The past few days 15 weeks and 3 days after Rosie’s death and birth I have been crippled by grief.

I’ve had a run of being really positive not letting my heartache take over me. I’ve gained a couple of job interviews and tried to prepare for them, i’ve seen friends and spoken about what I can do to help others  and then the creeping of grief came to me and kidnapped the person I was trying to be. Fighting the dark sack over my head suffocating me with grief. Suddenly I am struck with a crippling disease that I try to fight but can’t. My mind goes to death and loss, it tortures me with the sinking feeling of missing Rosie. Reliving the moments of pregnancy when I didn’t appreciate all of the time I had with Rosie, if only I had treasured those nine months more. If only I was strong enough to not have pain relief so I could remember more details of my labour. If only I could stop thinking about Rosie now. I Just want to forget the pain, to forget the pain i’d have to forget Rosie. This week I have been willing to forget Rosie so I can get out of my kidnapped mind.
Suddenly my legs are so weak I cannot walk alone. My body is so rejective I feel sick after food. Usually I’m great at handling sympathy after all the practise losing Rosie has given me. Now I feel the sympathy tornado coming towards me picking me up and slamming me from rock to concrete. The grains of sand I find in my shoes are the pieces of me breaking away just falling all around. Eyes itching with tired soreness, knees tapping away trying to find some bit of desperate act to keep my mind occupied and away from the death of my daughter. Watching and counting every tap and tut, listening for every inhale and exhale wondering if the last one is coming soon. An anxiety has overcome me, even walking out of my front door takes painkillers.
Today, yesterday, grief has crippled me and I don’t know when I will be able to smile genuinely again. There is no cure for grief. This is a life sentence.
I Know it won’t be like this everyday but today it is, tomorrow seems a long way off.


The Fear of the Known

When I actually aclimatised to Rosie‘s death; when I was no longer in disbelief, no longer living a horrible nightmare I was going to wake up from, wishing to wake up from, pleading to wake up from. When I finally stopped feeling numb to my dead daughter, when I reaslised this had happened to me, to us I felt the feeling of fearlessness.

I still had a fear of seeing pregnant women and babies but life, death, pain I didn’t have a sense of fear to this any longer. Although Rosie’s death had struck me to my core I had things to do, a funeral to plan, new people to talk to, death certificate to register, medications to collect, pictures to take, I looked forward to these things because it meant I wasn’t sat thinking. To anyone going through grief time and space is one of the scariest things to face. Thinking becomes your enemy. Time becomes the monster creeping up on you with tiny slow motion steps. At least when I was planning things as horrible as they were I had something to do, I had something to do for my baby. I didn’t realise at the time how important and precious those funeral arrangements and stillbirth certificate would be later on. They were the only mum things I got to do for my daughter and I used them as an excuse to get away from my thoughts. For the first few weeks I just felt numb although at the time I didn’t realise it because I was devastated, I was crying everyday, I was stuck in the bubbling tar of death. I was the one consoling every one else, I told my father in law not to think of it as a bad year but as something horrible that happened but will end in a positive light, I told my mother in law I loved her for the first time. I said sorry to other people for my baby dying. I hugged people when they saw my cracked red face and said to them “everything will be okay”. I was the one holding everyone else up, telling people not to be sad because we still got nine months of Rosie growing, not to feel sorry because she didn’t have to live in a cruel world now. As cruel as this world is I would give my life for my baby to feel the love from those that would have surrounded her, even if it meant she wouldn’t feel my love. I remember the words that cut through the delivery room when I realised my Rose was dead I cried out in complete despair and honesty “if my baby is dead i want to be dead too” I then took constant breaths of gas and air and tried to slip away into death myself. At that point my blood pressure shot up and nurses surrounded me calling me, I didn’t hear their voices I only heard one voice, Andrew, all he did was say my name over and over, I fought off what I was trying to do and opened my eyes to his face, I tried to die twice more after that, whether I would have achieved it or not I don’t know but I know just how much I wanted to be dead and with my baby at that time, I wanted it so much I was willing to break my heart for it. Andrew stopped me completing my wish; I loved him and hated him for it at that point. He stopped me doing what I wanted to do by pure love. Now the weeks and months after Rosie’s death (14 weeks and 6 days) Andrew has pulled me through. When I was numb I just wanted to push him away. I wanted to lose him, just to get this great love out of my life so I could be completely broken hearted and die. All I wanted to do was to be with my baby. Andrew was the obstacle stopping me from being with Rosie. As much as I pushed him away, accused him of things, told him I wanted him to leave me and be happy with someone else, he never would. He never once listened to me, which is where his manly unlistening technique has finally come in useful, he stuck by me every step of the way. What an amazing person to have so much grief and despair thrown at him and to survive it with a smile on his face.

