Thread: Losing A Child

INTRODUCTION
Hello folks, and thanks for taking the time to have a look at my post.
A couple of years ago, I lost my son and last night I heard the song we played at his funeral, it was Claptons 'Tears In Heaven' (yes I know, but we found it quite appropriate :D).
Anyhoo, I was in tatters after hearing it, a good pal of mine said that when he was grieving he found it best to talk about things, he even wrote everything down in a diary to help him get along.
Then it dawned on me, I've never really spoke about all the stuff that went on back then to anyone, well not in any great detail anyway.
So I thought I'd give blogging a go.
There is a lot to this story, and some aspects of it are a bit complicated (another reason I'm doing this). I'm hoping that by getting everything out on paper (albeit virtual) I can get my head around some things and maybe help others realise you can still have a life after such a loss.
As I said there is a lot to the story, and I guess for everyone to fully understand I have to go right back to the beginning.
If your still reading cheers :D
Here we go then :D

Copied from blogs (original entry) - post comments here.

Part 1

Everything started when I was 16 really.
I met this fantstic girl through my best mate, and although I was very young, instantly fell for her.
We were'nt together that long really before we found out she was pregnant.
Neddless to say I shat meself, and was surprised when her dad (Ex Irish Ranger) didnt decapitate me there and then. I was 17 she was just about to turn 18, we spoke at length about our options, but we could'nt make a definitive decision until we'd been for the first scan.
The scan date came around and we went to the hospital. When in the ultrasound room I didnt really want to look, I was still terrified and wondering wether to make a run for it, all I had going through my head was all the plans I had, my first interview with the Army was coming up, im too young etc etc. 'Selfish bastad' I thought to myself.
I manned up and took a look at the screen, what I saw amazed me, not a blob of cells or a strange blurry thing I could'nt make out, but a baby.
I mean, fully formed baby.... 'Fooking hell' I said out load, much to the radiographers suprise.
''You're just over 5 months gone'' she said to my girlfriend.
I looked at her stomach, it was still as flat as the day I met her, she was still fitting into size 8 jeans 'Fooking hell' I said out loud again.
We walked out the hospital in silence. I finally broke the silence,
''Guess well have to move in together'' I said
She threw her arms round me and for the first time in over a week I felt happy, like a man.
The next 4 months flew by, each scan we panicked there may be problems, as any expecting parents do, but with each one we were secretly becoming more confident.
On July 14 2002 she gave birth to a perfectly healthy baby girl, the day before my 18th birthday. To say I was chuffed was an understatement.
A double celebration ensued, wetting the babies head and my 18th!! That was certainly a birthday to remember!
My only thing niggling at the back of my mind was the fact that I pulled out of the recruiting process, opting to be with my new family instead of away doing my phase 1 and 2. Ho hum, hindsights a wonderful thing.

Everything was peachy with our new baby, but we both decided that 1 is plenty for us to handle and we made a mutual decision to not have anymore for a very, very long time.
She went on the pill and I was under instruction that if the little dude wanted to come out and play, he was to wear his raincoat at all times.
'No bother' thought I, 'I've got my daddies girl'.
'No regrets' I thought to myself, looking at my new family (well it was a few months down the road now)
We had our own, place decent money coming in (no benefits!!) and we were still young.
Everything was going perfectly really. But its suprising how quickly things can go tits up when you least expect it.

Copied from blogs (original entry) - post comments here.

Hello Suits U. I think it's a great idea that you have chosen to do this. I agree, writing things down is a release for even the worst of tensions, the 'letter you never mean to send' sort of idea. I've done it myself many times.

I remember Soldiers Mum came to ARRSE 18 months ago or so and found the support quite overwhelming.

Tell away, and if we can help we will.

Hello suits_U. Now, I'm under no delusions that my opinion is worth diddly-squat, but I'll give it anyway. To start, I believe that, if you were a new Arrse member or an O2 thief, this blog might not be a good idea. But, from my recollection of what you post, you demonstrate a good balance of ascerbic, serious and funny. Your posts seem to be welcomed by Arrse users.

So, I reckon that (as it's you) a blog on this very personal part of your life would be appreciated. I guess the members will feel supportive of you and appreciate your message of hope for a life after such a loss. So, if it helps you as well, go for it. (Though you might need to keep a copy elsewhere, because is this "Temporary Arrse"?)
bovvy

Cheers for the response folks
To be honest I dont know what im trying to achieve, but I hope Ill achieve it anyway

Care for the Family run support networks, they might be worth a bash to find another bloke to talk to, in real life rather than online. Their website here.

