The Hard Road to Recovery: Healing After Stillbirth - A Mother's Perspective Part 1 (My Story)

Honestly, I never thought I would find myself after 8 months of pregnancy, writing a blog about what it feels like to lose a baby. It however feels important to do so, perhaps to aid my processing of this tragedy, but also to shed light on my experience for other women that may find themselves in a similarly devastating situation (though I seriously pray that stillbirth and miscarriage becomes a thing of the past and that we find some way to prevent it)...But perhaps, in the meantime, our shared experience and processing will have to be what helps us through this.

I had a textbook pregnancy. Having been on the pill for a few years, my husband and I decided it was the right time to try for children - we were both so ridiculously excited. We were prepared (despite the fact that we are statistically quite young to be parents) for the process to take a while, we knew friends for whom it had taken years to fall pregnant, and so we were prepared for it to take a while. Six weeks later though, I became pregnant, and on the 2nd January 2015, I saw that magical second blue line. I didn't believe it, so took another test to be sure. I still didn't believe it. So I waited a day and then took another test before work the following morning. I didn't believe that one, so I took a digital test too. All of them told me I was pregnant, and perhaps also that I was being ridiculous for taking so many tests... On the second morning of test-taking, I went in to see my husband at 5.30am to tell him.

I was honestly so worried about my ecstasy about the news overwhelming my husband's chance to tell me how he honestly felt about the news, that I went a little bit deadpan when I told him the news. He couldn't tell how I was feeling about it, so he too tried to contain his joy. It was such a funny moment given how we had both chosen into starting a family. However, after both having a day at work, unable to think about anything else, it hit us. We were going to be parents. How blessed we were to start 2015 in such a wonderful way! 

The first trimester was surprisingly straight forward. I had already been training to do a Half Marathon for months for Macmillan Cancer Care and wasn't going to let a little thing like pregnancy stop me from doing it! I felt tired and bloated, but other than that had no other complaints. (Excusing the horrendous hormone induced migraine that spiked on the second day of those pregnancy tests). At 11 weeks pregnant, I completed the Brighton Half Marathon in just over 2 hours, despite telling myself I was only going to walk it! (Unfortunately competitiveness is a weakness of mine). 

Following my smug sense of achievement a week after the race, my husband and I attended the all important 12 week scan. Unfortunately for us, the date that had been set for the scan there had been a terrible road accident and we got stuck in the aftermath of traffic. The hospital dropped the appointment and in the hormone flurrying state I was in, I burst into tears in front of the entire Women and Children's waiting room. The tears were driven from the fear that I didn't feel pregnant, the last 12 weeks had not at all been like they are in movies, there was no crippling morning sickness, or emotional breakdowns, at least prior to this moment. The only slight give away was that I had noticed a bit of a bump forming. I remember speaking to my mum on the phone and saying, "Mum, I feel like I have a bump developing but I know it's too early for a first pregnancy". She teased me and said "Maybe it's twins". With no history of twins on either my husband's side or mine, I just laughed disparagingly...AS IF right? Well, when we finally had that 12 week scan, our sonographer asked after about 30 seconds of scanning my tummy, "Catherine, do you have a history of twins in your family?" I looked at my husband, laughed and said "No??" followed by a quick "Are you serious?". My husband and I laughed (a bit maniacally I might add), and the laughing quickly turned to tears of joy as she showed us each of our babies developing in my tummy. I was so in love. I wanted to tell the world. We kept it to ourselves though for a little while, we wanted to get a little bit further along before sharing our wonderful news. We had identical twin boys! (In medical terms Monochorionic Diamniotic Twins).

And so the pregnancy continued, with scans every 2 weeks, each time showing our wonderful babies growing side by side. It was then time for the 16 week scan, where we would find out that we were to have two little boys. My heart was singing in my chest, two sons!!! 