I had no way out so I became fearless, not willingly, I suppose it was what came from being stuck in the sinking, bubbling tar that is grief. When we walked to the funeral home to see Rosie I would be full of positivity. I put make up on, my best dress, did my hair beautifully and got extremely excited because I was going to see my baby. I wanted to make her proud and took great care in my appearance. Although I knew she wasn’t going to open her eyes I wanted to make a good impression for her. After we had changed her, the first and only time I have ever gotten to change my baby was full of tears, blood and snot. We looked at her face for so long, it was truly beautiful to see her and remember that she was real she had existed. I stroked her face. I held her in my arms one last time, it felt amazing. Holding her lifeless body wasn’t traumatic it was truly amazing. The moment I became mummy again after I had given birth. That mummy time was taken away all too quickly when the funeral home was about to close and we had to say goodbye forever. She’d be nailed into her coffin that night and i’d have no chance of seeing her face in person ever again. This is the day I became fearless. Walking back from the funeral home in the light sprinkling of snow and icy sludge on the roads I was quiet, running through my head was to step out in front of the cars,  just stop and turn into the road. I did, I took one foot up and pointed it out. I was ready. I was pulled back before I even moved my foot into a full swing. Andrew had full control over my actions, he squeezed my hand hard and pulled me into him. I forgot he was there. I forgot that I wasn’t alone in all of this. I didn’t say a word to him, I must have looked concise and planned as Andrew studied my face like he’d never seen me before. I didn’t speak a word going home. I just looked at cars and streets, I looked all around me for trouble, I was clinging on for trouble to come my way, when we got home I was hugely disappointed that nothing had happened.

After that I slowly started to thaw out, my numbness was replaced by blackness but my fearlessness had gotten stronger, I told strangers “my baby died” without a second thought leaving them with faces looking like they have been slapped by a slab of wet concrete stoning their faces permanently with sour shock.  I started going jogging at night and decided to walk across the busiest of roads without even looking first, I jogged down streets that I didn’t know in darkness, I went through abandoned parks and alleyways. I didn’t even realise how unsafe I was being. I agreed to a day at the theme park, going on the biggest and fastest roller coasters possible. I hate roller coasters, they had always frightened me but I felt nothing. I got involved in a fight happening outside of my house, I’ve always been one for helping others but this time I took it too far. I grabbed the girl that was hurt and took her into my home and then I left her and went looking for the guy that had hurt her, I didn’t know what was going to happen when I found him all I knew was I had to look for him. I even scorn and laugh at my enemies when I see them, wanting something anything to happen. When it doesn’t i’m filled with disappointment. I’m not scared of being fearless i’m scared that i’ll always be this way and one day when life is worth living I won’t be here.

Fearlessness is something that has happened to me because of Rosie’s death. I don’t know how to change it but I do know that i’m alive, alive for a reason or maybe several reasons and I will continue to live for as long as i’m needed. I don’t feel needed but I must be because here I am, and here are my typed words for you to read.

At least one positive thing has come from being fearless which is I am no longer scared of my in laws.

Daddy’s Lost Too: A Fathers Feelings

I’m sorry Mr Ainsworth, I can’t find the heartbeat.

These are the words i didn’t want to hear from a doctor whilst holding on to the hope of kindling new life in my hands. This is my perspective of the loss of my baby Rosie.

I have my beautiful wife lay in a bed holding on to my hand as the doctor scans to find the baby’s heartbeat. After what seems an eternity and a seven hour wait for this second opinion, it’s confirmed our daughter is dead. My heart sinks, my hand clamps around Hannah’s I bring her in close and hold her in a tight embrace. I Can’t believe and won’t believe what I have just heard. Amid the fuss and the overwhelming confusion Hannah didn’t really take in what had been said, so I composed myself and had to break the worst news to her in clear English, yet again both our hearts broke into a million shards of disbelief. Immediately a million questions fill my mind, questions we will never get answered. Some do. But most don’t.  All day at the hospital we were praying for our baby girl to be safe as we waited for that second opinion but every time someone new came into the room they were sympathetic and we didn’t know why. Did they know something we didn’t?

