The Loss

If you've had nobody to talk to or don't know what to say or what to feel, I'm here to say that it's ok. If you're hurting and nobody around you seems to understand your pain, that's ok too. If you're close to someone who's lost a child and you feel powerless to help them because you know nothing you say can bring their baby back, then I want to tell you, that's completely normal.

I want to share my story, but please be advised that what I'm about to discuss, could be very upsetting. It covers the loss of a child in detail. If you can't bring yourself to read, then honestly, that is ok. Only read this when you feel ready.

I'm a father to a total of three children. I include my angel daughter in that, but we'll get to that. My angel baby, her name was Hattie Mary Jones and this is my story of how I lost her to stillbirth.

The pregnancy itself was relatively normal, there were no underlying health issues or problems from the pregnancy of our previous child and so we were very excited when we were on, what should have been, an exciting journey with our second baby.

We got to about 18 weeks before my wife began losing her waters. It was a very worrying time for us and even to someone as clueless as me, I was aware of the potential problems. We were in touch with a consultant who told us that my wife had something called PPROM.

To those of you, who aren't familiar with what this is, it stands for Pre Premature Rupture of Membrane and it's the gradual loss of waters during the pregnancy. I can hands down say, I honestly didn't know how bad this would end up being. I was worried, but also trying to reassure my pregnant wife.

We were given the option to abort the pregnancy when we found out about the PPROM. We felt that we should continue with the pregnancy, because the fate of my child was a flip of the coin and I couldn't risk aborting if there was a chance.

There were a lot of trips back and forth to the hospital, regular checks, checking the heartbeat, measuring the baby etc. Things seemed to be okay considering. There were concerns about Hattie's lung development but that's something we would have to act on, when she arrives. There was a day where we had spent the entire day in the hospital, my son was with my mother-in-law, my wife and I were just sitting in hospital and nothing was really happening, nothing that was concerning us, so we asked if we could speak to a doctor about the possibility of going home to sleep. The doctor said that it was up to us but asked that if there were any problems to come straight back. 

Keep in mind, at this stage, we more or less lived at this hospital, we were there nearly every day, most days just sitting there, a quick check on the doppler and they send us home. So why would this day be any different?

We went home that evening, looking forward to just getting back in our own space, our own bed, all the while, carrying on hoping everything would be normal. That night, my wife woke me up and said something didn't feel right. We ran my son back to his grandmother's and raced to the hospital. Back we were within a matter of hours of leaving, as we prepped to head to the delivery suite, one nurse said "I told you, you should have stayed", we chose to ignore it because there were bigger things at stake.

I could feel myself frantically shaking, we were at 25 weeks, passed the stage of viability, there was a chance for my daughter. I did all I could to reassure my wife as the midwives searched for the heartbeat. My wife, frantically telling me "they can't find her heartbeat". I told her to try to relax and that sometimes it does take time to find the heartbeat when the baby is that size.

The midwife looked at us, "I'm sorry, there's no heartbeat. She's gone." My wife and I were distraught. As we held each other in the worst agony we've ever felt, the midwives turned off all the equipment around us and soon we were left in the dark empty room, on October 14th 2018, where our lives were changed forever.

I must have cried for a full 10 minutes before realising we'd need to contact immediate family. My wife called her mother and could barely get the words out. I sat in the corner, feeling powerless and confused. What just happened? Should we have stayed? Did we do something wrong?

It wasn't long before my mother-in-law arrived, I was so relieved to see my wife have her mother with her, knowing how close they are, especially as the hard part wasn't over. We still had to deliver Hattie. 

The labour itself wasn't long and when the midwives guided my little girl out, I was struck with fear. I was too scared to look, my wife and mother-in-law both assured me that it was ok, that Hattie would just look as though she was sleeping. And she did, she was absolutely beautiful, still curled up in the fetal position, 2lbs 3oz and my hands shook as I cut the cord.

We all took a moment to hold her, take pictures and be with her. I still hadn't called my father, I told him what had happened and he was lost for words. I asked him if he would come to the hospital because I needed him, but it took a lot of convincing. I begged for his support. Looking back now, I think he was scared.

Thankfully, he did eventually come to the hospital. If I'm being honest, I don't think he expected Hattie to still be in the same room as us, he told me that he didn't know if he could face seeing her. I tried to assure him that she just looked as though she were sleeping.

Whilst I'd gone to meet my father outside the room, when I returned, the midwives had dressed Hattie up in a little dress and hat. She looked absolutely beautiful and she laid in her cooling cot where we could see her. Not a lot was said, but at this stage, my wife and I had spent a good few hours with Hattie and we think we were over the initial shock. But that doesn't mean the pain went away. My eyes burned as I was flooded with waves of emotions, I cried in my own daughter's arms as I told my wife "it's not fair". Never had I been more right, because it wasn't fair at all.

My father couldn't bring himself to hold Hattie and I understood at the time. Whereas I had the time to take in what had happened, I saw the same fear in his eyes that was in me just hours before. He didn't stay very long but still gave me and my wife a big hug before leaving. I know that he meant well, but in that moment, I knew how scared and shocked he was.

As my wife and I sat there, silently holding Hattie, we were welcomed by a nurse who brought us a very peculiar box. It was from a charity called 4Louis and it was specifically for families who'd lost a child. Inside was a heartfelt message from the people who had donated the box, a small box to which we could store a lock of Hattie's hair, a balloon, an SD card to use for storing pictures, ink and card so that we may get hand and feet prints of Hattie and a little teddy aswell. In the worst moment of my life, I looked in to this box and I saw hope. Hope that there were people out there, who had been through what we had gone through and that they were sending their best wishes our way.

As the day drew to a close, another hurdle was upon us. Something that would be unbearably difficult for us, as parents to do.

Thanks to everybody who has read, I hope you've found it helpful and comforting.

To be continued.