Life After Loss

At the start, even before Hallie died, I always felt that we would never get to the place we are today.  I assumed that life would be dark forevermore; that just getting out of bed in the mornings would be an impossible task.  And for a time, it was.  But now, 2 years after losing our daughter, we feel happiness again. In many ways, happiness feels like a betrayal of Hallie, and it's taken a long time to accept that life could once again be joyful despite her absence.  

Our happiness is not complete; nothing about our lives will ever be complete without our eldest daughter - she is forever missing from us - and that will always, always hurt.  But we are grateful to discover that our life as a family can and has been happy in ways we never thought possible.  Everly's arrival is a huge part of that and we find tremendous joy in her every single day.  She's almost 15 months old now and life hasn't been the same since the day she was born - I believe the sheer gratitude has kept us afloat.  The recognition of how lucky we are to have been given a second, third chance with Everly has changed our entire outlook.

I watched a video online recently where a woman was describing what it feels like to miss someone that's passed away.  She talked about how she once believed that when people described the person as constantly on their mind it was 'hyperbole', but went on to admit that she now understood, that the person takes up residence on your shoulder, always there.  That's how I feel about Hallie.  My mind drifts to her on an almost constant basis.  I don't find it upsetting, I find her presence incredibly comforting. It's like she's never far away.  Through the day, my thoughts of her are fleeting - they float in and out, little wonderments, little memories.  At night, I relive the night we met her. I spend longer going over details, forcing myself to remember everything so I never lose those precious memories.  They're all I have.

 Of course, there are days that are harder.  Anniversaries are difficult - I find Mother's Day to be the hardest in all honesty.  I will always have a good old cry on that day as I feel the full weight of what is missing and what should be.  Blowing out her candle on her birthday is hard too.  Sometimes, a day arrives without announcement, rhyme or reason where I feel it all acutely.  Just recently I woke at 3am and jumped out of bed to go through Hallie's medical records with an incessant need to know if she had been in pain as she died.  I scoured the records to look for painkillers being administered to her, I sat up googling whether a 24 week old baby can feel pain and I couldn't focus on anything else.  These moments come from nowhere, without warning, but they are just that - moments, and things go back to normal soon after.  I suppose my life will always be a balance of sadness for what is missing and happiness for everything that I have.

 There are moments where we shake our heads in disbelief at the unfair moments punctuating our lives now; standing in Hallmark trying to select a birthday card for our late daughter being one of them.  We made an extra effort to celebrate Everly's first birthday even though we were in lockdown because it felt like a massive milestone, for all 3 of us. Christmas always has the potential to be difficult and we always make sure that Hallie isn't forgotten. Her little shelf has a tiny wooden Christmas Tree on it and lots of lights.  As always, we're determined not to get bogged down with what should be and focus on what is and celebrate Christmas through Everly's eyes, which is bringing us a ton of joy this year already.  Every year that passes I'm finding that I cry less tears of sadness and more tears of joy and that can only be evidence of moving in the right direction. 

 Some days I agonize over how we're going to one day explain Hallie to Everly.  What's the right thing to do and when?  It's a tough call.  We want her to know of her sister, but how do you explain such things to a small child? While she's having her bedtime bottle and we're sat in the nursery with the lights down low, I sing Twinkle Twinkle to her and she does little hand actions with me.  'Up above the world so high, like your sister in the sky..." is our version.  I guess we have time to figure all that out.

 I used to watch Everly meet all her milestones with a tinge of sadness.  But now, I confidently and happily cheer her on.  My mindset has changed, it had to; I was torturing myself.  Everly deserves parents who are living in every single moment for her only, parents who don't find a sad streak in every happy moment.  I want Everly to feel safe and comfortable and content as part of our family - I never want her to feel that she's living in Hallie's shadow.  We have created a life for the three of us that's full of fun, silliness and adventure where possible and we thank our lucky stars every single day that we have each other.  

I guess my reasoning for this post is to provide hope that happiness can come after baby loss.  And although, my personal experience is that the happiness came after Everly arrived, that's absolutely not to say that I wouldn't have found happiness in life again if we weren't blessed with a Rainbow baby.  I can only write about what my experiences are, but I'm positive that it can be found regardless of whether another baby comes into your life or not.  I've seen it with other women, other families.  Time isn't a healer, but with every day that passes, the pain can ease a little.  You will never forget, you will never get over it, but you can learn to live with it and find joy regardless. You can learn to co-exist with your loss and your pain and not have it be the over-riding factor in how you live your life. It's possible.  You can laugh again, be silly again and it's possible to find a way to move into a new chapter of your life where it's okay to be happy again. 

Everly visiting Hallie's name in the Garden of Reflection, Lisburn.

Parenting After Loss

The very idea of parenting a healthy, live baby after everything we'd been through was incredibly daunting.  I think we both worried about how our losses would affect our ability to parent, especially with it all being so fresh in our minds.  The pregnancy itself was stressful and being launched right into a world with a new baby so soon after months of trauma and anxiety was scary at best.  You hear stories of parents who struggled to bond with their "rainbow" baby, stories of the harshest forms of post-natal depression and psychosis, and I was really worried for my mental health in all honesty.  I was anxious about the moment I would be handed a healthy baby - how would I react?  How would I feel?

Thankfully, I didn't feel anything close to how I feared I might.  Holding Everly, I felt calm, in control.  I felt complete for the first time in a long, long time. Of course, Hallie will always be missing from me and in that way I'll never be truly complete,  but holding Everly was like holding them both.  I felt, and still do feel, Hallie's presence when I am holding Everly.  

Everly was an easy newborn.  She slept well (12 hours through the night from as early as I can remember), she ate well (breastfed with formula top-ups), she rarely cried unless she was hungry or sleepy and she pooped like a trooper.  Textbook.  She was a joy of a baby to have around, loved cuddles and she was fun and easy to take out and about.  We spent a large part of our maternity leave in cafe's and restaurants, sometimes with friends and sometimes on our own.  She would sleep in her pram while I drank coffee and read a book; for the majority of the time it was blissful.  I think the fact that Everly was such an easy baby was the reason we coped so well with the transition in our parenting.  I think we really needed her to be good. Because having a new baby while you're still grieving is hard work emotionally.

Michael and I would lie in bed staring over at tiny Everly asleep in her crib, astounded by how much she looks like Hallie.  I would wake up in the middle of the night, open my eyes and she would be lying at my eye level, perfectly still with her eyes closed and honestly, it was like looking at a ghost.  We'd both be a little obsessed with checking that she was breathing, multiple times throughout the night.  But strangely, other than that, we have a pretty confident and relaxed parenting style. I guess we were both just really, really ready to be parents and we slipped into the roles with ease.  Sure, it was (is!) crazy and our whole lives have been turned upside down (in the best way!) but we've done okay. We love having Everly with us and we're immensely proud of the little person she's becoming.

I always used to envy those couples pushing a pram through the park.  One of the greatest joys has been being that couple at last!  Finally getting to experience the life we'd been imagining is so joyful and our adventures out together as a family have been a lot of fun.  On Hallie's 2nd birthday we spent the day driving along the coast, visiting the Aquarium and the Pickie Fun Park in Bangor - things we did with Hallie when she was still alive and kicking in my tummy.  It felt right to bring Everly to the places that Hallie had been, reliving the happier memories we made during that difficult time.  

