28^th November 2006

Aspects Around Still Birth

Talk title:       About S.P.R.I.N.G.  and the Parents’ Viewpoint

Speaker:       Heather Matthews, SRN, SCM, Dip Prof Studies, Dip Counselling Therapy, Dip Bereavement MBACP

My background

Registered Nurse and Midwife for many years.  Whilst studying for a Diploma in Professional Studies I became aware that all the emotion that can come with pregnancy were not supported.  I decided to try and do something about this and did my counselling diploma.

Once I was ready I started a counselling service on a voluntary basis over the last 12 years.  This has grown to be 2 paid days and a team of 10 voluntary counsellors.  I had this dream of putting in place an umbrella of emotional support around all the issues that arise during pregnancy. Click on image to view full size

I found that half of my clients were around the experience of baby death.

Listening to these parents has been my education.

These parents said it would help if they had a local support group where parents could meet each other.

Eight years ago S.P.R.I.N.G.  was born.  S.P.R.I.N.G.  stands for Supporting Parents and Relatives In Neonatal Grief.

The charity is run by a core group of interested professionals and bereaved parents. 
Click on image to view full size

The monthly support meetings are very well attended (average around 30 parents) and over the years S.P.R.I.N.G. has endeavoured to listen to parents and put in place the things that they said would help:

• The Bereavement Suite
  
• The Snowdrop Garden
• Remembrance Services and Activities
• Social events – Website
• Bi-Annual newsletter with a mailing list of 200+
• Fundraising activities
• Research into what can be done to help

Over the past 2 years I have undertaken some formal research.  This will eventually be available on our Website.

This research indicates that 50% of parents felt well supported and 50% didn’t.  Looking more closely at this result the factor that seemed to be most important around feeling well supported or not was the professional that was with them through the experience.

How good the support felt like depended on the Midwife and Doctors who were there.

Caring for parents when there is not a happy outcome is the most challenging situation.

It calls for all our resources.  It challenges our own belief system, our own feelings and fears about death and dead bodies and our confidence in our own competency.

It can cause us great stress and we can very easily go into a defensive mode of behaviour which can be an obstruction to our connection with these parents.

It can also be the most satisfying experience if you can manage to help parents in this most traumatic and painful time.  You can help them on their grief journey by lessening the guilt and regrets – if you can give them the courage to own – hold – love their babies – in this way enabling them to say ‘goodbye’ to the baby that before the unspeakable happened they loved so much.  You will have achieved a great deal.

Because parents have been my teachers and I found their stories helped me understand so much more, I have asked 3 mothers to come to speak with you today.

4 very different stories.

The first parent today is Jenni.  Jenni has sought counselling in the last two years to address the death of her baby David in June 1995.  At that time Jenni already had Emma but at 20 weeks she went into premature labour with David.

Jenni’s story:

I went into Poole Maternity Unit at around 2 pm, when I was 20 weeks pregnant. I was having contractions every three minutes.   I remember the pain being extremely intense, it was as though my body wasn’t ready for the birth and was fighting every step of the way. 

David always had a very strong heartbeat on the monitor and that was keeping me going through out it all.  I felt that I could survive if I had him at the end of it all.

I remember begging for a caesarean I was that desperate to end the pain, all I had been offered was gas which was no help.  The young lady doctor offered me Morphine.  However, her words were “ the morphine will kill the baby, but the baby is going to die anyway so you might as well have it”.  That is when I knew the end had come.  I have, even now, been consumed by guilt that by not being able to bear the pain, I killed David. 

I had to accept the Morphine, I could not continue with the pain.  My husband had taken Emma to his father’s and went to phone to check up on her.  Whilst he was out of the room a midwife entered. 

Please remember here that I was in full labour, knowing that my baby was not going to survive, totally alone and terrified beyond anything imaginable.  She sat down with a clipboard and asked me with no tone in her voice:

· Will I want to hold the baby

· Will I want to see the baby

· Will I want to have the baby cremated

· Will I want to have the baby buried

She could have been going through her shopping list there was so little emotion.  I asked what would happen to my baby and was told that he would be kept frozen until there were enough babies and then they would all be cremated together at the same time, we would be advised after it had happened.

I could not, until I have been seeing Heather, forgive her for her lack of compassion and her uncaring attitude, along with the fact that she was asking me these questions before my son had even been born, before he had even had the chance to survive.  He was being taken away from me before he had even begun.

