For Pregnancy & Infant Loss Awareness Day 2022 I have been trusted with sharing the story of my good friends Lisa & Jordan's first pregnancy. Trigger warning this is a story of pregnancy loss, it is deeply emotional, raw and honest, tune out now if this isn't the story for you.
This is the story of Adelaide Kathleen Olive.
Guest Post By Lisa Palk
"My pregnancy was perfectly normal until it suddenly wasn’t.
No morning sickness, no weird cravings, no spotting - no problems at all. The only cloud that overshadowed it was my pesky high blood pressure.
Having no real medical problems prior to conception, the only time I had visited the doctors was many years before when I was diagnosed with generalised anxiety disorder. It had been so long since I had made a doctors appointment that the last doctor I had seen had retired, so new baby meant new doctor.
My BP (blood pressure) was higher than normal from the very first appointment, but due to my mental health condition, we had put it down to “white coat fever” and kept an eye out for any symptoms that would indicate a problem. Those symptoms never arrived but my blood pressure didn’t improve.
So, after our 20 week scan, with our suitcases packed and 2 tickets to London, we nipped into the hospital to check in with my doctor so that she could see if my new medication had taken care of the problem. It hadn’t - my numbers were staggeringly high.
I was not given medical clearance to fly and things would only get worse from there.
For 3 weeks, I was shuffled from doctor to hospital to specialist and back. With no base line to compare my readings to, no one could decide if this was my “normal” or something to be worried about.
Finally, sitting in the waiting room of the clinic at King Edwards Memorial Hospital, I was counting down the moments until we got the all clear and we could go back to our hotel room at Crown Towers (the reward for having
endured a hellish month) I didn’t think twice when the specialist asked me to come back in so that she could quickly do a scan.
Once she saw our baby on the screen, the look on her face told me that something was wrong.
I vividly remember everything from the 24 hours before our daughter was born.
I remember the look on the radiologists face as she handed me the last ultrasound photos we would ever have of her.
I remember the handwritten “Counselling Room” label stuck to the phone on the coffee table in the tiny room that we were ushered into.
I remember the specialist telling me that they would be able to treat my pre-eclampsia and keep me stable for a week or so, just to try and get our daughter to 24 weeks and reduce the risk that she would be severely disabled when born.
I remember the look of sympathy on the face of the nurse who held my hand and told me that they would take care of me as they hooked me up to the liquid blood pressure medication in the emergency room and I cried and cried and cried.
I remember the doctor telling me that they would be back in the morning to make sure that I was okay when I took the tablet that would induce labour. I remember thinking that I wasn’t sure I would ever be okay again.
I remember our midwife finding my husband a blow up mattress so that he would be more comfortable while he stayed with me in the hospital room.
I remember that same midwife giving me her spare scrunchie because I didn’t have anything to hold my hair up when the labour started. I still have it on my bedside table.
I remember telling a nurse that I felt like I needed to push, far earlier than anyone thought it would happen.
I remember the silence when she was born - the silence that I knew shouldn’t be there. The silence that I knew would never be filled with her cry.
I remember my husbands tears as he held my hand and told me that I was so brave and strong.
I remember being given tablets so that I would sleep, so that I would have a reprieve from all the thoughts about how I had failed my husband and our daughter by not being able to do the one thing that women were “supposed” to do.
I had been pregnant for 23 weeks and 4 days, and within 24 hours I wasn’t pregnant any more.
They kept our daughter safe for 4 days while I was treated for high blood pressure and built up the courage to see her. In spite of everything that had happened, I knew that the minute I saw her little face, it would hit me that it was really over. I would know then and there that I had lost her.
The walk down the hallway felt so long, nurses smiling at me and reaching out to hold my hand as my husband held me close, giving me the strength to keep moving forward.
There, in a sun drenched, peaceful room, I met our daughter for the first time. She was lovingly dressed in a hand knitted outfit, far too tiny to have been manufactured by anyone who didn’t understand how little a baby could be. Even then, the clothes seemed to drown her.
My husband held the little basket they had laid her in and placed it on my lap. The first thing that I could think to say was “She looks like my Nanna, don’t you think?”. And we just sat with her for half an hour, marveling at her little fingers and toes. I can remember tracing the lines of her fingerprints, her skin too soft and too fragile.
When we left her in that room, my heart broke all over again. She was really gone.
Everything after that is a bit of a blur - more doctors, more councillors, more check ups, more medication. All I really remember is the wild rollercoaster of emotions: the guilt, the anger, the overwhelming sadness, the gratefulness for friends, family and my husband.
I remember sitting on the floor of our theatre room, sobbing as I looked through the photos that Eddies had sent us in her box of things.
I remember being so angry that other people had children and didn’t look after them but my daughter had been taken before I’d even had a chance to give her a home.
I remember thinking that I would never, ever do it again.
I will always share our story with anyone who asks. We celebrate her birthday every year. We have framed pictures of her in our house. When people ask me about whether we have kids, I always say that we had a daughter - Adelaide Kathleen Olive.
I won’t be made to feel shame for grieving her loss. I won’t be made to pretend that she never happened. I won’t have anyone tell me that it wasn’t real - it was more real and more difficult than anything that I had ever lived through.
Our daughter gave up her life to save mine and it was a gift to have known her little kicks and hear her heartbeat. She chose us and, in spite of all the heartache, I wouldn’t change it for the world.
It’s a pain that never completely goes away, but those memories, the good and the bad, are all we have of her. It hurts more often than not but remembering her is important.
I remember all of this as I listen to our son breathing through the baby monitor. Born 18 months after his sister, and countless tablets, tests and trips to Perth later, he came screaming into the world. I know, with all my heart, that she chose him for us - our little rainbow baby.
He has her footprints and hand prints above his cot, a way for him to know that his big sister is always looking out for him.
And for us."
If this story brough up anything for you and you wish to speak to someone, please see the below resources for support:
Pink Elephant Support Network
https://www.pinkelephants.org.au/
Miscarriage, stillbirth & newborn death support
https://www.sands.org.au/
Beyond Blue Mental Health Support
https://www.beyondblue.org.au/