I have two dates in my life which mean more to me than anything, the first is the day I met Hannah. The second, the day I married her. I hold onto these two days when I have a sad day thinking of Rosie and how big she would be now and how pretty she would look in that cute dress we bought for her.  Every day that goes by I see her pram sat in the living room, I see her crib next to our bed and  my heart sinks again because I hear those fatal words clear as the first time they were spoken to me.

This whole experience is the hardest thing I personally have ever had to deal with and it takes its toll in every aspect of my life. It’s hard going to work because colleagues have children and are constantly moaning about them and also praising them. I want to scream just shut up and savour your children. My daughter is dead, do any of you realise the pain I feel when you complain about them, at least you have the gift of nurturing a life. When I look into my Hannah’s eyes i see our beautiful daughter and just want to hold onto her forever, it hasn’t  been easy on our marriage either but we talk and pull each other through our times of great sadness.

As a father I want people to recognise the feat my amazing wife went through for nine months to carry and protect our baby, she did everything the way the professionals suggested and took all the advice given. Now I’m lost because I don’t have a duty to protect my daughter from this world, nor the chance to have sleepless nights because she needs feeding or her bum changing. Instead I lie awake at night looking at her crib, hoping one day I’ll wake up from this dream and see her gorgeous smile and pretty eyes looking up at me awaiting me to hold and love her like a daddy should.

One time I remember hurt me like a sudden kick to the stomach was when I was walking through town and I saw a father from the ante natal class Hannah and I had taken, he was simply pushing his new baby in his pram. I stopped and just cried in anguish. To see a mum pushing a pram doesn’t affect me that much but to see this new Dad with his baby like nothing bad had ever happened in the world gave me that dark lurching sick feeling. That should be me, proud, frustrated, happy. I don’t have sleepless nights because our baby is keeping us up, I have sleepless nights because of pain and my wife’s constant nightmares. We don’t even have the chance to get away from this nightmare when we sleep. Image

I’m sure my wife will read this; I must say one thing. Hannah I love you with everything I am, and we can and will get through anything.

That goes for all other lost parents struggling with the same situation as us, it is so hard to come out of the other side but you must make sure that you talk every day about your feelings and be honest. Even if that day you just feel numb tell your partner and work through it together. Hannah and I are often at different stages of grief so we don’t realise sometimes that the other needs more support one day. Just take time to be together. Look at your partner’s nose and remember your baby, look into each other’s eyes and remember the beauty that you see you also gave to your baby. We always say that Rosie is still here, she is in our hearts and that is a beautiful thing to hold on to.

As a man I feel like I have to be strong, I have to let Rosie’s death affect me that little bit less so that I can pull Hannah out of this pit but sometimes I just want to be angry and weak. I wouldn’t cry in front of Hannah when she was in labour, I had to leave the room so I could cry, I had to make sure she was comfortable, I wanted to stop her pain so much that i clung on to any bit of strength I had and gave it to her. As a man, husband and Dad my job is to protect and carry on whatever happens. I feel lost now that I can’t protect my daughter, I don’t feel like a Dad and that is one of the most painful things I am coping with, trying to be strong whilst fatherhood has been ripped away from me. That prize we had won was taken away from us, that beautiful handful of a prize has been taken and left me feeling lost too.


