Winnie was stillborn on march 30 1994.
She was deeply wished
for and I felt like I was carrying a little mystery, a little
girl.
The pregnancy was far
from easy.
I suddenly started loosing a lot of weight: 8 kilos in 2 to
3 months.
I became skinny, but the baby kept growing.
She was a
delight to be with. She moved smoothly through the little house inside me
and there was no sign at all she wouldn't be born alive.
Due to the
long weeks of morning-, afternoon- and evening-illness and later to the
weightloss I took far more rest than I would otherwise have done with four
cheeky boys around me.
But the gynaecologist worried about me and I
took his advice.
At what appeared to be
a normal night I went to bed and woke up a little later feeling
uncomfortable.
Breathing took an effort.
As a child I was diagnosed
with asthma, but everybody thought I was grown past it.
Like so many
people I didn't complain when I felt ill, and I was taken for granted. I
was seen as the strong, healthy mother of 4 boys and none looked past
that. Even not when I told my doctors that I sometimes had problems
breathing and that it looked like asthma.
That evening I woke
up with difficulty breathing and I went downstairs.
Sat in a chair for
some time amd suddenly I felt something was happening.
Something
unknown.
It was like a soft, sweet, serene presence was in the room,
and it felt like I could see it if only my eyes would be able to.
I
felt connected and special and when the presence left, I felt very silent
and whole.
The breathing
difficulty stopped after a while and I went to bed.
When I woke up
the next morning, the special feeling stayed with me as a warm, tender
feeling in my heart.
Because I had
experienced with the other children that I couldn't feel them when the
placenta was more to the front, I didn't worry about the lack of
movements.
But I planned to tell the gynaecologist at the check-up two
days later.
I went for my check-up with a good friend who was
pregnant too.
We both have experienced the death of a baby and one way
or another I felt she should go in first.
In the meantime I had a talk
with the nurse I knew very well about the weightloss. We didn't know that
later it would be found out that I suffered from hyperhomocysteinaemia, an
enzymedeficiency which influences the aminoacidmetabolism.
When I entered the
room my gynaecologist started talking about my weight immediately, but I
told him to stop and to make an ultrasound.
I heard myself saying it
clear and strong and knew at that moment that the baby had died.
When
he put the screen on, I searched for a heartbeat, but the heart was
silent.
There was no movement at all.
So I told the gynaecologist
my baby had died.
At first he didn't want to believe it, but no matter
what angle he took to see the heartbeat, there was no
heartbeat.
I immediately
realised what a big shock that must be for my friend outside the
room.
She already was very worried about her baby.
So I told the
gynaecologist to say nothing to her and to instruct the nurses to do the
same. And I called my husband to give him the same instructions.
That
way I could prepare her for the hard truth so her fear that her baby might
die wouldn't be strengthened.
I went through all the bloodtests and
made an appointment for the next week and we went home.
Later she told
me that she felt something was wrong, but she thought that it had to do
with the weightloss and the threat that I would be admitted if it didn't
stop.
When she had left, I suddenly realised that the presence that
I felt that evening, that it had been my little baby saying goodbye. And a
strange sense of knowledge came to me. It had been her time to go, and in
her leaving was some kind of message I would understand later.
A few days later I
went to hospital and was induced. The days before I had prepared her
birth.
She would be little, so I bought a nice plate with Mrs.
Tiggy-Winkle of the tales of Beatrix Potter. It would be better to lay her
there than in a metalic or cardboard bowl.
And I found a nice
handkerchief with Winnie the Pooh, with the name "Winnie" on it. It could
be put over her instead of a paper sheet.
She was born on march
30.
The gynaecologist told me he wanted to take her away immediately
after her birth, have a look at her, and prepare me for what I would see.
But I told him that I was the mother and that I would decide what would
happen, no one else!
When she was born he
wanted to receive her on his hand, but I pushed it away and received her
myself, a little girl, with a little precious feet and the most wonderful
feet I've ever seen.
Immediately I felt a strong recognition, far
stronger than with any of my other children.
The placenta wouldn't
loosen, and a heavy bleed started, so the gynaecologist tried to remove
the placenta manually, without even having the time to use a
painkiller.
