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The Longest Weekend – My Stillbirth Story

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Writing the beginning of our stillbirth story was quite emotionally draining, but also quite cathartic. It feels good to see it in black and white and published for anyone to read, because it is important not to brush stories such as these under the carpet. I received so many wonderful comments, either through Facebook, Twitter, on the blog or personal messages. I am sorry that it made you most of you cry, but I can’t guarantee any further posts won’t. Apologies for that.

So anyway I am ready with the next chapter; the weekend we spent at home before going back into hospital. Again some parts of that weekend are crystal clear, others a bit more blurry.

Adam and I arrived home from the hospital around tea time. I spent the next 48 hours barricaded in the house. I couldn’t bear to leave. I didn’t want anyone to see my pregnant tummy, whether I knew them or not. Strangers have a habit of talking to pregnant women (absolutely nothing wrong with that and quite understandable), but I couldn’t cope with the thought of anyone approaching me and asking questions.

Adam took me upstairs and got me into bed. I couldn’t think of doing anything else. I can’t remember how long we’d been home before my mum and dad arrived. They’d been over at my brother’s house in Stockport and driven back as soon as Adam rang them. Understandably they were inconsolable. We had to explain what had happened (the first of many explanations) and what was going to happen. They were both so upset and mum couldn’t stop crying. It was then that I realised that it wouldn’t just be our own grief we had to deal with, but that of our parents, family and friends. Not only would our parents grieve for their lost grandchild, but also cope with feelings of helplessness for the pain and suffering that their children were going through. I remember a feeling of mild panic. Hang on. I can’t handle anyone else’s grief. I need to focus on mine and Adam’s.

I can’t remember how long they stayed. An hour. Two? My dad drove Adam back to the hospital to collect his car, which he’d had to leave there. After that, Adam barricaded himself too and hibernated with me, at least I don’t remember him leaving. At some point he rang his mum and dad to break the terrible news. They live in New Zealand so he had to wait until a reasonable hour to ring, which wasn’t in the middle of the night for them. I started a process of ringing my friends. This was a quick learning curve. I rang two of my closest friends. When they answered, I burst into tears and blurted out ‘I’ve lost the baby’. There was stunned silence on the other end. Understandably so. Eventually they managed to speak, I started my explanations, they began to console me. I had to wait until late in the evening to ring one of my other best friends in Australia. I think she had an inkling something was wrong with the urgent sounding texts I sent. After those phone calls, I decided to start sending texts instead to break the news. I felt that it would be more helpful for people to deal with the shock first, without me waiting for a response on the other end of the phone. The news was shocking and being able to digest it without having to think of comforting words and ‘saying the right thing’ would be easier.

At some point both my brothers rang, one in Stockport, the other in America. My Stockport brother wanted to come and visit the following day. He said that they would leave their 8 month old son with his other grandparents, in case seeing him upset us. This was another important milestone. Seeing another baby. I spoke to Adam and we agreed that we should see our nephew. Although it would be hard, we knew we wouldn’t be able to avoid seeing babies when we emerged into the ‘real world’, so it would only be a positive to see him. I am so glad we made that decision. I can still see my nephew now when I saw him for the first time, sat on our sofa, smiling with the pure innocence that only a baby has. It made me so happy to see him and I didn’t feel any regret.

Sleep wasn’t really our friend that weekend. It happened in fits and starts. We went to bed with the light on. On Friday night I remember going to bed but then getting up and spending a lot of the night downstairs. This was the time I used to absorb the Sands website and read story after story written by countless parents in similar situations. I cried a lot. At one point I cried so loudly that it woke Adam up and he came down to comfort me.

We had a lot of cuddles from our cats that weekend. Call me odd, but I am sure they knew that something was wrong. I’m sure they could sense our unhappiness and sadness. They were more loving and attentive than usual. Pets definitely have a sixth sense.

Although we didn’t want to see tonnes of people, we let down our barriers to allow other close friends and family visit. It stopped us going stir crazy. At this point I was starting to feel a lot more pain and was less mobile than before. I don’t think I moved much from the sofa and definitely didn’t even consider getting dressed. I have one vivid recollection of my mum’s cousin turning up on the Saturday night. I opened the door and she was stood in the dark, in the wind and rain and she just simply said ‘I had to come’. She didn’t need to say anything else.

Adam and I made the pact that I have written about before. That we would talk about anything and everything, no matter how silly or embarrassing we thought it might be. He was such an incredible source of comfort to me that weekend (and every day since). Some men are not good at expressing their thoughts or feelings, or dealing with emotions. Adam is not like that. Many people have said how strong I have been and how well I coped. That may seem true, but I couldn’t have done it without Adam. He was my rock then, and every day since.

On the Sunday, we started to make preparations to go back into hospital. We’d been advised to go in for about 6pm (unless labour started sooner), so the day really dragged. We had to pack our bags. There was no excited and careful planning of what to pack, which is usually what happens with a maternity hospital bag. Just a case of throwing in the necessities.

We had, however been advised to bring a couple of specific items. I can’t remember if it was the midwife we had seen on Friday, or through the Sands website.

