Termination of pregnancy at 22 weeks

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Anonymous Testimonial

"First and foremost, I am the mum of a little boy since7th May, 2015. He'll soon turn 4 years old. I'm an 'angel mum'. This nickname, a few months ago, I didn't know it. For everyone, pregnancy is magical and positive, a beautiful adventure. When a pregnancy starts, we always talk about the risks in the first trimester or miscarriage risk during the early months. Once the first three months have passed, we breathe and tell ourselves everything is fine. In our case, we had 3 successful ultrasounds. All is fine, the baby is fine'. I was relaxed, with no anxiety or stress. 

On May 29th, we had the morphologic ultrasound. We start, the gynecologist doing his measurements, and then he tells us that he's found a slightly oversized ventricle in the brain and that the head was a little small and lemon shaped. He starts telling us it's probably nothing but that it would be better to check it more closely. I only grasped the fact that there was an issue. We left like that, not knowing what was going on. The gynecologist had to call us back to set up a new appointment for the next check up. As we didn't have more information, I decided to contact a private practice and got an appointment 2 days later. I waited for two days; two days full of anxiety from not knowing anything. My husband didn't realize what was happening. The D day comes. 5 minutes into the examination, the person tells us that she thinks she knows where the issue comes from and goes to grab the doctor to analyse the ultrasound. She says it's the spine, it's a 'Spina Bifida', and then goes out. Leaving a heavy silence, a substantial fear in this dark room. I didn't dare to move or look at my husband. I couldn't think anymore. 

The doctor arrives and starts looking at the ultrasound, listening to his colleague's explanations, and then starts explaining to us. Your baby is suffering from severe spine malformation. The neural tube is not closed. The cerebrospinal fluid is not circulating and is leaking in the amniotic fluid. There are already some severe cerebral consequences. He explained to us the potential damages, implications, and risks - the various options. The sky was falling down on our heads. This isn't my life, is it? He isn't talking to me. This isn't my story. This professor took the time to explain things to us, to listen to us. Then, we came back home alone once again, facing this horrible news helplessly. We have been left somehow in the blur, panicking, with no psychological support. We felt helpless, betrayed. We didn't dare to talk to each other or take a decision. During the following days, I don't know if it was all real. I cried a lot; I didn't dare imagining what could happen next. 

We met with another professor 2 days later who confirmed the same diagnosis. We started to question what comes next,the process, and all of this was very difficult to hear. I was holding tight until the end of the meeting and then broke down. I knew there was only one possible outcome for us. We couldn't offer a life of suffering to our child. This baby hadn't asked for anything. There were too many uncertainties. The doctor told us to think about it, that we couldn't face this tragic time in such an emotional state. At the same time, how did you expect us to react? Professionals are very insensitive at times. 

Our case was supposed to pass through a commission the following Tuesday. Doctors were supposed to study and grant us with their approval to proceed with an abortion. 4 more days, 4 endless days all alone, waiting. On Tuesday we were approved to proceed with this abortion. I was then called to go to the anaesthetist with the hospital chief midwife to discuss and set it up. Several appointments followed. They made us walk through the entire maternity ward in the middle of all those mums and babies. Me, pregnant, in the middle of these women, knowing that in just a few days, my baby would die. It was excruciating psychologically. The midwife then explained to us that I had to take pills on Saturday morning to prepare the cervix before being asked to come on the Monday to the delivery room to induce labour. I left then with my medicines... Those death pills. On Saturday, I woke up, prepared breakfast with my husband, but I wasn't hungry. Everyone finished and I stayed at the table, with those 3 pills in front of me. I stared at them and it became impossible for me to move or put them in my mouth. I was alone facing this. Nobody to help me nor reassure me... I cried all the tears I had, again and again, for 45 minutes before managing to take them. 

We were still at home, alone and waiting. My husband took care of our son, and I just survived. I went through horrible tearing episodes that I couldn't manage to overcome. My son didn't understand really what was going on. We explained to him. That weekend was nerve-wracking. I felt some contractions and questioned myself a lot. Was the baby doing fine, did she or he know what was about to happen, was she or he in pain, would I be able to look at her or him and accompany her or him? Then Monday comes, I was at 22 weeks of amenorrhea. 

We had to take care of our son, take him to the nanny. It was tough for me to leave him. We then headed to the maternity ward, where we waited for 1 hour in the waiting room before entering the delivery room and putting on that horrible hospital gown. Everything was prepared; we had been waiting for the anaesthetist for a long time. Only my body was present; my spirit was elsewhere. The anaesthetist came and asked that my husband leave the room. It was a tough one for me as I wished he could stay by my side. The anaesthetist was very cold, careless. She started and did the local anaesthesia. That shot was really painful and warm at the same time. I broke down and started crying, unable to stop. At this stage, the anaesthetist told me that the epidural couldn't be done via wifi and that I had to calm down. The midwife stepped in and made her understand that it was complicated for me, but she couldn't have cared less. Once the epidural was set, my fear that it wouldn't work came true. The epidural lateralized, I fell apart. The anaesthetist told me everything will be ok, and if it didn't work, she would find solutions with morphine. She asked me to lay down on the side for the product to spread. After a while, the epidural finally seemed to work. The process could then start. It was around 11 am. We waited; I was out of time. The midwife checked up on me to assess if the labour was coming. If by 3 pm nothing had happened, I would have had to retake some pills. In the early afternoon, a childcare assistant with whom I had excellent contact came to offer her support. The labour started; I was having contractions and felt the baby descending. My husband took the chance to grab something to eat; I told him to hurry. While he was out, things went fast. By the time I called the midwife, he was here; he had left me. I cried so much. It looked like he had been born in his little bubble, protected. I wanted to wait for my husband before looking at him. The midwife took the baby with her. My husband came back, and I told him it was all over. 

The midwife returned and asked us if we wanted to see him, we said yes. She informed us that the baby still had a heartbeat, which happened sometimes. We then accompanied him with all our Love. He stayed in our arms; we cuddled him, we cried, we gazed at him. He stayed with us for about two hours and then passed away. We had to let him go, and I was taken to my room. There I was, in a room in the maternity ward where every woman was with her baby. We were the only ones with our sadness, empty arms, and broken hearts. 

I pictured my baby alone in the cold and dark. The next morning, we could go back to see him. We decided to go to the funeral chamber. When I opened the door, I discovered my baby, covered with a little blanket and an outfit I had chosen. I fell apart. I was able to take him in my arms and didn't want to let him go. The separation was heartbreaking. I just couldn't leave him, there, alone. We went back to the room and we were granted permission to leave. The night before, I hadn't wanted to stay at the hospital, and there I was unwilling to leave it. It was a new step in the process. To leave this place where my baby had been born and where he passed away. We decided to let the hospital handle the cremation. We didn't feel like handling that. We could collect the ashes at Annecy's funeral home. All those steps were so painful. 

The following days, my husband was very strong and took care of our son. I was trying to keep my head above water while feeling guilty about "killing" my baby. I gave birth to my second child on June 11, 2015; it was a little boy. We gave him a name meaning Dove. When I gave birth, I told myself never again. But in the end, the desire of motherhood came back quite fast. I benefited from maternity leave, which seemed quite unusual yet a very positive outcome - being able to have some time to recover and move forward. I am currently with 38 weeks of amenorrhea, and my third delivery is planned for May 20. It is a little girl. That's another story. This rainbow pregnancy has been mentally challenging. I will be reassured only once the baby will be in my arms and healthy. Fortunately, not much longer to wait for. 

My little angel will be forever in my heart. He looks after us. " 

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