I was absolutely busting to go to "Mummy groups" and do all the normal Mummy things with Everly - but at the same time, I was terrified to put myself out there.  I was desperate to fit in with the Mummy crowd but the inevitable question "is Everly your first?" would crop up over and over again and I would agonise over how to answer it.  Do I say yes and painfully deny Hallie's existence or do I tell them about Hallie and deal with the pity and the awkwardness that would often follow?  But the more I spent time in the Mummy World, the better I got at fielding that question and the more confident I became.  Everly and I would go to Rhythm and Rhyme in the library and Baby Sensory in the Wow Centre once a week and we both really loved getting out and about.  Michael also took Everly to swimming lessons every Wed which she adored until Covid came along and put a stop to all the fun!

It hasn't all been rosy, though. During night feeds I would sit in the Nursery in the dark and just think about everything and quite often, I'd just torture myself with sad thoughts.  I would think about how the Nursery was originally set aside for Hallie.  I would think about how I never got to feed Hallie, about how I never even got to change her nappy.  There was a constant voice at the back of my head that would chime in every time Everly reached a milestone; "Hallie never got to do that". Little invasive thoughts would interrupt the flow of my day.  I felt incredible guilt from the moment Everly was born.  I would feel the most guilt for being happy.  I would have this little vision of Hallie looking down on us and feeling sad that she wasn't with us - did she think we'd moved on so quickly and so happily?  I would think about that all the time.  

I would, and still do, give myself a hard time over not being able to divide my time and attention fairly between Everly and Hallie, as strange as it sounds.  If I buy Everly a present, I feel like I should be buying Hallie one too.  I'm conscious of posting too many pictures of Everly on my Instagram and not enough of Hallie.  I remember changing the background on my phone to a cute photo of Everly and instantly feeling horrendous when I realised that I'd replaced Hallie's photo.  The truth of it is that everyone around you thinks a new baby magically heals you and makes everything better again.  They stop asking how you are. It's assumed that everything is okay now but there's a lot of healing still to do.

I would spend a lot of time thinking about how unfair life is.  How unfair it is that Everly is here and Hallie is not.  How unfair it is that I have to experience this guilt as a new Mother. I would think about all the other parents who are feeling the very same as I am, how unfair it is that families have to go through this. The deep sense of injustice I felt would make me so angry at the Universe.  Since Everly has been born, friends of mine have lost their babies too.  It keeps happening.  In a world where I thought "at least I went through this instead of someone close to me", the realisation that it can and has happened again so close to home has been hard on my heart. But it's made me realise just how lucky we are to have Everly.  That she is healthy.  I have immeasurable amounts of gratitude for her.

And it's that gratitude that has pushed us through.  Of course, there are still days where the grief catches up on us, even over 2 years on.  I imagine it will probably always be a bit like that. But the majority of the time, we can't believe our luck that she's ours, that we get to keep her. Everly is here, she is safe and she's beautiful and she's happy. Every day is an adventure with a little one in tow - she's reaching all her milestones, weaning has been going well, she finally has teeth on the way and it won't be too long before she's on her feet.  Her smile is infectious, her giggle is the best sound I've ever heard. She's silly and just loves to make people laugh. I miss her when I'm at work and find myself rushing home just to cuddle her again.  That warm fuzzy feeling of knowing that I am her Person gets me every time.  I love being the one she'll run to when she hurts herself, or when she's tired and needs a cuddle.  I love my family so incredibly much and feel so proud that Michael and I fought on and made it to this place.

It's crazy to think that we'll be celebrating Everly's first birthday next month!  It's been an absolute whirlwind of a year, one we'll never forget, not least because there was a global pandemic smack bang in the middle of it!  Suddenly we were thrust on to our own little island of three only able to wave at family on Facetime or from the driveway.  It was a strange time but also, selfishly, quite a lovely time too.  Michael was furloughed from work for 3 months so we got extra time that we wouldn't otherwise have as a family.  I was also able to work from home instead of returning to the office when my Maternity leave came to an end, extending my time with Everly a little and easing me back in to work gently.

When it comes to parenting style and methods, I think we've learnt a lot from our experiences with loss.  We've developed the determination and drive it takes to raise a little one.  We've learned patience.  We try not to sweat the small stuff.  But the most important thing is that we know just how lucky we are to be parents.  On the 30th of September we'll be celebrating Everly and giving ourselves a huge pat on the back too. Because parenting after loss is no mean feat but it's a journey that's absolutely worth sticking out.

Meeting Everly 30th Sept 2019

I wanted to write about my experience returning to the Ulster to give birth to Everly just 14 months after having Hallie. I wrote my birth experience with Hallie (here) as soon as I got home from hospital as I wanted to get everything written down while it was still fresh.  It's taken me 8 months to write Everly's birth story down!

We had a 37 week scan and check up with a consultant on Friday 27th September. We had been hoping that during this appointment we'd confirm the date for my C-Section, sooner rather than later as I was getting ansty about the dangers my liver condition posed on baby. We didn't expect the Consultant to casually ask "okay...the date for your c-section....how does Monday suit?"  Monday?!  That was only 3 days away! But we were secretly delighted and so, so ready. 

We had to be at the Ulster very early the morning of 30th September. We had that feeling of going on holiday, dragging bags and cases out to the car before the rest of the world had really woken up.  The morning sky was filled with a beautiful autumnal sunrise, all pinks and oranges. I took it to be a good sign - pink skies always make me think of Hallie.  I wasn't nervous, strangely.  After Hallie's birth I knew what to expect and that made me feel relaxed.  I was just excited. Walking through the doors of the Ulster feeling so calm was strange - it's not exactly how you see it in the movies, is it?

We were taken upstairs to a waiting room.  It was a little quiet room with a sink and a fridge, like a little kitchenette.  We immediately recognised it as the kitchenette connected to the Bereavement Suite where we stayed with Hallie.  We sat on the sofa together and stared at the wall; all I could think about was how the room where I last saw Hallie was on the other side of it.  I was sat next to the little sink I had clung to and cried while Michael said his private goodbyes to Hallie in the next room.  I waited for my body to go into panic - but it didn't.  I didn't in my wildest dreams expect to ever see that room again but this time it, rather unexpectedly, brought me peace.  I felt like Hallie was close. I felt like she was part of it and that made me feel really, really happy.

We were in that room for a long time.  Hours.  We watched episodes of It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia and played games while we waited.  Midwives came in and out to make their checks, to go through procedures, to ask me to sign forms.  The door knocked and a familiar face popped her head in - the Doctor that delivered Hallie.  I couldn't believe it; was she going to deliver Everly too?  She had no idea who we were, why would she?  But I will never forget her and her Australian accent! Seeing her made me feel calm too, it was almost like Hallie was sending us little signs.  Eventually, we were moved to a ward where I got to lie down...hospital beds are so damn comfortable.  We were the last couple on the list so we spent the next few hours watching other couples walking into theatre and being wheeled back into the ward with their perfect little babies in their arms.  We could hear each baby's first cries as they were born- it was lovely. We had another couple of hours to wait so I thought I'd try and take a little nap.  I woke up to our baby having visible hiccups.  I took a video.  This would be the last time I'd see her move about in my tummy.  A midwife brought me a gown and stockings and told me to get ready for theatre.

