Emilie Part Two - Saying Goodbye

When NETS came to collect Emilie, I was in the expressing room. The kind midwife that rang PMH knocked on the door and came in. She sat down across from me and said, "I just want to give you a heads up. NETS are here to take your baby. Take a moment to gather yourself before you come to the nursery. The incubator is very large and all the leads look scary, but they are just there to monitor your baby's vital signs and nothing more, so just be aware that it may come as a shock to you."

I came out to the nursery and there was my little Emilie, teeny and tiny, already inside the incubator. I didn't even have a moment to touch her and say good-bye. I felt like she was no longer my baby. I no longer had the power that mothers have that says, "I am this baby's mother". I felt like I was not allowed to be a part of her anymore. Not allowed to touch her or hold her or have feelings for her.

The transport paramedics were so lovely and kind. So understanding. They introduced themselves and my obstetrician had arrived also, by coincidence. I felt very claustrophobic and the walls were closing in on me. There were nurses and paramedics and other mothers all in the nursery and it felt very crowded.

I did feel as though all eyes were on me. I felt the other mothers in the nursery looking on and wondering what was going on with my baby. I just wanted to yell at them to stop staring at my baby, stop staring at me.

For some reason my obstetrician decided it was a good idea to do the "now let's talk about contraception, do you know that breastfeeding won't stop you getting pregnant again" discussion. I felt like whacking him over the head and spitting in his face, "DON'T YOU KNOW I CAN'T EVEN FEED MY BABY YOU DICKHEAD!" I suddenly felt very hot and sweaty and I half fainted-half hurried to sit on a chair near the nursery door. With a trembling voice, and trying not to cry I said, pathetically, "we will use condoms" and then burst into tears. At this stage, Paul was still on his way to pick me up and the only person to hold me was my obstetrician so I cried into his shoulder. I felt so stupid and lame and just wanted the room to be empty so I could be alone.

And before I knew it, the paramedics had Emilie ready to go. I was asked if I wanted to take a photo. I declined (I regret this now, but at the time it seemed ludicrous). I didn't really know how to say goodbye to her. It was almost as if I was expected to just give her a wave and a smile and a "hooroo!" and send her on her merry way. I was given some pamphlets about NETS and some forms to sign and a map of PMH and directions of where to go to get to NICU. And just like that, she was gone.

Back in my room I packed my bags and made sure everything was ready to go. Then I sat on my bed, staring out the window and waiting for Paul to come. It was just after Christmas and Madison (his eldest daughter) was staying the week at our place like she does every year. But this year I asked if she could go back to her mum's because I needed to be alone. I needed space. So Paul was driving back from dropping her off (she lived about an hour from the hospital so I was waiting a while).

I was in a 4 bed shared room and three of the beds were vacant. Now, I don't know the logistics of the maternity ward but for some reason they decided they would move a new mum who had given birth that day into the bed opposite mine. Apart from not recognising my daughter's symptoms and acting upon them, this act was the a close second in the insensitivity of the midwifery staff at the hospital. All I wanted and needed to do was sit and cry and cry and cry. But having this woman and all her celebrating family in the room prevented me from doing that.

There was champagne popping and grandparents laughing and family cooing and gushing over this little perfect newborn and here was I, with but a curtain drawn as the only privacy, and I was desperately holding back audible sobs. My chest was exploding with the pain of contained crying.

At last, Paul came into the room and the moment I saw his face I couldn't hold it in any longer and just burst. I bawled. There was a sudden hush from the family behind my curtain and I just wanted them to GO AWAY. It was not their fault at all and thinking back on it I am really regretful that I may have dampened their happy day with my sadness that had no explanation to them. But at that moment I desperately wanted them to be gone.

Paul and I sat on the bed while he held me as I cried. The lunch tray came and Paul told me to eat it before we left but I wasn't hungry and I just wanted to go straight to the hospital to see my baby. So we grabbed my bags and I took a deep breath as we drew back the curtain to reveal ourselves to my room-mate. I glanced quickly at the mother laying in bed and she withdrew her eyes from mine, embarrassed to have overheard my tears. She could see there was only us and no baby. They all hung their heads and pretended they couldn't see us.

I just wanted to leave, but Paul, every so friendly (and this is one of the reasons I am so much in love with him) broke the tension by saying, "Fresh lunch, here for the taking, anyone?"

"Oh... no thank you..." they said, still avoiding eye contact. I wanted to tell them to please not be so embarrassed, please don't think our baby is dead, please don't give us those sympathetic looks. But I just couldn't speak. I could not get out of that room quick enough.

After leaving the birth hospital, Paul asked if I wanted to go home first. No way! Straight to the hospital please!!! So we headed over there. It was the very first time I had ever been to the children's hospital, and the first of many, many visits.

To be continued...