At the 18 week scan however they had spotted a decreased amount of fluid around "twin B". The hospital referred us to Kings College Hospital London to assess whether this decreased amniotic fluid was a sign of Chronic Twin to Twin Transfusion (TTTS). We were terrified, how could we have had so much joy from a scan two weeks prior and so much fear two weeks later? What would we do if they found evidence of TTTS? But Kings were more than happy with both boys. They acknowledged there was less fluid around twin B and that he was smaller but he always had been, and both boys were tracking as they should. What a relief, our boys were okay.

We would continue to pray and dwell in the hopes that we could cross the third trimester threshold to rule out TTTS and that the safe arrival of our boys would come. Each scan showed good health, strong organs, no signs of TTTS. Work threw me a wonderful baby shower, kindness and generosity in abundance surrounded my husband and I as we eagerly anticipated meeting our sons. We had chosen and ordered the nursery furniture, two baby baths*, the car seats, and the tandem buggy! So much thought and contemplation at how our life was going to change, it would be our family squared! 

My commute got tougher as I got more and more tired, and people continued to share their best wishes for the safe arrival of our boys. The world knew and would share our joy, we were sure of it! 

I finally finished work after what seemed like the longest 7 months of pregnancy, and felt thrilled at having a few weeks of maternity leave to sort the house and get the nursery ready (we had completed on our house purchase only a week before). I knew I had a scan on the Monday where we would also meet with my consultant to discuss birth options. I had asked my husband to be there for the conversation so we could process and work out the best way forward, together. 

Thankfully, my husband was able to get the morning off work, and so off we went to the 9am 32 week appointment. They saw us on time and I confidently climbed up onto the scan bed like I had done so many times before, confident that our boys would still be fighting fit. 

Our sonographer started the scan, looking at "Twin B" first. She was more quiet than normal but I didn't notice at the time, expecting it was due to her concentrating on the scan. She expressed that twin B was lying beneath Twin A and so it was difficult for her to see what she needed to. I couldn't recognise the image I was so used to being able to see. She then informed us that she was just going to call a colleague to help with the image and positioning. I suddenly felt a surge of nerves, this was the most experienced sonographer that we had, why would she need help? A few moments, some whispering and a sobering silence later, the sonographer said "I just needed to call my colleague to confirm as a second opinion, but I'm sorry to say that there is no heartbeat for Twin B". 

It was the worst moment of my life. It remains the worst moment of my life. 

I completely crumbled on that scan chair. I sobbed and sobbed and sobbed. I gripped my husbands hand as he sobbed beside me. The sonographer apologised. The twins midwife who I had seen every two weeks, came in and held my hand while I screamed with devastation and sorrow. They had to continue scanning to check on twin A whilst I sobbed. It felt like forever. I wanted to erase that moment and start again with the news that both twins were doing well and that we would be able to meet them both happy and healthy very soon, but it wasn't to be.

My husband and I were put in the room that we would later refer to as the bad news room. My husband and I just cried on each other, how unfair, how horrific. What had we done to deserve this? Eventually our consultant came in and discussed the best plan of action going forward. Before she had even uttered a word, all I could think was, get twin A out before he dies too! After she had spoken in depth with two of the best consultants in the country, they all agreed that I should hold out for the 34 week mark in order to give the surviving twin the best chance. And so that's what I did, living in fear each morning that little twin A wouldn't make the next day, living in the devastation of carrying my dead son inside me. 

We all believed that it seemed like Acute TTTS had been what killed Benjamin, which meant a possible risk of brain damage for our surviving twin, Nathanael. 

We were utterly blessed to have a friend in our lives who happens to be both a midwife and a counsellor who specialises in baby loss/stillbirth. She spent time with us each day in the lead up to the elective caesarean, helping us to prepare for what Benjamin would look like, what to think about in terms of spending time with him, keepsakes we wanted... It was all so overwhelming and hard. I hated the nights because I dreaded waking up the next morning to the realisation afresh. It was another day without Benjamin and further away from when he was alive and well. I dreaded my caesarean delivery because all of a sudden I didn't want them to take Benjamin away- he was in my tummy, with me, with his brother. I wasn't ready for him to become a memory. 

But the days ticked on, and my husband and I spent every day from that dreadful day until my section, in the hospital, having scans and CTG monitoring. The sonographer that had shared the news with us that awful day was very kind to us and came in early each day to scan me so that we didn't have to walk through a waiting room full of people. 

