The loss of our daughter ‘Immy’ - A pregnancy, labour and birth story.
Unfortunately, no. This story does not have a ‘happy ending’.
I will give a brief warning that if you haven’t experienced the loss of a baby, are currently trying to conceive, or are pregnant, this may not be a great post for you to be reading. It was a very traumatic time (So far, I haven’t been able to read this all through without crying), and I wouldn’t want to cause anyone in those circumstances unnecessary anxiety or put anyone off from having children. Children are our future, they are wonderful gifts, and I am certainly grateful for each and every one of mine however short their time here.
This was first written a few days after I came home from hospital in June 2022. It was a raw, unedited account of what happened and the events surrounding the tragic loss of our second daughter Imogen Fae (Immy). It was then edited on the 29th of June and shared with the bereavement midwife and more recently a mental health midwife. At the time that I wrote it, I just wanted to get my thoughts and feelings out of my head as a way of coming to terms with everything and attempting in some way to heal. It was not necessarily intended to be shared publicly. However, I have recently found it strangely cathartic to read through other people’s stories of loss and realise that all of the thoughts and feelings that I went through and the anxiety that I’m going through now are completely normal. So it is my hope that by sharing this, someone else might find some comfort in knowing that although other people have been through similar traumatic events which we will never ‘get over’, there is still some light at the end of the tunnel, and although things may have changed drastically from what you were hoping for, you can still go on to live a happy life in their memory.
I have now edited this to protect people’s identity and to make sure that it is coherent. It does go through events surrounding pregnancy and labour in some detail, and may therefore not be considered suitable for younger readers.
June 2022
In many respects I have been dreading writing this. I wasn’t sure whether to write it on here or if I should write it in a journal. But then, if I wrote it in a journal, which one should I write in? I always have more than one journal on the go particularly whilst I’m pregnant. For now, I’ve decided to type my thoughts on here and then print it out to put it in a journal if I see fit (Edit: I hadn’t expected this to fill quite so many pages). I don’t know if I’ll share this yet or not. Whilst a part of me doesn’t want to open up the can of worms which has engulfed my life over the past week, I’m having trouble sleeping at night or knowing what on earth I’m meant to do with myself during the day. Everything seems surreal and strange. My body is battle worn and bares the scars. I think the only way to move through this pain and grief is to write and get my thoughts out. I have gone over events several times in my head. I’ve questioned everything. I’ve blamed myself. I’ve blamed the medical staff. I know that this is something which I will never ‘get over’ and I wouldn’t want to either. We created something beautiful and there are moments of sunshine and memories which I will cherish forever. My hope is that this will at least help in some small way towards the healing process and that if others who’ve experience loss read it, that it may help them too.
Right from the start, this pregnancy felt different. Looking back, we were ridiculously lucky and blessed with our first daughter. Having not known if we could even get pregnant due to medical reasons, my husband and I conceived quickly, and the pregnancy went extremely smoothly. So well in fact, that some of the neighbours didn’t even know I was pregnant. I had a tight, compact bump and hardly any pregnancy symptoms except the odd bit of leg cramp and heart burn as you would expect near the end. My first labour and delivery on the other hand were not straight forward. Without going into too many details, the nice calm natural homebirth I had planned was knocked out of the window by the ‘Beast from the East’ snowstorm which rolled in and prevented the midwife from getting to me. My contractions where ‘silent’ and at times I wasn’t sure if they had stopped. When I was eventually fully dilated at the hospital, it was clear that the baby was stuck and would need help getting out. I reluctantly went into theatre and was given an epidural. Even then it took a long time before they were able to get her out with forceps. They were just about to give up when she turned her head enough in order for them to get the forceps in and pull her out. She was born in early March 2018 after a 36.5-hour labour. The placenta did not want to come out and eventually came out fragmented. I lost 2.7 litres of blood (Yes, you read that correctly!). Three months later, I had to have an evacuation of retained products of conception (ERPC) procedure to remove the remaining piece that was still left in there and causing me to still bleed slightly.
