Having a child is no easy feat. A mother-to-be must go through nine months' worth of pain and suffering before finally giving life to a tiny, living and breathing human being.
It's certainly not an easy time for a mom, but she knows that it will be worth it in the end. While her belly grows, her love for her unborn child does too. She has yet to meet him or her, but she loves this being from the day she finds out she is pregnant.
Nene Fulcher, a mother of three, was prepared to welcome her baby, Jacob, into the world.
Tragically, at 24 weeks, the child died in the womb. She went through 10 hours of induced labor before giving birth to Jacob. She held him for hours before having to say goodbye.
Fulcher started going through the various stages of grief after the loss. Knowing that she wasn't the only mother who has experienced something so terrible and devastating, she wrote an open letter to mothers of stillborns like Jacob, talking about her experience and her feelings after the ordeal.
Make a cuppa… It's a long one!
It was the mid morning hours of a Tuesday. The day I always go visit my mum. I'd just clicked over the 24 week mark in my pregnancy.
I woke up feeling a bit odd. I wasn't sick… I just felt off. As I was dressing the kids I sat and tried to remember the last time I'd really felt my baby kick.
I began to realise it could have been over a day. Having three kids already, I unfortunately didn't have the time to really sit and cherish every kick and roll. Life was incredibly busy.
I called the midwife, I dropped my children at mums… Kissed them all goodbye and told them I'd be home in a couple of hours. Turns out I wouldn't see them for two days.
Thinking back to that day now. I knew deep down he was already gone. That morning that I woke up feeling "off" I think I knew all the while getting the kids ready and telling them I'd be home soon just wasn't the case. A mother's instinct is powerful. You should learn to trust it especially when it comes to your unborn child.
I walked into the Gawler hospital about an hour later and waited for the midwife ( quite possibly one of the most amazing people that I've ever met). She tried to find a heart beat with the Doppler. No luck… Called the doctor… Also no luck.
I was taken up for an ultrasound. Not one word was spoken during the entire process from anybody in the room. That was my confirmation. The radiologists left the room and the doctor turned to me and said "I'm sorry but your baby has died."
Kate ( that amazing midwife) gently stroked my hand before guiding me back to the maternity ward. Before we got into the elevator I called my husband and broke his heart. I called my mum and she told me my sister in law was already on her way so I wasn't on my own anymore.
I was handed a bag full of resources to help me organise the next week, month, year of my life. How to plan a funeral, a teddy bear, phone numbers for counsellors, a book on how to tell my kids and information for the rest of my family to also help them with their grief.
That time between getting back to the maternity ward to my husband arriving is probably the fuzziest part of my memory. I vaguely remember calling my brother and just crying on the phone while he listened. Even though he didn't know what to say. I knew he was going to be there just to listen when I needed. ( he's a good egg, that brother of mine)
Ben walked in and my sister in law left. Ben and I needed to deal with what was happening together. We hugged, we cried… We repeated that cycle over and over until the midwives came in to tell us what our next move needed to be.
We could either be induced right away, or come back in the morning.
So briefly feeling like an absolute dick, because it didn't actually dawn on me straight away that I would still labour, and give birth to him, I sat there in a trance like state. I then decided to go home and spend one last night with him inside of my belly, knowing he was still mine and nobody could take him away.
The next morning, Wednesday the 21st of January we walked into the Gawler hospital and we began the hardest job we'd ever have in life. We needed to welcome our son into the world, with the knowledge that he was dead.
I was given a tablet and about an hour later I started feeling subtle contractions. Four hours later, another tablet and things really started happening.
I remember being petrified. So scared that I would look at my son and be scared of the way he looked. Scared he wouldn't be big enough to hold and love. Scared that I would not be able to handle seeing my dead child. Scared of how Ben would react. Scared that for the first time when it came to my kids and husband… I couldn't make everything be ok.
I took every pain killer they offered me… Endone, morphine ( I can't remember what else). But I wasn't trying to numb the physical pain. I tried desperately to mask the feelings of absolute sadness, fear and guilt.
I laboured for ten hours and then that evening Jacob was born.
I did not have to push. My body flushed him out with seemingly no effort. My waters never broke… And there lay.. my tiny child, in his amniotic sac, lifeless on the bed.
The room was eerily silent.
I was surprised. I couldn't believe how absolutely perfect he was. Don't get me wrong… He was small… But everything was so perfect.