I already knew that I would be having Everly in the same theatre that I had Hallie in.  I'd had months to prepare for that but walking up that same corridor was still like travelling through time.  Last time I walked up to theatre I was self conscious about my bum being on show in my gown - this time I was wearing my dressing gown.  I was definitely more prepared this time round!  I knew the order of things and felt confident and ready...until I remembered that I was about to have a giant needle in my spine. But the staff work so quickly, you don't have time to really think about what's going on.  They placed a Cannula in the back of my hand prior to the Spinal so I really felt like I was being attacked by needles but it was all quick and pretty painless. I was definitely more aware of everything this time round - I think there was much more adrenaline with Hallie pushing me through!  There's so many people milling around you, attaching monitors and asking questions it really distracts from the scarier aspects of being in an operating theatre.  The screen went up and they looked as if they were about to start and I panicked and asked where my husband was.  He arrived in beside me all gowned up and nervous and took his place beside me as he did 14 months before.

Knowing what was about to happen helped me a lot, but I felt a bit more nervous this time round.  The OB's performing the operation informed me that my first scar was too low down for them to reopen so they'd have to cut a new scar right above it.  I was fine with that, in fact, I liked it.  I had one scar for Hallie and would have one scar for Everly.  Once the operation started, I felt overwhelmed and a bit sick. I was back on the same table, looking up at the same ceiling that I'd stared at before and it made me anxious. As Everly was a lot bigger than Hallie there was a lot more pulling and tugging and I felt pretty sea-sick on top of my anxiety. It was all very similar to my experience with having Hallie; the room was exactly the same, some of the staff were the same, the procedure was the same.  I stared at the very same clock I stared at while Hallie was being delivered.  I had to keep reminding myself that this time the baby was coming home.  Everything was the same, but different at the same time.

And then she was here. 3.34pm. They lowered the screen and Michael and I got the first glimpse of our perfect, healthy baby daughter.  They held her up, all pink and gooey, all limbs and dark hair.  The first words out of my mouth were "she has my knees!" - I don't know why, but my eyes were drawn to her knees! And then her hair.  So much dark hair.  I always hoped my baby would have lots of dark hair.  Her feet were huge! And everyone was commenting on how long her fingers were.  It was so overwhelming, in a good way.  They took her over to clean her up, weigh her, do all the usual things they do when a baby is born.  Michael went with her and cut her cord.  I felt a bit awkward, stuck on the bed while Michael was getting to fuss over the baby - I couldn't even see her from where I was lying and kept craning my head to catch a glimpse.  It was a chance for me to compose myself a little and it wasn't long before they brought the baby over to me all wrapped up in a blanket.  She was laid awkwardly on my chest, skin to skin, and I couldn't believe how much bigger she was than Hallie.  She was wriggling around and making baby noises, letting out little cries.  I kept thinking back to how little Hallie was, how silent and still she was.  It was like night and day. 

Holding my daughter, I let out a huge sigh.  I'd done it.  After everything we'd been through, after 9 months of anxiety, we had a healthy, happy baby. The relief was immense and I felt completely elated.  Having a squirmy new baby handed to you is the most surreal thing in the world.  Meeting the little person you created is like nothing else. My emotions were all over the place, particularly with regards to how the experience was just 14 months prior. I suddenly realised how different the two situations were, and I felt differently than I thought I would.  I thought I would be so, so sad.  That having Everly would remind me of everything I missed out on with Hallie.  But I felt overwhelmingly that holding Everly was like seeing Hallie again. They looked so alike, it was like holding them both.  That allowed me another depth of happiness that I hadn't felt in a very long time.

I still needed to be stitched up so Michael took Everly back to the ward with him.  I remember feeling impatient, the need to be with my baby was so strong.  I was literally aching to see her again.  It wasn't very long before I was being wheeled back to the ward where the baby was in an incubator - I panicked - but Michael reassured me it was just to help dry out her lungs. They parked me up beside her and I put my hand through the little window and she clung tightly to my finger. She was wriggling about and sticking her tongue out and I just melted. Michael went out to ring his parents and I rang my Mum & Sister - they'd been waiting all day for news! We were in the recovery ward, in our little blue-curtained cubicle.  A midwife/angel arrived with pancakes and tea for me - the first thing I'd eaten since the night before and they were so, so good.  Once I'd eaten, the midwife lifted Everly out of the incubator and lay her on my chest and I was just the most happiest (and shell-shocked) I'd ever felt - pancake and baby drunk! I snuggled her into me and just breathed her in.  

I was super keen to breastfeed and thankfully she latched like a pro. In the evening we were moved  to another ward upstairs where I'd be for the remainder of our stay.  I got the feeling back in my legs within 2/3 hours post-surgery but I was so, so itchy.  My feet were itching so bad it was driving me crazy.  The midwife brought me an antihistamine with my tea and toast.  I dressed Everly in a little pink vest as it was a little chilly on the ward and just held her against my chest all evening.  It was bliss. This stage of the experience was so different from the one I'd had with Hallie. With Hallie we had our own private suite, but this time we were in an open ward with about 6 other new Mum's and babies. Michael had to go home to take care of the animals and get some sleep. I didn't get any sleep - Everly hated her little plastic cot and I hated putting her down so I just held her & fed her all night. 

We'd asked for no visitors for the first day so we could bond with Everly on our own and that turned out to be the right decision. Recovering from a major operation and having a newborn is difficult and it takes a bit of getting used to but thankfully there's lots of help.  The whole experience was exhausting and I was relieved to have the extra time in hospital to get used to being a new Mum. The midwives were such good support.  On the second night Everly was unsettled and they taught me some tricks to make her cosy in her cot to help her sleep.  Everly and I needed the time to bond and take advantage of those precious first hours of breastfeeding.  One of my favourite memories was on the second day, I was brought beef stew for lunch while I was feeding Everly.  Michael picked up a spoon and fed the stew to me while I focused on feeding the baby.  It was just a cute little moment between the three of us, already finding little ways to make things work. 

I wanted to be on my feet again before having any visitors so the midwives encouraged me to get up and about far earlier than they did after Hallie's delivery!  It was lovely for our parents and sisters to meet her in the hospital, so fresh and new, and I know that after meeting Hallie it made meeting Everly that bit more emotional. They arrived up in shifts on the second day and I loved introducing them all and seeing their reactions! I loved watching Michael with her, he would hold her just like he held Hallie and had the very same look of love in his eyes.  I have a lovely video of him walking around the ward, holding her close.  She's so tiny and he's so big.  I just love him as a Dad.

I had two days in hospital before we were allowed to go home.  Before we left, they offered to give Everly a bath and we agreed.  I was a little nervous at the thought of bathing her so I used this as a lesson! I was so keen to take in as much advice and information as possible from the midwives before leaving. It was cute, Everly hated it at first but then relaxed into the warm water and enjoyed it. There's so many checks and paperwork...I was pretty fed up by the time we were told we were allowed to leave.  I don't know what I was expecting, a fanfare maybe?  But just being able to casually put the baby in a car seat and walk out the front door with her felt wrong, almost.  Like we were stealing her.  We got her into the car and drove off - the same journey home that we took after leaving Hallie at the hospital. 

I sat in the back of the car watching Everly's little face move in her sleep and thought about how lucky we were.  I thought about how far we had come, how after through all the heartache and bad luck we persisted and got our reward at the end.  We were taking our baby home at last. I couldn't believe it.  It was the start of a whole new chapter, one we'd been working towards since 2017.  All those times I thought about giving up, how I never thought we were meant to have children after the Universe seemed to be fighting us at every turn since we started.  But she was here and she was perfect and we were so, so ready to be her parents.  

We welcomed little Everly Charlotte home on 2nd October 2019.  Together, we brought her over to the shelf where Hallie's little urn rests and introduced them to each other.  But they've already met - Hallie brought Everly to us, she spent 9 months looking over her and keeping her safe.  They're sisters, home together at last. 

