I admit that before Tilly was born I had never heard of maternity bereavement suites. I guess I had never had reason to and to be honest I wish I still didn't. Ignorance was bliss.
After Tilly was born, I experienced 2 bereavement suites; The Halycon Suite at the RVI in Newcastle and due to some complications I also experienced the Willow Suite at the RLI in Lancaster. The following blog post is therefore drawn from my experiences at these two.
A bereavement suite is a room, usually on or close by to the delivery suite/labour ward. It is a room where women either give birth to their babies or where they go, as a family, after their babies have been delivered elsewhere. As the name suggests, the mums and dads that stay in these suites are the parents of babies that have so sadly, passed away.
They are wonderful rooms, designed with such compassion and care. They are often sound proofed or far enough away from other rooms so that you can't hear women in labour or even more importantly, babies crying. They have cool cots so that your baby can stay by your side for as long as you need. They have an en-suite so you don't have to go out of the room and bump into other parents. They have tea and coffee making facilities so you don't have to ring the call bell every time you want a cuppa and you can make your visitors a drink. They have a fridge so you can bring food and drink in and make yourself at home. They have a spare bed or a sofa bed so that your partner never has to leave your side or your baby's side. A TV to make life feel a little more normal even though it is anything but. The Willow Suite at Lancaster even has a little garden with a water feature and a place to sit, even if it is just so that you can escape from your reality for 10 minutes. But then they also have cupboards, cupboards full of blankets, hats and cardigans lovingly knitted by members of the public and charities wishing to show their support to bereaved families and their babies. Babies who are so often born too soon and may not have even been bought any clothes yet by their parents. I'm not sure I was really meant to open said cupboards but when I did it really stung. It stung because I knew that we weren't going to be the last family using this room. That is a sobering thought in itself.
An even more sobering thought is that some hospitals do not have these suites. Some women have to give birth to their lifeless babies and then be around other women and newborns, whilst their precious baby lies next to them in a cool cot. Some families have to make daily visits to the morgue to see their baby because they can't face saying goodbye just yet. I'm not sure I can think of many things more heartbreaking than this.
Ian and I were lucky enough to spend 4 days with Tilly in the Halcyon suite after she passed away. It's a very strange place to be really. You live in a surreal little bubble, a bubble where you are happy that you are now a mum, getting to spend time with your first born but then devastated that they are not breathing, or crying, or needing you. Your smiles turn to tears within an instance and vice versa.
I guess this is more of a thank you, to the hospital staff, the charities and the fundraisers that make bereavement suites possible. Even though they never lessened the grief or the heartache, I know that without them, my mind would be in a very different place to where it is now.
After Tilly was born, I experienced 2 bereavement suites; The Halycon Suite at the RVI in Newcastle and due to some complications I also experienced the Willow Suite at the RLI in Lancaster. The following blog post is therefore drawn from my experiences at these two.
A bereavement suite is a room, usually on or close by to the delivery suite/labour ward. It is a room where women either give birth to their babies or where they go, as a family, after their babies have been delivered elsewhere. As the name suggests, the mums and dads that stay in these suites are the parents of babies that have so sadly, passed away.
They are wonderful rooms, designed with such compassion and care. They are often sound proofed or far enough away from other rooms so that you can't hear women in labour or even more importantly, babies crying. They have cool cots so that your baby can stay by your side for as long as you need. They have an en-suite so you don't have to go out of the room and bump into other parents. They have tea and coffee making facilities so you don't have to ring the call bell every time you want a cuppa and you can make your visitors a drink. They have a fridge so you can bring food and drink in and make yourself at home. They have a spare bed or a sofa bed so that your partner never has to leave your side or your baby's side. A TV to make life feel a little more normal even though it is anything but. The Willow Suite at Lancaster even has a little garden with a water feature and a place to sit, even if it is just so that you can escape from your reality for 10 minutes. But then they also have cupboards, cupboards full of blankets, hats and cardigans lovingly knitted by members of the public and charities wishing to show their support to bereaved families and their babies. Babies who are so often born too soon and may not have even been bought any clothes yet by their parents. I'm not sure I was really meant to open said cupboards but when I did it really stung. It stung because I knew that we weren't going to be the last family using this room. That is a sobering thought in itself.
An even more sobering thought is that some hospitals do not have these suites. Some women have to give birth to their lifeless babies and then be around other women and newborns, whilst their precious baby lies next to them in a cool cot. Some families have to make daily visits to the morgue to see their baby because they can't face saying goodbye just yet. I'm not sure I can think of many things more heartbreaking than this.
I guess this is more of a thank you, to the hospital staff, the charities and the fundraisers that make bereavement suites possible. Even though they never lessened the grief or the heartache, I know that without them, my mind would be in a very different place to where it is now.
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