Eleanor's Mums Story
I couldn't wait to start a family and was over the moon to discover I was pregnant in early February 2002.Our daughter arrived safely in the October; following a healthy pregnancy and a rapid, manageable labour. In fact we only just made it to the hospital in time!
I loved motherhood and my husband made a wonderful dad. We were desperate to develop our family and four months later in February 2003 I was again filled with happiness to discover I was expecting our second child. Unfortunately the happiness was short lived. Due to bleeding; I had a scan at six weeks. A doctor at the hospital told me to try and stay positive as this would improve the chance of survival. At eight weeks gestation, following continued bleeding, a scan showed the heart beat had gone and I was booked into hospital for an E.R.P.C. This was a procedure used to remove the “retained products of conception”. During this short pregnancy I discovered I had a bicornuate uterus, which meant my uterus was an unusual shape, made up of two parts called horns. The last two pregnancies had been in my left horn. The bleeding continued even after the E.R.P.C . I made frequent visits to the hospital for scans to be told some products of conception remained and in June that year I haemorrhaged. We found the whole episode distressing and emotionally tiring, but it hadn't changed our desire to develop our family.
By the end of September I was thrilled to discover that again I was pregnant. I announced my pregnancy on Christmas day 2003. I had had my twelve week scan and all looked good, the baby had again favoured the left horn of my uterus.
Although the pregnancy was continuing text book style I still worried up until about four months gestation that I would miscarry. Once this had passed I began to relax. I felt on top of the world. I bought a new car because I needed something bigger for the two car seats to fit (unfortunately the day after we bought the car some low life stole the keys, car and my purse, which contained my scan pictures, from our hotel room after they broke in while we attended a works party.) We put our house on the market in order to find something with more garden space and an extra bedroom for our new arrival; we even had the big debate on names. But for some reason I began to feel frightened that something might go wrong. During this time I watched a T.V. drama which, within the story, showed a mother delivering a stillborn child and I had an overwhelming feeling that was going to be me! I shared my fears with my midwife .The pregnancy continued well and I had no reason to worry.
On the way to work on Wednesday the 5 th of May 2004 I developed a great pain, my first thoughts were “God my husband is working out of area, I haven't shaved my legs and I'm in labour!” the pain stopped so I continued on my journey . On Sunday the 9 th of May 2004 I was very much aware that my baby hadn't moved. I had visited the hospital about three weeks before due to reduced movement only to find the baby performed like a break dancer when I arrived for monitoring. We decided we would wait a little longer and continued our Sunday as usual, with the weekly visit to both sets of parents. Our baby still hadn't moved by the evening and I knew our baby was dead, I had known all day. I had a routine antenatal appointment booked for the next day and decided to wait until then, I suppose I felt it would give me a little longer with my baby. I told my husband that it could have stopped moving because it was engaged ready for delivery and all would be ok, but I don't think either of us believed that, I just wanted to protect him.
The next morning after virtually no sleep we decided to make the trek to hospital rather than wait for my antenatal appointment. I phoned work to tell them I would be in later and that I was sure there was nothing to be worried about.
At the hospital, I lay on the bed as the mature and obviously experienced midwife used an ear piece to listen for a heart beat. The look on her face confirmed my fears, as a tear slid down my face; she hooked me up to the monitor. I thought to myself, if an experienced midwife can't find it then its not there. The machine left a deadly silence, I clung on to my husband as the midwife gently said “don't give up hope, it might be the machine, we'll scan you” I looked at her and said “if there's no movement and no heart beat then there is no hope”
As we were led to the scan department I passed a close friend in the corridor she looked and smiled all I could do was shake my head. I didn't need the scan to tell me. Panic was building as I realised that this baby would need to be delivered, I would have to deliver our child like the woman in the TV series. In the scan room were three other staff including my own midwife Kerry whom I had been due to see later that day, a lady who we had come to know so very well and lived in our small village, who had given us so much support and friendship, who was now holding my hand as they prepared to scan me. I stared at the monitor to see a perfect picture of a fully formed baby of 34 weeks gestation, a baby who was completely still. A baby who had died. I could hear myself saying “God no, oh my God no.” As the lady scanning me said “I am very sorry but there is no heart beat.” her voice was quiet but definite.