''I'm pregnant''
'What!' I must admit I was fooking shocked beyond belief, we'd been so careful even to the point when a condom split, she took the morning after pill, despite being on 'the pill' anyway. The little bugger really wanted to be in this world. 'Must be fate' maybe, hopefully its wrong though.
The doctor confirmed what the test said, and if we didnt believe him then the ultrasound certainly confirmed it.
No swearing from me this time, just utter disbelief, I could see it in her eyes too, shocked, scared and probably wondering what I was thinking, I didnt have the heart to tell her my gut feeling about it.
We decided to think about our next step carefully, this time round we had plenty of time to discuss our options, 'thank god' I thought.
It took us over three weeks to decide what to do, during that time, her stomach had grown, and we were remembering how happy we were the first time we saw our daughter. Obviously, the decision was to continue with the pregnancy.
We were both still young, I was 21, the missus 22 and our daughter now three, she was just starting nursery and growing up far to quickly for my liking. Time flies when you're having fun I guess.
Anyhoo, the dicision was made, we were sticking to it, plus we had the support of both of our families, 'grand' I thought to myself, I knew everything would work out ok. Famous last words I think.

It was a routine scan, but something was'nt right. The radiographer, a sound bloke who had been really good with us during our time there seemed to be taking forever, with the monitor facing away from us, he said to us that hed be back in in a second, we looked at each other, we knew something was wrong now.
Immediately all the worst things come into your head, the babies heart has stopped, cerebal palsy, spina bifida, anything, everything.

''Looks like your baby has bilateral talipes'' The doc said
''What the fcuks that'' Says I, being polite as ever.
After a lenghty discussion and lots of phrases I dont care to remember, we deciphered that its basically clubfoot, in both feet.
What we now knew was our son (yay) had feet bent in an ungodly manner and the soles of his feet were pointing toward his inside leg.
After lots of research and more discussions, it was confirmed that our son was ok apart from the talipes, that he would walk but it would just mean lots of therapy, calipers and jackboots, I had to snigger at the thought of my sprog hobbling round in forrest gump attire, my missus obviously knew what I was thinking and gave me a wallop round the back of the head with her medical notes. They were thick, it fcuking hurt.
Oh well we says, sod all we can do about that, move on and cross the bridge when we get there.

A couple of weeks later the missus couldnt get out of her pit.
'Oi you lazy biatch' says I, but it wasnt that, she couldnt move her legs very well. 'What fcuking now' I thought to myself.
I managed to get her to the G.P, who promptly refered her.
Turns out she had Pubic symphysis diastasis or some other words I cant recall.
Basically her pelvis was being streched to buggery, in turn, she could hardly walk or do fook all else for that matter.
'Wonderfull'
I was self semployed, fortunately. It was now down to me to sort everything out for the next few months. No drama I thought, but I knew my savings wouldnt last too long, and we still needed a load of stuff for the baby.
Our families helped as much as they could, but I was still not going to work and the missus wasnt getting any better, she had allready spent two weeks in the hospital for monitoring, the end of this pregnancy was beginning to feel a lifetime away, and my cashflow, my nerves and my last few remaining clients, were not going to last that long, I knew that much.
Fast forward to December and I found myself at a regimental dinner (I was a detachment commander in the ACF) Dressed in my finery and worrying about the missus at home, she hadnt felt good that day, particularly weak and tired, I'd left her with her younger brother (he was about 16) and our daughter, she'd be alright for a few hours.
What I found when I got home distressed me to say the least.
My missus was crying her eyes out in agony, shed sent her brother home out of sheer stubborness. She couldnt get up, walk and her pulse was racing like Lewis Hamilton.
I phoned the ambulance.
After a long wait and lots of me shouting at important people she was seen to, we were told she had a large blood clot in her leg or a DVT as they called it.
'Wonderful'
They gave my missus some pain killers and she fell to sleep.
I went outside for a ciggy, it was about two in the morning, my daughter was safe at her nans, my missus was safe here.
I was silently smoking and staring at the sky, I suppose looking for justification as to why our lives had been suddenly shat on.
A nurse broke the silence outside
''Had a good night luv?'' She said in a cheery voice
I looked at her blankly, she gestured to me which made me look down at myself.
I was still in my mess kit - 'what a cnut' I thought
''Wonderful'' I said aloud, now looking back at the sky, looking for answers, reasons, all of which I knew wouldnt come.

Copied from blogs (original entry) - post comments here.

Did you already have all that typed out and copied it? Or was it in your head? If the latter, sounds like you needed to get things off your chest.