Back to my second pregnancy. As things had gone so smoothly with the pregnancy last time, I naively thought that it would be the same again the second time. Why wouldn’t it? We were both in our early thirties. Well, no. It took us a whole year before we managed to conceive again. I tried every tip and trick in the book. I drank pomegranate juice and took countless supplements. I tracked everything religiously and ate fairly healthily. Although, as I thought I would get pregnant again soon, there were certainly times when I didn’t watch how much I was eating and subsequently put on weight. Still, it didn’t matter, as I would soon have a bigger belly anyway. Having been an only child myself there were certainly perks to not having a sibling to share things with. But there were also hard times growing up when I could certainly have done with the support of having more people around who were my own age and going through similar things to me. At times I was definitely lonely, and I didn’t want this for my daughter. Despite this, and after a whole year of trying to conceive, I was beginning to lose faith and get fed up. We’d just had a new kitchen fitted and I’d decided to paint it myself once it had been installed. I made sure that I painted the corner walls behind where the big fridge freezer was going, so that we wouldn’t have to move it. I’m an art graduate so the thought of painting the kitchen didn’t faze me. However, a couple of days later I had crippling lower back pain. I went to visit the doctor to get some stronger pain relief although I was wary as I was due to start my next menstrual cycle that week. The doctor assured me that if I was pregnant, it was early days, so I should keep using some cheep pregnancy tests each morning before taking the tablets and then simply stop if I did find out that I was pregnant. Which is what ultimately ended up happening.
I’m going to use date stamps for a while in the hope that I don’t ramble too much.
Thursday 24th Feb – Took a pregnancy test in the morning. It seemed negative. I don’t know why, but I left it on the packet on the windowsill. When I went to put it in the bin later that afternoon, there was a very faint second line. Was I pregnant? I stopped taking the pain medication just in case. Thankfully my back was feeling better anyway.
Friday 25th Feb – Two positive pregnancy tests later, I was overjoyed as I stuck my head around the bedroom door grinning uncontrollably at my husband. After a long hard year, we’d conceived again.
Monday 28th Feb – The Head of School was overjoyed when I returned to work and told her the news. I also let my teaching assistant know. The only problem was, there was an outbreak of chicken pox going around the school, so to be on the safe side I couldn’t return until we found out if I had any antibodies for chicken pox or not. As far as I was aware I hadn’t had it. My doctor suggested I have a blood test to check for antibodies, but I had to wait a few days for the test and then for the results to come back. A few nice, unexpected days off.
Tuesday 8th March – I had gone to bed with some cramping and light spotting (Not uncommon in early pregnancy). The cramping gradually got worse and turned into more of a mild period pain. I went to the toilet at 3am and when I wiped, there was blood. I panicked. Had I lost the pregnancy already? We phoned 111 and spoke to an out of hours GP who said that I needed to have an emergency ultrasound to find out what was happening. But he was unable to contact anyone at the hospital so I was told to wait until 8am when I could speak to my own GP. At 7am, having had very little sleep, I went to the toilet and there was more blood. I was starting to get convinced that the worst was happening. I eventually had an appointment with a locum GP at 9:50am who informed me that I may be having a threatened miscarriage. It took him a long time to get through to the emergency gynaecology department at the hospital, but eventually I had an appointment for an emergency ultrasound scan at 11:30am. My husband was able to go with me. The scan showed the gestational sac, but nothing within it yet. A follow up scan was booked for a weeks’ time, and I was signed off on bedrest. The only good news was that the pregnancy was not ectopic, and I did have antibodies for chicken pox. I’d obviously had a mild form of it at some point. The week I was on bedrest was agonising. I worried constantly.
Tuesday 15th March – Second ultrasound scan booked for 11am. My mum came with me as my husband had to work. The bleeding had only lasted for two days and was fairly light, but I was still spotting slightly. Would there be any signs of life? Thankfully, yes! The sac had grown, and we could see and hear a healthy heartbeat inside despite only being about 5 weeks pregnant. It was amazing. I looked at the little jellybean on the screen with the tiny beating heart and willed it to be strong and keep growing. I wanted this baby so much and I couldn’t believe how lucky we were to be able to conceive twice. I would do everything I could to protect this baby.
I had lots of different symptoms during this pregnancy. The spotting continued for several weeks right up until I was about 12 weeks pregnant. Thankfully it did keep getting lighter and the midwife I talked to at my booking in appointment didn’t seem worried at all. Spotting can be quite common. Some women apparently bleed throughout pregnancy. Unless it got worse or heavy, I wasn’t to worry. I also had cravings for bacon, giddiness, a heightened sense of smell, nausea and at one point vomiting. I even had Covid for the second time not long after I returned to work. Thankfully I had very mild symptoms of Covid the second time around, but it was still worrying none the less. My hearing also seemed to be affected and I wasn’t sure if it had gotten worse.
Wednesday 20th April – Dating scan 2pm. Everything was absolutely fine. The spotting had stopped, and the baby looked healthy. I did have to jiggle about a bit in order to wake it up so they could take some of the measurements. My tummy was growing, and I couldn’t wipe the smile off my face. To top it off I was given new hearing aids to help with my hearing. It had been a good day all round. We told our daughter the good news that she was going to be a sister. We gave her a teddy bear holding a heart with a scan photo. She wasn’t quite sure what to make of it at first, but then became excited at the thought of having an actual baby in the house. She just wasn’t as keen about the responsibility of being a sister. My due date was calculated as being the 6th of November 2022.
