Special place

I married in June 1980 and became pregnant the following month. At the time, I worked for the local doctor as a practice nurse. At Christmas, the doctor went for an overseas holiday, leaving me in charge, basically to answer patient queries and deal with minor ailments. He handed his patient's obstetric notes to the doctor in the nearby town who would do the deliveries in his absence. 

In late December my waters broke. I was only 24 weeks pregnant.

I phoned this other doctor, had a consultation and was was told to make my way to the base hospital as I was now in labour.

My notes hadn't been handed on because my baby was not due for a further four months.

I explained to the nurses and doctors at the hospital that I was 24 weeks pregnant. However, without notes to verify my claims, they decided I was only 18 weeks, even though I told them otherwise. Back in those days, I was slim and without the amniotic fluid, my baby bump was tiny.

So, I was left to continue through a normal delivery. The baby of course died. Had they believed the baby was 24 weeks, I would have most likely had a Caesarean Section. The baby may still not have survived but would have had more chance of doing so. These days, 24 weeks is the turning point between babies living and not living and those that do often have severe health issues. Whether mine would have lived if I’d have a Caesar, one will never know. An autopsy showed a healthy baby. No cause for the early labour was found.

Back in those days, a baby born before 28 weeks was termed a miscarriage, thus I wasn't even given him to hold, instead I was shunted upstairs into a ward with mums and their new babies.

That period in my life was devastating. It was heart breaking hearing other babies crying and mothers singing with joy. I went straight back to work and didn't tell the other pregnant women whose observations I'd carry out. Because I was slim, it wasn't obvious I no longer had my baby inside and I would get comments like "not long to go now". It especially hurt when the two women who were due the same time as me had their healthy babies and brought them into the doctors for their checks and inoculations.

In April 1982 I had my first live baby and could finally let the pain go.

The reason I am writing about this today is because yesterday was the 42nd anniversary of that baby's birth. December 29th will always hold a special place in my heart.