Pregnancy After Loss

I receive messages on this topic a lot - mainly from recently bereaved parents wanting to know how we made the decision to try for another baby after losing Hallie and what it was like being pregnant again.  I thought I would write about our experience in the hope it might answer some questions or inspire or reassure an undecided, struggling or a newly-pregnant, bereaved couple. 

Trying Again
The decision to try for another baby can be really scary.  The biggest fear is obviously "what if it happens again?"   There are so many worries and it can be really daunting for a million different reasons. While many bereaved couples chose not to risk another pregnancy, I don't think there was ever a question of Michael and I not trying again after either of our two losses. It's a very private and individual decision to make and there are many factors to consider.  

Most importantly, you have to make sure that you're both on the same page and are both physically and mentally ready to embark upon another pregnancy.  It's so important to prepare yourself mentally.  If you aren't ready, don't push yourself.  Don't push your partner. Take all the time you need.  Talk to a professional.  Talk to your family. Talk to a fellow bereaved parent. And most importantly, talk to each other. Never stop talking. Communication is so, so important.

At the top of my priorities list was visiting my GP for a check up as I wanted reassurance from a Doctor that I was physically healthy enough to carry another pregnancy.  In my case, a blood draw showed that I had a B12 vitamin deficiency and I began weekly B12 injections immediately. At the time, I googled B12 and its function within the body.  B12, amongst other things, is required for healthy division and replication of cells.  A light bulb went off in my head - the chromosome disorders that cause both early miscarriage and Turner Syndrome are the result of errors in cell division.  I told my GP about what I had read and she told me she didn't think my B12 deficiency would have had any affect on my pregnancies (probably because she didn't want me blaming myself) - but it will always stick in my mind.  Is it just a coincidence that once I started B12 injections I had a healthy pregnancy? I suppose we'll never really know. But I am so glad that I went for that check up.

We spoke to our Consultant from my pregnancy with Hallie and felt reassured that the chance that the same thing would happen again in a subsequent pregnancy was only around 1%.  He was very confident that our next pregnancy would go smoothly.  He also reassured us that our next pregnancy would be under Consultant care (rather than Midwife-led care) and we would have access to as many scans and extra care as we wanted. I would encourage any couple to speak to their GP or Consultant before trying again; I think that's really important.

Finding Out
We were very lucky to fall pregnant quickly.  I know that this isn't always the case, I know of couples who have suffered secondary infertility after loss - some that it's taken years to happen for and some who had made the decision to go for various fertility treatments when trying again.  Obviously I can only write about my experiences and I understand how lucky we were with our third pregnancy.

Seeing those two pink lines on a pregnancy test again can be incredibly triggering.  Quite often, the usual excitement and joy of a positive planned pregnancy test is replaced with dread and fear after a previous pregnancy loss. When I found out I was pregnant with Hallie after my miscarriage I was pretty terrified.  I went into a panicked overdrive, life became a flurry of booking early scans and doctors appointments, desperate that everything would be okay this time.  Obviously, in the end, we lost Hallie too.  I had begun to worry that we would never be parents, or we were destined to have a baby that would be sick. There had to be something wrong with us that this kept happening.

Strangely, I remember feeling a distinct level of calm when I found out I was pregnant for the third time.  There was no rhyme or reason to how I felt - maybe I had firmly believed that the Universe was due to give us a break; that the third time would indeed be lucky.  I was offered extra care but I rejected any extra early scans. There was always a negative voice in the back of my head that said "you had endless early scans with Hallie and she still died" but also a positive voice that said "you need to trust this pregnancy" so that's what we chose to do.  No extra care. 

Sharing the news
Deciding to announce a pregnancy, and when, is a very individual choice.  Many decide not to, particularly after a loss, until very late into the pregnancy.  We managed to keep our third pregnancy to ourselves until after our 12 week scan when we announced to family and close friends.  I told my Mum and sister on Mother's Day, a very bittersweet day for me.  I swore I wasn't going to announce on Social Media but surprisingly decided on a whim to post a picture of Michael holding a scan picture on my Instagram page on my birthday.  Strangely, it felt more right than I expected it to.

One thing I wasn't prepared for was the varying range of reactions to my pregnancy.  Most were pleased and gave the usual hugs-and-congrats response.  Some burst into tears.  But I'll never forget the time I told someone in work that I was expecting again and she said "oh you poor thing!" and looked at me as if I had just announced that I was ill.  There were a few people who seemed horrified that I was pregnant again so soon after losing Hallie and there were some that simply ignored my pregnancy entirely.  I waddled around my office for weeks sporting a huge bump and the majority of my colleagues outright ignored it and never approached the subject.  After losing a baby, the subject of pregnancy almost becomes taboo.  No one wants to say the "P" or the "B" word to someone who lost a P or a B previously.

I had people in work ask others if I was pregnant instead of coming to me personally.  I also had colleagues chat to me causally in the kitchen then go back to their desks and email me their congratulations. It can be triggering when someone acts strangely to your news, especially when you want or expect to be treated normally.  It can be hard to let people in, especially when you're likely still dealing with your own feelings about it too. 

Prenatal Care
For the majority of pregnancies, having a scan is incredibly exciting.  But if you've suffered a loss, at some stage you may have had a scan where you've been given bad news.  When I had my miscarriage Michael and I had the "I'm sorry, there is no heartbeat" scan and with Hallie we had the "I'm sorry, there's a number of problems with the baby" scan.  'Scanxiety' really affected me in my third pregnancy.  I dreaded every single one and I would shake with fear every time I had to go.  We had one scan at 8 weeks to check for a heartbeat and after that we stuck to the usual routine of scans at 12 weeks, 20 weeks and took it from there.

My scans were always conducted by Consultants at the Ulster Hospital and this gave me extra confidence that professional eyes were on the baby at all times.  All of Hallie's early scans were carried out by Midwives in the Lagan Valley Hospital and all of her problems went undetected for 20 weeks so it was important to me that this time my prenatal care was Consultant led.  It's important to know that you can call the shots when it comes to your care - always push for the level of care you feel most comfortable with.  After loss, anxiety is high and taking care of maternal mental health should be a priority.  I decided to stick with the NHS but there are options to go Private of course.

My Consultants worked for both the NHS and Private Clinics.  I didn't see the point in paying to go Private when I was seeing the same Consultants for free on the NHS.  They took their time with each scan, they were meticulous with measurements and didn't laugh when I would anxiously ask them "can you show me that the baby has all 4 limbs?" or lose their patience when I would ask them to compare this baby with Hallie's scans.  They would hold my hand, look me in the eye and tell me that my baby was "perfect" but it took me a very long time to believe them.  There are some tests that aren't available on the NHS and can be paid for Privately.  These can detect a wide range of issues in pregnancy, particularly helpful if you have history of chromosome abnormalities, for example.

We were offered the Harmony Test - a simple blood draw that would test for a wide range of chromosomal abnormalities - the idea being that if we knew early on that the baby was either sick or healthy it would ease the anxiety of always wondering...  It cost upwards of £400 in a Private Clinic.  I booked an appointment to have my blood drawn then cancelled it a day later.  That little voice telling me to trust this pregnancy was back again.  And I listened. 

As with all pregnancies, life becomes making it to each appointment.  Ticking down the days to the next scan or check up.  Carting your green folder around like a lifeline.  My folder was pretty damn heavy by the end! It wasn't until my third trimester that the appointments really started to ramp up and I was down at the Ulster Hospital at least once a week for reassurance.  I was used to reciting my medical history over and over again and the exclaims of "oh you have had a horrible time of it haven't you!" closely followed by a quick change in attitude towards Michael and I when they realised we had a legitimate reason to be over-anxious.