By 10 pm he had still not been born and I had gone through so much Morphine.  Eventually, while my husband was making another check up phone call, a Consultant entered the room and said “Right, let’s get it out of you then”.  He then proceeded to manually remove David from me.

I remember the thud as he was dropped onto the bed.  I had to ask the consultant which sex my baby was, he turned him over and said it’s a boy and then left.  Remember, my husband wasn’t even in the room at this time.  I was left with the midwife who was tidying up, David was left until last, I didn’t see him as I was too exhausted and didn’t have the strength to look.  The midwife did not offer to bring him to me and indeed he was taken away out of the room without me seeing him. 

I was then left alone and when my husband returned I had to tell him what had happened and he tried to hug me but with all the tubes and morphine I still had attached to me he was unable to get near me.  The one time when we needed to be really close was unreachable to us.

However my nightmare didn’t end there, the placenta would not come away and I continued through the night, on the Morphine as the pain did not subside, it was as though my body was holding on to the last remnants of my son.  We were left alone most of the night.   Finally, at around 8 am, I was taken to a room where I was, at long last, given an epidural and had a manual removal of the placenta.  The relief of finally been given something to end the pain was so great that I could not believe that I had not been offered one during the rest of the last sixteen odd hours. 

I was then taken to a recovery suite, still attached to my tubes and had the curtains drawn around me.  In the next bed a new mother and father cradled their new born baby and were, understandably, very excited. 

I was then taken to another room and visited by Rev Jane Lloyd.  She was the first person who acknowledged David and offered her sympathies.  She asked if we would like to see David, she said that she had seen him and suggested it would be a good idea for us.  We agreed. 

I expected a full sized Moses basket, when the doll sized basket came in, that is when it hit me with the full extent of what had happened.  He had been dressed in a lovely knitted outfit and we were encouraged to take him out and hold him.  It was a bitter sweet moment as I still had all the tubes and was unable to hold him, however my husband did and I was able to stroke his head. 

I left hospital later that afternoon, however, I telephoned the next morning and was allowed to go back and spend time with David.  I spent half an hour with him on my own and was finely able to hold him to me.  I had taken a blanket with me and I wrapped him in this, to my knowledge he was buried with it.  I am glad I had this time alone with him, I think I would have regretted it in later years.

Reverend Lloyd came to see us at home several days later and she asked about the funeral.  We told her what we had been told and she was horrified.  She explained that the hospital would see to a full burial service for him and asked us if there were any particular readings we would like.  We were so happy that David would get some acknowledgement and that we would be able to be part of it. 

The service, a week later, was lovely, a lot of it is a blur but I remember it being a sunny day. 

I have never been able to discuss this with anyone, not the full story, it has only been Heather giving me the strength to face it and write this story.  I realise now that the midwife who asked me the questionnaire had her own emotions to deal with during a sad situation.  I can forgive her, but not fully, I don’t think that will ever go.

I am not looking for sympathy in writing about David, if one person reading this can make a difference to the care of another woman in my position then my aim will have been achieved.

I hope that by listening to this account, should you ever be in the situation she was in, you will be able to remember David and treat the mother with a little compassion, she is not just a person she is a mother who is losing her child.

Jenni was not helped on her grief journey and David’s death has had a great impact on her life and happiness.  It is only recently that she has revisited the experience and managed to work her way through the pain.

The second parent is Rosie.  Rosie was the first person to use the S.P.R.I.N.G. suite so the surroundings were the best we could offer.  Like Jenni, Rosie already had one child, Ryan, when she became pregnant with her second child.  Rosie suffered greatly with hyperemesis and spent much of her pregnancy in Salisbury Hospital hooked up to an intravenous drip.

Rosie’s story:

 At 17 weeks gestation I booked in with a new midwife, having just moved house.  Until a few days previously I had been very sick, but after we moved the sickness stopped, so I put it down to the stress of moving as well as being pregnant.  The midwife couldn’t hear my baby’s heartbeat so she suggested a scan to check everything was ok.  This was arranged for two days later.

My life ground to a halt with, “I’m sorry, the baby’s dead.”  I looked at my husband in disbelief and asked, “Did you hear what she said?”  He would tell me she was wrong.  I felt myself withdraw; it was like I was in the corner of the room watching someone else.  The sonographer said, “That’s not what you wanted to hear, is it?”  What kind of a question is that? Of course I didn’t come here to find out my baby had died.  I came here to see his heart beating on the screen and find out that everything was fine.

