The stillbirth of Otto

He then showed us that there was fluid around Otto's lungs and some at the back of his neck, which suggested he had been dead for some time. Ian and I were left alone so that we could take in the news privately. I don't remember if we cried or hugged.

I wanted him to be born normally
From that point on, every decision was my own, and my instinct was to allow my body to work out this tragedy in its own way, without intervention. I could have had an epidural, but I wanted to keep the sense of intimacy, with just myself, Ian and the midwives present.

Thankfully, I was the only woman in labour that night. Once I was in the delivery room I knelt gratefully, leaning against the beanbag at the head of the bed. I clung onto the frame and howled like an animal. I have never made so much noise in my life. All the pain and grief I was feeling merged and I simply had to let go. I had no choice.

'I'm sorry, baby, so sorry'
My body took over. The transition was agonising, but I knew it must mean I'd almost finished my task. I was howling and sobbing, because I knew my baby was dead. As Otto finally slid out at 2.45am I was crying, 'I'm sorry, baby, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry.' I could hear Barbara and the other midwife sobbing as Otto was born.

The pain subsided and I was desperate to turn round and see him. Ian helped me over and we were handed our son. He was perfect and I felt just the same rush of love as when I'd first seen my daughters. He was undoubtedly our son, instantly familiar. So beautiful. So still, but as if he was asleep. And warm. And soft. It was so hard to believe he was dead.