Don’t drop the baby

At those times when you’re on your own you think you’re fine, you’ve managed to smile a few times even managed not to cry on the bus looking at the mum cooing over her baby. You broke the news of your baby dying to someone who didn’t know without stumbling on your words and then suddenly you feel completely lost. You fall back to the bottom of  that black pit you keep trying to climb out of. You see the black cloud approaching and wish you had someone to talk to just to keep the cloud at bay.
This is how i feel now. I want to die. I do not plan on dying any time soon but if somehow i could be dead now i would be. It isn’t wrong to feel like this. Lots of people try to tell you you’re being stupid for feeling suicidal but you aren’t. I simply want to be with my baby and my baby isn’t on this earth anymore, the only way i could ever be with my baby, Rosie, is to be dead. It should be me taking care of her now. It isn’t wrong for me to feel this way because i’d be a bad mother if i didn’t want to take care of my child, to be with and love my child. People often take these feelings in the wrong way, especially counsellors. Do not ever be ashamed to say that you want to be with your baby because that is not wrong that is the right emotion it just isn’t right to act on that emotion.
At this point eleven weeks and four days after Rosie’s death and birth i keep trying to climb out of the black pit i’m in. I keep trying to forget about the pain i have. I have such an emotional pain that feels like its almost physical but no painkillers will ever stop it. Imagine the pins and needles tingling you get when you stop blood supply to a foot and then trying to walk on it. It feels like glass is piercing your skin but it isn’t a real pain, think of that pain but in your head, permenantly. Its a pain that won’t ever go away and can never be stopped. Many people say ‘time heals’ it doesn’t heal it just becomes easier to hide the pain, grief never becomes anything less, you just learn to live with it. I didn’t think i’d get as far as eleven weeks when Rosie died. Everyday i have a surprise meltdown, mainly a surprise to myself. Today i thought how strong i was and then i thought of Rosie in heaven asking God to make mummy and daddy happy again. We can never hope to be happy but we know that one day we will be content with happy moments. The aim for happiness is an aim you probably won’t succeed but it isn’t any reason to stop trying for happiness.
I have been told many stories from people who know parents to stillborn babies, i am usually told “my friend’s baby died but they have just had a baby girl/boy. So it turned out good in the end” this is a wrong statement. It didn’t turn out good in the end because their first baby is still dead, they still have that same grief from their first baby dying but they now have some joy as well. Do you see why it was a wrong statement? No parent will forget about their dead baby and the baby that survives after that isn’t an answer to their grief, it is added joy.

I want to make sure that you know grief will never leave any parent and no child can be replaced but even in this black pit there is light above and with help that light is obtainable. Looking down into the pit only gives you darkness and there will always be darkness in your life but where there is darkness light is soon to follow. Hold on for the light and if one day you find contentment you have obtained some of that light.
I went to a leaving party on sunday for two friends (the positive of positivity, the sort of people you love to love but hate to be around when you are full of darkness) there was a baby i grew close to when i was pregnant with Rosie. He was born on my wedding day in fact and when Rosie was seven and a half months in my tummy i held this baby boy on top of my Rosie bump where she kicked like mad, she kicked so much it made this baby boy cry. She had bullied him from the womb but i had high hopes that she’d become best friends with this baby boy. When i saw him at the party i had a bond with him but i didn’t want to be too close because it was bitter sweet. By the end of that party i had made the decision to hold him, i feared that it’d feel wrong holding someone else’s baby instead of my own but it felt absolutely nothing like holding my own baby. He felt nothing like Rosie did, this made me so joyous that i could remember how it felt to hold Rosie and that no other baby i would hold would ever feel like holding her. For any grieving parent that is scared of replacing their baby by holding someone else’s don’t let it stop you. Holding another baby will never feel like the one you held in your arms the day they were born.
I also faced two quite visibly pregnant friends which i’ll be honest was one of the hardest things i could have done since giving birth to Rosie. What you can do to help your situation is talk positivity over them because they are going to be scared for their baby now. If its happened to us it could happen to them,
just fill them with positivity and not fear. Let them know its hard for you and you are jealous of them and maybe they will be the ones that will be able to understand half of the way  grief has affected you.

Don’t drop the baby but let the baby drop into your conversation with honesty and love.


