Valentina’s Story

Giuliano was born on August 31st, 2023, nearly a year ago. Sometimes it feels like it happened yesterday, other times like a thousand years ago.

I met my partner 7 years ago in Malaysia. We came from different countries and had all odds against us ending up together. We had fun, we travelled, we worked together, and we just moved forward without making too many plans. We ended up living together in Germany, one 3-year-old daughter and Giuliano on his way. We experienced a miscarriage between our pregnancies, but I was overall very healthy during both of my full-term pregnancies.

Giuliano was already 10 days past his due date when we finally found a hospital that could induce labor. Giuliano’s birth day was beautiful, it was sunny outside and the team at the hospital was wonderful. I even spent part of the labor in a spa-like bathtub.

When the contractions didn’t progress, we decided on a second dose of induction drugs. That’s when everything went wrong. I immediately felt severe pain and started bleeding profusely. They rushed me to the operating room and put me under anesthesia.

When I woke up, my partner and child were already in another hospital. It took me a few hours to realize something was wrong. I mean, I felt very safe, they took me into surgery literally in a few minutes: what could have gone wrong?

I saw my son connected to the NICU machines. A young but confident doctor told me that my son was very, very sick. They quickly placed him in a cooling state after birth, hoping to reduce the effects of his severe HIE, but his condition was extremely critical. That’s when I realized our lives would never be the same.

I wanted to escape this new reality. How was it possible that my perfect, healthy child could suffer such a severe trauma in just a few minutes?

I couldn’t accept the situation and didn’t want to face our new life filled with uncertainties, unanswered questions, and likely severe disabilities. I learned in therapy that these feelings are common, but to this day, I haven’t fully forgiven myself for those thoughts of rejection and fear. I still feel guilty for how I felt about my son during those days.

They were the slowest, most terrifying, and hopefully the worst days of my life.

We spent five days with Giuliano, trying to find hope amidst the daily updates from the doctors.  He was physically recovering, his body was strong, but the birth outcomes and clear epileptic episodes on the ECG indicated his brain was likely very damaged.

We lived 20, 30, 50 lives in those five days, constantly adjusting our strategies and solutions to bring him home one day.

On the last day, they finally took him for an MRI to check his brain activity, as he was stable and showing good signs of recovery. That’s when we were hit with the worst surprise. Even the resilient NICU doctors and nurses couldn’t hide their disappointment. Some returned from the post-MRI and ethical committee meeting in tears, unable to speak to us.

No one expected that this strong boy had no chance and no brain activity beyond basic functions.

We were given the choice to stop the life-sustaining devices and let him go. We had no doubt that we didn’t want this kind of life for him.

I asked to finally hold him skin-to-skin, and we did. I was terrified and completely unprepared, not knowing what to expect or how to handle my emotions.

My family was amazing, but I don’t think I could have survived the following events without my sister-in-law, brother-in-law, partner, and the wonderful nurse who guided me through the worst, scariest, and longest hours of my life.

Despite the language barrier – I had been living in Germany for just one year and he didn’t speak English – he helped with turning off the machines, explained what to expect, and showed me what to do at each step before and after my son left me, softly and silently as Giuliano came into this world.

Severin, that was his name, gently encouraged me to take care of Giuliano. I made prints of his feet and hands, washed and creamed him with perfumed oil, and dressed him in the nicest clothes and hat I had planned for our hospital stay. It was surreal, and I can only describe this long process as if I were watching myself from outside my body. I pitied this strong woman and also admired her, but I wasn’t truly present. I am so grateful I performed these last caring actions as Giuliano’s mom.  

Giuliano gave us five days full of hope. He gave us the opportunity to meet and cuddle him, to sing for him, and even to hold him in our arms for a short moment. Then he left us gently and sweetly, like a caress, taking with him our worries about a future filled with uncertainties linked to long-term disabilities and palliative therapies.

For him, I was the known world, and he was mine for ten months. He was brave and sweet, both inside and outside my womb.

We spoke to our four-year-old daughter, who unfortunately didn’t meet Giuliano, and decided that he’s looking at us from the moon, and we can look at him there too. This is so sweet and comforting. She is the best advocate for keeping his memory alive. She doesn’t fear remembering him; she validates his presence in our family and cheers for her baby brother every time she sees a moonrise.

Despite what happened to us I feel very lucky. I met extraordinary people, bonded with old friends and made new, fantastic ones. I was able to take some time for myself and my family, to grieve and let those waves of love and pain be part of my every day. It’s not getting past, my goal is not to recover, I must accept this is not possible and it’s also not fair towards my love for my son. I am just gradually forgiving myself and let all kind of thoughts and emotions flow though me, letting the negative ones in and out, and the positive to shine longer. To the bereaved parents: I hope my story helps you feel less isolated. You’re not alone, and all your feelings are valid. The pain will lessen, and desperation will gradually convert into love. Your shattered heart won’t be the same, but the no-longer matching cracks will make it much bigger.

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