|I see your torment as being due to the death of your baby in utero or during the birth process, hence you words, "the pain of losing a child".
The carrot that dangled in front of you did not give you what it promised, and so you "will never get to see his face, nor hear his laugh, nor kiss his cheek".
What is a cruel fate!
There are many references to your how you were let down including, "would never come to fruition", offered a "tease" instead of a "glimpse of the future", The "wreckage" (what a sad way to remember your baby) was ripped from your own body.
Well, so far I have quoted you, but that helped me to understand your suffering and the dramatic metaphors that you use to mirror this. As you say, there is nothing to aid you.
It seems, also, that you might have been bearing a child that (that you knew you might never see alive) for some time, since you write, "And slowly it was, an excruciating snail's pace."
You have convincingly conveyed how distraught you are, to the extent that the reader is also disturbed.
The wording of your poem is dramatic, which is not surprising, considering the intense pain you continue to endure. I understand your appeal for the hell to stop.
Lastly, I would like to mention your wording: "a memory I never actually had." The contradiction in terms is, unfortunately, very apt.
This is a powerful piece of writing.