All doctors will tell you to avoid Dr Google. And you'll ignore that advice just like I did.  I was addicted to Googling symptoms.  It's very easy to drive yourself crazy in the early weeks before you can feel any physical evidence that baby is alive in there.  I took myself off to the Emergency Obstetric Unit on many occasions to have them check baby out when I was feeling worried or insecure.  One night, at 35 weeks pregnant, I couldn't sleep because my hands and feet itched like crazy.  Thank goodness for Google then, I had myself in the doctor's the next morning for a blood test which would diagnose me with a serious liver condition called Obstetric Cholestasis.  This condition lead to baby being delivered 3 weeks early to ensure her safety.  Google to the rescue.

Planning the Birth
When it came to planning the birth, we were lucky that our Consultants were supportive in letting me choose what was right for me.  They confirmed that I was a suitable candidate for a VBAC/Natural delivery as I had healed very well after my C-Section with Hallie.  However, I made the decision very early on that I wanted another Cesarean. I needed to have a level of control over this delivery that a natural birth just couldn't provide me.  It was important for me to know what to expect - that in itself lowered my stress and anxiety about everything.  Knowing that I had a date to work towards was important too for my sanity.  I felt that a section was safer, especially considering the risks of rupture and other complications so soon after my last delivery with Hallie.  My birth experience with Hallie was completely calm, painless, drama-free.  She was born into the world quickly and quietly - I was composed and calm and ready to meet her.  I wanted the same entrance to the world for Everly too.

When you lose a baby/babies you often lose any trust in your body and your ability to bring a baby safely into the world.  I simply did not trust that Everly would be safe if I chose a natural birth. I thought that I had been beyond lucky that I had got her to this point healthy and well and didn't want to push my luck.  I felt that I had done my part, I got her to Full Term safely and I entrusted Doctors to do the rest.  I was physically and mentally spent. This is something I've discussed with many other bereaved mothers - it's a common feeling and completely normal. 

Always be open with your Doctors.  Be honest, tell them how you're feeling.  If you feel like you aren't being supported, ask to speak to someone else.  Don't let anyone bully you into making decisions that you aren't completely comfortable with.  I had one Consultant try to change my notes to say that I would attempt a VBAC if I went into labour naturally - absolutely against my wishes.  Thankfully, we were supported by other Consultants and we got the delivery we planned for.  Always be your own advocate.  You know what's right for your body, your mind and your baby.

Baby Stuff
I didn't want any baby items in my home until well into my second trimester.  Michael was on the same page - we forced ourselves to go and buy the first item of clothing on the day of our 20 week scan with Everly.  It was all good news and we were on a high.  In the hours following a successful scan I found myself feeling confident and happy...but doubt always crept in soon after.  Quite often I would look at baby items I'd bought and wonder if I was tempting fate.  There's nothing more devastating than having to deal with a home full of baby items when a baby dies and I spent the majority of my third pregnancy expecting this baby to die too so it made me incredibly uncomfortable to see such items in my house.

I eventually started a little "faith" drawer, as I called it.  A tiny drawer in a dresser beside my bed that I allowed myself to fill with small items when I was ready.  Before I knew it, I needed a bigger drawer.  The bigger drawer turned into two drawers...a full dresser.  My friend Clare drove us to Tesco one lunch break in the Summer and I plucked up the courage, with her encouragement, to buy a big box of nappies & wipes.  I felt so ridiculously ecstatic that I had mentally overcome what felt like the biggest mountain. Every purchase felt like an achievement, as ridiculous as that may sound.

I had avoided Mothercare like the plague, but Mum somehow tempted me in to look at prams one evening. I think she would agree that it was a nightmare.  I hated every single second of it and didn't want to be there at all.  It felt totally wrong, at 30+ weeks, to be even thinking about buying a pram.  I felt like a kid again being forced to try on school shoes in Clarks and I huffed the entire time.  I felt entirely exposed, vulnerable and out of my depth.  But there was a pram sale on and my Mum was not for letting me leave without picking one! So I did.  The saleswoman revealed to me that she was pregnant again after a miscarriage just months before and it felt good to be understood on a level that only a woman who's been through it can. I felt amazing afterwards.  Amazing, but also terrified.  I didn't want a pram in the house so Mum kept it "just in case" and I was happy with that.

Suddenly, out of nowhere, a Nursery appeared in our house.  Our box room - always earmarked as a nursery - was suddenly decorated in pink and grey and flooded with natural light after a few years of the blinds being drawn.  I made and hung some wall art of Hallie & Everly's scan photos together.  That room was always Hallie's first so it felt right to have little nods to her in there.  The Nursery had everything...except a Cot.  We didn't actually get a Cot until a few weeks after Everly was born.  I just never could pull the trigger on buying one before she arrived safely into the world.  

Without realising it, I found decorating the Nursery to be the distraction I needed from my anxiety. I focused on it solely for the final few weeks of my pregnancy and it turned out to be the one room in the house I enjoyed being in the most.  I would sit in the chair by the window and imagine looking out while holding a baby in my arms.  Some times I would sit in the same chair and cry, utterly convinced that we'd made a mistake and we would have to lock this room up and never open the door again when the baby didn't make it.  Pregnancy after loss is one giant rollercoaster.

Surviving Pregnancy after Loss
Surviving is the only word for it! You're basically throwing yourself back into the world of pregnancies and babies at an incredibly triggering time, post-loss.  If, like me, you've spent months after your baby's death avoiding anything to do with babies, it can be incredibly hard to land right back in the middle of it.  And not everyone will be understanding of that.

The most triggering, and painful question was "Is this your first?" - something I was asked numerous times a week.  It always felt wrong to deny Hallie's existence, but bringing her up always led to awkward silences and changes of subject which I hated.  There were definitely times where I just said "Yes" because I just couldn't have that conversation; but I always suffered with severe guilt for the rest of the day.  It helps to prepare an answer to this question in your head.  It's entirely your decision on how you want to field such questions, but it's worth keeping in mind that people may pleasantly surprise you with their responses. I loved when it opened up lovely conversations about Hallie, instead of awkwardness.  I was always shocked when, more often than not, the person who asked would open up and tell me that they too had lost a baby, or knew someone close to them that had.

Pregnancy is usually a happy time and people love to talk babies.  But if you're mentally in an unhappy, fearful and anxious place it can be hard to communicate your feelings and needs to those around you.  I spent the majority of my pregnancy feeling like a total spoil sport.  Everyone around me was excited and clearly trying to get me excited about it too but it took a long time for me to get there - and that's completely normal.  Always take things at your own pace.

Staying calm can be hard at times.  I learnt to focus on my breathing - quiet meditation helped me when I felt manic and scared.  I bought a doppler during my pregnancy with Hallie and I used it again during my pregnancy with Everly.  I know these are generally frowned upon, but if used sensibly and correctly they can be a really useful tool in managing anxiety.  Of course, they have the potential to do the exact opposite but thankfully I never struggled to find Everly's heartbeat and I loved lying in bed listening to her kicks, hiccups and tracking her heart rate and it really kept me sane.  I was addicted to feeling her move, though.  I would poke and prod at her all day.  If she was a bit quiet I would down a can of Coke to wake her up.  I had her tortured.  But it was all in the name of coping.