With or Without …. What to say to a grieving mum

A lot of people have reached the dilemma of asking me if i’m alright but not being completely sure what to say when my reply is an honest no. People are in shock at the word no. I like to call it the silent bomb, with this one word people go to bits or run as fast as they can. So what should you ask a woman who’s lost her baby instead?
Here are some less silent bomb questions:
‘How did your baby die?’ – i love to talk about my Rosie, i’m still a proud mum.
‘What advice can you pass on to other pregnant women?’ – i still carried my baby for nine months and got to know every part of her growing inside of me, i can still advise others because i went through it.
‘Is it hard for you?’ – always prepare for a yes answer, instead of asking if someone grieving such a hard loss is alright this is a better alternative.
‘Could i come and see you at some point?’ – this is a great question because a lot of people will distance themselves as they don’t know what to say but guess what a grieving mum still needs friends. I still need to know that people care. Although if you were pregnant at the same time and have had a healthy baby you will more than likely get your offer rejected. Not because of you but because you have the thing that a mum to a stillborn most wants a healthy living baby. Pregnant friends will also cause a problem for a mum with a dead baby because it brings back pain to see someone’s child growing. I’m very protective over pregnant women, I want to make sure they are well and getting the right treatment and care they deserve. I always ask my mum how pregnant friends are doing. Its hard being around pregnant women and babies so I stay away from them its a sense of jealousy that they are pregnant when I wish I was still pregnant and also they are most likely to have a baby born alive. It isn’t your fault you move on in life and have happiness but respect the mum who lost their baby and let her come to you when or if she will ever be ready.
‘Can i see some pictures?’ – again i’m still a proud mum even though my baby is dead i love to show her off to people, this is what i created. Pictures are all we have left and the most amazing feeling comes across when someone asks to see Rosie because she was a real person not just a baby.
‘Are you going to have more children?’ – great question there, its the question everyone wants to know but feels horrible for asking. In most stillborn cases women get pregnant within five months of their stillborn child being born. For me this is not the right decision as i couldn’t cope with grieving and feeling joyous at the same time. I am mentally unable to cope with pregnancy right now. Also i do not trust the hospital so i wouldn’t want them dealing with another child of mine.
‘How are you coping not having those mummy things to do for your baby?’ – expect an honest answer, but its great that someone has acknowledged that you are a mum with nothing mummy to keep you occupied. I often feel lost, my arms are always empty when they should be filled with my Rosie. My body is crying out for something to nurture and the constant reminder that you are a mum with no baby is a mind bender.
‘Do you want to hear a joke?’ – yes! Grief doesn’t make you lose your sense of humour, sometimes i feel guilty for laughing and smiling because i should be sad all the time as my baby isn’t here but its so great to laugh. Its wonderful that someone wants to make you laugh and smile and its a much better gift than a sympathy card or bunch of flowers.

Speaking of sympathy cards and flowers, when someone has given birth to a dead baby they have still achieved something amazing, carrying a baby for so long, forming a human inside of you, knowing a special bond. Its something to celebrate, you made your baby, you knew and grew your baby you just lost your baby at the final hurdle. It doesn’t mean you are any less proud of the baby you grew and carried you are sad that you aren’t carrying your bundle home but there is still a massive sense of pride and achievement. So please don’t send sympathy cards and flowers send congratulations cards, congratulating the person on doing a wonderful job but acknowledging that they have a sad loss. Don’t make their home which will be their sanctuary for a few weeks miserable. A reminder of death isn’t a good thing but a reminder of achievement is a positive thing you can do for that person.
17 babies are born dead per day in the UK this is all too common and stillbirth isn’t spoken about by any midwife or antenatal nurse during pregnancy so it feels like its a taboo subject, like you can only talk about it if its happened to you and then you join the secret club like its something to be swept under the carpet. The fact is we don’t know why this happens, there is no way to know why stillbirth happens apart from research which is done by post mortem on the dead baby. I chose not to have a post mortem because i didn’t want to see my beautiful baby cut up. Those that do choose post mortem are amazing people and should be so proud of themselves for helping babies of the future survive because of the research their baby provide. We need to talk about stillbirth more because it happens so much for absolutely no reason. It isn’t a dirty little secret, it happens and we need to find a way to stop it happening.


Here is my most treasured family portrait. My husband Andrew, me and our beautiful little Rose just after she was born. I show you my family portrait with pride and not sadness, my baby is beautiful but she was born in heaven and saw God‘s face first.

Lets have pride in our children that have died before they were born, they change the world and they change us.

I Planted A Rose In Heaven

This is a time that I need to write about. My life needs to flow from speeches in my head to words in the world.

My baby died. My baby Rosie was stillborn.

I was 39 weeks and five days pregnant when I gave birth to Rosie. She went the whole way being that miracle baby that would survive anything. When I first found out I was pregnant the doctor told me to terminate as the baby was most likely not going to survive the first three months. I didn’t take that doctor’s advice, instead I went to a different doctor who would support me and my pregnancy. This doctor made sure I was supported and made sure I had a specialist consultant to keep a closer eye on me.