What I found additionally hard through this process was that people kept asking me if I'd noticed a decrease in movements- don't you think if I had I would have come into the hospital?? How do you tell when it's your first pregnancy and you have twins so don't know what should feel normal? It made me feel responsible for Benjamin dying, like I could have prevented it. I still feel sometimes as though maybe I could have prevented it.

All this time I avoided social media like the plague. We had shared our joy with the world, I felt not just devastated but ashamed as well. I don't know why I felt ashamed but I did. Perhaps it was because sharing our joy about our twin boys seemed like showing off? It probably was, who wouldn't want to show off the excitement of 2 children at once? 

Friends and family encircled us, prayers uplifted us and peoples outstretched arms caught us and carried us through those dark days. My husband was a rock for me, the most wonderful man. Not only was he the perfect support through all of this but we could cry and process this together. I love that through all the hardship we've endured in the last 9 months, he is the wonderful father that gave me two beautiful sons. 

By the time the Thursday came around that I was to have my caesarean, I felt strangely ready to meet my boys. We had been assigned a midwife to look after Benjamin and us as well as a separate midwife to look after Nathanael (twin A). We had been given a tour of the Special Care Baby Unit (SCBU) in anticipation of the fact that Nathanael, being born at 34 weeks, would likely be admitted. So we had imagined that during surgery, the births of both our boys would be silent. Nathanael because he would need help breathing and would need to be whisked off to special care, and Benjamin because we would not hear his cries in this life. Imagine our overwhelming surprise when at 9.24am we heard a gurgle and then a loud cry as our little Nathanael burst his way into the world. Those cries were the most beautiful sound I had and have ever heard. Our little boy was a fighter and would prove to everyone that he didn't need the SCBU. A deafening silence followed him though as they delivered his brother. 

We had arranged for Benjamin to be brought into us in his cold cot once we were out of theatre. Our wonderful midwife dressed him in the matching hat and sleepsuit that we had bought for him and his brother. I sobbed over his tiny lifeless body. He was only 2lbs9. It was weirdly joyful being able to hold him though. It felt healing to hold him with his brother, and for me to cuddle him. We had photos taken of us as a family of four and I'm so glad we did. 

I look at them daily, they break my heart but somehow comfort me as well, seeing my family with all its members. 

It has been 10 weeks since I held both my sons in my arms. I cry at least once a day, more when the world throws all the triggers that it can at me (more about that in future posts). I see twins everywhere. It tips me over the edge when people talk about premature babies that survived at 2lbs. All it makes me think is, "Why didn't they take Benjamin out sooner?"

A few weeks ago we had the post mortem follow up with my consultant. We would then find out that there was no discernible medical reason for Benjamin's death. TTTS both chronic and acute were ruled out. I wasn't prepared for how angry or devastated that would make me feel. I think I had found some peace in having a reason for his death. This seemed somehow more ridiculous and unfair. But the silver lining was that it meant his brother wasn't medically affected by Benjamin's passing, and nor was it due to my physical health that Benjamin passed away. I suppose I find it difficult to ever fully believe that it wasn't in some way my fault. Even though everything and everyone say that it wasn't. I struggle to completely shake the "what ifs", and so they haunt my quiet moments, my low moments, times when I'm by myself. They don't get me anywhere, but I think it is part of me trying to make sense of something that just does not make sense. Not logically, not medically, not conceptually. We should not be in a  world where we still lose babies. 

I will try to unpack more of the aftermath in future posts and talk about how I am learning to live with the grief and the loss on a daily basis. 

For now though, Nathanael is sunshine to me, a wonderful hope and ray of light in this time. He reminds me daily of his brother and how precious they both are to me. I don't think the grief will ever get easier, but I find comfort in that, because it does not negate how precious Benjamin is and what a tragedy it has been to lose him. 

I hope that for any women facing similar circumstances, that you are able to find the strength and hope you need each day to treasure your little angel in whatever way you can and to go on with them looking on.