In the weeks that followed I was kept really busy at work. I wasn’t always sure when I would be getting my planning and non-contact time and this along with other things often made life stressful. The three of us kept coming down with colds and our daughter had a sickness bug. I did enjoy telling a few more people our news once I was finally over the 12-week marker. After this the risk of miscarriage is supposed to dramatically decrease. My work colleagues were overjoyed. Parents kept on coming up and congratulating me and the children in my class were so excited. I think some people had already guessed as I was definitely putting on more weight and showing earlier. My bump was getting bigger, and I loved it. There were days when I purposely wore tight fitting clothing to show it off.
Saturday 7th May – Special photoshoot in the bluebell woods to celebrate our 10th wedding anniversary and to take some photos to help announce our news online. I was actually sick and giddy the morning of the photoshoot and as it was our anniversary weekend, family members planned on visiting to give us cards. I struggled to get up and get dressed before they came round but put on a brave face and then rushed to get ready for the photoshoot afterwards. I had spent months planning this and wanted it to go right. The weather was warm and partially cloudy. Perfect for photos but not great when you’re pregnant and having to walk uphill a fair distance in a long gown. I guess unsurprisingly I was sick halfway through the photoshoot, but my husband convinced me that I still looked beautiful, and I carried on regardless. A week later when we viewed and paid for the photos I was over the moon at the final outcomes. They hold lots of amazing memories that I will treasure. Our social media accounts lit up with people congratulating us.
Wednesday 18th May – Very brief phone call with my named midwife. She was very matter of fact and said that because my blood results were all fine, she wouldn’t need to see me until near the end of July! I wasn’t sure if I had felt the baby move yet. I’d just felt the odd flutter, but that was okay.
Symptoms at the end of May – Sore throat (probably from stress at work), headaches (The weather was very changeable), and more tinnitus. I was so glad when half term rolled around. I did take time to rest, but I was also determined to get school reports done for the end of the first week back which was the second deadline that the Head of School had given us. It was a good job that I did as the school was informed that we had a big inspection the week after we went back. Mentally I was all over the place. Lots of little things were adding up and affecting me. I spoke out to my boss at work but I’m not sure that she didn’t think I was just being hormonal. I also started to leak tiny amounts of colostrum, something that didn’t happen until right near the end of my first pregnancy. Maybe I would be able to breastfeed this baby?
Thursday 9th June – Our daughter felt the baby move. Her face was a picture. My husband and I had been certain that we could feel the baby move more and more. Still perhaps not as much as our daughter had done at this stage before, but the movements were slowly getting stronger. My tummy was still growing nicely although I did comment to him that the baby seemed to be laying differently, and lower. I felt more pressure in my pelvis than I had before but that can be completely normal. Maybe I was carrying a boy this time? The majority of people at work certainly seemed to think so.
Sunday 19th June – I woke up feeling really wet below. There was definitely more discharge than usual. Was this normal? Vaginal wetness can be normal in the second trimester. I put a slightly bigger liner on and got on with schoolwork. My 20-week scan was tomorrow. If anything was wrong, then they would tell me then.
Monday 20th June – Something was wrong. I woke up and was very wet again. When I went to the toilet, I passed a small blood clot. I froze. I tried to reassure myself with the words that the midwife had told me at my booking in appointment, “some women bleed throughout pregnancy”. It wasn’t a lot of blood, but it was bright red. I told my husband to come and look. I didn’t want to shout out to him that I was bleeding. He looked and immediately started helping me to look through my pregnancy notes for a number to call. I was 20-weeks and 1 day. As I was finally over 20-weeks I could phone the special midwife triage number for the hospital. That had to be good, didn’t it? They told me to come straight into the labour ward to be assessed. Our daughter didn’t attend nursery until 8am, so we waited for his parents to come over before we could dash to the hospital. I tried to phone and ended up messaging the Head of School to let her know that I wasn’t sure if the baby was okay, so I was going into hospital. She was supportive and simply asked to be kept informed. It was a pleasant morning, but traffic was already building. Thankfully there were parking spaces when we got there, so we paid for a day ticket and went straight in. I had my 20-week scan booked for 3pm and had been advised to have the hooping cough vaccine beforehand.
