If I could go back I would change so many things about that last week. I wouldn’t have a tantrum that I no longer wanted to be pregnant because I was sick of the back pain, the vomiting, the nausea, the tiredness. I would have asked my doctor if I could hear the heartbeat or what it’s rate was on that last appointment. I wouldn’t have slept on my back all those many nights that I woke up uncomfortable and the pillows propping me up had moved.

I can remember the day before it all with such clarity that you would think it was yesterday. I got up, I took my kids to their grandparents house, I went to the shops to get some tiny new white singlets because that was the last thing that I needed to finish my hospital bag, I had a pedicure, all while having to go to the bathroom every five minutes because baby was so low in my uterus that my bladder had no room to expand, and I went to the doctors for my 36 week check up. Everything was perfect. He even said to me “I’ve had two very complicated patients before you. I’m so glad you were easy today.” And then I was sent off to come back next week. But we didn’t get to next week.

People ask me questions like ‘were there any warning signs?’ ‘Did you know that morning when I saw you?’ My mum asked only last week. The answer is, I should have. But I didn’t. Baby had moved, hadn’t he? I swear I felt him move when I woke up at 7am. But I had three little boys who climbed all over me, who’s feet didn’t stay still, who needed medications that day and who’s mummy needed to get up and make that all happen. I missed his last movements is all I can think. I didn’t remember them. I didn’t lock them in a part of my mind where I could relive them every minute I missed him. I just felt them and moved on with life. With washing. With cooking dinner. With being a mum, yet not a good enough one to the baby who was inside of me.

I often think my body failed me. Did you have anything else to do except look after that child? I don’t need digestion, bowel movements, eye blinking, growth of hair and nails. I needed you to keep my baby alive. To connect my blood and his blood. My breath and his breath. My oxygen and his oxygen. But you didn’t. You failed me.

That day is not as clear as the day before. It sweeps me up in memories that are like waves in the ocean, they engulf me until I cannot breathe somedays. I’m drowning under their weight and I can’t get up for air. While other days they just pour over me gently and some days they barely touch my skin.

I did my errands in the morning and then sat at home and played with my kids. My husband had worked from home because I was so tired and he wanted to help. I couldn’t bend to unload our dishwasher and that should have been the first sign. But instead I didn’t even begin to question anything until after lunchtime. I started to get uncomfortable. The baby was big and so high up that my rib cage was hurting. But I couldn’t get him to move. Nothing would get him to move. I called the maternity ward. I was calm.

“Come in and let’s check it out. I’m sure once the wand is on, he’ll start going crazy. They always do.” She said.

Too bad that isn’t what happened.

Life is cruel in what in all of its intricacies. I question why in this situation I had chosen to drive myself and go alone. I question why I had to wait for a mother with her newborn daughter to be set up in their room before I was put under the monitor. I question why I didn’t throw up when no heart beat was found, when all I had done for months was throw up at the worst possible times. I question why I didn’t know that the worst was about to happen. Why was mother’s intuition absent. I question why 24 hrs before I couldn’t have gone into labour which may have saved his life.

There was a heart beat before that day, 12 hours before there was none. But it was after that now. Now there was only after.

I remember the midwife’s name. Marian. She held my hand until my husband took it from her. I don’t remember when the hands changed or how he got there. I don’t know where the time went. Death and time probably dwell somewhere cruel where they scheme to take life away.

Quinn was born at 10:43pm to a silent operating theatre. I begged for him to cry. But instead everyone else did.