We never planned for Willow. In 2020 we had a miscarriage that was quite traumatic as I didn’t miscarry naturally and required surgery. During lockdown, 2 weeks before our wedding. We decided we were done, happy with Fred and didn’t need anymore. Wanted to focus on our health and joined a gym, wanted to enjoy our family life together despite the lockdown. In April 2021, when the lockdown was lifted, we had a few drinks and didn’t use protection. She was a happy accident.
I knew I was pregnant before the test, the smell of hazelnut made me feel sick and I was very bloated. I was so scared of losing again, we had an early scan at 6 weeks and we saw her perfectly healthy heartbeat. That’s when we got excited. We were naïve, thinking once that heartbeat is confirmed youre golden, nothing can go wrong.
I felt sick the entire 12 weeks, day and night. Desperate for a drink permanently, eating as many icelollys as humanely possible. A trip to Cornwall, stopping for a wee every hour, bloated belly looking like a bump. It was all worth it. Once that 12 weeks past we told everyone, my favourite photo of Freddie with his big brother t-shirt on, to announce to the world.
The PGP started then, I was in a lot of pain. I couldn’t get in or out of the car without pain. I did nothing but complain. For weeks.
At 16 weeks I was advised to take the covid vaccine, despite 2 weeks earlier being told there hadn’t been enough testing. I decided against taking it. I believed the potential of it causing future damage to children was too great compared to the risk of covid. If they had given me all of the information at the time, maybe I would have made a different decision? Maybe it would have changed the course of history?
At 18 weeks, my mum turned 60 and had a big party. We took my favourite family photo, cradling my bump, glowing. I spent the night watching my husband holding my 2 month old niece, dancing around with her all night. My heart was so full, I could not wait to watch him do it with our own baby, which I prayed would be a girl.
Following the party, my husband and I were really sick. Fluish, couldn’t get out of bed and were delirious. We had covid tests but came back negative. On the Saturday, we went to a friends wedding, still poorly. My husband was the best man, he was off out being a social butterfly whilst I was sat on my own not knowing anybody. The more drunk he got, the more anxious I became. I had a full anxiety attack, so spent the following day in bed, after arguing over the anxiety he made me feel. I was in pain, miserable, anxious. I said something I will regret for the rest of my life, in that I didn’t want this baby and I wish the hospital would just take her out of me. To my dying day, I will never forget that I wish for such an awful thing to happen. You get what you wish for I suppose.
On the 17th August, we had our scan and discovered she was a girl! We were absolutely over the moon. That ideal family unit of one of each. We got a balloon reveal for our son to do, he wasn’t under the same joy and the thought of having a baby sister.
In the evening of the 19th august I passed blood. I called the maternity ward and they told me it was nothing to worry about, I explained it looked like the bloody show, but they acted like I was crazy. But who was I to question them?
Then came Friday 20th August 2021, the worst day of my life. I had taken my son to Walton Gardens with my best friend. We both noticed my bump was looking very small. I was getting period pains that were getting progressively worse. She dropped me back off at home and the pain was too much, I called the maternity ward and explained it felt like contractions. They told me to come straight in. I called my husband, who came straight home from work. My friend took Freddie and we headed straight to the hospital. The pain was bad but in all honesty, I thought even I was being dramatic. It must be a water infection. People get them all the time. As we tried to find the labour ward, I buckled against a wall in pain. Again, not a clue in my mind that it was labour. The midwives put me into a private room immediately with its own bathroom. I had a midwife sitting with me constantly. As they checked us in, they asked for my maternity notes, which I had forgotten to bring. They demanded that my husband drive home to collect them and that they couldn’t do any tests without them.
During my time in the room, I went to the toilet and was in a lot of pain again. When I came back out, the midwife said she needed to swap with another, later discovered this was a bereavement midwife, they clearly knew what was happening before I did. Despite my husband not being there, the doctor came in and did an internal exam. She said the words ‘your cervix is open, I’m sorry but there is nothing we can do’. I texted this to my husband who immediately started googling, there was a 50/50 chance at 20 weeks that a baby can survive in ICU. We held out hope.
In all of my previous scans, everytime she was on the screen she was dancing around. She was always very lively. Once again, my husband was not in the hospital when they decided to scan me. I knew. I knew instantly. As my baby on the screen was still. I knew she was already dead. The next few moments were a blur. I may have been sick, I don’t remember. All I do know, is that I texted my husband to tell him his daughter was dead. He was in the car driving back. What awful person would do that to someone they love? I called my mum, who was at a wedding with my entire family to tell her. Again, I could have waited. I didn’t have to tell people so instantly. I don’t know what happened between this and my husband arriving.
Some time had passed between finding out and being moved into the purple death room. I have snippets of memories of Nathan carrying me as I’m sobbing, walking through the labour ward, hearing babies, seeing an ice cold crib in the purple death room and screaming for them to get it out of there, refusing to go in.
The room had it’s own kitchen, bedside lamps, a double hospital bed, a duvet, purple wallpaper and a singular Willow Tree statue in the shape of an angel on the window sill. It was horrific.
The bereavement midwife stayed with us until the end of her shift, with a trainee midwife. She was so young and looked traumatised. I remember desperately hoping that she would finish her shift before I gave birth.
I’m not exactly sure how long we were in the purple death room, contracting, in pain. I remember needing a wee a lot and that it took them an awful long time to suggest I go on gas and air.
The midwives swapped at some point, the trainee went home, thank god. The new midwife wouldn’t leave us. She followed me to the bathroom. She lurked around. I knew why, understandably I was in full labour and the baby could come out at any second.