The beginning of the end
When we walked into the labour ward, it didn’t take long for us to be seen. I was asked to do a urine sample on my way to one of the small side rooms and they took bloods and asked lots of questions. My blood pressure and heart rate were good, so it was time to check on the baby. Two nurses tried to use a doppler to check for the heartbeat. They struggled to find it and we all held our breath. In the end they quickly got a consultant to come and give me an ultrasound scan on one of their portable machines. The baby was fine. It was happy and healthy, moving about with a strong heartbeat. We breathed a sigh of relief. But what about the wetness? Had my waters started to leak? I showed them the photo I had taken of the small amount of blood in the toilet that morning. The consultant decided that a swab test was needed to determine what had happened and if my waters had broken at all. It would either show up negative or positive. However, as the consultant prepared to take the swab, he gasped and stepped back. My heart stopped. That’s the last thing that anyone wants to happen when you’re having your private parts assessed. He looked at the nurse with concern. He told me that he could see what the problem was and that he was really sorry. It looked like my cervix was open and that some of the membrane that should be inside the uterus was coming down. I had no idea what that meant. I had just seen my baby wiggling around happily on the screen. How could anything be wrong? What did he have to be sorry about? He went out to speak with a senior consultant and came back to check how much my cervix was dilated. It was open approximately three centimetres. He didn’t want to risk taking a swab to check if my waters had broken or not. The senior consultant came in. The mood was very sombre. My waters might break at any second, I might go into labour, I could have an infection, and, in all likelihood, I could lose the baby. They all left the room. I looked at my husband. We were both so confused. Our baby was fine. How could this have happened? Why were they giving up on it? We were told that we could still have the scan that I was booked in for later that day and that they were taking me to a nice quiet room whilst I waited. It was a short walk, so I followed behind them through to the maternity observation ward and then into a small single well-equipped room. I didn’t really want to enter that room. There were leaflets and signs on the door talking about miscarriage and a charity called SANDs. The room was called the ‘Snowdrop Suite’. It was obvious where they were taking me. They were giving up on my baby. I was determined to prove them wrong. I would wait patiently for my scan. I would hope, I would meditate, I would ask the universe for a miracle. I could not give up. Not when we had come this far.
The time for my scan rolled around. Thankfully they were not going to make me walk all the way to the ultrasound department. A porter came to take me in a wheelchair. I still felt wet below. There was a short wait before we went into the scan. The two younger nurses from earlier accompanied me. They were nice. They chatted about their work and training. The sonographer asked why I had such an entourage with me. I explained the situation and she got straight on with the scan, checking to see if baby was developing properly. The baby was perfect. We could see all four chambers if its heart, the different areas of its brain, the bone structure, everything looked perfect. Everything except the fact that my cervix was still open 3cm. Why? We asked if she knew the gender of the baby. She moved the camera around and had difficulty trying to see as the baby had folded its legs up in front of it with its feet near to its ears. Funny, I remember my mum saying that I had been born like that. The sonographer said that she thought the bay was a girl but didn’t sound overly convinced. We would love it anyway. I could picture our daughter with a younger sister. The two of them would make a right pair! We were taken back to the room to wait. I would be kept in overnight. It was a waiting game to see how the rest of the results such as the bloods and urine sample came back and what, if anything, my body did next. I knew I was in a dangerous position. I knew things were risky. I would listen to the midwife’s advice and not do anything except rest and sometimes go to the toilet. I would pull through this. I had to. My baby was healthy and perfect. I had to fight for it.
Tuesday 21st June – Summer Solstice.
As you can imagine, I didn’t get much sleep that night. Nurses kept coming in to do observations on me and I’ve never liked hospitals. I know no one does particularly, but I’ve always had a fear of them. The room was pleasant, but I didn’t want to be there. It had its own ensuite shower room, small outdoor courtyard garden, kitchenet with a kettle, sink, and microwave, and a TV. I still hated it. I had been told about a possible procedure where they could stitch my cervix shut with a ‘rescue stitch’. I was pinning all my hopes on that. Looking outside the weather was warm and sunny. Today was the Summer Solstice. We are pagan. Surely nothing would go wrong today. My mother-in-law had sent me a beautiful solstice blessing poem. It was reassuring to know that people were thinking of me. I had been told that the consultant would be round just before 9am to speak to me, so I passed this information onto my husband, but the pessimistic senior consultant who I’d seen the day before actually came in to see me just after 8am. By the time my husband came in to see me at 8:30am I was in floods of tears. The consultant told me that my blood results were high in protein which indicated that I may well have an infection. She repeated that it was in all likelihood that I would have a miscarriage in the next few days, so they would (in no uncertain terms) not be doing the rescue stitch. She said she was sorry, but there was no empathy in her voice. I would be staying in that room for the foreseeable future either until my waters broke and I had a miscarriage, I got a really bad infection and had to end the pregnancy, or until I somehow miraculously made it to 24 weeks when the pregnancy would then be considered viable in the UK. Why was this happening to me? I clung on to my husband. I was terrified about what was to come. My only option was to try and somehow remain positive. They still hadn’t actually checked if my waters were leaking or not.
