The Day I Lost My Baby.

Lauren Derrett - 4 Nov 16

This is my nieces’s story of losing her son at 23 and a half weeks gestation. It’s tragic and beautiful and real. Having had 2 miscarriages myself and knowing that lots of my friends have suffered too, still birth and miscarriage are something very close to my heart and I will do all I can to help raise the awareness of them both for every mother who’s had to say goodbye too soon.

“Hearing “Every time we touch, I get this feeling….and every time we kiss, I swear I can fly….can’t you feel my heart beat fast….. I want this to last…..I need you by my side”as I walked down the aisle, I looked up and there he was; my husband to be. It was one of the happiest days of my life. I should have known that the heavy, yet empty feeling I felt in my heart would not have stayed away for long.

As soon as I opened my eyes the morning after my wedding it all came back to me, and I started to remember the year that broke me: 2008.

The moment I saw those two lines on the pregnancy test my heart was filled with love and joy. Finally I was going to become a mother; someone I had dreamed of becoming for a long time. Everything was going great. We had bought lots of baby bits, clothes, nappies, the essentials, I remember walking around the flat pushing our new pram, mimicking myself in those next few months.

A couple of months had passed and it was finally the day I could see my beautiful baby on the little monitor. I was particularly excited about this scan as we were hopefully going to find out the sex of our baby. I laid down on the bed with my top rolled up and the jelly smeared on my stomach. This was it! I looked up at the doctor and smiled. I said to the doctor is it a blue baby or a pink baby? while thinking to myself ‘please don’t bring me bad news, no bad news, I don’t need none of your bad news today’, as the doctor ignored my question, and told me to call my mother into the room.

My heart started to pound. My mum and husband sat on either side of me, not knowing what was to come. The doctor looked at his piece of paper. No eye contact was involved as he sat calmly and said “I am sorry but your baby has severe brain damage”. Everything went blurry. The room filled up with the sound of my breaking heart pounding through my rib cage.

Being told “if you continue with this pregnancy both YOU and YOUR BABY will die” is not something anyone would want to hear. I was sent to another hospital for a second opinion. The doctor there confirmed my worst nightmare.

The next day I was sent to a third hospital where I was to terminate my pregnancy. I could never use the actual term ‘terminate’ as if sounds too formal, like it was a choice to make?

I went into the room at 23 and half weeks pregnant and came out with a lifeless soul inside of me. I was watching the screen, although advised against it. My little baby; unaware of what was going to happen. I could have sworn he was waving his little hand.

Was he saying hello or was it goodbye?

That night I laid in my bed holding my stomach, praying I would wake up from this terrible dream, thinking “you’re just a small bump, unborn for four months, then torn from life. Maybe you were needed up there but we’re still unaware as to why?” while I laid, trying to sleep.

The feeling of guilt riddled my whole body. Tossing and turning all night, waking up with a cold sweat, my heart pounding louder than ever before, my stomach churning, my reflex gagging, my soul crying out. Why? What did I do wrong? Why me?

I walked out of the flat with a packed bag in my arms. People walked past looking at me wondering if I was going on holiday. If only they knew. The journey in the car felt like a lifetime with everything flashing before me. Nothing seemed clear anymore. I arrived at the hospital at 7:30, as if going in for a routine appointment (if only that were true).

I opened my hospital bag to get changed into my nightie, the nightie I had originally bought for my labour, this wasn’t the kind of labour I had intended.

My husband, my mother and I sat in the labour suite waiting for the doctors to explain the next steps. As we sat waiting I remember hearing all the other women giving birth. Although it wasn’t really a nice thing to hear, considering the circumstances I was in, I was happy to hear babies sound their first cry as it meant that they wasn’t going through what I was about to endure. But at the same time I couldn’t help but feel jealous, jealous that I wasn’t going to hear my baby take his first breath or cry his first tears.

The doctor came into the room with the hospital chaplain. The chaplain sat down, handing me some forms – forms to organise a funeral. I hadn’t even given birth yet and we were arranging his funeral. The thought of a little baby sized coffin made me feel so sick inside. I couldn’t get my head around it, it all happened so fast.

Nineteen long and slow hours went by and my midwife came in to check how far I had dilated. Having only reached 4 cms I was very tired, so I was then put on a drip to speed things up. It seemed as though God was trying his hardest to prolong my agony? But eventually another 12 hours later my baby boy was finally born. I remember listening out for his little cry, then realising this was not possible. The reality of never being able to hear his voice had hit home strongly. An uncontrollable scream came out from deep within my body, as if I was trying to reach the highest of angels to take this pain away.

The midwife handed him to me wrapped in a white towel. His body was so small, weighing just 1lb 6oz. He had blood red skin, tiny little fingers and toes. He was perfect, my baby, my first born. It was then, we decided his name would be Armani – it was a name I had always wanted to name my first born son.

I just wished we could have had him with us longer. It broke my heart handing him back to the midwife knowing that would be the last time I held him, the last time I felt him in my arms and the last time I saw him. Believing that “Eventually we’ll be together one sweet day….eventually I’ll see you again in heaven”, bought me a little comfort.

Six weeks later, with the post-mortem out of the way, we got to finally bury our baby.

I looked out of the window, the sky was as dark and gloomy as my life had become. The hearse had arrived and there he was in a little white wooden coffin. The funeral director took off his hat and bowed his head as I walked closer to the car. I felt as if the grey and gloomy sky was closing in on me, sounds became distant and my vision was as if I was looking in from the outside.

We reached The City of London Cemetery. Approaching the children’s garden at the rear end of the cemetery, I remember thinking it was breath-taking; it was beautiful: it had a big water feature made with cherub statues and walls with rows and rows of the names of other children who were also buried in this beautiful garden. As our baby Armani was being laid to rest the sun came out. It was like God was saying “it is over now, you can rest assured your little boy is now safe in my hands”.

It took a long time to move on. Losing a child is one of the hardest things to try to overcome. But after a long year and being cleared from any chromosomal deformities we decided to have another baby. With the history of the first pregnancy I had to have many scans to regularly check the baby’s brain development. Fortunately the pregnancy went smoothly and I gave birth to another beautiful baby boy: his name is Haris. I also went on to have two gorgeous little girls, Zara and Amira.

There isn’t a day that goes by where I don’t think about Armani. But as time has gone by it has made me the person I am today; a much stronger and more patient person. I am grateful for the life I have lead and am now hopeful for a future with my much grown family.” – Leanne

My darling friend Anthonissa (aka The Hypnobirting Midwife) has created ‘One Strong Mother’ pins in a bid to raise awareness of still birth and miscarriage whilst making money for the amazing charity SANDS (stillbirth and Neonatal Death Charity) as she too has had a family member suffer a the loss of a child as she too has a family member with her own story of loss.

£5 of every pin sold will go to SANDS, a little amount that can make a huge difference. You can order your pin here.

Please buy one on behalf of every strong mother that has had to overcome the loss of her baby either by miscarriage or stillbirth.

Lauren Derrett

I'm Lauren, Founder of Wear 'em Out, reusable period pads for the empowered eco-curious. Mother of 4, Step-Mother of 2, I've been parenting for 24 years so have seen and learned a lot of stuff

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