Baby loss is almost a taboo, it's always been that way but it needs to change
I’ve always wanted 4 kids and I was pregnant with our daughter soon after we married. It went pretty smoothly, I was high risk due to my high blood pressure, which meant I was induced at 39 weeks, but we were both fine.
At the beginning of 2021, I was pregnant with our second daughter, Iyanu. They monitored me closely because of the blood pressure and because our first daughter was small. Iyanu was also measuring small towards the end but we were fine.
As my sister’s maid of honour I was busy organising a bridal shower and baking a cake but I felt good, relaxed.
On her wedding day I felt a little wrong and called my husband to say I thought my waters might have broken. While he was going home to get my notes, I went to the bathroom and found I was bleeding. Still no alarm bells going off, I just thought baby must be coming early.
A traumatic delivery
It was over 40 minutes before the ambulance arrived, then, in over an hour, they couldn’t decide which hospital to take me to. Queens had my notes but they believed Basildon was closer so we went there.
Still bleeding, and in a lot of pain, I resorted to using my hands as sign language to communicate with the midwives. After the initial scan the midwife went to get a consultant, I knew something was wrong but remained positive.
Suddenly a flurry of people were in the room, the consultant scanned again, then said "I am very sorry but I can’t find a heartbeat".
At previous appointments Iyanu had been in awkward positions and the heartbeat wasn’t easy to find so I asked them to check again. They did, and they were sure.
As they walked me through the pain relief options I remember telling myself I would never be the same again - my life was over and I saw no way back.
The delivery was traumatic, I felt like I was going to die and my husband and sister couldn’t calm me down. Then she was here and she looked exactly like her sister, a full head of hair and very cute.
I didn’t know if I wanted photos and footprints but the midwives kept presenting different options and I’m so glad they did. I needed a blood transfusion so we were there for a couple of days which meant we could spend some time with her.
Living with loss
Afterwards, I went to a really dark place, just didn’t want to be here anymore and kept having to remind myself I had a daughter to look after. Thankfully I got therapy which was life-changing.
There were no support groups in my area then, through a Mother’s Day event for loss mums, I heard about Tommy’s. I read the stories, which also helped, but there weren’t that many from Black mums.
I wasn’t aware of the statistics, the risks involved with pregnancy and birth for a Black woman. Baby loss is almost a taboo, it’s not meant to happen to anyone and, culturally, we just don’t talk about it, it’s always been that way but it needs to change.
I talk about my daughter because I want to find purpose in my pain, I don’t want her to be forgotten.
I think it’s even more important to speak out because when we see more Black families speaking out, that’s when there will be change. I want to be a part of that, to honour her.
My faith has always been a big part of my life but after losing my baby I was so angry with God, I didn’t trust him, and that was hard. I couldn’t go to church for a long time and I stopped praying.
The first time I went back, 4 months after she died, I put on a brave face but I just cried, it was too hard. So I didn’t go back again for another 6 months. My Shepherd (pastor) was supportive, stayed in touch and, eventually, when he texted me about the idea that my baby had gone straight back to heaven, to God, was a comfort to me.
Pregnancy after loss
I did become obsessed with trying again. It didn’t happen quickly, but by January 2023 I was pregnant and it’s been the hardest pregnancy so far.
Pregnancy after loss is a whirlwind of emotions, dealing with grief, with what could have been but feeling happy at the same time. I call it living in a paradox.
Having a therapist helped, a safe space to offload emotion. But I didn’t get continuity of care in hospital so I had to go relive our loss again and again, which was very emotional. In the end I refused to see anyone other than one consultant.
From 33 weeks I needed them to monitor baby’s heartbeat every few days for reassurance. Then at 36+3 my placenta erupted again and they had to do a c-section.
He went to NICU because he wasn’t breathing on delivery and was then transferred to another hospital for a higher level of care but, despite suspected HIE, jaundice and the possibility of abnormal brain activity our little fighter made a speedy recovery.
We were home on his 7th day, the traditional day for a baby’s naming ceremony. He’s almost 17 months now and thriving, a real cheeky little boy.
Light at the end of the tunnel
Immediately after loss you feel like you’ll never smile again, but you do. I am a different person but I do know that there is joy, there is always light at the end of the tunnel.
Although Tommy’s Rainbow clinics weren’t part of my journey, I know many people they’ve supported and have heard so many amazing stories. Those clinics are leading the way in helping mums bring their rainbow babies into the world safely. That rainbow journey is so hard and the clinics see people through that fear and anxiety every day of their pregnancy.
And Tommy’s research is so important, giving those answers we so desperately need to help us move forward. I’d encourage anyone to get involved, particularly from my community, because that representation is the only way to change the narrative for tomorrow.