He weighed 620 grams. I could cradle him with one hand. His cord was cut and I asked if I could hold him…
"Of course you can, he's your son"
Ok… So I didn't know the process of how hospitals deal with a baby who's been born at 6 months gestation and stillborn. But with that one sentence from the midwife I began to sob again as Ben and I studied our newest family member.
He is my son, dammit! I held onto him as long as I could. 14 hours to be exact.
We wrapped him in a blanket and cradled him. His skin began to turn ice cold no matter how desperately we tried to cradle and keep him warm. We had forgotten how quickly the dead turn cold.
Then another horrible realisation. He had been dead for a couple of days already… His nose began to drip with blood. This happened steadily for the next 4 or so hours. We wiped his face and kept him clean in a bid to care for him the only way we could.
We had an amazing photographer sent to us from an organisation called heartfelt. A group of volunteers who take professional photos of children who are born sleeping or expected not to live.
We posed with him. She took pictures of his hands and feet.. Photos of each of us holding him and one of us together trying to make the most of the time we had with him. These images would turn into our most precious keepsakes and something that we absolutely cherish.
As time went on, his delicate skin began to peel, droop, and change colour. In those scary moments we wrapped him and never again looked at his tiny body, feet or hands. We chose to stare at his beautiful face and remember him when he was most whole.
Our parents came to meet and see him, along with Ben's sister… something I'm so glad that happened. He deserved to be seen by more than just us and the hospital staff.
The next day, we phoned the funeral home to come and collect Jacob.
We chose not to get an autopsy done, as I just couldn't imagine anyone cutting into what was left of out tiny child.
The lady from Taylor and forgie funeral homes was an absolute angel. She let us tuck Jacob into his sleeping bag and we said goodbye before she gently closed the zip and assured us he would be lovingly looked after in their care.
The week in-between his death and funeral was incredibly difficult. The same week that our sons had their first days of kindy and school, we had to cremate our youngest boy.
We needed to help them grieve while supporting the big events happening in their own lives. We had to explain the very new subject of Jacobs death to all of their teachers and they too used the resources they had to guide the boys as much as they could.
We had much to do. Organising a funeral is bloody horrible. Coffin, music, flowers, remembrance cards, telling guests paying for the thing! It's daunting.
We were lucky enough to have many helping hands. From flowers to photo cards someone always put their hand up to help. The support was just what we needed.
The day before the funeral, whilst frustrated with trying to pick music, my husband ( bless his emotional heart) lost the plot and punched a kennel. He broke his hand good and proper.
Anger is a very natural stage of grief and it will repeat in the emotional cycle over and over again.
There's no right or wrong way to grieve. Everyone needs to know that. It's ok to scream from the rooftops ( like me!) and it's totally ok to deal with it on your own.. As long as you know there is support around you.
We chose Jacobs final resting place to be a bassinet, not a coffin. I couldn't bare to see him in a wooden box. I needed him to have his very own bed. I needed him to be in a bed surrounded by people who love him.
The kids didn't come to the funeral. I don't think they were quite old enough to deal with it. We told them what was happening though, and they gave us a car each out of their collection to send upto heaven with their baby brother.
We saw him the day of the funeral. We chose to see him one more time. He was a bit dry and looked different. But still perfect in everyway to us.
He layed tucked into his bed with and angel gown and beanie, with the teddy and cars that were cremated with him. We covered the bassinet with the the lace cover and that was the last time we ever saw our son.
A week later I picked him up from the funeral home. He was in a cardboard box in a shopping bag and that was when I hit my absolute lowest.
The year and months since that have been a roller-coaster. I have days where I don't want to get up. But I have no choice. We have found strength in our love for each other. We have found strength from this page and by sharing with you and relating our situation to others.
The realisation that anger, guilt, despair, sadness and every other emotion is completely normal and helped us move forward in the journey we've unfortunately found ourselves on.
The best kind of comfort is just knowing that those around us are there… And willing to talk about and listen to stories about our boy. It's knowing that people know he existed and he didn't JUST die. HE WAS BORN.
I you find yourself in the situation where someone you know has a child die… offer a cuddle, a listening ear. Don't be afraid to ask about the details. We want you to know.
So there it is. From start to finish. The details that shocked us and most people probably don't think about. It's actually felt good to write all of this out. It brought me back to the day and helped me remember the feeling of holding him close.
I Said it earlier. I'm an open book, and I'm here as a resource for you should you need it.
Love nene
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