Grateful for the Time We Had: A Mother’s Story of Love and Loss

I’ll never forget the day we finally left the hospital, the emptiness I felt; my body no longer a home.

I had no choice but to put back on my maternity leggings due to still having a bump and sadly, I went home wearing the smallest pad I’d had to wear for weeks. You see 2 days postpartum and the bleeding was nothing like how it was 2 weeks previous when I was 19.5 weeks pregnant and had been admitted for heavy bleeding and clots.

Hours before this admission, I’d been to the women’s health unit for what was my 3rd early scan due to various scares since 8 weeks. As per they said “we can’t see any reason for the bleeding” and said baby boy looked healthy. They suggested low lying placenta with a shrug and sent me on my way.

As I walked down the halls of the hospital, I felt the blood trickle out of me and into the pad. By the time I got home, it was evident that this wasn’t stopping and that this wasn’t normal and I immediately went straight to A&E, which lead me to being taken to the birth centre at just 19.5 weeks pregnant.

As scared as I was, I felt relieved that my condition was finally being taken seriously but I had no idea that this would be the beginning of such an emotional rollercoaster. My body showed no signs of wanting to let Eli go yet; cervix closed, plenty of amniotic fluid, no pain just blood – and a lot of it. He was ‘happy as Larry’, strong heartbeat, no abnormalities, tests all clear. I felt his little fluttery kicks every morning. Maybe this wasn’t a miscarriage.

I stayed in the birth centre for 2 days, listening to the emotional cries of new mothers and their newborns come into this world. A bed designed for birth not comfort. Patiently waiting to be told if this was the end or if it was just a bump in the road. I even managed to laugh and try and reassure everyone around me that I was OK and that I’d get through this. And then I remember Dave squeezing onto the birthing bed with me and I fell apart as he held me. And in that moment we had to open our hearts to the possibility we may be saying goodbye to our boy and I already knew in that moment I’d have to see him and hold him. I had to meet the small person I’d created and who had been with me for the past 5 months.

And I sat there feeling such an imposter. Half a bump, miles away from being in their position

Another morning came and my bleeding had slowed down, cervix still closed, so they sent me up to the birth ward – a mixture of fresh mums, mums waiting to be induced, mums post-caesarean etc. And I sat there feeling such an imposter. Half a bump, miles away from being in their position, in fact not even knowing if that would be me at all. But it was a good sign to be out of immediate signs of miscarriage.

Now imagine my dread, when they tell me Dave can’t stay overnight in this bit. My heart dropped. As much as I knew he needed a bed for the night and not a chair or the floor, he’d been my rock and I felt like something bad could happen at any moment and he wouldn’t be here.

We both said goodbye through tears and apprehension and I remember feeling so bewildered that this was happening. I felt physically drained, my iron was rapidly dropping and I was struggling to eat much. In this time frame I’d had more scans and we listened to Elis heartbeat twice a day. He was doing amazing considering what my body was going through.

After a few more days, it was evident the bleeding wasn’t stopping but it was lighter so they let me go home after an iron infusion and a prescription for iron tablets. A moment of hope.

I think I managed to be home around 5 days? And then I lost a huge clot again so I called the hospital and unsurprisingly, got admitted to the birth centre again.

In this next stint before Eli’s arrival, we took many journeys back and forth back to the ward, back to a birthing room, back to the ward, back to a birthing room etc. All dependent on my level of bleeding and clots. We laughed that we’d seen nearly every room at this point, even happy when I was in one with fairy lights. I’d had the same discussion with each doctor that had been on shift about the possibility of losing Eli and the fact that at some point, due to slowly getting more and more poorly, still bleeding, I may have had no choice but to put my life before his. Eventually, a doctor came to tell me again and I said I physically cannot hear this anymore, I know what may happen and I don’t need a different doctor every day to tell me it in a different way. They decided that it was time to get him out if I had to keep having blood transfusions, so we kept on doing what we were doing until that point.

In the midst of all this, they discovered I had a subchorionic haemorrhage, also known as a subchorionic hematoma, which is bleeding that occurs between the uterine wall and the chorion membrane. It didn’t change the outcome or the treatment but I guess now we knew why I was bleeding so much. All we could do now was try and wait for a ‘safer’ week to get Eli out early and consider a hospital that had better neonatal care. We were given information on what to expect from 22 weeks onwards (the stage I was at by this point) and the statistics for survival and what care would be given. 4 days before Eli came into the world, we were told an ambulance was coming to take us from the hospital we were to one that could better manage such a premature baby, and right until we were about to leave, the consultants changed their mind and felt I was better to stay put for now.