But it didn't work out the way he wanted. The bleeding
got very heavy and I needed to go to theatre. But there was no place.
I
put Yinti on the plate just as I wanted, and she was taken to a cold
place.
Later the nurse told me that all that were on duty were moved,
because they'd never realised that even a tiny baby had a right to lay on
something else than steel or cardboard.
I was prepared for the
operation in the deliveryroom while the gynaecologist was swearing in the
corridor, yelling in the phone that he needed place in theatre NOW!
He
came back right at the moment that the nurse told me I had to take of the
medallion of Jenny, another daughter that had died.
I said "No!" in
such a way, that it was written on my status that I had special allowance
to keep it on.
Right at that moment the call came through that a
place in theatre would come available soon and I was rushed to theatre.
One of the nurses couldn't even keep up with the speed of
running.
When I arrived, the theatre nurses were shocked by the
amount of bloodloss. I started to loose feeling in my legs and arms and I
was loosing consciousness.
The nurses tried to
keep me conscious and so did the anaesthesist on duty, my neighbour.
I
nearly bled to death and they were very close to removing the
uterus.
Before going to theatre I had asked to call a good friend,
a nurse, and when I woke up, she was there. She too had lost a baby and I
knew there was no need to talk to have her understand.
I woke up
crying....
Later the day a friend who worked at the mortuary came
to me and told me that he had put her on the best and coldest place. It
sounds odd, but it's his job, and his intentions were 200% right.
Now I
knew precisely where she was and that nothing would happen with
her.
Before she was
burried it was easter. The other children ate chocolate eggs, while the
time slipped by till the morning of her burrial.
Because already
then I had worked a lot with parents of deceased babies as a voluntarily
psychologist, I got special permission to burry her with Jenny, her sister
that died some years before at the age of two days.
But no shops
were open to buy flowers. And I wanted a lot of flowers.
So the
children went with large baskets to friends and they gave flowers from
their garden. And ofcourse we took all we had from our own
garden.
Before Jenny was born I had bought soft cotton with tiny mouses
on it. I had prepared it in such a way that I could wrap Winnie in it,
because she was too tiny for clothes.
So I dressed her and put her
in a cushioned basket.
And thus I put her in a beautiful
box.
The days before I'd
asked my friends if they wanted to give a little present to go with her in
the box, and I got little sweet toys and funny little statues, a letter,
and two pale pink roses. They were from the burrial bouquet of a mother
that died on the same day and was burried an hour before her. I had felt a
special connection with the mother that died during childbirth at the same
time when Winnie was born, and I had written a letter to her husband and
sent flowers.
And thus she has two pale pink roses from him with her,
and two pale pink roses from me.
Before I closed the box, I put a
letter to her in it.
When we arrived at the graveyard the grave of
Jenny was opened at the size of the box.
We put lots of flowers in
there, while I read a poem and we all listened to beautiful music that I
felt belonged to her.
I put the box in the grave and put a lot of
flowers over it.
Then closed the grave myself.
Three days later we
returned with our children and the children of friends. It was a group of
15 children, accompanied by their mothers.
They wanted to go to the
grave and bring flowers and toys and drawings and so we did.
The
mothers and I were very moved by the way they behaved.
They were very
respectful and caring.
With soft gestures they put their gifts on the
grave..
...and then suddenly one of the little ones started to sing:
"Long may she live", the dutch "Happy birthday".
We all sang it with
tears in our eyes and none laughed, because we all felt that she would
stay in our hearts forever.
Winnie, a little girl
with the most beautiful feet of the world.
I wanted her to talk with
the dolphins.
Her death has brought many people in hospitals to a
different attitude towards stillborn babies.
They are treated with much
more respect. More of them are burried or cremated with the proper
rituals, instead of burned with the surgery waste.
The law regarding
burrials is adjusted, so there is no need to lay such a little one in a
large casket, but instead use a basket, or a babyseat.
Winnie was a special
baby. She brought a message to the world and that was the purpose of her
being with us.
After she died I went through grief and mourning, I
took up my life and got two beautiful little twingirls.
But this little
girl stayed with me in my heart.
She would have been a teenager
now.
I'm sure she would have been a dancer.
She had the most beautiful feet in the world.
And a
powerful way
to touch my heart.
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