Skip to main content

Tilly's Story- Part 5 - I Don't Want to Meet You Yet

Friday the 18th May came and I was now exactly 24 weeks pregnant. I'd had my scan that morning at around 9:00 and again, everything was stable. I felt so proud of her, so proud to be the mummy of this strong little human. We text our families the good news and they replied with relieved messages. Every week that passed was another hurdle that we had all overcome. Ian and I had started to live a little again, we had begun to relax. We arrived home from the scan and Ian headed out on his bike for the first time in months. Within half an hour of arriving home I noticed that I was leaking pink fluid. I phoned the community midwives and after a bit of going back and forth, I got a phone call from the delivery suite at my local hospital asking me to attend. I phoned Ian and told him what had happened and he drove me to the hospital. We joked saying the baby didn't want him to be getting on that bike. I began to think this was all a bit of an overreaction, it was just a little bit of fluid, nothing major. It wasn't like what you see on the TV when a lady's stood in a puddle in the middle of a supermarket screaming that her baby's coming.

We arrived at the delivery suite. All I could think was why was I here? This was for where women gave birth to their babies. My baby couldn't come now. She was only 24 weeks. I'd had it drummed into my skull by the Prof at Newcastle that my baby wasn't viable until at least 28 weeks and that there was zero percent chance of survival if she was born now. The dread and the anguish that had become so familiar began to wash over me again as I felt the reality of the situation hit.

The staff were lovely, the midwife that I had seen earlier that day at my scan came up to the ward to give me a hug and to wish me well. The Registrar came in and examined me and my worst fears were confirmed. At only 24 weeks, my waters had broken. I knew how bad this was. I cried tears like I've never cried before, tears of overwhelming sorrow. Even writing this now makes my heart physically ache as I recall the trauma of hearing them tell me this news. A Consultant then entered the room and explained to me that I was to be transferred to Newcastle by ambulance. The paramedics and an escort midwife arrived and we made the now familiar journey up the North East. I was sick with motion sickness and anxiety en route, I just wanted to shut my eyes and block it all out. The paramedic however had other ideas; she chattered at me the whole way about her pregnant daughter and her baby grandson, showing my pictures of him when he was born. It is only now that I realise that I have been far too polite to people over the last 16 weeks.



Comments

Popular posts from this blog

The Halcyon Suite

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 ...

Maternity Leave with Empty Arms - 3 months

3 months ago today, on the 26th May, we welcomed our first born Tilly to the world. Then just 34 minutes later our hearts shattered as we had to say goodbye. I struggle with thinking about the "what ifs" because there are so, so many and they can be very confusing and painful for my grieving mind. What if she had survived being born at 25+1 weeks? I imagine even 3 months later that I probably would still be sitting next to her in Neonatal Care, reading to her, holding her hand and willing her to be strong. And then what if everything had been fine, what if I'd had a normal, healthy pregnancy? I imagine being 38+2 weeks pregnant. I imagine being pretty uncomfortable by now, hurrying up the weeks ahead. I imagine a finished nursery filled with freshly washed, new clothes for our eagerly awaited arrival. I imagine our beautiful pram in the corner of our living room; the pram that we had to cancel when our world fell apart. I remember reading the maternity policy at work wh...

Tilly's Story: Part 8 - Welcome to the World Little One

That evening after my MRI scan, I felt totally exhausted. Ian and I sat in the day room watching Coronation Street but I just wanted my bed. A discomfort in my abdomen that I had been aware of all day had started to worsen. I waddled back down to my room but by now I could hardly bear to sit down. The pain was worsening by the second. Ian helped me onto the bed and went to find a midwife. I'm not sure exactly what he said to her, maybe there wasn't enough urgency in his voice. All I know is that she didn't come quick enough. I remember seeing her sauntering down the corridor chatting away to a student midwife as I writhed around the bed in pain, my bump now beginning to feel like it was on fire. I had never felt pain like it. Things began to happen very quickly after this and my memory of it all starts to become a bit patchy. So forgive me if this post may seem a little disjointed. Maybe the patchiness is because of the drugs they started to plough into me or maybe it...