Around 2 days before I went into natural labour, my mood dropped and I just felt like I had nothing left to give. I didn’t want visitors; I didn’t want positivity. I just wanted to know what the hell my future looked like.

Then it began.

I was back up on the ward at this point in a private room, and I began with back pain and cramps…and I knew my body had had enough.

I held the consultant’s hand and he said “it’s time”, but I knew. I knew that this story wasn’t having a happy ending and I knew my body had failed my baby boy, yet at the same time succeeded by wanting to save me.

I was terrified I’d be in pain with no reward, but thankfully I had an epidural and 30 minutes later I’d dilated enough for Eli to come, a few pushes still necessary however. Because he was so small, I gave birth to him inside his sack and the midwifes warned me that he was unlikely to survive the birth for such a premature stage but there was a possibility he would make it and I’d have to say goodbye with him in my arms.

Miscarriage just didn’t feel right for this experience. It was birth. I gave birth.

At 1am exactly, he was born sleeping.

At this stage, things become a blur, Eli had acted like a plug and with him now out, the blood began to flow and I just kept seeing midwives carry soaked up bedding to weigh.

My legs numb, cannulas in both arms, Dave by my side for every moment holding my hand. Miscarriage just didn’t feel right for this experience. It was birth. I gave birth.

It didn’t actually take long for the bleeding to settle, I was informed the blood that soaked the bed was old that had been ‘plugged’ by Eli…and it made sense why I had begun to feel so poorly, now being treated for sepsis.

A few hours passed by and I’d still not been able to face seeing Eli. I didn’t want my legs to be numb, I wanted to greet my son feeling more human, how that was possible I don’t know.

I slowly managed to walk to the bathroom once my legs had woken up to shower but fainted on the way, the midwife and Dave holding me up while I’m none the wiser this had happened.

I have never felt so vulnerable, yet so held in my whole life sat in that shower naked, with this angel of a midwife helping me use a flannel to wash my empty, and lifeless body. But now I was clean and all evidence of birth was rinsed down the plughole with my dignity.

At this stage, we were taken to the bereavement room which was a blessing. A normal double bed so we could finally lay beside one another and here, we would meet our boy.

To this day, I can’t even tell you how surprised I was at how beautiful Eli was. I prepared for the worst I’ll be honest…I had no idea what to expect.

How was it possible that a 22.5-week-old baby can already look like his dad?

But instead, I’m passed a tiny baby, in a tiny blue hat, wrapped in a blanket. With his tiny hands and his tiny toes. How was it possible that a 22.5-week-old baby can already look like his dad. We all cried. And I kissed his little hands and stroked his cheek and knew this moment didn’t need a camera to be captured. It would forever be imprinted in my mind.

We asked if we could keep his hat and we had his hand and feet prints done. We also had 2 small identical heart pillows; one was given to him with our perfume/aftershave on and we kept the other. So, he had our heart and we had his ❤️

We cried most of the day in bed together in that room and just wanted to get home and begin our grieving process without me needing medical attention…but then that moment came, the maternity leggings, the 5000 bags of stuff we’d accumulated and the depressing walk down the hall of the birth centre without a baby in a car seat. (You know the photo).

I feel like my grieving process is a story of its own. And the above story is a lot to process as it if. So, I may be called to write about that too.

But I would like to take this opportunity to thank every single person who has supported me through this experience.

Especially Dave. He will never understand how deeply grateful I am for the man he is and I know what he had to go through alongside me. And what makes this worse is the way he handled it all, just showed me even more what an amazing dad he would have been (or is).

I’ve been the most broken version of myself I have ever been. With constant triggers to navigate. Body changes to accept. Memories that can’t be erased.

Yet I still see light and hope and all the other good things this world still has for me – and maybe this is Eli, the light and hope still running through my blood, still part of me.

Never underestimate how powerful and how special it is to create, grow and hold life within you. Because despite all I’ve said, I still feel grateful that I got to grow life for 22 weeks…and that’s a miracle in itself.