*TW: This is a story that involves perinatal death
Looking back now, 30 years later, I understand better… Well, I understand that I experienced multiple traumas and that those irregularities, those isolated incidents, that coldness were actually the result of ignorance, understaffing, a lack of soft skills, and a lack of humanity linked to the discomfort and unease of not knowing what to do or say. Can I blame the medical staff? Could I have demanded more from them? Even if I had wanted to, I wasn’t capable, and neither was my husband.
In short, here is one of my birth stories… and even a bit more. It’s Friday, January 7, 1994, in Aylmer.
I’m coming from my obstetrician’s office, and although he told me to pick up my bag and go to the hospital, I have no idea what awaits me. My blood pressure is high, my ankles look like my great-aunt’s, but since I’m young, I tell myself it’ll pass. I’m excited about giving birth in the next few days. Becoming a parent for the second time—what a wonderful dream come true! How joyous it is to welcome a tiny being into our loving family! Our beautiful eldest daughter, Chanel, already so mature for her 2½ years, can’t wait to play “mommy” and hold this “new little baby” in her arms.
So much joy surrounds your arrival, little baby! The vibrant colors of your room, your stuffed animals, your comforter, your rocking horse—everything is ready to cradle you, cuddle you, and love you. Your drawers are filled with beautiful clothes in blue, green, red, yellow, and white. Your aunt gave us an incredible amount of ‘boys’ clothes, and since I’m convinced you’ll have a little penis, I’m thrilled with this generous gift… especially since it hasn’t even been a year since we bought our first house. So you can imagine how helpful it is not to have to buy winter clothes (your sister was born in June). Today, the idea of gender-specific colors is much less important to many parents. Nowadays, even if you’re born with a defined reproductive system, you can choose to be who you want and live how you please to be happy. Clothing colors are often an afterthought. But not at that time, not for me, and certainly not in our story. You’ll understand more as we go on.
It’s Saturday, January 8, 1994, in Gatineau.
It’s freezing cold. I’ve been in the obstetrics ward since 8 p.m. last night. I’m tired, but I’m ready for this new adventure that Richard and I are so excited about. It’s a full moon, and naively, I think it’s perfect because I love this “celestial body” that lights up the darkness. They say it’s a myth that the full moon influences labor, but I can tell you the maternity ward is packed. Except, in my case, I’m not technically “due” yet; I’ll be 37 weeks in two days… No matter, the gynecologist explained late last night (around 9 p.m.) that inducing labor was the only way to avoid the “dangers” of preeclampsia. OK, if he says so. Even though I don’t really understand what that is, I trust him—he’s the specialist. He says giving birth will bring my blood pressure back to normal, reduce my swelling, and eliminate the protein in my urine. Well, that makes sense… And most importantly, you’ll be here without any “risks.” But what risks? Why think of the worst? Ultimately, all that matters is that you’re born healthy.
So, by 7 a.m. on Saturday, I’m ready for you to be born. Settled in the delivery room, they set up an IV and ensure I’ve been fasting since midnight. Of course, I follow the rules. They tell me a nurse will be assigned to me and that she’ll usually stay by my side throughout the labor, but today, it’s not possible… Probably because of the full moon. No problem—I’ve given birth before; I know what to expect. And your father is here. Richard is my rock, my beacon, and just having him there reassures me immensely. Then your grandfather and uncle arrive. Might as well chat with them; it’ll make time pass faster. Grandma is watching Chanel, who’s busy making dozens of ponytails in her hair. We’re lucky to have family so close; you’ll see how everyone is there for each other.
Now that everything is ready and organized, labor can begin. I’m already dilated to 2—it must be a sign that you’re ready too. By 11 a.m., contractions still haven’t started, and I’m hungry. At least I’m allowed small sips of water. All this, my love, is normal because the nurses don’t have time to care for me. After all, it’s the full moon… And seeing its incredible influence on the number of babies ready to be born, a nurse comes by and increases the dosage of the medication they’re giving me. Since I’m still not feeling pain, they increase it again a few minutes later.
Well, now my contorted face confirms that the medication is working… so much so that shortly after, I’m dilated to 10! Oh yes!!! It hurts like hell, but it’s a joyous pain because you’ll soon be in our arms!