We were taken back to a room next to the foetal monitoring room I had been in only minutes earlier. A doctor came and sat with us and talked about what would happen next. She gave me a tablet in preparation to induce my labour. Kerry came in and I asked if she would deliver our baby for us, she agreed to without hesitation.
We both wanted to get out of the hospital as soon as possible. I had an eerie calm coming over me where I felt the need to organise and plan.
As soon as I got into the car I phoned work and calmly informed them, I felt detached. I phoned my dad at work and told him to come home from work to be with my mom as I was on my way there to tell her the news , my dad sounded panic stricken , I tried to reassure him but he was too concerned to listen.
My mom greeted us at the door. She was confused as to why neither of us was at work. I put my arms around her and simply said “we've lost the baby.” She stood a moment stunned; realising it hadn't sunk in the first time, I repeated myself. I felt quite unemotional. Mom put the kettle on; she was dazed, her eyes full of tears. Dad arrived shortly after; he looked years older than he had the day before. Pain was etched across his face. I put my arms around him and told him it was alright, he shook his head and said it was far from alright.
We went to my husbands' house next. We were met at the door by his dad; his mom was at work but was due back soon. We explained what had happened, his face showed the familiar look of disbelief. After some discussion we decided we would go and tell his Nan, this baby was to have been her third great grand child.
I felt compelled to tell as many people as possible as quick as possible. I suppose I thought by repeating the days events it would somehow feel more real. It didn't.
That evening I began to panic about what to expect. What would the baby look like? Would the baby be born with rigamortis? Questions were buzzing around my head. I remembered my sister in law had a relative who had delivered a still born child a few years back, so I gathered the courage to ring her and ask some of these questions. I was afraid I might upset her or bring back difficult memories. I have since learnt that you don't bring back these memories, you can't because they never leave you.
I also phoned S. A.N.D.S. This is an organisation which offers support to those affected by the loss of a child, as a still born or as a neonatal death. I told myself I didn't need the emotional support just the practical information. S.A.N.D.S were great. They gave me the facts I needed and talked about the coming weeks. Some things came up in this conversation which I hadn't given much thought about, like taking photos and the funeral arrangements. We decided we didn't want to take any pictures, we had been told the hospital would take some anyway. We didn't see the need at that time. This was to be one of our few regrets. If only we had listened, you can't recreate those moments but we could have captured them.
As far as the funeral went we decided we didn't want anything big, just the two of us with the baby. Again, we changed our mind once the baby was born; fortunately this was something we could plan.
I saw a neighbour the following day, who, amazingly the gossip hadn't reached. She innocently asked me when the baby was due and that she was sure it must be any day now. It was difficult for people as I still looked heavily pregnant. I still felt heavily pregnant and was continuing to have Braxton Hicks contractions. I could see my much loved bump moving and had to remind myself that, no, it wasn't the baby.
We took the distressing drive out to a well known baby shop, whose name suggests it cares for mothers. We needed so much; I hadn't packed a hospital bag and we wanted to buy an outfit for our baby to be dressed in following the birth. This was one of the hardest and distressing things we had ever done. Row after row of tiny baby outfits, but nothing that felt right. My husband had to go outside, it was just so traumatic. Eventually I approached an assistant and asked if she had a particular outfit in early baby size. She said they had only got what was on display. I was struggling to keep my emotions in control and made one last attempt to get some help from a second assistant. This time I was met with so much more feeling as I broke down explaining the situation. The lady offered to find an assortment of outfits for us to choose from. We eventually agreed upon a white, plain sleep suit which the lady separated from a pack of three, a white hat and mittens, a shawl and a tiny little soft polar bear which was to stay with the baby.
On Wednesday the 12 th of May 2004, we made the trip to the hospital ready for the labour to be induced. I can't explain how I felt. My bump had changed shape, as though it had shrunk slightly, I found this so upsetting, I think I was trying to hold onto it, wanting to keep everything the same. I was met at the hospital by Kerry, such a relief to see her. I wept as I told her about the change in my bump. Kerry tried to comfort me and explained this was due to the drug I had taken on Monday. I told her about the Braxton Hicks contractions, perhaps I thought she would tell me they had made a mistake and it was the baby moving.