I was given a scan picture and a booklet about miscarriage and sent home for the night.  I had seen my baby on the monitor lying motionless inside me, without a heartbeat, but doubts started to creep into my mind.  What if it was a mistake and he was still alive!  I was terrified because I didn’t really have any idea of what to expect in the morning.  I knew I had to go through labour, but I had no idea of how much time and pain would be involved and how I would cope knowing I was going through it without a healthy baby to love and cherish at the end.  All I knew was that I had to deliver a dead baby.  Now I knew he was dead I didn’t want him inside me.  I wanted it to all be over so I could put it behind me and move on.

We went back into hospital the following morning.  The procedure for inducing labour was explained and we were told the baby might be bruised.  We were also told that we would be able to have photographs and hand and foot prints to remember our baby. 

A midwife showed us around the suite of rooms we were in.  I couldn’t believe the effort that had gone into creating them.  It was like being transported out of the hospital environment completely, and such a relief to discover that maybe it wouldn’t be so unbearable if I did have to stay for a few days.  It was like being in our own little world, where I didn’t have to think of anything outside of those rooms and I was so grateful that the worst thing I have ever had to go through in my life was made as comfortable as possible.  It made me feel less lonely to know that there are people who care.

As time passed I found that sitting on the toilet eased the pain as it got more intense.  Nothing was really expected to happen before midnight at the earliest and I hadn’t even started having contractions by tea time, so I thought we were in for a long night.  Halfway through my tea the pain was so intense that I went to the toilet again.  As I was sitting there I felt a lump, which I assumed was a blood clot.  It hit the water with a loud splash and when I looked down realisation dawned.  I could see the cord.  I’d given birth down the toilet.  I just sat there for a moment, totally dumbstruck, completely numb with shock. 

I shouted at my husband to get somebody quickly and then I was hit with absolute horror that my baby was head first down the toilet, how would he be able to breathe!  I frantically pulled the cord until Dominic was in my hand and I was shaking like a leaf.  He was much smaller than I was expecting, but I so wished that he would open his eyes and look at me.  I heard voices approaching.  As the midwife came into the room the placenta came out and took Dominic back down the toilet with it.  I had failed my baby so badly.  I couldn’t bring him into the world alive and I couldn’t even give him the dignity and respect he deserved when he was born.

After I was back in bed we were asked if we wanted to see the baby.  We both said yes.  He was brought over to us, wrapped in a towel.  The midwife opened the towel and we had a look at him.  I was amazed at the visible detail of his fingers and toes; you could even see his knuckles and finger nails.  I was surprised that his face was the least developed part of him.  I think the biggest shock was his colour and skin.  From the information we had been given I was expecting a small baby who looked like a new born, but maybe paler with some bruising.  In reality he was a bluey purple colour and his skin was very smooth and almost translucent.  It never occurred to me to ask to hold him and the offer wasn’t made.  It was almost like I felt he didn’t belong to me and I didn’t have any rights.  I was still struggling with the realisation that my baby was dead.

We were told that he was too small for photos and hand & foot prints.  I accepted this without question.  This was all new to me, so obviously they knew best! We were also asked if we wanted the baby left in the next room for a while.  I said no because I was struggling so hard to keep control of myself and I thought it would be easier if he was taken away.  Not long afterwards I remember thinking I wish he had been left, because I would like to see him again, but I didn’t have the courage to admit this to anyone else and I didn’t want to be a nuisance to the staff by asking them to bring him back.  I didn’t appreciate that this was the only chance I would ever have to spend time with my son.

We were asked if we would like to see the hospital chaplain.  We said yes and she came to see us and offered us the choice of a blessing.  We agreed to this because we both felt the need to say goodbye and wish him well wherever he had passed on to.  Dominic was brought to the service in a Moses basket, completely covered.  It was strongly suggested that we didn’t look at him again because he would have already started to decompose, even though it was only a few hours after he was born.

If I could have my day with Dominic again I would definitely have his photo taken and the hand and foot prints.  I would hold him close to me in my arms, as a mother should her baby and spend as much time with him as possible.  I spend so much time now torturing myself for not having had the strength to treat him as I would have if he had lived.  My biggest regret is not having a photo of him.  I am already questioning my memory of how he looked and this scares me so much because I have nothing else to visually remember him by.