There will be days that are harder to cope with than others.  While I was pregnant we "celebrated" Hallie's first birthday and that was really hard.  Mother's Day was incredibly difficult too.  I spent the first 24 weeks of Everly's life comparing her to the 24 weeks of Hallie.  When we reached day 24, the gestation day that Hallie was born, things started to change a little for the better.  It was new territory.  Every day that Everly grew safely past the 24 week mark gave us new hope and new belief that she might get to come home with us.  

We named Everly pretty early into the pregnancy as we found out she was a girl at 16 weeks - from then she was always known to us as Pea or Everly.  Finding out the gender and naming the baby is always a big step but an important one, I feel, for bonding with baby.  After loss it can be easy to resist bonding during pregnancy as a method of self-protection.  Many bereaved Mum's find it easier to cope that way and that's okay.  You do whatever you need to to survive.

There will also be occasions where you'll feel brave enough to jump in head first.  I remember booking onto a Breastfeeding Course with my friend Heather who was also pregnant.  It was completely out of my comfort zone but it felt really nice to do something relating to a "normal" pregnancy. To sit in a room with fellow pregnant women, just talking about healthy, happy pregnant things.  It was strange, but cathartic at the same time.  Michael and I got a lot out of the baby courses run by the hospital - even if it was just mucking about with dolls and drinking tea.

I was incredibly confused about my place in the "baby world" - Even though I was finally carrying a healthy baby, I still felt like I didn't belong.  I still had irrational thoughts and aversions to other pregnant women and newborn babies.  I still found it incredibly hard to be around them.  Pregnancy announcements still made me feel sick and the sound of a baby crying in a food court was still enough to reduce me to tears.  Just because you are pregnant again does not mean you forget.  I felt torn between bereaved parent and soon-to-be parent.  Mentally, it was exhausting.  I felt like I was betraying Hallie by appearing to "move on" and have another baby.  There is a lot of guilt.  And these feelings can be hard to manage and deal with. This is where talking is really important.

You may be like me -  used to talking about baby loss or unhealthy pregnancies with other women who have been through the same. I've always said that the best way to get through something so life-alteringly horrible is to find your tribe.  Communicate.  And I spent the majority of my days since my miscarriage talking to women (and men) who had been through the same thing as I had.  Announcing a new pregnancy to those people can be difficult.  But there is a tremendous amount of support too.  

Not everyone will understand how you're feeling as a pregnant mother following the loss of a baby, but there are a lot of women out there that do.  Find those women and hold them closely.  I would not have made it through my pregnancies, my losses and my triumphs without them.  I have been supported through the past 3 years in ways I couldn't have imagined.  Those women are my safe place.  And if you ever need someone to talk to, to ask advice, to compare experiences with...come to me and I will introduce you to them.

I hope this reaches someone who needs to read it x

Chasing Rainbows

The 30th of October 2017 is the date that we lost our first baby. It is the date that signalled the start of the hardest, most hopeless year of our lives. By the 30th of October 2018 we had lost our beautiful Hallie and we very much thought that we'd never have the family we so badly wanted.

Today, it's the 30th October 2019 and as I type this, our perfect 1 month old daughter is sleeping peacefully in a Moses Basket next to me. Michael and I were blessed with a healthy, adorable baby girl on the 30th September and we have been in awe of her from the second she was born.

Everly Charlotte Archer was born in the Ulster Hospital, Dundonald at just 37 weeks gestation. She was brought into the world in the same theatre as her big sister was, but by planned C-Section this time. She is the image of her Daddy and shares many of Hallie's features too. Looking at Everly is like looking at what Hallie would have looked like at full term, they are little twins. And oh, how loved they both are by not just Michael and I, but by everyone around us. 

My 3rd pregnancy was the easiest in many ways. Mentally however, it was the hardest. I was, understandably, incredibly anxious and constantly waiting for bad news to come. I never really let myself believe that a baby would ever come home with us. As the months and milestones ticked by uneventfully, we couldn't believe our luck but we still refused to let our guard down. There were many tears and visits to the emergency obstetrics unit to get checked over when I was convinced something was wrong. It never was. I tried to enjoy being pregnant; I embraced my bump and every kick, roll, flip and hiccup I felt and couldn't help but fall in love with the little life growing inside me.

By the final months we were desperate for this pregnancy to have a happy ending but things started to get a little scary at 35 weeks when I developed a serious liver condition called Obstetric Cholestasis. The first sign of OC in pregnancy is intense itching, particularly on the palms of the hands and soles of the feet. Once diagnosed, I needed to attend the Ulster Hospital for weekly blood draws, liver function tests and CTG monitoring to keep an eye on the baby as well as medication to control my bile acid levels. My anxiety was through the roof, especially as Cholestasis increases the risk of stillbirth. Eventually, they decided to move my delivery date from 11th October (39 weeks) to 30th September (37 weeks) to be on the safe side. I was given steroid injections to help baby's lungs mature & little Everly was thankfully delivered in perfect health with no issues whatsoever.

Spending so much time in the same hospital where we experienced everything with Hallie was difficult. Walking out the front doors of the Maternity Unit with a healthy baby in a car seat was incredibly emotional having walked out empty handed just 14 months earlier. I sat in the back of the car staring at our sleeping baby on the drive home, tears streaming down my face thinking about how far we had come to get to this point. I can't quite believe we made it through, but we did. We feel so, so lucky to have our little one in our arms at last.

Everly is 1 month old today. We have loved every second of being new parents - it's hard, tiring, trying but incredibly rewarding. Everly is just a dream. She's beautiful, mostly sleepy, sometimes bright eyed and animated - she completely captures the hearts of everyone who meets her. She's just that little bit more special considering the journey it took to get her here and I think everyone feels emotional at meeting her. It's like meeting Hallie. They share the same DNA, the same little nose and lips. It's completely magical.

Getting to do all the usual new-parent things is bittersweet; walks in the park with the pram and the puppy, introducing baby to friends and family, decorating a nursery... we're constantly thinking about what we missed out on with Hallie.  But when Everly holds eye contact with me or smiles in her sleep, I feel like I'm seeing glimpses of Hallie too.  When Everly cries I wonder if Hallie would have sounded just like her. Having Everly makes me feel closer to her big sister in so many ways & it's such a blessing.

Pregnancy and parenting after loss is hard.  Harder than anyone who hasn't experienced it can really fathom. I hope that our story can bring hope to anyone going through a loss or struggling to start a family.  Ours is a story of endurance, resilience and determination.  We would encourage anyone in the depths of despair to keep going - never give up.  Miracles can happen.  

The greater the storm, the brighter the rainbow.

A Letter to Hallie on her 1st Birthday

Oh Hallie, how can it be one whole year since the day you came into the world?  

It seems like just yesterday, but also years ago all at the same time.  365 days and not one of them has passed without us speaking your name.  You aren't here physically, but you're forever present.  And that's how it always will be. Your Daddy and I talk about you every single day.  Your name rolls off our tongues so easily - we are as proud of you now as we were the second we set eyes on you. Every night, I replay our time together in my head before I fall asleep and I always have a smile on my face when I do.  Because it was the happiest time.  

Creating you is our biggest achievement and meeting you was the happiest moment of our lives.  That first night, when Daddy had fallen asleep on the sofa bed beside us and you were lying on my chest and I was just watching you, taking every little bit of you in, loving every single second of you; it was just my favourite moment ever.  Because it was just us three, alone in the quiet and everything felt right.  And I go back to that moment in my head every single night.  I have a video of the moment the midwife passed you into your Daddy's arms after you had been weighed and dressed.  It's my absolute favourite.  He's just so, so proud - it's written all over his face.  He whispers "she's perfect" and he was so right.  You were.  You are.