Something I had craved for the last few days was to be reassured that I was reacting “normally” it was something I had asked Kerry often, I felt like I needed an instruction manual on emotions and acceptable behaviour for dealing with this situation, but of course there isn't one.
Labour was induced at 9.00am on that Wednesday. It was incredibly difficult, I became ill with sickness and diarrhoea, was given 5 doses of the inducing drug before labour became established, and developed a temperature which resulted in a drip of antibiotics being set up. I remember Kerry telling me it was time to let the baby go and to stop fighting the contractions as I was preventing the labour from moving on. I knew she was right, but I just couldn't bear the thought of letting go. Eventually I gave in, and began using gas and air and with further persuasion I agreed for a dose of morphine.
Our daughter Eleanor May was born at 1am on Thursday the 13th of May 2004, weighing 4lbs and 5ounces. Eleanor stayed with us in the room I had delivered her in for about four and a half hours. We dressed her in the outfit we had bought the previous day and wrapped her in her shawl with the tiny polar bear tucked in. She was so warm; she was a perfect, beautiful little girl.
Eleanor was christened soon after the delivery. Kerry took photos and made us a book of treasured memories. We all sobbed as Eleanor lay in our arms so still and silent. Her little button nose bled and a blood stained tear ran from her eye, I desperately wanted those eyes to open. There had been no bustle of midwives and doctors, no rush to phone anxious relatives, just a loving couple who felt broken.
The morphine had left me feeling like I was drifting in and out of consciousness. With the aid of a wheel chair, I carried Eleanor in my arms to the mortuary where I lay her in a Moses basket and vowed to return after a rest. I went back to see Eleanor three times that day, each time her body felt colder than the time before.
I left the hospital the following day carrying a brown envelope of Eleanor's treasured memories. It was all we had left. Eleanor's body had been transferred to a different hospital ready for her post mortem. We were told the results could take up to six weeks, although this wasn't the case.
Once we had left the hospital our minds turned to funeral arrangements. Now that Eleanor had been born we knew our feelings on how the funeral should be planned had changed. We felt it was important to us to have a full funeral. To have family and friends to attend, for Eleanor to be recognised as a person, our child.
The first thing we did was to go back to the store we had bought Eleanor's first outfit from, the white sleep suit, which had been so right on her. We wanted Eleanor to have something clean to wear for the funeral. Unfortunately the shop assistant was far from helpful. She told us it wasn't possible to have another sleep suit as they were sold in packs of three and they weren't able to separate them. I explained that we had been in the store only a few days earlier and told her about Eleanor and how we were sold a single sleep suit, would it not be possible to take one out of that same packet in the back? The lady said she would speak to her manager. We stood waiting, was it an unreasonable request? We didn't want a pack of three sleep suits, we had no use for them, and the thought of taking home something she would never be able to wear hurt too much. The assistant returned, with a selection of outfits. She said it wasn't possible to sell us a single sleep suit, we did understand the position didn't we? It wouldn't make financial sense. She turned to the clothes in her arms and said “we've got these, do you know what sex it was?” I looked at her and cried, of cause we knew. I had been in labour for 16 hours we had carried her down to the mortuary. IT was a baby girl called Eleanor, she was our daughter, but the words failed me. I looked at my husband and wept. Needless to say my husband made sure we left the store with a single white sleep suit.
The funeral date couldn't be arranged until Eleanor returned from her post-mortem, so we set about making as many plans as we could, such as ordering the flowers, speaking with the vicar and choosing the hymns and songs we wanted. We knew immediately which song was to be played at the end of the service. Our first dance on the evening of our wedding was to a song by Celine Dione; on that same album was the song we chose for Eleanor, called Fly.
Once we were sure there was nothing else we could arrange, we decided to take Millie away for a couple of days. She had spent much of the past week with her grandparents and we felt it was about time she had some of our attention. We spent a couple of days with Millie in Wales on the beaches. It was just what we all needed. We had a meal out one night and an elderly couple took a shine to Millie, they asked how old she was and then said “wait till you have your second, it all changes then.” My husband gently turned to them and said “we had our second child last Thursday, she was still born.” It may seem strange to tell complete strangers such details but it would have been disrespectful to Eleanor to have ignored her presence. Eleanor was still born in every sense.