Hello Suits U,

Just read the entries in your blog here on Arrse. I must say that what I've read so far is chilling. First let me say that apart from the nerve to face the Arrse crowd by posting your blog-slash-diary here; I think it takes serious courage to face yourself. You're forcing yourself to relive the whole ordeal. Just be careful that posting the bits here do not backfire. You are bound to get some blunt reactions.

You won't get them from me, though. I hope you do achieve what you're looking for here. Don't tell anyone, but you did touch a nerve on this side of the monitor.

Funny that you started with a recollection about a song. I find that songs I heard at certain times can bring everything from a chill down my spine to tears in my eyes. I hope that hearing Tears in Heaven was, for you, the beginning of something good.

I wish you all the best,


Kaye.

She had been in the hospital for a few days now, I was at my cadet unit closing up for christmas and trying to finish off a few bits of paperwork before going back to the hospital.
I remeber thinking how bright and warm it was for a decembers day, not like the bitter cold the other night stood outside the hospital.
My phone rang and I answered it before it had time to ring twice.
Apparently there had been a complication over night and I needed to get to the hospital as quick as I could.
I rushed over there as quick as i could, normally about a 25 minute walk, I think I had it done in about 10 minutes, I must of tabbed like a bastid.
I wondered round the hospital like a lost puppy, trawling the corridors trying to find out where my partner, and my son were, I found a nurse I recognised from the other night, she didnt recognise me.
The smart, proud young man dressed in his finery that she saw a few nights before had vanished to be replaced by a quiverring wreck dressed in what quite frankly, was probably the chaviest outfit I owned, oh how I'd let myself go :D
I explained who I was and was directed to the High Dependancy Unit, that name didnt sound to promising really.
My missus was in a small room, on her own surrounded by beeping and whirring machines, she was awake though and relatively content, which made a nice change.
She explained, helped by a doctor, that the clot had travelled from her leg into her lung, I knew by now that this wasnt a good thing.
My missus thought it was indigestion during the night! It was only due to the skill of the midwife on duty that she recognised it for what it was the previous night.
We were told that the next day she would have to be taken over to the Queen Elizabeth hospital to have a filter put in to stop the clot going to her heart, and to stop any more entering her lungs, first though they had to find out how big the problem was, which meant a few trips top the QE for scans and all sorts of other tests.
I was quite impressed by the one, they injected dye into her veins and it illuminated her insides to show the clot, my joke about not being the first time of seeing her innards didnt really go down too well :D
All the time she had a midwife with her, monitoring the baby and her, when we got back to her room they had set up the crash trolley and had wheeled a lot more machinery in, things were getting serious.
Fortunately, by now she had been issued with a PDA or something, a little machine to keep her constantly topped up with morphine at her discretion, I dont think she had stopped pressing it all day. She was'nt fully aware enough to know what was really going on, or how serious this situation was getting.
I wanted to think about my son, but I couldnt, I was too worried about losing my partner, the mother of my children, a terrible feeling of guilt kept rushing over me.
She had the filter put in the next day.
A nasty little op which involved a big tube being put in her neck and fed down through the veins to her lungs - nice, as if she had'nt been through enough yet. Oh well at least she was doped up the whole time.
The rest of the family were busy sorting out our daughter, they knew I was looking after theirs. But I was'nt, I could'nt do anything other than watch what was happening. I'd never felt so alone.
The next day all was going well, she was being monitored closely as was my son, thats when the doctors started talking about delivering the baby early, he kept going into distress.
She was only 32 weeks gone, it was too early, we needed more time, they needed to fix her first.
Then it dawned on me what they were really getting at.
Mother and baby were a danger to each other. What the fcuk was going on....
They left it as long as they could, but it was about 2pm the next day, all the docs and midwives were consulting around her bed, a chart was printed off. The consultant read it, immediately looked around and simply said to us ''It's time''.
I didnt think it would be that soon!, they prepped her there and then and started to wheel her out to the theatre, they were giving her a C-section, too dangerous for both to try a normal birth, I walked along side her waiting to be given a set of scrubs only to be told I could'nt go any further, I was'nt going to get to see my son born, I couldnt work out why at the time, it made no sense to me.
If I'd felt alone before, then that was nothing compared to what I felt now, stood there like a chopper staring at these big solid doors which simply said 'Theatres' above it. I was told it would take about an hour, and to go and grab a drink and something to eat. I didnt bother with that, I went to the shop down the road and bought fourty cigs.
When I went back in the hospital nearly an hour later, I only had about 5 left, my throat was killing me.
I went and sat back in the missus' room in the HDU and waited... and waited, until I heard someone walking toward her room.
It was the midwife, she said my son would be coming past in a minute on a trolley, I could have a quick look but then hed have to go straight to the neo-natal unit to be checked out.
'Well he is premature' I thought to myself. Besides a quick look was better than the eternity Ive been waiting to see him.
He rolled past, the porter stopped the trolley for a moment.
He was tiny, but gorgeous, the cheesiest grin came on my face.
The oxygen mask went back on his face and they started to wheel him away from me, I cought a glimpse of his feet, they didnt look as bad as I'd imagined, 'We can sort them out' I thought to myself.
Chuffed to bits I went over to the chair and sat down to reflect.
'Its over' I said to myself, after a couple of minutes I went outside to phone the family.
I had one last ciggy, went in and washed my hands and my face, then went back to see what was going on.
I wish I didnt.