While waiting, I need to move to the delivery room. The nurse wants to help me get up, but another more urgent situation draws her attention. So, your dad takes my arm and helps me walk from one door to the other, just across the hallway. It’s not hard, except that I don’t understand what’s happening. The pain is unbearable! I try to control my breathing, but it’s no use—the pain intensifies! Ouch, ouch, ouch! This doesn’t feel normal. In fact, I know it’s not! The pressure is too much, so your dad presses the red button. I manage to climb onto the delivery bed, already set up with stirrups, ready to push when the time comes. But now, things are really bad. The contractions are overwhelming! Your dad keeps pressing the panic button repeatedly, and soon the nurse and the gynecologist come running… Thank goodness, because I have no idea what’s happening! This wasn’t how it was when I gave birth to your sister! It feels like the lower half of my body is detaching from the rest. It’s indescribable and excruciating! I’m telling you, I don’t know how to position myself anymore! Oh no, now it feels like my lower body is being torn apart! It’s unbearable—like a truck is rolling over me! And then, without any pushing and before I even realize it, I feel you slide out between my legs, and plop, you’re out! Just like that! Like a cork popping out of a bottle! Luckily, the doctor catches you because your dad says you would’ve fallen on the floor… Can you imagine? One more second and… I don’t even want to think about it. The important thing now is that you, Jade, ARE HERE!!!
Lying on my chest, I look at you—you’re so small, much smaller than your sister at birth. Covered in mucus, I cry tears of joy to finally hold you and meet you. Your perfectly round head smells so sweet, and your sticky pink skin is so soft. But this beautiful, precious, and fleeting moment lasts only a few seconds. Once the cord is cut, the doctor takes you away at lightning speed, as if you’re not breathing. Again, I don’t understand what’s happening, though I can see a hole in the middle of your face where your nose should be. Your dad doesn’t notice it because you’re facing away from him.
The next moments feel like hours. In the blink of an eye, what’s supposed to be a joyful moment of birth turns into a series of punches to the gut! Relentless bombardments pierce our hearts, like in a slow-motion movie.
Without hesitation, coldly, the nurse informs us that you’re under observation because your heart, like ours, isn’t beating properly… but not for the same reasons.
You will likely be able to benefit from a heart transplant, as these surgeries are quite common nowadays, so things should go well. Then, we are told that you have a hernia the size of a tennis ball in your umbilical cord. It seems that your intestines are entangled there, but a specialist in this field will let us know what can be done to address it. Oh, and you also have six toes and a cleft lip… That explains the gap! Thankfully, cosmetic surgeries have made incredible advancements lately, so there’s no need to worry about your appearance.
Another concerning fact: when examining you, they couldn’t feel your eyes in their sockets, and they suspect you might be deaf as well. “Don’t worry,” the nurse tells us. She mentions organizations with highly skilled professionals who work with blind and hearing-impaired children. They will help you function “normally,” just like any other child. In short, medical advancements are so advanced now that, even though great challenges await us, “everything can be fixed,” one “miracle” at a time. Well, when you put it like that, it does feel somewhat reassuring and encouraging!
Then, the gynecologist comes to see us. He informs us that the neonatal care specialists from CHEO are on their way because Jade has numerous malformations. Their expertise will be essential in shedding light on the situation. Alright. In the meantime, a medical resident stays in the room with us because she’s training and learning. She watches us silently, not saying a single word (I know, that’s redundant, but it was so intense). She is probably analyzing all our reactions to better document them in her report.
All this time, we don’t know how you’re doing—if you’re crying, if you’re thirsty, if we can see you, hold you, or if I can nurse you. So, we wait… Even though your dad and I are devastated, anxious, and overwhelmed, even though we’re completely at a loss in our minds and especially in our hearts, this isn’t the time or place to scream out our pain.
Finally, the chief pediatrician from CHEO walks into the room. She starts by telling us that we have a beautiful baby but that you likely have Patau syndrome. Genetic testing will confirm it, but she’s almost certain. Finally, someone warm and compassionate takes the time to explain the unexplainable events of the past hours! This syndrome, commonly called Trisomy 13, is a malformation of the 13th pair of chromosomes. This condition affects the entire midline of the body, preventing organs on either side from developing properly—or at all. Even the brain. Fetuses with this rare condition usually don’t make it to term. Often, mothers miscarry before the 20th week.