At nine weeks pregnant I began to bleed so a friend took me to the women and children’s unit at Blackpool Victoria Hospital. The unit was closed, no one was about except a maintenance man whom kindly took me the the early pregnancy unit just a few flights of stairs up from where I was. The unit was closed as it was a Sunday, I didn’t know what to do and I didn’t even know my way out so I took to the stairs again hoping i’d know my way when I got back to the bottom. I got to the bottom of the stairs quicker than anticipated as I fell down them and they are stone steps too. I had hit my hip and my legs and finally landed on my hands at the bottom of the steps. As this happened two nurses were walking down the corridor holding their lunches seeing what happened they decided to ignore me. In a heap of a mess of the floor crying and worried, even more worried now actually. Not one person helped me so when I picked myself up I walked out of the doors and sat in front of the women and children’s unit on the floor crying. Exclaiming to my friend that if i was losing the baby i’d rather lose it at home because no one in the hospital was going to help me anyway. I then went home and prayed, two hours later I had stopped bleeding much to my delight. I still had a sprained ankle from the fall and bruises on my hip and hands but  the baby was still there. Still growing. In my 14th week of pregnancy at the consultant lead appointment another reason to get worried arose when the midwife couldn’t find the heartbeat of the baby by sound. Of course it was too early to hear a heartbeat at that time but being a first time mum I didn’t know that so again I began to panic and called my husband at work thinking we had lost the baby. Whilst my husband raced down to the hospital I had been in to an emergency scan and on the machine clear as day baby had a pumping heart. In the 28th week of pregnancy I hadn’t felt the baby move for two days, just as I was about to contact the midwife all of a sudden baby started kicking up a storm. The week after that I was in a car collision because I had gotten into a reckless taxi drivers car. This happened to be the first time I had ever put my seatbelt on in a taxi and it happened to stop me from being thrown through the windscreen. My tummy took full impact of the seatbelt so I was of course worried about the baby again. Rosie survived, she was fine, still making a fuss of herself in my tummy.


So after all of that happening for our baby to die suddenly was much of a shock to us. My husband and I definitely thought that Rosie was a miracle that would survive anything, after all she wasn’t even supposed to have lived in my womb after the first three months. The week leading up to my due date My husband had taken time off work so we could walk as much as we could and eat as much hot curry as we could in order to get her out that little bit earlier. That week we walked so much I told my husband that I needed just one day to rest because I was exhausted and it looked like Rosie was going to come out only when she was ready to. That night during rest my husband and I spent the night talking to Rosie asking her to come out and meet us, Andrew, my husband was rubbing my belly telling Rosie that she was his little princess and that he was always going to call her his princess and try as much as he could to treat her like one. Rosie kicked so hard when he was talking to her that it made us both laugh and fall in love with her even more. I told Rosie how I was jealous because I always wanted to be somebodies princess and I always wanted a daddy to love me as much as her daddy loved her. That night we got so much response from Rosie we just sat there looking at one another holding my belly and talking to her.  Her due date was 14th January 2013 I went into labour the day after I had a rest on the 12th January 2013. I went into labour at 4.56am feeling very excited that soon we were going to meet our Rose. Four hours into labour I was worried, I hadn’t felt the baby move and contractions were five minutes apart lasting three to four minutes. I rang the delivery suite at Blackpool Victoria Hospital where I was asked the usual questions ‘how far apart are the contractions’ ‘is there any bloody show‘ which there wasn’t ‘have your waters broken’ Not at that point they hadn’t although I couldn’t tell because I was mainly on the loo weeing during contractions and the most important question ‘is the baby moving normally’ to which I answered no, I haven’t felt my baby move at all during labour. I proceeded to tell the midwife on the phone that I was worried because there was no movement. My husband then asked if we could go in to which the midwife said no because it didn’t sound like we were in established labour. My husband said that I was in too much pain and I was very worried that the baby wasn’t moving. Again we were told to definitely not go in until we were in established labour. We did as the midwife on the phone told us, I got in the bath took painkillers and thought to myself that I was worrying too much because I was a first time mum. I thought if Rosie was in any sort of danger the hospital would have our best interests at heart and get us in straight away. So I kept a sharp watch on my baby’s movements, there were definitely none and I was in a severe amount of pain so two hours after we originally called the delivery suite we called again begging the midwife on the phone to let me come in because I was in too much pain to bare with. The midwife asked all the same questions like it was a script, no there was no bloody show, no we didn’t think my waters had broken but we couldn’t be sure and most importantly no the baby wasn’t moving. The midwife very sternly told me that I could only go in if I ate at least one piece of toast which I had been throwing up everything my husband gave me to eat before she told me to eat, I told her that and again begged to come in, only if I ate would they let me in. How kind of them to bend the rules just for me. It took me an hour to eat one piece of toast which I immediately threw up, it then took me fifteen minutes to get downstairs where I was greeted by a man plumbing in a washing machine into my mum’s kitchen, we weren’t sure if the washing machine was going to come first or the baby. You know what appliance men are like, they take forever. That poor man was greeted by a woman in labour shouting at him to move his washing machine so I could get out to the taxi, I think I even saw him break a sweat. If he thought plumbing a washing machine in was hard he almost had to help me with my plumbing area. After leaping out of the way and pushing a washing machine all on his own I managed to get out to the taxi. Probably one of the eldest taxi drivers I have ever had talked to us the whole time he was driving us to delivery unit about his children’s births. How I managed to smile politely every time he looked at me through the mirror rather than telling him to shut up unless he had any drugs i’ll never know. An hour and a half after calling the delivery suite again I then arrived, one midwife was assigned to me. She said I was one centimeter dilated which I was shocked about as my contractions were consistently five minutes apart. She then put the heart monitor around my belly to find Rosie’s heartbeat she said she heard it the first time but then after that took two different machines in with different leads some of which weren’t even plugged in and tried to find babies heartbeat again. She hadn’t found it after almost an hour of looking. In my opinion should there have been a doctor? Yes and should I have been treated as an emergency case even before I arrived at the hospital? Yes. The most crucial minutes of my Rosie’s life had been frittered away by one midwife not allowing us to come in when we first rang up worried and then by a midwife trying to do everything on her own not even checking equipment properly. The moments my baby had to survive were taken away by people who thought they knew best because they were the experts. It proves that some medical staff don’t listen to the patient and sometimes they even block the patient. Throughout my entire pregnancy I hadn’t had faith in the hospital because of how I was treated and in the end they didn’t do all they could to save my baby. After the heartbeat wasn’t found on the monitor a young doctor came in with a mobile scan machine and said he didn’t think there was a heartbeat but he needed a second opinion. Seven hours my husband and I waited for a second opinion holding on to that one bit of hope and faith we had left, We even felt her move during that time and praised for it was a miracle and she’d prove them wrong, oh how I believed that Rosie would prove the medical professionals wrong. We didn’t feel her move after that one time and then the second doctor came and did a scan and told us that our baby was dead. In those seven hours we prayed and asked others to pray, we phoned family telling them to hold on to hope and it was all for nothing. Our baby was dead inside of me. I had Rosie quite quickly after we were told she was dead it was just over an hour after we were told. Rosie was born at 22.56 that same day. She was born still with the cord wrapped around her neck and left side of her body, she was covered in a type of poo babies do inside the womb if they are in distress. That was the day I planted my beautiful pink Rose in heaven.