He stayed with me and refused to leave my side. We knew that our first daughter was safe with my mum. She had come over in the morning and packed a night bag to stay and look after her overnight and in the mornings in-between nursery. That was a weight off our minds. Our daughter knew that Mummy and baby were poorly and that doctors were trying to make us both better. By late morning a different consultant came to see me. She was taking over from the consultant I’d seen earlier in the morning. She was going to assess me in the room, but then decided to have me taken up to the maternity day unit to have another scan and be assessed at the same time. She wasted no time in starting the scan. Again, the baby looked perfect with plenty of fluid around it, but my cervix was 2.7cm delated. Her face was very empathetic and pained. She then did a swab test to see if my waters had indeed ruptured. It would be a yes or no. It didn’t take long and to everyone’s relief, my waters had not broken. It was just bits of membrane that were dripping out of my slightly open cervix. Things still weren’t great, but providing my waters remained intact, there was still a chance of doing something to close the cervix or block it to keep things retained. The consultant could see our beautiful baby happy and healthy on the screen and felt obliged to do whatever she could to save it. She would phone her consultant friends at a bigger hospital and try to persuade them to transfer me there and operate on me to save the pregnancy. It was a small chance, but it was a chance. The operation itself could cause my waters to break, but it seemed like our only hope. Thank goodness someone was giving us a chance.
In the afternoon, the consultant came back into our room with a big grin on her face. She had heard back from the other hospital; they were happy to have me transferred there. I would be taken by ambulance at 7pm. My baby was still in danger, but things were looking up. It wasn’t until later that an ambulance finally became available to rush me to the other hospital. They certainly didn’t hang about. I was strapped to a stretcher and driven there under flashing lights and sirens. The midwife who accompanied me was really lovely. We chatted about our families, our pets, and how she had moved here from Hungary. She complemented that she could envisage me as a teacher due to my lovely mannerisms. Nice of her. My husband followed but took the quieter back roads and somehow ended up arriving not long after the ambulance. I was taken to the maternity observation ward for tests. A consultant did another ultrasound scan, and everything was still the same. Still hopeful. My husband went home as it was nearly 11pm and we were both exhausted. I would be admitted to a ward, and nothing would be happening until tomorrow. He needed his rest, and it would be good for our daughter to see him in the morning. By the time I was admitted to a ward and found a room it was nearly 12:30. The midwife asked if I was okay and if I understood why I had been brought there. She was surround by other nurses and they all offered me a hug and offered to get whatever I needed. I was so emotionally drained. I knew I was in the right place. The place for my baby to stand the best chance of survival. Now all I could do was rest and wait. I had made it this far. They gave me a green tea and some biscuits although I wasn’t hungry and left me alone to sleep. It was a big single room that I had been put in, again with its own ensuite shower room. Apparently, that was because I had been transferred from another hospital, so they had to isolate me in case I had any risk of hospital born infections. Not that they thought I did. It still took a little while for me to get to sleep. The last time I looked at the clock it was nearly 1:30am.
Wednesday 22nd June
Twenty-two is usually my lucky number. The twenty second day of the month is usually a great day. When I woke up, morning light was streaming through the blinds to my left. I glanced over at the clock on the far-right wall. The time was just coming up to 6am. I had no idea when someone would be in to see me and go through the details of the operation. I had survived another night and it was probably a good time to start waking up. I went to move… POP!
In that instant, I knew my life had changed forever. I could feel fluid rushing out of me. I instinctively rushed out of bed and my waters drained out of me and puddled on the floor around my feet. Now what? Do I shout? Do I scream? No, use the call bell button quick. A nurse quickly popped her head around the door. “I’ve just woken up and my waters have broken,” I declared in a weak and feeble voice. Next, the midwife who had welcomed me to the ward and hugged me last night rushed in to look and disappeared again to get supplies. I was shaking. Do I call my husband? Do I wait and see what they say? No, I need to call him. He has to know. I need him here. I have never felt so vulnerable as I did in that moment. There I was in a room, far away from home, by myself, possibly just having witnessed the one act that would ultimately cause the end of my baby’s life. My phone conversation with him was very short. He understood and he was on his way. The midwife returned with supplies, frantically wiped me down and helped me out of my stockings and knickers which were soaked through. I said to her, “This isn’t good, is it?” She didn’t reply. She took my wet knickers off to reveal a sodden pad which contained tiny green flecks. She had a look of concern and showed it to the nurse. They rushed me over to the wheelchair which the nurse had brought in and told me to take my phone but not worry about my things. I had no idea what was happening. I quickly discovered I was being taken to the delivery ward. Apparently, my waters breaking could bring on delivery. I doubted it would, as I knew how long the labour with my first daughter had been, but I was worried all the same.