I know that losing a baby is hard for everyone to deal with, but if only someone had said to me, ‘Are you sure you don’t want to see the baby again? It’s no trouble to bring him back’, or ‘Can we take a photo for your records?’  I wouldn’t have to spend the rest of my life with so many regrets.    I now have a cot card and name labels for Dominic, but even these would have meant more if they had been completed at the time, as they would for a living baby.

It has taken a long time for me to deal with the guilt I felt for the lack of love and care I showed Dominic when he was born. I failed him in so many ways because I was scared and not strong enough to think beyond the moment.  All of the staff were very kind and compassionate, and I cannot fault the medical care I received, however I do feel that I could have had so many more memories and fewer regrets.  Nothing can change the fact that my baby died, but more time spent with him and things to remember him by would have helped me to come to terms with what happened.  Even though he never took a breath, he is still my baby, who I will always love with all my heart. 

Rosie’s story highlights the need for Midwives to be aware that parents may be reluctant to ask to see their babies again – not wanting to cause a fuss – not sure if it’s an ok thing to do.  The Midwife who is not happy to be there, who would be uncomfortable handling a dead baby will show it in her body language, how she holds the baby and in what she offers.

How small does a baby have to be to be too small?  The PM on Dominic said he had grown to 17 – 18 weeks size. 

Rosie has had to struggle with her feelings of guilt around Dominic and it did not help her grief journey.

Karen’s story:

I was taken to the S.P.R.I.N.G. suite, it was the early hours of the morning, and Rob had to go home to be with the girls.  I said we would tell them when Samantha came home from school, she was having a special Jubilee celebration that morning, I wanted her to enjoy it.

As soon as I was on my own, I looked at the lovely card that held my baby’s hand and foot prints, they were perfect in every way, beautiful, and fragile.  I didn’t want to look at her photographs, I didn’t know what to expect, but I was suddenly compelled to do so.  At only 17 weeks, she was perfect, just tiny and vulnerable, my beautiful little baby.  I thought of the miracle that is the creation of life.

I read the paperwork I’d been given; there was a part that mentioned having the baby blessed.  I wanted that, I couldn’t just let her go.

I left hospital later that morning, Rob and I stayed together all day.  He collected Samantha from school and Emily from nursery.  Emily stayed with me while Rob took Sammy to her swimming lesson.  When they got home we sat on the bed and I told them.  They knew I had been poorly, I told them that the baby had been poorly, like Mummy, but because she was so tiny, she died and went to Heaven.  I expected them to fall apart, like me, but they didn’t, they just accepted it.  They were obviously disappointed but to them, Heaven is a great place, they would miss the baby, but they knew she was ok, she was with their big brother Sam, and Gran, the dog and the hamster.  Emily wanted to see the baby and know where she was; Samantha didn’t really say anything she just looked relived that I was home and ok.

A few days later I went to my first counselling session.  I felt physically sick walking into the Maternity Unit.  I mentioned to Heather, my Counsellor, about a blessing, she started to talk about a funeral.  I wanted something special for my baby but a funeral was too much.  I knew how painful Samuel’s funeral had been, the sight of his little coffin, I knew Rob didn’t want to go through that again, and the children, I didn’t want them to be upset or to see us upset.  Heather said she would arrange for the hospital Chaplain to visit me, that seemed a good place to start.  When I told Rob about her impending visit I could see him wince, I knew how he felt, we’d been there before, he just wanted to try to put his emotions behind him and carry on with life.  I didn’t want to hurt him, but I knew we owed our baby something.  The day before the Chaplain was due I gathered all my strength and telephoned the hospital to find out the sex of my baby.  She was or should I say is a little girl.  I told the children immediately, they had wanted to call a baby girl Lily, so Lily joined our family.  I showed them her hand and foot prints; Samantha couldn’t understand how they had done it she thought that Lily was still inside me.  I explained that she had been born.  I hadn’t wanted to show them the Polaroid photos, I had wanted to wait until the sensitive ones arrived, but they wanted to know what else was in the little booklet.  I asked if they would like to see some photographs of Lily, I explained her skin was red because she was so young, that’s what all babies of Lily’s age look like.  They thought she was sweet and beautiful and ran off to play.