So, it seems that I gave you EVERYTHING, Jade, to ensure your survival up to this point. I now understand my numerous bleeds, my overwhelming fatigue, your cardiac abnormalities during ultrasounds, my severe migraines, my back and leg pain, and the preeclampsia that your birth saved me from—a potential poisoning… maybe even death.
If we understand all this correctly, it means you have very little chance of survival if you have this syndrome, doesn’t it? Exactly. Your dad and I learn that your survival is impossible, so we have to let go of all those surgeries they mentioned earlier. You’re here now, but when they remove your ventilator, you’ll be gone. Your time with us will have lasted just 36 hours.
Looking back with greater clarity, I am thankful to the CHEO team for tactfully presenting the facts and educating your dad and me. They provided clear answers about your condition and supported us through this terrible ordeal. I will never thank them enough for taking photos that night with their Polaroid. They instantly captured the only moment we were able to hold you while you were still alive. It’s this memory that still makes me cry the most even today… This emptiness… This ache of not being able to feel you, cuddle you, or kiss you. What an incredibly soothing yet painful joy.
The moments we had with you were so short yet so heartbreaking when they took you away from us. Then, you left with that wonderful team, crossing the bridge to the other province. Without your dad. Without me. All alone. The doctors said my blood pressure was far too high for me to move. And your dad had to return to your sister. Chanel needed him—needed us. He had to explain to her what was happening—that we would be coming home empty-handed. Though she didn’t fully understand, she understood enough. She expressed your absence for months, even years, by playing with her dolls, who died in every one of her games. Without knowing it, she saved us—your dad and me!
Thank goodness she was already in our lives. I’m not sure we would have wanted more children after this tragic and difficult experience if Chanel hadn’t been there with us. And to think we had wanted four children!
Your dad and I were in shock without realizing it. With our beautiful little two-year-old, we had no choice but to keep going. For Chanel, I had to heal from this immense sorrow and “live the life” that was there—with her and for our family. It wasn’t easy, but with support, I made it through.
I’m not sure if your death was a greater shock than what happened at your birth, but January 8th and 9th, 1994, are the two most heartbreaking days of my life. I wanted to keep you close to me forever, but at the same time, I wanted to be freed from the immense pain I was feeling.
I experienced so many contradictory emotions during those two days… and for a long time afterward as well. I remember being afraid to talk about it because I felt so judged at first. I blamed myself so much, you know. I thought life was punishing me by taking you away from me—because I had filled your drawers with boys’ clothes, in masculine colors. Because I was so sure you wouldn’t be a girl. Because I had taken things for granted… Thought I could control everything… and ultimately, life wanted to teach me that in this world, I decide nothing.
Not even that at only 27 years old, I would be standing in a church with your father just two weeks after your birth and death, receiving hundreds of condolences at the funeral your dad had so admirably organized for you.
For a long time, I blamed myself for letting you die alone, far from me, without us. Even though I didn’t understand why so many members of our large Dubreuil and Labelle families were at the hospital with you, I’m grateful they thought to hold you and give you all the love you needed to leave this world.
What helped me forgive myself was knowing that you passed away in Grandma Aline’s arms. Honestly, if it was your soul that chose her, you couldn’t have hoped for a better guide to cross into the beyond—if it exists. Because if I had held you, I would never have let you go. I would have wanted to keep you as long as possible, even intubated, just to feel you and hold you close forever.
Through therapy, I learned to be gentler with myself. When I understood that grief has stages we must go through to heal, and that guilt is part of the process to learn self-forgiveness, I accepted letting out the darkness that had filled my heart. Now, I live only in the present moment. The past no longer exists, and the future is not yet here.
Sometimes, life truly does work in mysterious ways.
Today, my soul, my mind, and my heart are at peace. Truly, I feel privileged to have carried you and had you in my life, even though, at the time, I went through an emotional rollercoaster.
I still carry you within me, but differently. You are my angel, my confidante, the one who watches over us all. You helped me carry your youngest sister with love and anticipation, even though fear gripped me deeply throughout my pregnancy. Katie is another wonderful blessing in our lives and our family!
And I know you were there for every internal battle I had to fight to feel lighter and even more at peace. Thank you!
I love you, Jade, and I hope you’ll keep watching over us as you’ve been doing so beautifully for the past 30 years.
Until we meet again, my dear daughter… Or at least, I deeply hope so.
Mom xx