Everyone has been so kind.  Your memory box turned into two memory boxes and then into 3 whole chests full of your lovely things.  Know that you are thought of often and always included.  It hasn't been easy - we have missed you so much.  There have been so many tears.  But lots of those have been happy too, we promise.  We don't wallow in the fact that you aren't here, rather, we celebrate that you lived and you changed us and changed other people in the most positive ways possible.

The 16th of July will forever be celebrated for everything wonderful that you brought to the world. You were the tiniest little thing but you sparked so much love, inspiration, kindness, strength, appreciation and awareness in the people who met you and those who learnt about you.  Because who could hear the story of you and the positivity that followed and not be utterly affected? You are the little one who battled on, the bravest spirit that overcame challenges and stubbornly held on long enough to be born into the world and spend your first and final moments warm and safe in our arms when every professional we met told us that could never happen.  You're amazing.  And anyone who thinks your story is nothing but sad simply hasn't been listening properly.

Your story and your name has reached all corners of the world.  Literally! Through you, we have been lucky to meet some of the most inspirational people possible.  Strangers who have held our hands and guided us through life without you in a way that only people who have lost a child can.  Your Grandparents, Aunts & Uncles miss you so much and have taken such good care of us since you had to go. Since your birth we have been blessed many times over with friendship, kindness, love.  Our eyes have been opened, our attitudes to life forever changed.  We have an appreciation for things that we never did before.  Our whole outlook is different now.  And that's an amazing thing. Hallie Archer, you made your mark on the world and you'll never be forgotten.

We truly believe that you've been watching over your little sister, keeping her safe and keeping us calm. Daddy and I are forever grateful that we've been given another chance to have another little you.  I won't lie, in the beginning I really struggled that another little life had moved into your room, so to speak. I felt like I was betraying you.  And then we found out that she was a girl and everything changed - it felt like you were coming back to us, through her. Everyone has commented on how she has the same little button nose as you do. With luck and your guidance, she'll hopefully arrive here safely and we'll get to hold her, love her and raise her with all the intentions we had for you.  With an added incredible appreciation for just how lucky we are to be parents.

So Hallie, your journey continues.  One year down and forever to go. 

We love you and miss you and wish you were here.

Happy 1st Birthday, little one.

Six Months On

How can it be that six months have passed since Hallie was born?

It's weird because in many ways it feels like it was much longer ago, but at the same time seems like it was yesterday.

It's been a tough few months with plenty of peaks and troughs. As they say, grief is not linear - one minute you're coping the best and the next you're in the midst of a complete breakdown. Wondrously, the breakdown's have been few and far between. As it turns out, we are much stronger than we ever thought we could have been.  If you didn't already know, you'd probably never guess that we'd been through so much. 

Losing Hallie has cemented and strengthened our relationship to a level we never thought possible, particularly as the Universe seems intent on throwing all that it can at us recently. We have found great comfort in each other and it's a wonderful feeling to know that if we can survive this, we can almost certainly survive anything else that comes our way. There was a quote in our wedding vows that read "Despair will come, find someone that you want to be there with you through those times" and Michael most certainly was and is that person and I am so, so lucky to have him.

It didn't take long, once we were back to work, for daily life to resume back to basically how it had been before I was even pregnant. Of course, it's not exactly the same. It never really will be, I suppose. From the outside, our lives look pretty much the same as before but on the inside it's just that little bit harder to swing our legs out of bed in the morning. The accumulation of everything that's happened weighs on our backs, making everything seem a little heavier. But I can see the spark reigniting each and every day that we conquer. There will forever be a "before" and an "after" - that's normal after any traumatic event, but we are powering through rightly and will continue to do so. We are adjusting to our new normal and I'm proud of how we're coping.

On the day that Hallie was diagnosed and we had a fair idea of how things were going to go, I remember a conversation that Michael and I had about not letting any of this define us. It's a conversation we've had many times over the past 6 months and something we feel very strongly about. We believe that our losses are only small squares on the giant patchwork of our lives to date - they do not define us, we are still Michael and Rachel. Our journey is still continuing. This hasn't beaten us. We've had some awful things happen to us along the way, but we are much, much more than what we have lost.

All I hope for is that people will forever acknowledge my daughter as the adorable, tiny warrior that she was and learn from her. Be inspired by her. I cannot stand when people focus solely on the fact that she died - Hallie was so much more than just a baby who died, she lived and she fought and she was the most amazing little soul I've ever met.  Every time someone head tilt/sad face's me I want to shake them. We want you to smile when you think of Hallie. We couldn't be more proud of her, we think of her fondly, we coo at our photographs of her and talk about her often. She's always going to be part of our lives and part of our family and we'd love nothing more than that to be remembered.

In the past 6 months, in Hallie's memory, we have achieved some wonderful things. Firstly, we set out to raise £300 for 4Louis to provide 10 memory boxes for 10 sets of bereaved parents in the UK.  To our surprise, within 24 hours we had reached £1000 and our total is now currently at £2268! That's an incredible 75 memory boxes. In fact, we raised enough to purchase other items too - vital equipment for bereavement suites in hospitals all over the country. We are, of course, still collecting donations here and will continue to do so for the foreseeable.

This Christmas, thanks to incredible support, we were able to deliver a donation of beautifully knitted hats (of all sizes and gestations), premature baby clothes and blankets to the Ulster Hospital Maternity Ward where Hallie was born. We can't believe how many friends, family and strangers got their knitting needles out - donations flooded in from as far afield as Canada! Michael delivered the donation to the Hospital along with a giant bag of Christmas goodies for the Midwives (again funded by kind donations.) We know first hand how important those knitted items will be for both premature and bereaved parents; please never underestimate how appreciated your donation is. I promise, it's all gone to the most amazing and worthwhile cause. In fact, we are able to make TWO donations thanks to the high volume of knitwear we received. A second donation will be made to the Children's Hospital in the Royal Victoria Hospital in Belfast very soon.

All in all, the past 6 months have been a great test in strength, resilience and patience.  We have great aspirations for 2019/2020 with lots to look forward to.  It would be absolutely wonderful if Hallie sent us a little brother or sister this year - a new pregnancy would be incredibly scary for us for obvious reasons - but we will be wishing for a healthy "rainbow baby" on every birthday candle, shooting star and rogue eyelash this year!  

Michael and I are hoping and wishing for a peaceful, positive year for all of us.

Giving Back.

From the minute we left the hospital we knew that we wanted to give back in some way to both the Bereavement Suite in the hospital and the charity (4Louis) that donated our memory box. We knew that we needed time first, before launching into any kind of fundraising efforts but I woke up this morning, 2 months after Hallie's birth and couldn't think about anything else.

Michael and I, alongside our families have all expressed a need to give back to those who helped make such an awful and traumatic event just that little bit easier to cope with. We hope to raise as much money as possible to fund more memory boxes and cold/cuddle cots for bereavement suites within hospitals throughout the UK. I also hope to encourage those of my friends and family who proudly wield a set of knitting needles to donate some little hats and blankets for tiny babies and send them to me and I will take care of delivering them personally (drop me a line on my contact form for the address to send them to! It would be nice to have enough items to fill a box with for delivery around Christmas time with some goodies included for the Staff too.)

I thought I would write about the reasons why these items meant so much to us as bereaved parents in the hope that it will create an understanding and inspire you to dust off your knitting needles or put your hand in your pocket. Please click on the donate button on the right hand side of this page or click here to donate anything that you can. Thank you.