When I spoke to Jane, the hospital Chaplain, she expelled my fears, she gave me options.  I decided that wanted now more than anything a small family funeral service for Lily.  I knew we all needed that, I knew that my children had to know that their little sister had a special place.  A place that we could visit and show our love.  We discussed putting Lily in the same grave as Samuel.  Our first baby son died of leukaemia thirteen years ago, he was only a few hours old.  We have missed him every day since and always will.  At first I didn’t want them to be together, I don’t really know why, I thought perhaps that each should have a special place.  However, the more I thought about it the more it became exactly the right thing to do.  Jane arranged this for us, she spoke to the Funeral Director and the cemetery staff, on our behalf.  She gave me a selection of beautiful poems and readings, which were painful to read and yet comforting.  I tried to write my own poem but my grief was too raw.  I found the words I wanted in a beautiful poem and talked to Jane about my family and our feelings.  She put together, from our conversations, the most beautiful service.  I ordered lilies for the grave and flowers for Samuel; it would have been his 13^th birthday the week before.  The morning of the funeral came, my girls dressed in pretty summer dresses and we went to the cemetery.  I felt sick and so sad but surprisingly managed to hold myself together.  I took every moment of the ceremony in, the beautiful words, the sunshine, the beautiful tiny white coffin, we all cried buckets but I will remember it always as a special day.  Lily will never have a birthday party, she will never get married, the funeral was the only thing we could do for her to show the world that she was here and that she was very loved.

Without the compassionate counselling I received and the comforting support and practical advice of Jane, the hospital Chaplain, I would not have had a funeral for my baby.  My little girls would have no place to put daisies and I would have no special place to be with my baby, I would have regretted that decision always.

The fourth parent is Ali.

I first met Ali 5½ years ago when she was struggling with the aftermath of a difficult birth and an unwell baby.

I met her again 19 months later in another pregnancy at 22 weeks when she was about to experience a termination due to multiple problems with her baby.

Ali’s story:

Adam 

Delivery

After care

Madness

Loss

Understanding Grief

Concern

Adapting

Survival

Adam

Nineteen months ago my husband and I made the single most distressing decision of our marriage.

With medical support we decided to have a medical termination.  The twenty-week scan had shown that our baby had multiple tumours and other complications that could not be treated.  In reaching the decision the Consultant told us ‘it would be the greatest act of kindness’ and in shock we agreed.  We were ushered past lots of pregnant women in the waiting room to a small office with cups of tea and apologies for the lack of space and time to come to terms with what would happen next.

Later we were taken to the S.P.R.I.N.G. suite I mentioned that I had seen Heather previously after the traumatic first birth of my son, Guy, and someone went to find her.  It hadn’t crossed my mind until that point that I would have to deliver this baby.  I didn’t want to have anything to do with him.  I didn’t want to name him, touch him, hold him, see him or love him.  Heather explained it would be like walking through fire and that it was very important to experience all the things we didn’t want to do.  It was a precious time that no one would be able to get back for us and instrumental in the healing process.  So we decided to call him Adam, and returned two days later.

Delivery

There are no happy endings to this experience.  The indignity of being wheeled into a lift for the world to see was unbearable in the midst of being in labour but a KIND midwife said close your eyes and we will soon be there.

The physical pain didn’t need to continue and a SUPPORTIVE midwife went to get the anaesthetist.  High on Morphine I wanted to be anywhere else but the gentle persuasion of the midwife let me cry like a wounded animal whilst she remained CALM and PROFESSIONAL.

Once Adam had been delivered my only thought was please don’t let me go into theatre and my knowledgeable midwife made sure I understood what to expect so my fears could be allayed.  Going back to the S.P.R.I.N.G. suite I closed my eyes.  After a while a midwife came in with two Polaroid photographs and encouraged me to look at Adam.  My imagination of what Adam would look like was much worse than the reality.  These photographs taken by the staff remain my most important evidence of my baby.  We took our own camera but we were in too much pain and emotional stress to take what we should have done.  I am so grateful to the staff who understood how important they would be to me in time.

My midwife warned me that due to Adam’s hands being malformed she had not been able to get a good print but we saw quite clearly in his footprint he had left a little heart.

Then we met him.  Brought up in a tiny basket shielded from prying eyes.  I am so pleased I was encouraged to hold, touch and meet our baby.  As painful as it seemed the experience of holding him provided an important sense of closure.