Copied from blogs (original entry) - post comments here.

You're joking arent you, this was all just a thought that came into my head this morning.
Trust me I'm thinking what to type as I try and re-cap step by step in my head. Trying to leave out unimportant bits and include the rest.
Sorry if its a bit difficult to read and I know my spelling is pish.
Its hard ad-libbing :D

So there I was outside the hospital, happy as a pig in shite.
I'd done the usual calls and gone back inside.
I went back to our little room to wait for the missus to come out of the recovery suite.
It was a long wait, well it seemed like it, realistically it was probably only about 5 minutes. I remember looking at my newspaper on the table. 18th December 2005.
My mind started wondering but was rudely interrupted by a group of medical staff talking outside my open door, it was'nt difficult to hear what they were saying, so naturally, being a nosey cnut I eavesdropped, I didnt exactly like what I heard though.
''How's the baby that collapsed'' Said a female voice
''Which one?'' responded a male voice
''The C-section''
''Oh yeah, not looking good really''
I remember that conversation as if I'd heard it an hour ago. I was gobsmacked, they meant my son, he was the only C-section, they told me that themselves!
I burst in on their conversation like a thunderflash, much to their horror, I was quickly ushered back into my room and told it was not my son they were talking about, obviously a lie, or was it? I didnt care really they shouldnt have discussed things like that anywhere near me, wether I knew I was there or not! So many emotions raced through my head, what was going on? whats the wait? wheres the missus? wheres my son?
The missus was wheeled into the room shortly after that, thank god she didnt hear what I'd just heard.
She was absolutely fcuked, incoherent, babbling and generally doped up to the eye balls.
A neo-natal nurse poked her head in, she asked if I wanted to see my son, like I was going to say no? I was heading toward neo-natal before she was.
I dont like remembering what I saw when I got to where my son was being tended to. Surrounded by medical staff, I had to fight to catch a glimpse of him.
All I could see was an oxygen mask and more wires than a mains fuse board, I couldnt see him. Just things going in and out of his tiny body.
I couldnt take anymore. I broke down there and then, crying my bloody eyes out, I tried to stop but I couldnt, the sight was too much. I was took to a side room where a nurse tried to console me. She explained what they were doing, why they were doing it.
He was'nt breathing on his own so they had intubated him, they were taking blood samples, inserting a feeding line and putting sensors all over him. It was too much for me, I could'nt calm down, I had to leave.
What do I tell the missus? What do I tell the family? All these questions and I'm on my own, still.
A few hours passed.
By now our families had arrived, it was nice for a bit of company. My son was now in the neo-natal unit proper in his llittle incubator.
He was still covered in wires but at least I could see him, kind of.
The families all wanted to have a look, naturally, I put on a brave face and took them in two at a time, explaining what was what.
He still was'nt breathing on his own, or doing anything really, they were all emotional, but I kept a brave face, the missus still had'nt seen him yet, well apart from a polaroid of him, but she was still out of it to really know anything.
We were all in the HDU, still on the 18th so much had happened so far it was hard to keep track.
The senior consultant from the neo-natal wanted to speak with us.
She explained that he was still not breathing and there were some other problems, to be honest I forget what they were, I just remember that they were treatable, out of nowhere the, usually doped up missus sits straight up and asks the question 'Is he going to die?'
Where that came from I dont know, and still dont to this day, she cant remember even saying it, mothers intuition I suppose.
The doctor could'nt lie to us, her face said it all.
''Until we know exactly what is wrong, we just dont know''
At that, the missus lies back down and falls asleep. Tears all round, I keep a straight face, trying to keep calm and collected. I thanked the doctor and her and her team left.
I was ordered to go back to the missus' mom and dads house by her mom to get a shower and a meal, she was going to stay with her.
I didnt want to, but I didnt have much choice, plus I hadnt slept in 2 days. I needed a break.
Whilst there we had a phonecall from the mum in-law, the doctors had been back.
''He might have severe brain damage'' I was told.
I collapsed in a heap on the floor, a total wreck, I couldnt believe what was happening.
My son might die, the missus is on the brink of death, I might lose everyone!
I went back to the hospital early in the morning.
The missus was still asleep, so I went to the neo-natal unit, I was there for hours, just holding his hand through the window in the incubator. Speaking to the doctors and nurses, listening to them tell me that basically, they dont have a clue whats wrong with him, but he's very poorly. After a while I went to check on the missus, she was getting better, they had upped her dose of blood thinners and was coming off all the painkillers and everything else they had pumped into her. She could atleast hold a conversation now.
She had still not seen her son and would ask me as much as she could about him. There wasnt much to tell that she wanted to hear, the rest I kept to myself.
My routine for the next few days was exactly the same 24 hours a day, I didnt sleep and hardly ate, I was'nt hungry.
She finally got to see our son on the 20th, when she could get into a wheel chair, but she couldnt spend long there, she had to get back to the HDU. We had him christened on the 21st, the saddest one Ive ever been to, just me and the missus and our mums and dads, me and the missus knew what was coming after that.
That night, whilst I was doing my incubator side vigil, he finally opened his eyes, I think I was the only person to ever see them. Funny that.