When we returned from our few days away, we were told Eleanor would soon be returning from her post mortem. We made arrangements to visit Eleanor on her arrival and agreed we would make one final visit the day before the funeral. We returned to visit Eleanor with my husbands' parents; we each had a hold of her and instinctively found ourselves rocking her in our arms. There were noticeable changes in her appearance, her skin was darker and sore patches were visible but she was still our much loved, much needed child. I was relieved to see Eleanor still had her polar bear tucked in her shawl, I noticed her sleep suit was now slightly blood stained and knew it had been worth the battle to buy the second outfit.
On the way home from the hospital we spoke to our vicar to confirm the date for the funeral, it was agreed to be held on Friday the 4 th of June 2004. We began the process of telling friends and family. I was concerned that due to summer holidays many people would be away and Eleanor would be carried into an empty church.
Since Eleanor had been born, our home had filled with flowers and cards from friends and family. These messages of support had been much appreciated especially during the first few weeks, when I had struggled in dealing with the constant urge to hold Eleanor. Its not that the urge and need has gone but that I have learnt to live with it.
The cards and flowers were to stay up in the house for some time to come even when the petals had turned brown and were falling off, it was as though moving them was to move on and that was and still is something I am not prepared to do, its about accepting Eleanor as part of our lives and not leaving her behind.
We had previously decided we would make a last visit to Eleanor in the mortuary before the funeral. It was to have been our final goodbye, but as the day grew closer I knew I needed more time with her, so I asked my husband to arrange to visit on both the Wednesday and the Thursday before the funeral. I can't describe the heart ache I felt when the hospital advised against any more visits due to the deterioration in Eleanor's appearance. If only I had done what was right for me instead of worrying what was normal in the eyes of society then I could have spent so much more time with her. I would have visited so much more. I trusted the hospital and we made the sad decision that we wouldn't visit again. It was around this time that I realised that the only live pictures of Eleanor had been my scan photos that had been stolen with my purse. Fortunately Kerry spoke with the scan department and managed to get a copy of one scan picture, it was the scan that had confirmed Eleanor's death, I was so grateful to have it.
On the day of the funeral we asked for Eleanor's coffin to be brought into our home. We asked not to be disturbed by any one so that we could say our good byes in peace. Millie was sound asleep upstairs and we had arranged for a baby sitter to stay in the house during the funeral. When Eleanor arrived we placed her tiny white coffin in the living room and sat together silently. We lit the christening candle that we had bought back from the hospital and held hands. When it was time to go Eleanor was carefully placed in the funeral car. We had chosen a Rolls Royce instead of a hearse as the size was more appropriate, another decision I regretted as on the very short journey to the church, no more than a minutes drive, we were over taken twice and papped at by an impatient elderly male.
My husband carried Eleanor into the full church. The service was just as we planned. It was perfect. During the service I read two short poems and my husband made the most moving and wonderful speech. I was so proud of him. After listening to “Fly” by Celine Dione, I carried Eleanor out of the church to the music of Amazing Grace. We left everyone there as we set off to the crematorium where Eleanor was to be cremated. We asked to be left alone for this and agreed to return home to see family and friends afterwards.
In the middle of June we went to a memorial service held by S.A.N.D.S. at the national memorial arboretum in Alrewas near Litchfield. Although it had only been a month since we had lost Eleanor we felt the need to go. After the very moving service we laid down a stone, in the garden of remembrance, alongside all the other parents with each child's name, date of birth and a message. I was horrified to see so many stones, and as I read them I noticed one with the same date of birth as Eleanor. His name was Connall, I was desperate to see who had laid down the stone and we waited until a couple stopped and commented on Eleanor's, these were his parents and we have continued to stay in touch, brought together by our grief.
We attended the hospital for Eleanor's post mortem results on the 21 st of June 2004. The consultant who had given me such care and consideration wept as she told us they had been unable to find a cause, she had appeared to be in perfect condition. She went on to say that there was no reason to stop us from continuing to develop our family.