I am a little sketchy on what happened next as there were lots of conversations and both midwives and consultants swapping shifts. I was put into a dark, large delivery room with a lovely elderly midwife who tried her best to keep me calm by slowly reading through my notes and asking about my job and pets. She commented that I had pretty green eyes which I thought was an odd thing to say under the circumstances. She offered to find me an aromatherapy essential oil diffuser. I chose lavender to go in it and it did help to calm me a little. The consultant who had done my last ultrasound the previous evening came in. My baby still had a heartbeat. It was a fighter. I can’t remember at what point my husband arrived. There was no fluid left to protect my baby though, and the green flecks that had passed were ominous. I’m not sure to this day what they were. Were they signs of an infection? Some of the midwives seemed to think so. Others thought that it might be meconium, but it would be strange as the baby was still so small. At some point both the midwife and consultant swapped shifts. The new midwife was slightly younger but was accompanied by a trainee who said nothing but looked on with great concern. The new consultant was male. Again, he did another ultrasound scan. Again, the same results. A heartbeat, but no fluid. I think they had waited to see if I would go into labour, but I had not. My cervix was still 3cm dilated. If I didn’t already have an infection, the chances were that I would get one. My baby was too young to be born and survive. The statistics were against us. They kept suggesting that we had a choice, but it was obvious the way that things were going. We were asked if we wanted to stay here or go back to our local hospital. If they gave me something to start the pregnancy, there was a chance that the baby would be born alive but would not live for long. Did we want to have an injection through my stomach to stop its heart before it was born? You never expect to get asked that question. You never expect this to happen to you. We were left alone. We cried a lot. We clung to each other. We had come so close to saving the baby. I thought that once we’d got to the bigger hospital, everything would be alright. I knew things were risky, but everything now seemed so final. We wouldn’t be taking a baby home with us. We knew that we were currently in the better hospital. I had been born there myself, so it seemed fitting that I would stay there to have the baby. It would stand a better chance if it did survive and was born there. I also thought I would receive better care. But would the baby survive? Were we just clinging to hope and being selfish? At 20 weeks its lungs would not be developed properly and would no longer develop properly without the amniotic fluid. I remembered back to when my dad was dying from cancer. It was an aggressive form and had quickly spread throughout his body. I had clung on to hope then, but in the last few days it was obvious that he wasn’t going to survive, and I couldn’t bare to see him suffer in the way that he did. We both agreed (somehow, through all our sorrow), that it would be kinder to have the injection and put the baby to sleep before it was born rather than watching it struggle for breath and ultimately suffocate. Then to our anguish, decisions made, the consultant came back in and took those options away from us. His superiors had decided that because of the risk of infection, it would be too risky to have the injection through my tummy. Not only this, but the directors had decided that as there was nothing that their hospital could do to save the pregnancy, I should go back to my local hospital as I was their patient. I was distraught. I had wanted to stay there where I felt safer. Once again, I had been given options and choices only to agonise over them and then have them taken away again. We had been on such a rollercoaster. When would this nightmare be over? If we went back to our local hospital, would we be put back in the same suite? We had felt so excited and so lucky to be leaving that room with a baby that was still alive. Now we knew we may well have to face going back to it again for the last time. It was no use, the consultant was very apologetic, but the directors had made up their minds. We were to go back. The consultant suggested that my husband took me back so that we wouldn’t be waiting around for an ambulance. That seemed like the best option. My notes were written up and we went to leave. I was giddy and had to sit down again before being sick. I had been through so much. We’d been rushed to another hospital, the place I felt safest, with such hope. Now it seemed like there was next to none. That hospital didn’t want to know us anymore.
The ride back seemed long. My husband drove carefully, aware that my body was fragile and open. As usual, the countryside around the city where the bigger hospital is located was breath-taking. We had to slowly drive around horses. The sun was shining, and the day would have been lovely, if only we weren’t about to lose a child. Again, there were plenty of parking spaces on our return. We had been told that the labour and observation ward were expecting us and that we wouldn’t have to explain anything. We waited to talk to the receptionist and then handed the folder over stating my name and that I’d just returned from the other hospital. “Oh, what for?” the middle-aged receptionist chided.