Knitted Hats & Blankets

It was when I was sat on the edge of the operating table getting my spinal injection that my eyes first fell on the baby resuscitation station in the corner of the room. It had a single, tiny white knitted hat laying in the centre of it and I couldn't take my eyes off it. I asked the nurse where it came from, I didn't bring any knitted hats with me. She told me that it was donated, that there are people out there who knit items for babies of all gestation's and donate them to the maternity ward. That little white hat was the first item of clothing Hallie ever wore. It's in all her photographs. She wore it for the duration of her life and after her death and it's one of our most treasured possessions. We keep it beside our bed in our memory box alongside all the knitted blankets that were kindly donated too. For the first few weeks I would cry into that little hat. It still smells of her. She looked so cosy in it, even though it was still far too big for her regardless of how tiny it is. It probably didn't take whoever knitted it very long to make but it means so much to us and we will keep that little hat forever.

Cold Cot/Cuddle Cot

After Hallie was born, it didn't really occur to me that we didn't have anywhere to put her! She was placed on my chest as soon as she was wrapped up and I didn't really consider that I would need to set her down at some point. About an hour after she was born our Midwife offered to weigh her for us (2lbs 4oz!) and dress her in one of the little outfits we had bought for her (from the premature baby section in ASDA Living would you believe - I didn't even know such a section existed until I frantically Googled "where to buy clothes for premature babies nearby" and yep, they were still too big for her!)

Once Hallie was dressed and handed to her Daddy for a cuddle, the Midwife shuffled back into the room with a tiny little Moses basket. Honestly, I was convinced that it was from Toys R Us. She sat it next to my bed and placed all Hallie's blankets inside it and explained that there was a layer underneath the blankets (a bit like an electric blanket) that was hooked up to a pump hidden underneath the bed that would keep the inside of the basket slightly cooler than room temperature. She didn't need to explain to me any further, I already figured out that this was to keep her little body cool when she eventually passed away in order to slow down any deterioration. A sad but true fact.

Once Hallie had passed away, it didn't take long for her little facial features to change. I didn't realise how dramatic the changes were until I looked back at photographs when we got home from the hospital. This was because her face was the warmest part of her body when she lay in the cold cot - there was always someone stroking her little face or giving her tiny kisses on her cheeks and forehead (and Michael giving her little nose rubs/Eskimo kisses) that probably kept her face a bit warmer than the rest of her body. The cold cot really did its job and the rest of Hallie's little body was perfectly preserved in all it's tiny, perfectly chubby pinkness for the duration of our stay. It's such an important piece of equipment for giving bereaved parents precious time with their babies. I know that it's hard to imagine spending time with a baby that has passed away unless you're in that position, but it's honestly incredibly comforting to have them close to you. Our cold cot enabled us to spend just under 3 days with her. In that time our family were able to meet her and we were able to dress her every day and hold/kiss/hug her anytime that we wanted without having to worry about her body becoming too fragile to be handled. That's a huge thing for any grieving family.

Memory Box

Throughout my research in the lead up to Hallie's birth I had seen countless photographs of little ink hand prints and clay castings of tiny feet and wondered where they got such kits from. I'd thought about ordering them on eBay just in case but never got round to it. I remember panicking slightly when I was told that I was in labour because I hadn't brought any thing with me to create the memories with Hallie that I had imagined myself making. When the midwife brought in the cold cot an hour or two after Hallie was born, she also handed Michael a beautiful memory box. I didn't pay much attention to it until the next day but I was blown away when I did find the time to look through it. Questions like "Where did this box come from?" and "Do we have to pay for it?" ran through my head immediately. It had everything - kits to make both ink and clay impressions of Hallie's hands and feet, a copy of Guess How Much I Love You to read to her, lots of little keepsakes like balloons, Forget-Me-Not seeds, a glass angel figurine and even a memory card to encourage us to take as many photographs as we could. There was also a card from a couple called Kirsty and Michael who had lost their son Louis in December 2009 and created and donated this memory box in his memory.

The memory box was an incredibly useful tool in communication with our medical team. The midwives were great in making Hallie's prints for us, really taking the time to get the best prints that they could - not an easy feat with such tiny feet! Michael read Guess How Much I Love You to Hallie every night before we went to sleep and once more as we were preparing to say our goodbyes. The box had two identical teddy bears inside which we kept with Hallie in her Moses basket during our time with her and when we had to leave we took one of the bears with us and one stayed with her. We plan to light the candle on her first birthday and plant the Forget Me Not seeds underneath Hallie's rosebush. There is a "Message to Heaven" balloon which we might release on her birthday too. So many lovely memories made and most importantly, physical things to hold onto. Leaving the hospital with a memory box instead of a baby was incredibly heartbreaking for us but it would have been even worse to leave completely empty handed, as so many couples do.

Thanks to 4Louis we have physical evidence that our baby existed; that we are parents. While we cannot show off our baby in the traditional ways, we can show the items in the memory box to anyone who wants to see them. We are more than happy to show the contents to anyone who asks and I'd actively encourage you to ask the same for any bereaved parent. The worst thing that can happen is they refuse or aren't ready to show you just yet- but I can guarantee you that most will be all too happy to show off their memories with their little one. For us, our memory box is everything we have left of our daughter. It houses all her little belongings - her blankets, hats, outfits and even her little hospital bracelet. If there was ever a house-fire, the memory box would be the first thing that we would rescue.

These three items are the main focus of our fundraising at this moment in time. They seem like a great place to start. The memory boxes cost only £30 to create and sponsor. If 6 people are able to donate just £5 then that equips one grieving couple with a box full of precious memories during one of the hardest, most traumatic events that any family can ever go through. I hope that you feel inspired enough to donate that £5 or even dig deeper to sponsor an entire box yourself (that would be amazing!) because this isn't just another faceless charity. It has been created by and for bereaved families. 4Louis completely relies on the funds raised by other bereaved parents to provide these items and Michael and I have experienced first hand how special and important a charity they are. Every penny goes towards the memory boxes and cuddle cots and providing support to families who are going through baby loss.

Not every hospital has a Bereavement Suite. There are women out there, right now, giving birth to their incredibly ill or still born babies in maternity wards all around the UK, surrounded by healthy newborn babies and celebrating families. I thank my lucky stars that we didn't have to experience that. No family should ever experience that. But they do. 1 in 4 pregnancies end in prenatal or neonatal death in the UK. And Bereavement Suites are still a relatively new concept. I can hand-on-my-heart tell you that I wouldn't be coping as well as I am without having access to the Bereavement Suite in the Ulster Hospital. We are not the first couple to stay there and we certainly won't be the last. In fact, the midwives told me that it wouldn't be long until it was occupied again after we left.

I can't express enough how common miscarriage, stillbirth and neonatal death is. It's a world to which we all put our fingers in our ears and pretend doesn't exist until we find ourselves or someone we love thrown into the middle of it. But no more - the silence must be and is being broken on this subject. It's not a matter of scaring, its a matter of preparing. All too many women find themselves uneducated and unprepared when the worst happens in their pregnancies. The most common questions I find popping up again and again from Mothers like me is "How did we not know that this could happen? How did we not know how common this was? Why had no one prepared us for this?" Because it DOES happen. It happened to me, twice. And it's happened to friends, family, work colleagues, acquaintances and hundreds of other women I have met online since.

If, by doing this, we can ease just one more family's pain, then it will all be worth it. There are couples all over the UK, all over the world that need us to hold their hands right now - and in Hallie's memory and in memory of all the babies that have been lost and will be lost in similar circumstances, that's exactly what we intend to do.