I remember crying out that I needed to wee. Sobbing that it wasn’t fair. My husband crying next to me. Holding me. He didn’t let me go. And then she here.
I couldn’t look. Didn’t want to look.
The midwife took her away. I can’t remember a single thing about after she was born until the midwife came back. Couldn’t tell you the time she was born. She asked for her name, I instinctively said Willow. The statue of an angel had been my only comfort in that room.
We went for a walk around the hospital as a distraction. I remember the sensation that my PGP was gone. All those weeks of pain, vanished.
Then she brought her back in.
In a tiny basket. A basket that kids use to do easter egg hunts with. She asked if I wanted to hold her, I couldn’t. I looked at Willow and recoiled. I remember being repulsed. She was bright red. Her skin hadn’t developed so she was blood red. She looked broken. I couldn’t be near her. Thankfully, Nathan took photos of her, so that once a year on her anniversary, I can look back. The one thing I noticed about her, was that she had nathans lips. Already, at 20 weeks I knew she would look like her dad.
That feeling of numbness kicked in when she left. Waiting around to go home. In between sobbing and staring into space. Felt like an eternity.
We went home, got a maccies I couldn’t eat on the way home. It was the early hours at this point. Freddie was at his nana’s. Nathan had nipped out after she was born to tell him to his face that his sister had died. I’m glad I wasn’t there.
That next morning, not much sleep, Nathan announced the loss on to our facebooks, to save ourselves the need to speak to people all day. However, life goes on and we needed to go food shopping for freddies birthday the following day. We went to asda to pick up his cake, someone from nathans work seen him and was like ‘HIYA MATE YOU ALRIGHT ….oh…shit I’m sorry’ – that was when it sank in. we were forever going to be broken. That realisation that everyone around has no idea how broken people really are.
We bought Freddie a bike for his birthday, the next morning when he saw it he was so excited. ‘I cant wait to teach my sister to ride a bike’ – then he realised. He apologised to me so much. He was 6 years old.
His party was hell on earth. Kids screaming. Loads of family members. I wanted the world to swallow me up.
Then the next part came. We had to plan her funeral. I was frantically buying anything commemorative. Needing some form of release or control of the situation. I stopped crying really. It was heartbreak of the untold kind. One that is truly indescribable. Her funeral was equally horrific. A casket should never be that small.
I guess the rest of her story is pain and grief and trying to move on with life, which seemed impossible.
But the story does continue, I guess this isn’t only about Willow. This is about all of it. The desperate need to replace her. To fill that void. The child we never even planned left such a ginormous hole I couldn’t think of anything but having another baby.
In January 2022, when she was due, I was pregnant again. Frantically taking tests twice a day to keep it confirmed. We went away for my mother-in-laws birthday and I knew something was wrong. I didn’t feel pregnant. I felt normal. As we were packing up on the final day, there was blood. I cried the whole drive home. There was no way of knowing if it was normal blood or the end. It was the end. The scan confirmed it.
They referred me for fertility testing at that point.
In April 2022, again I was ‘pregnant’ for 2 weeks before the blood. I didn’t even bother getting checked.
My mental health had taken such a dive. I had piled on the weight and couldn’t see past the disaster of babies. So I gave up. I joined a gym, I got the coil fitted, I was done. It was time to focus on the future and accept no more babies.
Her first birthday was hard. I sat at her grave for hours sobbing. I guess I needed it. It seemed to ease off from there. The first year of firsts was done. Only Christmas to worry about now.
In November 2022, my fertility appointment came through. After 10 months. On this same day, my mother-in-law had sent me a song called the hardest goodbye. A very poignant song about pregnancy loss, one I needed to hear. To cry to. To add to these coincidences, my coil fell out. The same day. It felt like fate, that we had to try one last time.
I went for my fertility test round 1 at the start of December, it was just a blood test but it got the ball rolling. To our surprise, by the end of December I was pregnant.
This pregnancy was the worst prolonged period time ive had to experience. The fertility test brought up that I could have sticky blood. And so from 10 weeks, I had to inject myself daily with blood thinners. I had to use suppositories twice a day, aspirin twice a day. All to keep that baby safe.
As anyone can imagine, the emotional turmoil of a pregnancy after loss is heavy. Along with extreme PGP and the additional medical things I needed to do to keep them safe.
I remember being desperate that this one wasn’t a girl. I wouldn’t be able to bare it. I already couldn’t cope with the news of anyone else having a girl. I could not do it, I had my girl, and she was taken away.
My mum paid for a blood test to confirm the gender, it came back boy but I was paranoid. I paid for a private scan, I needed it confirming.
I’d like to say I calmed down after this point but I didn’t. there was no safety net, no period of time to relax. There was no safe zone for us anymore.
I don’t know how we made it through. I spent the final 2 months sleeping sat up in a chair. I bit everyone’s head off all the time. I was horrific.
But he made it.
Oscar was born, happy healthy. A perfect planned section where I was awake and watched them say hello to him. To hear them play happy birthday. To hold him and him instantly stop crying. He was everything.
To this day, almost 2 years later, I still call him my soul healer.
He came when I needed him most. He has so much light and love to give.
And yet I still feel those pangs of guilt. If I’m happy with Oscar, does that mean I’m happy willow died? If I wish willow was here, does that mean I wish Oscar wasn’t?
Most days I’m okay. I can push past all the loss and the grief and focus on our future. Us and our boys. Living life. Working on our careers to provide them with the best life possible.
And yet, she’s there. Missing from the family. We should be getting ready to send her to school. But instead its 1 week from her 4th anniversary.
I have surgery next week, to be sterilised. That’s it. Final. Done. No more babies. No more chances to get our little girl.
I guess the pain and grief can resurface in moment of finality.