“I was told that I wouldn’t have to explain,” I replied through trembling breath, trying not to break down again in the middle of the waiting area.
“Well, I’m not told everything,”came her sharp reply. “I’ll have to phone them,” she retorted as she disappeared behind the desk. We sat down in disbelief. Thankfully a kind looking midwife soon entered the waiting area asking if I had returned yet. We jumped up and followed her, back through the doors, back down the corridor, back into the room that I had hated entering the first time and which I dreaded going back into. It was at that point that I broke down and she held me in a warm embrace until I was stable. This was it. We were back. At least this hospital wanted us.
A senior looking member of staff came in to see us shortly afterwards with the male consultant who I had first seen when I went in at the start of the week. She asked us to explain our understanding of what had happened and what our options are. We did as best we could. We explained that we were given options only to have them taken away again. We asked lots and lots of questions. Was there any chance our baby could make it? We didn’t want to just give up on it. I could still feel the baby moving. It was an impossible decision to make and yet although people kept telling me I had to go with what I believe is right, I didn’t really feel like I had a choice. My baby would suffer and not develop properly if I left it inside of me. My body had failed it. I could become seriously ill with sepsis. Our first daughter needed her mummy. Was it better to have your mum or a sibling? You only get one mum. My husband needed me to. I was handed the form to sign. The form that would end my child’s life. Surely this wasn’t really happening? This was a bad dream, right? Sadly no. I sat there reading through the form. I knew I had to sign it. They were passing the buck saying it was my choice, but there really wasn’t one. If I didn’t have an infection already, there was a high chance I would get one and then suffer. Apparently other mothers had made themselves seriously ill waiting to see what happened. Did I want to take that risk? I witnessed myself signing the form. I knew it was my hand that had signed it, but it was like an out of body experience. In my mind I had disconnected myself temporarily in order to build up the courage to do it. Then that was it. All our fates were sealed. More bloods and observations were taken. Once again, I had to wait for an anaesthetist to come as I have such small veins. Even she struggled to fit the canular and take only a small amount of blood. She tried and failed to get blood out of me several times. I had to have a canular put in as a precaution in case I lost too much blood again. We ate dinner. We hugged. We were asked if we were ready. How can anyone ever be ready? There was no point in putting off the inevitable any longer. At 6pm I was given the first tablet. It wouldn’t be until 10:30pm that I would start to get contractions. They were worse than in my first labour. I tried to fight through the pain. To ignore it. To tolerate it as I felt I deserved whatever pain I got. Amazingly, my husband and I still thought we could feel the baby move. She was fighting on until the very end. I think a part of us still hoped that she would be some sort of miracle baby that would make it. I was physically, emotionally, and mentally drained. Eventually, exhausted, I asked for pain relief. Shortly afterwards, I passed out from exhaustion and fell asleep.
Thursday 23rd June – Our daughter’s birthday
12pm it was time for the second tablet. I remember them coming to see me and administering it. I remember barely being able to keep my eyes open and the midwives looking at me with concern. One of them told me that if I was tired the best thing to do was sleep. I didn’t need telling twice. I passed out again. The next thing I remember was a scrambling sensation down below. Something (presumably the baby) suddenly dropped down. I could feel myself opening up and straining. I shouted at my husband; he pushed the nurse’s button. Four midwives came rushing in. It was just after 2pm. They had obviously been waiting. “The baby is coming,” I said frantically. They said that if I felt that I needed to push then I should push. I did. I wanted to get her out quickly. Maybe that would be better for her? I pushed once, twice, three times, and she was out. It was very quick. She was born at 2:13am. I think even the midwives were surprised. The second thing they commented on was how long she was. They uncurled her and put a finger to her chest. The midwife shook her head. My baby was dead. Born sleeping. I think a part of me was relieved. She wouldn’t be struggling for air. She looked so small. Her skin was so thin and fragile, but she was perfectly formed. My husband was asked if he wanted to cut the cord, which he did. I can’t remember him moving round to my left side. He had been asleep next to me on the right. I was pleased that he got to do that. He was able to do something for her. Even something small like that. Her face was slightly discoloured. Was the mad scramble that I’d felt, her struggling for breath? Was it literally the act of being born that killed her? How long would she have actually survived if she’d stayed inside me? We’ll never know the answers to these questions.
Just as last time the placenta didn’t want to come out. They waited for over an hour and did various things to encourage it to come out. They asked for the baby’s name, and wrapped Imogen Fae up to be taken to the cold nursery room next door. Eventually they called a doctor in to manually pull my placenta out. That really hurt, but thankfully it seemed to come out in one piece. It was all over. I was attached to a bag of fluid which was fed in through my canular. I fell back asleep. We’d been on one hell of a ride.
