What on earth was he talking about? What did he mean “gone”? What had happened to my baby?? There is no way God would do this to me. To us. Again.

Having a baby wasn’t something that had come easy to us. We tried for 2 and a half years before conceiving with Niva. Our beautiful little girl. We had always said that Niva was enough of a blessing. If God decided that she was the only child we were going to have then that would be absolutely fine. However, when Niva was 1 and a half, we made the decision to start trying for child number 2. We managed to get pregnant within 6 months. Unfortunately, I suffered a miscarriage at 12 weeks which I never really talked to anyone about. Looking back, I feel very sad that I was more concerned at that time about being left behind. Everyone had 2 children. I felt that our time was being taken away rather than my baby being taken away. I have learnt that the feeling of keeping up with society – of thinking you have to keep up with what the world expects of you – it can make life so much harder and destructive. It shouldn’t matter what everyone else is doing or what everyone expects you to do. True happiness is about being content. Finding happiness in what you have rather than constantly trying to have more. That is living life to its fullest.

After the miscarriage, we were pregnant again in less than 6 months and this pregnancy had stayed with us. It was a very different pregnancy as I think all second pregnancies are. With the first, you have time to talk to the bump a lot, play music to it, write a memory book etc. With the second, you spend so much time running after the first you barely have time to eat!

“Noooooooo.”

That was the first sound I heard after those dreaded words. Kevin was completely broken. I was in shock but still contracting although by body had seemed to slow down now. I couldn’t believe it. I wouldn’t believe it. Not until I saw my baby. Hospitals get things wrong all the time. I would keep hope until I saw proof of what they were telling me with my own eyes.

One by one, the midwives started to come to me. One hugged me so tight with tears streaming down her face. I grabbed hold of her and told her to tell me it wasn’t true. That this wasn’t happening. She just apologised… I mean what was she supposed to do?

I was told that they needed to take me to a bigger scanner to confirm the news. The scanner that they needed to take me to was in the antenatal unit. Where I had had all of my pregnancy scans and where all of the pregnant people were. I was sitting in a wheelchair now, being wheeled down to the antenatal ward. I kept my face down and didn’t look up at anyone. The larger scanner confirmed what the smaller one had told us. My baby was lifeless. No heartbeat was found and no movement was detected.

“Noooooo.”

Another loud scream from Kevin. I looked up and told him that we needed to stop crying and stay calm. That there were pregnant people outside who would be so scared if they saw us like this. Now I know what you’re thinking. How brave and strong am I to still be thinking about other people whilst going through something so traumatic?? Well actually, the truth is it’s easy to think of others especially when bad things are happening to you. It’s easy to focus on anyone and anything else but you at that moment in time. I’ve learnt that that’s my coping mechanism. I can very easily focus my energy on helping others. It’s myself I have issues with. That’s something that I’m working on now and I’m learning that to truly help others, you need to help yourself first.

We were wheeled back up to the birthing room I had been in before. 2 midwives were waiting for me. I settled back onto the bed. My contractions had slowed down a lot now which can happen in circumstances like this. I was told that I would need to give birth to my baby.

Huh? So let me get this straight. I’ve had 9 months of absolute hell with this pregnancy. I’ve just been through around 20 hours of labour. Now you’re telling me that my baby is dead but I still have to go through childbirth?? Are you kidding me?? Looking back, I’m not sure what I was actually expecting to happen. Maybe I thought that the baby would just vanish… or maybe I still hoped that my child would be born alive.

It was at this point I met my beautiful midwife Amy. The kindest, sweetest most amazing midwife ever. Not to say that the others weren’t just as amazing. In fact all of the care I received from everyone at Hillingdon Hospital was amazing. But Amy was built from something else. Amy started to explain what would now happen to me. She said that it was fine for my labour to progress naturally and I could have any form of pain relief I wanted. If necessary, they would induce me to move things along. My contractions had started again and were extremely painful now. I told them I wanted an epidural. I just wanted to be numb – to not feel anything. But no drug can take the pain of a broken heart away.

Kevin started to make phone calls to our family, who all rushed straight to the hospital. Making those calls was so hard as our parents and siblings were all waiting to hear news that a new addition to the family had arrived. They hadn’t in their worst nightmares expected to hear the news that we were giving them. Each parent and sibling came into the room where we were to see us, each breaking down and sharing our pain with us. When something like this happens there really are no words. The hospital staff showed so much compassion to our family. They had a room for them to sit in with lots of tea and coffee. Everyone just wanted to be near us and we were so grateful for that. It’s at this point that Reena arrived. I hadn’t been able to call my parents or siblings but I did speak to Reena. I told her what had happened over the phone and she was by my side within 20 minutes. I don’t have a biological sister. However, I’ve been blessed with my cousin sister. My Reena. Who as any sister would, didn’t leave our side once she arrived.

My contractions were very intense now. I was in so much pain. I was scared. I was heartbroken. I was screaming for them to hurry up and give me my epidural. It was taking far too long and the gas and air just wasn’t helping anymore. Finally after what seemed like hours, a young man arrived and was ready to give me my epidural. The second the needle went into my back I felt my waters break. Amy examined me and I was fully dialated. I was ready to give birth.

Amy started to explain to me that this birth would be very different to my last. My baby would not be living. It would feel heavier. She wanted me to be prepared but to be honest nothing can prepare you for something like this. She then asked me what I wanted them to do with the baby once it was born.

