikes together. The girl was about 4 years old riding a pink bike with a purple backpack and pink helmet. Her dad made sure he stayed on the road side of her, and they were chatting together fervently.
On the way back, I saw them again and realised that they weren’t cycling to get anywhere, they were just out cycling round together. I imagined that the girl just wanted to ride her bike, and asked her dad if she could. I remembered that I would have had to teach Amy to cycle since Mary-Lou can’t ride a bike. I wished for those times with Amy and realised that it was a beautiful picture of God and us.