We gave her a bath and dressed her in pink and kept her overnight. I didn’t sleep that night. We were put into a different delivery room next to another girl in labour, in the early hours of that morning she gave birth and I heard her baby cry, I looked to my baby thinking she was crying I went to soothe her but I realised it couldn’t be my baby, my baby was dead. The moses basket we were given for Rosie wasn’t the best, it was lined with towels as I assume they didn’t have cot sheets and the stand was broken which meant it was unsturdy and wobbled it lent to one side too which meant that Rosie’s face turned down to one side and it made her face droop. The smallest details meant so much at that time and we weren’t given the best for our daughter. Perhaps she didn’t matter as much as the babies that were born alive but this was the only time we would ever spend with our baby and it was made impossible to deal with.  The next day we said our hello’s and goodbye’s to Rosie, invited her grandparents to meet her and did a lot of crying and cuddling. Rosie started to deteriorate really quickly because the cold cot wasn’t working properly. They had brand new cold cots which is just a gel mattress put under the baby to keep her cold so as to preserve her body longer. image

Rosie’s nose started to bleed and her skin started to bubble up and tear it was awful to watch this happen to a baby that looked so perfect and doll like when she came out. I asked and asked and asked so many times for the midwives to take her away and put her in the morgue. My heart was breaking watching my baby look like she was dead. The midwives wouldn’t take her away. We asked continuously for six hours for them to take her away and all they said was they were sorting it out. We took lots of pictures, treasured her body in our arms and kept a lock of her hair and prints of her hands and feet and then finally we waited for a taxi empty armed and broken hearted to take us back home.

This is how my pink perfection ended up in heaven and this is the beginning of my middle.