“Put him straight onto me”. I mean what else would I want? I thought that if I was able to cuddle him he would just be fine and living and well. That my motherly love would make it all OK. That’s what a mother is supposed to do right? Make the pain in a child go away and make it all better?

I started to push. Kevin holding one hand and Reena holding the other. It took a while and was not easy but I finally gave birth to my baby boy at 5pm on Wednesday 30th August 2017, weighing 6lbs 11. Kevin cut the umbilical cord and my little man was placed on my body. He was warm and it was like he was just sleeping.

“Wake up little man – Mummy and Papa want to meet you. Please just wake up…”

“I’m so so sorry… I’m sorry I couldn’t save you”

Those were some of the words that Kevin and I both spoke in that first minute of seeing our son. We cuddled him and cried and cried. I felt like I was a failure. I had failed my child. I had failed my husband. My body had failed me. God had failed us. It doesn’t matter what anyone says to you. When you lose a child, that feeling of failure is something that will never leave you. People often say that I shouldn’t feel like this and that there was nothing that I could have done. But I am his mother. As a mother, I have a duty and the superpower of stopping bad things from happening to my children. I failed my son. I wasn’t able to save him. That feeling of failure has stayed with me and personally I don’t think that it will ever go away. I’m learning how to accept the feeling as part of me and cope with the emotions that that feeling brings.

I was given tablets to make sure that my body didn’t start lactating. I had breastfed Niva for a year and was looking forward to that feeling again. I cried so much taking those tablets as it was just another reminder that I wouldn’t get to experience all those things mothers should get to do when they give birth.

I cleaned my baby up and dressed him in the clothes we had brought to the hospital with us. I analysed every part of him. I didn’t want to forget a single thing about him. His fingers and toes were so long – just like mine. His face was full and he had a nose that was exactly like Kevin’s. He had a full head of hair. He was beautiful – so so so beautiful.

I wrapped him up in a blanket and held him tight. Amy wheeled a special cot to the side of my bed. The cot was like a cooler to ensure that our baby could be “preserved” (I hate that word) at the right temperature. I remember there being a plaque on the side of the cot. It had been donated to the hospital by parents who had suffered the same loss. I thought about these parents and wondered how they continued with life after this. How would we continue – how could we?

The family all started coming in to see our baby. My parents had had to leave the hospital earlier as they were going to pick Niva up from nursery and take her back to their house to stay overnight.

Niva… Oh gosh how on earth were we going to explain this to her? That her brother wasn’t coming home?

I looked at Kevin and asked him what we should name our boy. Kevin had always liked the name Shaylen and I had said previously that I didn’t think it was special enough. We then remembered the name his sister had suggested just days earlier and decided to name him Shayen.

Amy explained that Shayen could stay with us for as long as we wanted. That we could actually stay in hospital with him for as many days as we felt we needed. I was surprised by this as I expected them to take him away from me almost immediately. We decided that we wanted to stay overnight but would need to leave the following day as we needed to get back for Niva.

I didn’t want to put him down. I only had hours with him left and I wanted to make sure I spent those hours cuddling him and kissing him and making sure he knew just how loved he was.

It was early evening and we managed to eat a little and freshen up. Amy came in and told us that her shift was ending but that there would be another midwife with us overnight. That’s when I met the second midwife who made the biggest impression on us – Sophie. Although we couldn’t get another bed put into our room for Kevin, Sophie helped us move some chairs around to make an area where Kevin could lie down right next to me. We were told about a memory box that we would be given. Sophie helped us to take hand and footprints of Shayen. We cut a lock of his hair for our box. We took lots of photos throughout the experience and looking back I’m glad we did. It felt wrong at the time and I wondered why we would take pictures of such a tragic experience – why would we want to remember anything about this? But I do – I do want to remember my son. I want to remember him all the time as part of our family.

We settled Shayen into his cot and drifted in and out of sleep. We kept waking each other up in bursts of tears. At 4am I just couldn’t sleep so I went for a walk in search of Sophie. Sophie sat with me for the hours that followed. As I held Shayen she cried with me and provided any comfort she could. I looked at my baby’s face. It had already started changing which I was told would happen.

The next morning we were met with doctors, consultants and counselors. All offering their condolences and all giving us massive amounts of information that we just couldn’t process. We would need to register Shayen’s death, think about what kind of funeral we wanted for him, ensure we had the correct paperwork to get him from the hospital to the funeral parlour.. the list went on and on. Amy was back with us now and went through all of the necessary paperwork with us. I couldn’t fathom how I could have been thinking about welcoming my baby into our lives just 24 hours earlier – and now I was organising his funeral. It’s like I was in a nightmare.

My parents and mother in law had now arrived at the hospital. My parents had not seen Shayen yet and it was very emotional seeing them for the first time. Both sets of parents felt helpless that they couldn’t do anything to take our pain away.

We spent our last few hours in the hospital with Shayen. Holding him. Kissing him. Cuddling him. Talking to him. It was 3pm by the time we were allowed to leave. I felt a tug on my heart. I didn’t want to go. It wasn’t natural to be apart from him. How could I leave my baby? How could I be separated from him? My heart ached. I couldn’t breathe. Amy said we could come back to the hospital the next day to see him and Kevin and I were adamant that we would come back. We cried and cried and cried and finally got together enough courage to leave him. Amy walked us all the way to our car. We hugged her tight and for the first time since this started I saw her cry.

At that moment, we saw a beautiful rainbow beaming down over us. I didn’t know it at the time, but rainbows were going to be a huge part of our lives moving forward. With that, we climbed into our car and started our journey home. Our little girl was waiting for us.