I went up the stairs in Mount Carmel and quickly found Irishmam in a room beside the labour ward.
She looked completely devastated, and a tiny crumb of the reality of the situation set in when I saw her.
A doctor came in to confirm the worst for me – as he had previously done for her, he also mentioned that the baby was small, and that my wife would probably have to wait until labour set in before delivering the child.
None of this did either of us any good as firstly the baby’s size had never been mentioned before as an issue, and my wife had been emphatic about having a c-section since our previous emergency with LittleBoy’s birth.
(In the weeks that followed I believe our own doctor had words with this one about making comments on the babies size etc. as her size really wasn’t an issue and the comments only added to our stress and confusion over what was happening.)
The doctor said that he’d make contact with our consultant first thing in the morning, and that essentially there was nothing more for us to do.
So we just wandered out of the hospital and drove home in a daze.
We just sat in the living room trying to make sense of it all.
I remember calling my brother, and breaking the news to my parents which was, I think, the toughest call I’ve ever had to make.
I told them that their grand-daughter had died and that we didn’t know why but that she would probably be delivered the next day. My mam didn’t put the phone down properly after our short call, so for a moment I could hear their groans of despair before I hung up myself. It still cuts me to think of how upsetting that phone call and the days and weeks to follow must have been for them.
I can’t remember where our son was, or if we ate or watched TV that night. I just know it was long and sleepless as we cried and talked and waited for the morning to come to see what was going to happen next.