After Eleanor's post mortem results thoughts began to go through my head. We had been so busy up until then that I had, for the most part, felt in control, detached like I was watching from a distance. I wandered if I had wished this on Eleanor because I hadn't stayed positive, like the doctor had said just before I miscarried. I had smoked, although very few, during the pregnancy and knew I was not able to put my hand on my heart and say I did everything I could for Eleanor. In fact I had knowingly failed to protect her, something I now have to live with. I had ignored the pain I had felt on the way to work, if I had responded sooner would she have lived? If she had been born and I ignored her in pain I would have been accused of neglect and again failing to protect her, what kind of mother does that make me?
As the consultant had said there was no reason not to go ahead and have further children we decided to let nature take its course and made no effort to prevent a pregnancy, so why we were surprised to discover I was pregnant only weeks after delivering Eleanor is beyond me. I felt pregnant immediately although the first test was negative I knew that I was. This was the fourth pregnancy in 2 years; I was fast becoming an expert on the symptoms!
The pregnancy didn't begin well. I woke in the night at about 8 weeks pregnant to find I was saturated in blood. It was a Sunday and I knew I would be unable to have a scan until the next day. It felt like a deja vous. When we arrived at the hospital for the scan the next day I could feel the familiar eerie calm taking over. I gave the nurse my obstetric history and told her I knew I had miscarried I just wanted to be sure there were no retained products of conception. I carried my notes to the scan department and lay down whilst the jelly was placed on my stomach, it was the same lady who had scanned me only weeks earlier to confirm Eleanor had died. I glanced at the monitor to see the left horn of the uterus was empty. My husband and I looked at each other. I could feel the tears on my face, at the same time I heard the lady say “your baby looks fine” We were speechless. The baby was in my right horn.
We didn't tell family and friends I was pregnant until I was 4 months and starting to show. I had been concerned as to people's reaction. Would people think I was being disrespectful to Eleanor or would they think I was trying to replace her?
I was and still am struggling with my feelings. Nights are plagued with bad dreams or poor sleep. I wonder where Eleanor is. I don't believe she's sat on a fluffy white cloud playing a harp. I want to believe she is safe as any parent would want but the only way to be sure would be to look for her, the guilt I feel for not doing that is over whelming, but I need to be here for Millie, my husband and this pregnancy.
I found Christmas and New Year very difficult. To think it was only 12 months ago I had announced to the world I was pregnant with Eleanor and only a year later I was stood at her grave. On Christmas day we went to the church, Millie carried a gift for Eleanor, a little teddy bear holding a star and we took flowers. The words on her grave stone said “Eleanor May taken at birth to join the angels.” I dreaded New Years Eve; it would force Eleanor into the past. I wouldn't be able to say “this year” when I referred to our loss; she would be a part of history. Would that make her less important? Would it make the pain go? Would I find myself visiting her grave less? Would the flowers on her grave be left to die? These things terrified me, yet we have no control over time, there was nothing I could do.
I find it difficult that few people ask about Eleanor anymore, her name is barely mentioned, yet we are desperate to keep her memory and to have her apart of our lives. We strive to build her an identity. We keep everything we can to place in a memory box, dried flowers, cards to each other we have written her name on, even a replica polar bear that a friend had given me.
I am now 33 weeks pregnant, I am unable to plan for this baby to come home from hospital safe and well, I can only plan for its funeral. Its not that I'm ungrateful or have any regrets at being pregnant but that I can't bring myself to make any positive plans only to have them destroyed. I think it must be a kind of self preservation, something my mind has done a lot of these past few months. I still have waves of realisation of what has happened to us, where I feel the full horror. I feel less strong and in control than I have done and I suppose that's good, it must mean I am starting to accept things, and learning how to live with them. I have been blessed with two daughters, Millie our wonderful, happy, outgoing 2 year old, who we adore and has given us so much, and Eleanor the little angel who has made the love in our family flourish. I have a husband who has suffered like myself but has remained strong and patient, giving me all the love and reassurance which I have craved for. Then there is Kerry, our midwife, our friend, whose hands were the first to touch Eleanor. Someone whom we have so much to thank for. So I often remind myself that I was lucky, lucky to have had Eleanor, to have had the opportunity to know our second child, to have been given the chance to appreciate the ever growing love surrounding our family.
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12 February, 2005