“Baby is gone”: My Second Trimester Loss
At 00:15 on 21st January 2025 my baby was born inside her sac. She hung from me by her tiny spaghetti like cord as the midwife held her to try clamp the cord. I was in awe at how perfectly human she was and not this alien I was half expecting. What do you expect a 16-week-old baby to look like? Just 30 hours earlier I had been told my baby had died. I was on my own. I called my husband who had no idea anything was wrong and told him his baby was dead. I text my mum and sister “baby is gone”. I had no words. It all felt wrong.
12 days prior, on a Friday afternoon, I started getting chills, dizziness and a headache. By the Sunday I started passing pink mucus discharge and having some abdominal pain in my lower pelvis. I called triage and the midwife said it sounded like flu/COVID and thrush (I did not agree). These symptoms continued for around a week, despite antibiotics from GP for suspected UTI and thrush treatment recommended by triage but I got no better.
On Sunday 19th January, day 10 of being ill, I started leaking pink water and getting stronger pains. I called triage that evening and after much reluctance from the midwife on the phone she agreed for me to come in but stated ‘I would not be eligible for a scan’ even though I never asked to be scanned…
“She asked me three times if there was anyone that could come and be with me. ‘No,’ I replied. My husband was abroad.”
Once admitted to triage the midwife that saw agreed it looked like my waters had gone and informed me the consultant was going to come scan me. The look on her face said it all really. She asked me three times if there was anyone that could come and be with me, “No” I replied each time as my husband was unfortunately abroad. Soon after the consultant came and scanned me “I’m sorry there’s no heartbeat. Your baby has died” it felt like a movie, an alternate reality, a cruel joke. My baby was dead.
I was in hospital for 4 days. I was already in labour when I was admitted (though subsided after a few hours) and because of 2 previous caesarean sections, medical management was decided the best approach to lessen the risk of my scar rupturing and requiring another section.
I never held her, but I’m glad I have some memories with her — handprints, time beside her, and the image of her perfect little form.
The following morning sepsis was mentioned, I had two ‘nasty’ infections with markers over 220 for one which was initially rising. I dread to think what would have happened if I hadn’t gone in when I did. After I birthed my baby, I spent a full day with her thanks to a cuddle cot available in the bereavement suite I was in. I actually cut open her amniotic sac to meet her properly and made handprints and memories with her, though I never held her, I’m glad I have some memories with her.
No one knows what to say to someone’s who has lost a baby, especially a ‘miscarriage’. I was at that awkward stage of second trimester loss, passed that ‘safe’ mark.
We had told loads of people. I had a visible bump. Our children knew. We were making plans. Looking at cars. Picking names.
I remember having to tell my mum to cancel my hair appointment as I would be given birth to my dead child instead. I asked my sister tell my children’s nursery teachers what had happened so I didn’t have to when I eventually saw them. So many people we had to ‘untell’. I am so grateful for my sister during this time, she was essentially my birthing partner due to the unfortunate circumstances of my husband being unable to be with me.
I have since put I’m a complaint regarding the triage calls as I felt my concerns weren’t listened to and the delay in my care resulted in my husband not being with me. It most likely wouldn’t have made a difference to my baby living as she possibly passed around the 14-week mark but we will never know. It haunts me to think I could have gone into septic shock whilst caring for my two young toddlers (1 & 3).
We were having a baby. Now we’re not.
I would never want anyone else to experience this loss. To sit at their own child’s funeral.
I feel numb. It doesn’t feel real. I just want my daughter.
We were having a baby. Now we’re not.
I grieve for the person she could have been. The sister my children would have had. The joy she would have brought to our lives.
Our little star. Bigger than the whole sky.
Baby Mackinnon