We spent a long time during the day hugging, kissing, and admiring her. We took photos, and hand and footprints. We will cherish the time we had with her. My husband was incredible. He phoned around close family and friends and our places of work. He went home and got some more supplies for me so that I could have a shower. We had dinner together and then I encouraged him to go home for the night. We both needed sleep and our first daughter needed us. He broke the news to her, and she was sad and said that her tummy hurt. She wanted Immy to come back. I had a shower, washed off all the grime and dirt and put on fresh pyjamas. Nothing could take away the guilt I felt though. My baby had been perfect. Why couldn’t my body carry her?
Friday 24th June
I cried on and off on Friday. It kept hitting me in waves. It was clear that the midwives were trying to encourage me to go home. My husband brought our first daughter in, and she ran to me to give me a big cuddle. All the staff thought she was cute. My mother-in-law came in and wanted to meet Immy, so our first daughter went out to the car with my father-in-law. I was reluctant to get Immy out again and disturb her. Her body started to show small signs of degradation from where she had been cooled and had thawed slightly. His mum left and we had one last cuddle and kiss with her. We swapped the teddy over that had been put with her so that our first daughter could have it and replaced it with the identical one that we’d been given in the memory box from SANDs. We placed a metal heart on her which was part of a keyring for us to treasure. The bereavement nurse took her away and I packed up and waited to be discharged. Apparently, another lady needed to use the room. I was thankful that I had been able to stay there to have her in the end. It was a comfortable space with a pretty private garden. I just wished that we were never in that situation in the first place. When it was time to leave, my husband asked if I had everything. Of course, I didn’t. I was leaving a part of me behind. A part of me that was irreplaceable and precious. As we walked out of the room, I reached out to the door of the adjoining ‘cold nursery’ where I knew she was. She would always be in my heart and a part of me would always stay with her. We have decided to have her buried in our village cemetery. I couldn’t bare the thought of leaving her for the hospital to ‘sort out’. On returning home there was a big bunch of flowers waiting for me on the doorstep from my childhood friend and her family. A lovely gesture. Why me though? Why did everyone else have big families and I didn’t? Why had I had to lose my dad, gran and now daughter? I felt angry with the world. I also felt guilty for the grief that I had caused everyone else, but I knew that I had to focus on myself and my immediate family. Life had been changed irrevocably. We were going through the grieving process and would be for some time.
The days that followed
On the Saturday we barely did anything. We were still exhausted and other than going through the motions of eating and taking medication, we mainly stayed in bed. I just wanted to hide away from the world. I felt incredibly guilty about what had happened. More flowers and a card arrived from friends.
Eventually I ventured downstairs. I looked out of the kitchen window at people walking and driving by outside and everything seemed surreal. I had hardly slept and hadn’t a clue what to do with myself. I just kept going back over all of the events and details. It was then that I decided to first start writing this as a way of emptying and releasing some of my thoughts. Damh the Bard, a famous pagan musician, was doing a live Facebook concert the following week. We’d had the pleasure of meeting him once. My husband had reached out to him and asked if he could give us a mention during his public service announcements. He replied and said that he had lit a candle for us. We were delighted when he mentioned all four of our names during his live show. Having a feeling of community around you is so important.
Things that have helped me:
· Taking time for me and shutting myself away when needed. (Especially in the first couple of days)
(A warning that you may also need some quiet time to yourself once you return to work. Other people may not understand this and may accuse you of feeling like they have to ‘walk on eggshells’ around you. Put yourself first and do what you need to do in order to heal. The people who truly care will understand.)
· Keeping some sort of normal routine for our first daughter (Even if she was a little late for nursery in the days that followed)
· Writing this.
· SANDs website and Facebook group
· The Book ‘Saying Goodbye’ by Zoe Clark-Coates (Also the founder of The Mariposa Trust)
https://www.mariposatrust.org/
· Tommy’s website – really helpful and informative.
· Limiting friends and family who I have contact with (Until I was ready)
· Reaching out (at least in some small way) to our spiritual community.
· The bereavement midwife at our local hospital.
· My cats (They took it in shifts to look after me when I came home from hospital)
In my subsequent pregnancies I have also found the following book helpful:
‘Pregnancy After Loss’ by Zoe Clark-Coates
Pregnancy after loss is beautiful but filled with fear. Please reach out to your local midwifery and mental health support teams. You do not have to go through it alone.
My dearest Imogen,
If the only way you
Can live is to live
On through me,
I promise to make
Each day the best
That it can be.
