Welcome
Guard your heart
SOMETIMES life is also death.
Here is one story.
You may ask yourself – why?
As with Kathryn and her life, Toby has a gift (below).
As did Daniel.
There are so many more
Some mothers (and fathers) do have them
Some of us write abut it
Kathryn’s mother’s story in part.
As you read this – ask why?
Why a stroke in utero?
Coule we have changed thw outcome? I am not sure ‘these things happen’ – which is what eh ‘we don;t know’ brigade say – is useful here.
HOW does she carry another baby? Did she have a jab?
(Maternal whooping cough is good at killing babies)
WARNING: GRAPHIC CONTENT
TAKEN FROM SYDNEY MORNING HERALD 14th October, 2022
Toby was my second child. The pregnancy progressed smoothly and, at 22 weeks, a scan indicated a healthy, growing baby boy. Our little family was excited to meet him; our almost three-year-old daughter especially so. She talked endlessly about Toby, carrying around a photo from the scan, putting aside toys she was too old for to give to him. We bought a new pram with a skateboard attachment for our daughter to ride on. I couldn’t wait to see them together.
At 35 weeks, we attended another routine scan. As I lay there with my huge belly exposed, the sonographer showed us Toby’s beating heart, and his lungs practising breathing. She went quiet for a minute, but I barely noticed; I was transfixed by the baby on the screen.
No matter how desperate I was to keep him, I was Toby’s mummy and, ultimately, my needs had to come second
Meanwhile, the media was full of abortion news, most specifically the overturning of Roe v Wade, the famed 1973 US Supreme Court decision that had allowed legal abortions in that country. American women were being denied a choice I wished I didn’t have to make.
The foetal medicine specialists were concerned about my impending due date. Feticide could occur legally at any point before I went into labour but, once I did, Toby would have to be born. Once he was here, they’d be obligated to do everything they could to keep him alive – regardless of his levels of pain, or of the horrendous way in which he might die, or of the profound disabilities he’d certainly live with.
The clock ticked as I wrestled with the decision. The day I hit 37 weeks, I woke up wishing I could run away; I’d never felt so trapped. My pregnancy was now full-term; Toby could be with us within days. I was running out of time.
It was becoming clear that I had no real choice: I had to let him go. No matter how desperate I was to keep him, I was Toby’s mummy and, ultimately, my needs had to come second. I knew motherhood required sacrifice, but I could never have imagined it would require this of me. Feticide is a terrifying word, but I came to realise it can be an act of maternal love. Peaceful death was the only gift I could give my son.
Abortion is legal in all states and territories in Australia but after a certain gestational point, which differs from state to state, all except the ACT require approval from at least two doctors, usually only given for foetal or maternal health reasons. Performing a feticide on a full-term pregnancy in NSW, where I live, also requires sign-off from the director of the hospital in which it is performed. All this was granted to us.
Driving to hospital, I felt the cruelest echo of the previous time we had done this, so excited for the birth of our daughter. There was no excitement this time, just fear of what was to come.
We were taken into a darkened room filled with six masked and robed medical staff. I lay on the bed and a curtain was drawn between my head and the rest of my body. Cold liquid was poured over my stomach, and ultrasound was used to guide the needles. I had naively thought only one needle would be needed, but the procedure took an hour and involved multiple needles, so painful they made me gasp and cling to my husband’s hand.
At one point I started to cry, and was told that I needed to stop. To not cry, to not move, to not even breathe deeply. It’s hard to breathe normally when you’re in pain, and it’s hard not to cry while your baby dies. We had to pause halfway through as I became so nauseous I had to roll onto my side, clutching a vomit bag. I frequently thought I was going to pass out.
On the other side of the curtain I could hear the doctors referring to Toby as “the baby”. The procedure may be called feticide but, at 37 weeks and five days, everyone understood what Toby was. The medical team were also devastated. A noticeably emotional nurse gave me sips of water and mopped my head with a damp cloth. When we were finally finished, I sat up and felt Toby give three big kicks before going still. I never felt him move again.
That night, I felt like a tomb. The next day, I delivered, via C-section due to Toby’s head being swollen and oversized. I could see love on my husband’s face the minute he saw him.
“An absolutely beautiful baby boy,” he said. “I always knew he would be,” I replied. We kept Toby in our hospital room for the next two nights. My mum, mother-in-law and daughter all came to visit. Our daughter rocked Toby in his little cot.
The day we left the hospital, I clung to my son as I placed him into the cot on which he’d be wheeled to the morgue. “I’m sorry, I’m just having a bit of a difficult time letting go,” I told the midwife between hysterical sobs.
The first few nights back home were the worst. When our daughter woke, my husband went to sleep with her. I lay awake, alone, and cried. My postpartum body ached for Toby’s; it felt like I’d severed a limb. The thought of him in the morgue was unbearable. My breast milk leaked and, in desperation, I held my arms the way I’d held my daughter as a newborn, imagining Toby in them instead of empty air.
I felt phantom kicks, which for a second made me forget everything and think Toby was alive and healthy in my belly. In selfish moments, I wished I’d made a different decision.
I held my arms the way I’d held my daughter as a newborn, imagining Toby in them instead of empty air.
Toby died because he had a stroke, but that’s not what killed him. I killed him. I had to do it to save him from suffering but I will spend the rest of my life mourning him and the person he would have been. The absence of Toby is infinite. Each day brings new loss. Each day, I have to fight to not let it consume me.
When my daughter passes another milestone, I’m reminded I will never see Toby do the same. Every family photo from now on will be incomplete. Every Christmas morning will be tinged with sadness. At every table there will be an empty place.
I chose this life of continual pain to spare my son.
Feticide allowed me to take the pain from him when nothing else could have done so. It was my gift to our son. Our Toby.
