"Happy New Year"

Blissful ignorance
When our son Felix was nearing his second birthday, we decided, as many couples do at this stage, to try for a brother or sister for him. We began a little early (in May) with his birthday being July as it had taken six months to conceive Felix. Having our boy, we now wanted a girl, and we read up how and when this might be most likely to happen, and followed the suggested timings. A few weeks later, sickness was put down to tiredness or all in the mind, a feint line on the test also dismissed as impossible, but a week later, in Paris, another test revealed a line that couldn't be ignored. We were pregnant again, surprised at the speed of it but very happy. All so simple…

Warning signs
Before the end of the weekend break in Paris, however, just after a trip up the Eiffel Tower, some bleeding appeared. Suddenly all the emotions started stirring - was this the end already? All we wanted to do was get home and to the doctors, even though we knew there wasn't much they could really do. I remember sitting with my legs up all the way home, hoping that might help. 

The kind GP was reassuring. Pointing to a photo of his child on the desk, he explained how bleeding was often not the end of a pregnancy. It did settle down, and although it happened again, some early scans showed things were still progressing ok. I was anxious, however, and there was some strange intuition going on for me: I just didn't feel confident about the pregnancy, even though there was no real reason to worry. People talked of "when", but I still said "if".

I grew fat, however, wriggles and kicks came, Felix kissed and cuddled his new sibling inside me and we talked of how life would be with the new baby. We looked for a new house nearer family.

At the 20-week scan, we were told the baby was slightly on the small side, there was a single umbilical artery (SUA) - there should be two arteries - and a smaller left kidney. But we weren't to worry, these weren't life-threatening conditions and we would be monitored more frequently. We knew a couple with experience of SUA, who had a stressful, but ultimately successful, pregnancy, so we pushed for more monitoring, but felt it should be ok. All the consultants seemed confident, they dismissed our fears created by our internet research and no one suggested even as a small possibility, at any point (even when asked directly), that our baby might not live. Midwives had not heard of SUA.

We sold our house and had an offer accepted on one we liked.

Merry Christmas
The main concern was the size of our daughter (yes, she was a she). With growth retardation, babies are often taken out early and this was a possibility for us, but each scan showed that, although small, she had grown just enough, and a date was set for the next scan. It was Christmas 2005, and a scan the week before showed good growth and the next scan was set for after New Year. I was exhausted over Christmas and didn't feel quite right, but I put it down to all the Christmas preparations, working and childcare on top of late pregnancy. On Boxing Day at a family party, I felt one really hard kick from the baby, I remarked on it and tried to feel for another one for my family to feel, but she had gone quiet.

That was the last kick I remember feeling. The next day I had a lot of what felt like Brackston Hicks, felt very cold and the baby felt very heavy, but none of this alerted me to a possible problem, nor did the bath when the baby was still when she normally kicked. The next day at work I mentioned to a colleague that the baby was quiet today… I still did not really feel anxious, I finished work and went home. The following day was to be my last one before starting maternity leave. I mentioned that evening to my husband about the baby being quiet and then actively tried all the things that normally made her move... nothing. He felt I should go to the hospital to be checked. I was hesitant, not wanting to make a fuss and, because our son was asleep, I went alone sure that all would be fine.

It wasn't fine. Many of you will know the story: they can't find the heartbeat, they try another machine, then they get their senior to come and check, but although your brain has yet to catch up, you know… I think part of me knew a couple of days earlier in fact, but I was incapable of responding - complete denial. Someone was holding my hand. I was numb. I called my husband. "It's not good" is all I could say. I was very calm. I said to the midwife, "these things happen", but I hadn't a clue of the immensely painful journey I was about to embark on. I was 32 weeks pregnant.

My husband arrived and people spoke to us. It was surreal, we had choices to make, and we chose to go home and come back the next day to be induced. It was very late at night. We made one phone call to arrange childcare. We went to bed and cried ourselves to sleep, the first of many such nights.

…And a Happy New Year
We begged for a C-section to spare us the torture of labour, but it was strongly not recommended, which I thought was cruel. After a long, quiet, induced labour, our first daughter, Lola, was born on New Years Eve at 12.07pm, weighing 3lb 10oz. She was put onto the apparatus, where they normally put newborns to check/resuscitate them, and wrapped up. The midwives left the room to allow us time together and I remember looking over and seeing her lying there, still and alone, it was all so wrong. She looked big, I hadn't known what to expect, she had a lot of hair, her lips were very red. We cuddled her and took photos, still unable to process anything that had gone on, still numb and in shock. We told family and friends to stay away - we couldn't cope with anyone but ourselves. We were moved from the labour room and Lola was taken with me in one of those plastic wheeled cots. I remembered Felix being in one - such a different experience, as this time a blanket was put over my baby's face when we went in the lift, "so it doesn't frighten the other mothers," I was told. 

Then followed too much to write about - painkillers, sleeping tablets, paperwork, a lost baby blanket, a found blanket, birth and death registering, flowers, sympathy cards, post-mortem, weeks of waiting, funeral arrangements, counselling, alot of kindness from friends and family, the occasional hurtful comment - but in all this time we were still in shock, feeling our way through each day, clinging onto Felix like a life-raft. 

Chris had three months off work, I went on "maternity leave". We kept to ourselves, we didn't want to socialise with anyone for a long time. We had the classic bizarre holiday to "get away from it all", spending more than we could afford. A Sands befriender was my lifeline for many months, she was a constant support and I will feel eternally indebted to her for the hours and hours of weekly phone calls, which were a real lifeline, which I have only recently felt able to cope without. I hope to become a befriender because of this experience. 

We discovered from the post-mortem that Lola had "VATERS" Association and a number of minor physical conditions unidentifiable on an ultrasound, but none of which could clearly explain why she had died. We are left without a real reason and can only guess at scenarios.

Moving on?
We moved, Chris returned to work, I tried to settle into a new town and make friends. It was hard, all I could think about was Lola, all I wanted to talk about was Lola, all I wanted was her… and to be pregnant again... desperately. I had more counselling and after six months started to look for a job, very reluctantly, as all I wanted was to be pregnant, but I had to pay my maternity leave back to the NHS through three months of work. I was lucky and got a job locally and was lucky to fall pregnant quickly again - both these things I feel very grateful for.

Another pregnancy, very, very stressful, and another story in itself, but ultimately problem-free (medically-speaking) and, after an elective caesarean, we had a wonderful third child and a second daughter, Willow Hope, who I still can't believe is here to stay. My heart and head is full of so much every day - the love for my three children and the big dark empty space where Lola was ripped out of my life. I sometimes wonder how I continue to function, but like others I do and as time passes things slowly get easier. What gets harder is not being able to talk about one of my children: sometimes I want to talk about her so much, my heart pounds as I want to say something… but it's just not "appropriate". I hate that. 

I love you Lola, I wish so much you had stayed. I don't know what's out there beyond death, but I hope with all my heart that you are there somewhere and that one day I will get to meet you properly.