I’m so proud of what I’ve been able to achieve because of my son’s legacy

When were so happy and excited when we fell pregnant. I was aware of miscarriage but we had no issues and, after seeing Ollie at our 12-week scan, we announced our pregnancy. We found out we were having a boy at a 16-week scan then had another scan at 20 weeks which were both perfect. It never entered our heads something might go wrong. 

It was from 26 weeks it started to get unnerving. I knew about monitoring movement and, although he never kicked much, I started to feel something was wrong. Every time movement was reduced I went to maternity assessment, was monitored and sent away having been told he was fine.

I had a couple of small bleeds and pain at around 35 and 38 weeks and became increasingly worried - just this strong sense something wasn’t right. I told the midwives, told my best friend and my family, because I could not shake the feeling.

Nobody listened

I begged for a scan at 38 weeks and when they said he was fine I asked the sonographer to check again, but they insisted he was okay. Everyone around me dismissed my concerns as pre-baby nerves. Nobody listened.

I got to 40+4 and was offered a stretch and sweep at home to induce. Afterwards, the community midwife listened to Ollie’s heartrate. She mentioned he’d changed position but when I asked if I should go to maternity assessment she said no, it was nothing to worry about. If she’d said yes, there’s a strong chance he could have been saved.

I was dismissed - left pacing the waiting room feeling sick, terrified and in so much pain

Two hours later I felt a pop, felt a lot of liquid and thought my waters had broken. But when I went to the bathroom I saw it was blood, a strange colour and really thick. In panic, I accidentally called the labour ward but they insisted I go through maternity assessment and suggested I make my way in. I was so distressed I wasn’t safe to drive so a friend took me. The maternity unit was in chaos, all 3 bays taken and a full waiting room.

When I asked them to contact the labour ward the woman there briefly reviewed me and said I wasn’t bleeding much and it must be from the sweep. I explained how much there had been, that I’d had to change out of blood-soaked clothes to come to hospital, but I was dismissed - left pacing the waiting room feeling sick, terrified and in so much pain.

It was like my brain had shut down. I knew I was going to have to give birth; I’d cry later

About 90 minutes later, a receptionist saw my distress, barged into maternity assessment and insisted a doctor saw me. I wasn’t shocked when they couldn’t find a heartbeat. Then a doctor confirmed what I already knew, our son had died. My first thought was, "I told you all there was something wrong and you wouldn’t listen". 

My partner, Reece, cried but it was like my brain had shut down because I knew I was going to have to give birth. I’d cry later.

Trauma and bereavement

It was a long, traumatic labour: 16 hours resulting in forceps delivery and a post-partum haemorrhage. 

We made the difficult decision not to spend time with Ollie - we believed that his body was a shell and that his soul had left. We keep our soul with us, but not spending time with him is my biggest regret.

We do have footprints and lots of photos, he had a lovely little button nose, my lips and mouth and sandy coloured hair like his Dad.

The loss didn’t really hit me until I got home, where I spent months absolutely catatonic with grief

I was eventually diagnosed with PTSD and huge health anxiety issues, I was convinced I was going to die. I had therapy through the local mental health team, which was good, but nothing from the maternity team. The community midwife should have called after 2 days, she called on day 5 to ask if I wanted to see her but I was clear, I didn’t ever want to see her again.

We’d had to go and sign consent for a post-mortem 4 days after Ollie died which was an horrendous experience. The bereavement midwife got his name wrong. I’d also begged to be kept away from maternity but she’d booked a room that meant we had to walk through the ward and we had people walking in and out through the meeting.

We’d also asked to be updated as to where Ollie was and she never did that, never let us know where our baby was, which was traumatic.

Tommy's Rainbow Clinic

Six months after Ollie died, I fell pregnant with our daughter. I’d used Tommy’s website for support when we lost our son, went on the Facebook group and spoke to other parents which really helped. That’s where I found out about the Rainbow Clinic.

Our GP to referred us but, by the time our pre-conception appointment arrived, I was already 10 weeks pregnant. Dr Alex Heazell looked at our history and agreed to take us as patients. I was scanned at 23 weeks then 5 times more. 

I also used the midwife helpline to talk to someone who understood, sometimes just to cry because it was really 9 months of hell. My mental health declined so much, perinatal anxiety and depression, I couldn’t sleep or eat, I was convinced she was going to die.

At Tommy’s we were treated with dignity, respect and knew both of our children mattered. The difference Tommy's made to my mental health and wellbeing is invaluable.

I’d lost faith in medical professionals, I only trusted Alex and the Rainbow Clinic felt like the only place we were understood. At Tommy’s we were treated with dignity, respect and knew both of our children mattered.

Those Tommy’s appointments were milestones I worked towards and Alex said we could always contact him with any concerns. I can’t tell you what that meant, knowing we had that level of expertise was so reassuring.

Tommy's midwives were caring and compassionate and I felt listened to. I was able to voice how I was feeling without judgement or time pressures and checks were carried out that the NHS couldn't offer, which again made a huge difference. 

It was such a relief to hear her cry - until that point I was convinced she would die

We had the last appointment at 37 weeks then I was induced at 38 weeks and Ella arrived after a long labour. It was such a relief to hear her cry - until that point I was convinced she would die. 

I did suffer postnatal depression (PND) for 18 months after and I still have anxiety around Ella. Parenting after loss can be so hard but I got help from the perinatal mental health team who prescribed medication, and I joined a group for mums with PND.

Forging new life after loss

You don’t recover from loss, the person I was before Ollie is gone. But you do learn to forge a new life for yourself. Running helped my mental health and I wanted to give back to Tommy’s, so I did the Royal Parks Half Marathon last year, raising just under £2000, and I’m doing the London Marathon next year. 

I’ve also taken part in research for Tommy’s and other organisations. It’s impossible to believe at the start of the journey of loss, but there is always hope. That’s what Tommy’s gave us, what they give so many other bereaved families.

I’m proud of what I’ve been able to achieve because of my son’s legacy, that my son is the driving force for change within maternity services. I wanted to make sure nobody else went through what we had gone through. 

After losing Ollie I also started an Instagram page and blog to connect with other bereaved parents. The biggest change is my career - I’m now a quality improvement manager in the maternity and neonatal care regional team for NHS England. I wanted to make sure nobody else went through what we had gone through. 

For me, all of these things are about trying to offer hope to other families. I’m proud of what I’ve been able to achieve because of my son’s legacy, that my son is the driving force for change within maternity services. 

I thought my life was finished after my son died but I found a sense of purpose. The grief doesn’t leave you but you can still live your life, you can still find happiness. I wouldn’t have believed that myself, but I promise you, it’s true.