Cord Injury – When the baby was turning
Yvonne Ndinda was on her final lap. One week to her due date, she noticed something different. She tells Pregnant’s Rebecca Njoki the rest of the story.
We were terribly excited about our second child (five years later). Dreams for the baby on the way were rolling high and were eager to give her the perfect start. So we shopped till we almost dropped for whichever sex: the baby’s sex—we were saving the best for the last.
On 3 May, exactly a week to my EDD, I noted baby was kicking less — a concern I reported to my husband. Well, being advanced in my pregnancy I rest on the fact that space in the womb for the baby to kick around as had been the norm might be small. However, we saw no harm in reporting to the hospital for a scan—mainly to check baby’s position, as 36 weeks on, the baby was still in breech position according to the doctor.
The sonographer noted that my baby’s heart rate was below normal. So what had been a simple check-up appointment became an emergency… as the medical staff got to work. Finally, I could see their efforts slow down—meaning they had come to a conclusion of some sort. The sonographer took as sigh as looked at me. And in the most professional way ever she told me they could not find the heart beat. Being the confines of medics with good reputation I knew it was something they could work out but a few more moments looking at the calm gesture—what they meant by saying they ‘could not find a heart beat’ slowly began dawning on me.
I do not remember screaming but I heard a loud deafening screech, which I later noticed was from me. A second doctor was called in to confirm the apparent. The verdict was the same.
I listened through my burning grief at the doctors explaining that the baby must have tried to turn to have the head to face down the cervix in preparation for birth. But having too little space for that as she was all grown, the umbilical cord went about wrapping itself around her neck and fastening with her moving. They said this compression cut off the flow of blood and oxygen causing the inevitable.
I watched them like a zombie as they prepared me to deliver. Sinking a needle into my vein so that the induction catalyst could have it way in, followed by a haze of activities—and I was writhing in double pain. One,the rigorous induced labour—which many can attest to. And two, the fact that my labour was in vain—pain I still can’t find words to explain.
When the physical drama was over, I was left to deal with looking at the prettiest thing in the world, saddened that I could not take her home with me.
A counselling session followed soon after that which made the tragedy a little more bearable, strong enough to tell only one more person about it – my mother. My hubby took care of informing the rest.
Grieving
The greatest grief was when I got home empty handed to a daughter who was all eager to meet her sibling. I managed to explain that the baby went to be with God. But she wanted to know why God would be so unkind to do that—especially when it made her mother cry. A myriad of questions from her the following few weeks were the order of the day: Is there anything I could have done to keep her from dying? And how does a baby die in the womb when you are not sick? Being the emotional wreck that I was, my answers were usually sobs. And I think seeing she was not getting what she needed to quench her curiosity she stopped inquiring altogether.
People, having not seen the baby, tend to dismiss the grief with a ‘you-can-always-get-another-baby’ attitude. For the most part, a mother’s grief that is greatest. In as much as friends, relatives would want to help, they can hardly comprehend the depth of the grief. I must say they were supportive though.
I found inspiration from women who have faced similar circumstances, totally amazed at how many women have had miscarriages and still births.
Some workmates and acquaintances still ask about the baby’s progress. I no longer explain the death because I got tired of people’s shock and pity. Ideally, I have moved on.
Research shows that women who have lost their children might either hate kids or get abnormal attraction to them. Mine was and still is a bizarre combination of both. Sometimes I am bitter with the thought that my dear girl deserted me when I really wanted to be with her. On the other hand, I cannot stop staring at kids in church or supermarkets whose age-mates she’d be.
Some good news
I am now eight months pregnant. I am flattered by all the attention I need from gynaecologists, family, colleagues and friends. We are praying that everything turns out well; even against cord injury—despite the fact that it was just an accident. I am extra alert to all of baby’s moves and my fortnight obstetrical appointments to monitor the baby’s progress are followed to the letter.
END:PG27/24-25