The blame game

I have been seeing a bereavement counsellor. A friend told me to go. She said I needed help, although I thought I was doing OK on my own. Anyway, I took her advice and I think it is helping. We have dealt with a range of emotions associated with bereavement: grief, depression, anger, guilt and shame. For the most part, I have been able to engage fully with the counselling process. I have cried lots of tears, admitted things I wouldn't say out loud in any other circumstance and done my homework.

Until this week...

This week's assignment is either to work through some grieving activities or to consider who I blame for Monty's death.

I've already done the former: I made a memory box; I wear a necklace that I bought in his memory; I wrote him a poem; I raised money for Southmead hospital maternity unit and Bristol SANDS; and Monty has an entry in the hospital chapel's book of remembrance. I look at his photo on the windowsill and I think about him all the time. It's the latter that bothers me because I don't hold anyone responsible for what happened. I can't list the people I think played a part in the loss of my baby or draw a pie chart apportioning blame because I don't think it happened like that.

The truth of the matter is that I picked up a virus. CMV is asymptomatic in adults and most people come into contact with it at some point in their lives. I could have caught it anywhere, from anyone. Unfortunately, I caught it at the wrong time - in the first trimester. It infected the placenta and my baby. The combination of these two things meant that the placenta failed and my son couldn't get enough food or oxygen. Even if I had been referred to the hospital sooner and delivered earlier, he probably wouldn't have survived because of the congenital infection and his smallness.

All the healthcare professionals were kind, helpful and supportive. They couldn't have spotted the problem any earlier because I was considered to be 'low risk' and all the scans and tests indicated normal development. I didn't know I was ill, I just felt tired, and I felt my baby move right up until the day I was told he had no heartbeat. I don't believe it was fate or God's will and suggestions along these lines challenge my 'beliefs'. If 'anyone' is to blame, it is Mother Nature but she's not a real person.

If I had known, would it have made a difference?

There is a temptation, now that I know what caused Monty's death, to investigate the current state of scientific research into the links between viral infection and stillbirth. Somewhat ironically, the virus in question (human cytomegalovirus) is one that I spent six months studying during my biochemistry degree, although I was investigating it for reasons unrelated to pregnancy.

I don't plan to research very deeply, as I believe nothing could have prevented what happened to us - I was just unfortunate to pick up the virus in the early weeks of my pregnancy. However, it is interesting to know that CMV is beginning to be recognised as a potential cause of stillbirth: Pregnancy and cytomegalovirus

I never expected my baby to be stillborn. No-one does. If I had known about the risks associated with CMV infection, would it have made a difference? I don't know but I don't think so.

Brokenhearted

Today, by rights, you should be 8 weeks old.

Today, fourteen weeks after the last time I heard your heartbeat and felt you moving inside me, I went back to the hospital to find out why you died.

It seems I picked up a viral infection in early pregnancy. A virus that is carried by the majority of the population and which causes asymptomatic infection in most adults. A virus that is not routinely tested for in antenatal bloodwork and which cannot be treated or avoided. A virus which took hold in the placenta and prevented you from growing.

I am so sorry that there was nothing I could have done to save you. There is nothing anyone could have done to save you. There was no sign to suggest anything was wrong until it was too late...

******

Even before your big sister was born, you were on my mind. I knew I wanted children: more than one. You were an idea long before you became a reality. I planned you. I wanted you. You were conceived on purpose. You would have been loved but I never had a chance to show you how much.

I lost you and now I am lost without you. You are the hole in my heart that will never heal.

My precious baby boy.