14 | May• 2019
MY STORY
and by my last day I still hadn’t
spoken to my previous GP.
At the end of that day I approached
him and, with great trepidation,
asked him if he remembered me.
I asked him why he had not taken
better care of me and why he didn’t
check in on me at the
hospital.
His reply was direct.
He had spread himself
too thin, consulting from
two surgeries that were
nine hours’ drive apart
and he was out of his
depth, medically, with
my pregnancy. Again, I
was left stunned. Daniel
had died simply of
neglect and ignorance.
Years later, at a
course for my work as a
counsellor, the speaker
asked what parents
do with the love they have for their
lost child? Instinctively, my grief was
piqued. The speaker suggested that
parents focus on what feels right.
Henry and I remembered the joy
we felt seeing Daniel’s name on his
plaque. We knew what to do.
We now have a beautiful photo
of the plaque. Daniel’s name and
birth date is surrounded by white
flowers. This photo has pride of
place in our home amongst our
family photos. After nearly 40 years
Daniel has a presence in our home
and in this world.government to issue birth certificates
for stillbirths from 20 weeks’ gestation.
SANDS also helped us locate Daniel’s
grave. We learnt that he had been
buried, as was the practice, with 12
other babies within two weeks of his
birth, at a cemetery just 40 minutes
from where we were
living. It had been nearly
11 years but a renewed
sense of despair and
regret washed over me
for abandoning him.
At a family gathering
for Daniel’s 11th
anniversary we proudly
placed a plaque on his
grave. Daniel finally
became tangible to us.
Emma, Robert, Rebecca
and Elise had a brother.
Daniel. We finally had
the beginnings of a focal
point for grief.
DURING THIS TIME,by sheer chance,
I began working weekends at the
surgery I had attended during my
pregnancy with Daniel. I promised
myself I’d confront my previous GP – I
needed answers to the questions I
had been too naïve to ask at the time.
With my attending doctor also at the
surgery, I summoned the courage to
ask him whether he remembered me.
His response was that stillbirths were
like a piece of rotten meat. My heart
sank, horrified by his cruel words.
I had been there for three years
We remembered
the joy we
felt seeing
Daniel’s name
on his plaquePHOTO: COURTESY OF ANTOINETTE AND HENRY NOWAK