When we announced our pregnancy after Orla’s death, the relief from others was palpable – a sense that there was going to be a happy ending.  The rainbow after the storm.  Yet nine months is a long time to live in terror, knowing that you can reach the final hurdle and still come home empty handed.  Pregnancy after loss is an incredibly complex and fraught time; saturated with intense fear, renewed grief and other overwhelming emotions, each day can feel like an endurance task.  Having someone else to carry some of this is essential.  Priceless even.

In this letter, Jess captures her gratitude for the support their doctor gave them during their rainbow pregnancy.  This is what person centred care is all about.

Jess is mum to Leo and Eli and works tirelessly to support bereaved parents, as well as fundraising and campaigning to raise awareness of baby loss with the hope of saving more babies lives.  Jess can be found here and on Instagram @thelegacyofleo and she hosts a weekly #BabyLossHour twitter chat every Tuesday at 8pm.

……………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

To the doctor who held my fear during my pregnancy after stillbirth,

I didn’t recognise. We met you, properly for the first time, a few months after my son died to discuss what had happened. But I didn’t recognise you. I didn’t recognise you from that day – that moment when I discovered that he had died. Died, in the moments when we had been anticipating his arrival the most. One day, past full term. You were there, just to confirm that our life as we knew it then, had ended. That his life, in its entirety, had ended. That his tiny, beating heart that was once just a small flicker on a screen, was now still, silent, non-beating.
Continue Reading

I have spoken many times about the support I was incredibly privileged to receive from our midwife Michelle.  Her unwavering commitment to us through Orla’s pregnancy and birth, our fraught and anxiety ridden journey through pregnancy after loss and the hugely reparative birth of Esme was incredible and we will be forever grateful. Throughout this time, I did wonder about the impact that this had on her; did she lose sleep too, wondering if our baby would make it into our arms safely?  Was she counting down the days until our planned early induction?  Was it actually her who breathed the biggest sign of relief when our baby came out screaming?

As a healthcare professional myself, I know first-hand how there are times when you can’t help but take your work home with you.  When you wake in the middle of the night with a particular client on your mind.  When you desperately await their call so that you can reassure yourself that they are okay. But it wasn’t until I head Michelle speak at a workshop for midwives that the true emotional impact of the work of loss and bereavement really hit home.  Maybe it was only then that I could even allow myself to go there and recognise it before then, but it really floored me.  We are all in this together and it is important that everyone who comes into contact with loss is cared for, because this is the only way in which to create sustainable and compassionate systems in which to practice.
Continue Reading

Baby Loss Awareness Week aims to raise awareness about the key issues affecting those who have experienced pregnancy loss or baby death in the UK.  For some, this may be educating about the long-term impact of grief, or helping others to know what to say and do if they know someone who has lost a baby.  But it is also about helping to educate and empower people so that fewer babies die: sharing research and practices that we know can reduce risks.

Yet sometimes it can be hard to hear these things.  As someone who has lost a baby, hearing of new (or old) research can be painful and trigger intense feelings of guilt and shame.  And on the flipside, hearing of people who disagree with such findings can lead to all sorts of complex emotions.  Of course, everyone is entitled to their own opinions – but as someone who has lost a baby, and who knows that it can and does happen more than it needs to, it can feel like a kick in the teeth.

Farrah lost her son from Sudden Infant Death Syndrome (SIDS) and in this powerful letter, she wants to let others know the impact of not following safe sleep advice can have.  This isn’t about debating what the evidence does or does not say; it is about the impact that loss from SIDS can have.
Continue Reading

I’d never heard of a doula until I was pregnant with Orla.  At first, the idea seemed a little unusual to me – why would you want someone else with you at such a private and intimate time?!  But as I immersed myself in preparing for birth, hypnobirthing and how important it is for the women to feel calm, supported and empowered, I came to realise what a wonderful thing it must be to have one.

And yet the thought didn’t enter my mind about what would happen if the plan didn’t go to plan and a baby died before birth – would a doula still attend?  How would they manage this utterly tragic, but possible reality?

This letter from Beccy captures the support she has given to many women through loss.  I sobbed when reading it as it captures everything I would wish for all parents going through loss: the unwavering support, the compassion and tenderness both during and after and the ability to recognise the finer details that others may forget.  Be warned, this is an emotional read, so maybe not one for the commute to work, but if anyone wants to know how to support a parent through and after loss, please read this and share widely.
Continue Reading

This feels like the perfect letter to start the week of letters to the other chair for Baby Loss Awareness Week.  The loss of a baby is such a pivotal moment; a life before existed and a life after beckons. In the life before, there was so much excitement and anticipation.  Fuss, nurturance and hope.  And in one fell swoop, the red carpet to motherhood is whipped away and is used to shroud your existence.

In this beautiful communication to the world, Emma captures the essence of life before and life after.

Emma Jefferys is a coach living in Tunbridge Wells. Her first daughter Amelia was stillborn in 2012. She has since brought Amelia’s sister Ophelia home and is a proud mother to both her girls. As well as heading up bereavement support locally for SANDS, it was Amelia’s death that led to a change of career helping others. Something she is passionate about and a change that she will forever be grateful to her daughter for.

Emma can be found at here and on Instagram at @twtigress and @action_woman

……………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………

Dear World,

Do you remember me? I hope so. I was the pregnant woman.

Do you remember? The one wearing her bump with pride and fizzing with excitement and anticipation about what was to come?
Continue Reading