  • A camera to take photos of our baby. I was unsure about whether it was appropriate to pack it at the time. Now I am so glad that we did.
  • An outfit to dress him in. Because I was only 32 weeks, we didn’t have lots and lots of clothes at that point. Just a few bits and pieces that I had started to pick up. We sat together going through the tiny clothes. We both cried knowing our baby would never wear them. In the end we chose a Very Hungry Caterpillar vest.
  • A small toy. Adam’s boss had bought a beautiful little elephant, for Christmas I think, to give to our baby when it arrived. We packed this too.

In the late afternoon, I had a bath. I had started to get very weak contractions at this point, but wanted to feel as fresh as possible before going in. I remember looking at my tummy sticking out of the bath and willing it to move. So it could all have been a big mistake.

It wasn’t.

Time to leave and make the short journey back to the Lancashire Women and Newborn Centre at Burnley General Hospital. We parked up and realised that we had no change for the parking meter. Thanks to the lovely staff at the hospital we were let off under the circumstances.

The walk to the birth suite seemed to go on for ever. Then we had to open those doors, and see those beautiful baby canvasses again. We went to the desk and asked for Elaine, our midwife from Friday. I think we both broke when giving a brief explanation of why we were there. Quickly we were ushered into a delivery room. And onto the next chapter of our lives……

What’s in a name?

Growing up I didn’t really have a nickname. But that didn’t last for very long when I started university. It was a bit of a ritual to be given a nickname in the first few weeks. And almost 20 years on (ok that really makes me feel old!), mine still refuses to be forgotten. To be honest I don’t mind. I quite like it actually.


Don’t worry, I’ll explain. Without boring you too much, in Fresher’s Week there was an event at the Student Union bar. I’d maybe had a wee bit too much to drink (it was Fresher’s Week after all) and maybe got a wee bit too feisty with some students from a ‘rival’ hall of residence. A few weeks later it was reported in our Hall newsletter that the Ginger Ninja from Burnley had started a fight. And so the Ninja part stuck. Ok so the part about me starting a fight wasn’t strictly quite true, but I wasn’t going to let an elaboration of the truth get in the way of a good urban legend … and a good nickname!

Some of my close friends don’t even use my real name (I think they have forgotten what it is). They have even taught their children to call me Auntie Ninja. I wonder if they will still use it when I am sat in my rocking chair with grandchildren at my feet!

2 Rainbow picture

Two rainbows (I didn’t take this… I wish I had!)


So where does the title of my blog come from? An Angel and Two Rainbows. The name describes our children. Our Angel – Ewan, our eldest son who died before he was born and his two younger brothers Dylan and Jude, our Rainbows . The term ‘Rainbow baby’ is used to describe a baby that is born following a still birth, infant death or miscarriage. I had never heard this term before until I became pregnant with Dylan (our second baby). The rainbow represents beauty, colour and brightness following the darkness and misery of a storm. I keep finding these words below on the internet. I’m not sure where it comes from:

“Rainbow Babies” is the understanding that the beauty of a rainbow does not negate the ravages of the storm.

When a rainbow appears, it doesn’t mean the storm never happened or that the family is not still dealing with its aftermath.

What it means is the something beautiful and full of light has appeared in the midst of the darkness and clouds.

Storm clouds may still hover but the rainbow provides a counterbalance of colour, energy and hope.

I can’t remember when I first heard the term, but I think it is such a lovely description. Some friends of ours tragically lost their baby boy about 18 months after Ewan died. A year later they had a baby girl – they gave her Rainbow as a middle name. How beautiful and special for her.

I’d been musing about a blog title for a few days and wasn’t happy with anything I thought of. Then, when I was out for a run, with my head clear the name just popped into my brain. I knew straight away given the things that I wanted to write about, it was the perfect name. I was so happy that I ran an extra lap around the reservoir!

When I was pregnant, Ewan was always our number one boy’s name. I remember being on holiday when I was about 8 weeks pregnant and we started to tentatively and excitedly talk about names. We knew we probably shouldn’t at that early stage. Anyway there was no contest with Ewan and Adam and I were in complete agreement.

We found out that Ewan had died two days before he was born. Friday 14th January 2011. We spent the weekend at home before we went back into hospital on the Sunday to give birth. We decided to finalise names before going in. Adam and I had an agreement early on that we would be honest with each other and talk about anything, no matter how we felt. We talked about how we weren’t sure whether to use the name Ewan (I think I was the one who brought it up). Because it was our favourite name. The one we had always wanted. If we used it for our baby who wasn’t going to live, then we couldn’t use it again if we were lucky enough to have another boy. So we started to think of other names. I can’t even recall what the suggestions were. It doesn’t really matter because we quickly realised that none of them seem right. So we decided to go with our first choice.

A few days later after Ewan was born, Adam said to me that he was so glad that we went with our hearts and chose our favourite name. Because it was our special name and our angel was, and will always be, so very special. If we had chosen any other name, it would have been like saying Ewan was second best. When he was anything but. In hindsight it now seems almost ridiculous that we had that initial conversation. Why did we ever think that we wouldn’t call him Ewan? But also in hindsight I remember that we were in a state of real shock and despair, and that helps me understand.

Whilst we were able to pick Ewan’s name easily, it took us a long time to agree on Dylan and Jude, our two Rainbows. Not down to me I might add. Adam was the fussy one (you know the episode of Friends where Ross and Rachel are trying to pick names? – Adam veto-ed almost everything I suggested!). I love all three names, but Ewan? It’s just that extra bit special.