On the 24th we had our 'final' consultation with the peadiatrician.
They could not confirm what was wrong with him, they had their suspicions but did not want to commit to giving us an answer, fair enough really. But they had concluded that he was not going to get any better.
I shot into an immediate phase of denial, he was getting better, things were looking up, the missus was coming home today, he was moving a bit more, he'd opened his eyes to me more, it just was'nt meant to happen like that.
After I realised the doctors were right, and speaking to her a bit longer, we decided the best thing to do was switch off the intubator and see what happens, we all knew what would happen, but they refused to call it for what it was, switching his life support off.
We had effectively signed his death warrant.

But hang on, it was Christmas eve!
Were not doing it today, its too short notice, we cant do it tomorrow, its Christmas day for fcuk sake we still have our daughter to look after she hasnt seen us properly for weeks.
So the date was set to do it. The 26th. Boxing day We said our good byes and left after that.
We returned on christmas day, for a couple of hours, the nurses had made it as pleasurable as the could, they had knitted little stockings for the incubators and little presents, cardigans, babygrows and such.
I looked around the room, and saw other parents in the same boat as us.
'Im glad were not the only ones' I thought to myself.
That feeling made me feel sick, to be glad others are suffering like we were, but they were better off than us, ther children were'nt going to die tomorrow. I was filled with bitterness, and I hated it. But I managed, as I always do, to cover it all up with a smile. We went home after a while, and enjoyed Christmas with our daughter as best we could.

As much as I tried to fight it, Boxing day still came round. It was an awful day, all the family saying their goodbyes before the machines were disconnected, at least we got to hold him, I even got to feed him, albeit with a syringe, but whatever.
The machines were disconnected, and me and the missus held him in our arms as he fell slowly to sleep. It probably lasted 5-6 hours in all. From us getting there, till we left.
The longest of my life.
The doctor confirmed he had passed away and that was that, done.
Over.
We put him in the incubator, he was going to have to havea post mortem, we needed to know what was wrong.
All I could bring myself to say before I left was
'Look after him''







Fooking hell now THAT was hard to type! :D

Copied from blogs (original entry) - post comments here.

Originally Posted by suits_U

You're joking arent you, this was all just a thought that came into my head this morning.
Trust me I'm thinking what to type as I try and re-cap step by step in my head. Trying to leave out unimportant bits and include the rest.
Sorry if its a bit difficult to read and I know my spelling is pish.
Its hard ad-libbing :D

I take my hat off to you, suits_U. I'm sorry, I'm absolutely cack at expressing my feelings when typing on t'internet, but I definitely had a tear in my eye after finishing Part 4. As for it being diffficult to read ....... it is the EXACT OPPOSITE. You seemed to express your feelings and concerns ..... and even a bit of humour ....... in a very readable way.

I didn't realise you intended to type ALL of it in one day. You must feel drained. And do you feel you have achieved something? And I hope your wife made a full recovery. Take care and thank you. bovvy

I dint think I would get this much done in one day.
Its been emotional to say the least, but strangely satisfying.
Typing it out was difficult for me, trying to piece things together and get them in the right order.
But since then Ive read them back to myself.
I've picked up a few things from what I've wrote so far, things that I may adress in the future, and the other that my spelling is carp.
I've got a few more parts to do yet I think, I got to the middle of my story, I may aswell finish it :D
Thanks for reading and for your comments.
That goes to everyone whos pm'd me too.
Cheers :D S_U

suits_U,

My hat goes off to you and your partner. I had a tear in my eye in work here reading that.