Almost eight months ago, I stood in your shoes. I was nine months pregnant; overdue. I was committed to doing everything naturally. I didn’t hear a word the doctors said about potential complications. I refused to be induced. And it sounds weird writing this now, but I think I didn’t realize what “complications” meant. I never really knew it was possible for a baby to die.
I don’t write this to scare you. I’ve been following your journey for the past several months. You remind me so very much of me; the old me. And this is why I write to you — because I wish someone had told me, in plain language, exactly what I was risking. The chances, yes, are slight, but those slight numbers are small comfort to the mother who becomes the 1 in 2000. I was the 1 in 2000. I lost my son. There were no warning signs. He was perfectly healthy, and then he died.
Please reconsider your decision to go overdue. I understand, possibly more than most, the desire to want a beautiful, natural birth that goes exactly according to plan. When I was pregnant, I thought that was the most important thing in the world. I don’t think that anymore. I would give anything to have my son.
Whatever you decide, I wish the best to all of you.