Throughout the rest of the time in the S.P.R.I.N.G. suite the midwives were attentive, supportive and sympathetic.  What may have been a terrible day at work for them became what remains my only opportunity to have a lifetime of memory of meeting Adam.  I am not a midwife and I can only imagine how difficult it is to work that shift.  Because you singularly make the difference please have the strength to admit when you can’t do this and be there with the parents.  If you put yourself in a place where you don’t feel confident and it hurts you it will also hurt the parents you are meant to look after.  Have the courage and awareness to ask someone else instead.  Nobody fully recovers from the death of a child.  They adjust to it as best they can.  But the kind of support we had at the time as you’ve heard today really makes a difference.

After care

When we got home, the emotional numbness allowed us to get through the practical arrangements of the funeral.  But the deep yearning for my baby and the milk coming in left me agitated, upset, unable to concentrate, relax or sleep.  My midwife who had seen me at my surgery came often and my doctor came to see me too.

Eventually, mad with grief they prescribed an anti depressant and with counselling I began to go through the pain.

Madness

The basic day-to-day existence let alone meeting everyone’s expectations as a friend, family member uses enormous amounts of energy.  You function at the basic of levels when the reality is you just don’t want to get out of bed.  My little boy, Guy, needed his mummy and my husband wanted his professional, organised, attentive and sane wife but actually the reality was very, very different.  Gradually the exhaustion replaced the normality.  I had given up trying to make sense out of the nonsense that my baby had died before me.  To watch someone lying dead to whom you gave life as an extension of yourself while you are still alive challenges the natural order of things.  And I DID DO SOME VERY MAD THINGS.  Aside from leaving my keys in the front door, my phone in the fridge, I managed to put my plastic bottomed kettle on the hob to cook pasta.  As you can imagine this resulted in part of my kitchen being on fire, something I’d rather forget.  The grief is so overwhelming and at times I’d really had enough but through counselling I realised that I was important to the people in my life.

Loss

The loss you experience when your baby dies is twofold.  Not only do you feel the real pain of the loss of the baby and what could have been, but losing Adam meant not just losing my baby but a real sense of who I was.  Eventually I realised that I am a daughter, a sister, a wife, a friend and that I had a role to play and most importantly I am a mother to Guy.

Understanding Grief

Men and women grieve differently and so often misinterpret one another’s behaviour at a time when they need to connect.  My husband and I certainly experienced this and there were times when it was very difficult staying married.  Feelings of guilt can spill over into blame and with the emotional exhaustion it’s very had to initiate connection.  A father whose child dies suffers not only the pain of that loss but the stress of not being able to alleviate his wife’s anguish.

Concern

When your baby dies and the funeral service has been friends and family try to be supportive.  For many this proves very difficult and many people in trying to show concern said, “well, it’s ok, you already have one”, “you’re young enough you can keep on trying”.  This really didn’t help.  Some cry and laugh with you.  I have amazing family and friends but I’m sure I tested their understanding and patience but they didn’t give up on me.  Because Adam never lived for anyone to see and was with me such a short time, people think the parents should recover quickly.  But most of us begin bonding with the unborn baby early in pregnancy.  There’s no time limit on grief and people continue to feel bereaved at every stage of the life your child would enjoy had they had, eg a wedding, etc.

Adapting

The reality is that you are a different person since the death of your baby.  My life is different now, no matter how things stabilise, no matter how good life gets you know through and through that your life is forever without your child.

Survival

As is said, time is a great healer – the only source of comfort I take from this is today I woke up and Adam was not my first thought.  I went to sleep last night and Adam was not my last waking thought and I know I’m beginning to heal.  I have not left him behind; he is with me always in a special place in my heart.  We speak his name often and I have his Memory Album that I can share with others.  His brother knows who he is and he will not be forgotten.

As I stand here today I can also tell you that I had a miscarriage in June and even though the experience was different the one thing they had in common was the committed and hardworking midwives I encountered and I want to thank you for being here today.

All 4 mothers have been on their grief journeys.

All very different.

Karen was enabled to visit the death of Sam, her first child, and healing took place.

Sarah and Ali were fortunate to get the kind of support they needed that helped them with their journeys at the time of Jay’s and Adam’s births.  Both Jenni and Rosie have needed longer and maybe have suffered in a different way because of this.

Death is always very frightening – a dead baby is a very difficult thing to deal with.

Another young mum, Sarah, said, “I was frightened to look in the folder in the S.P.R.I.N.G.  suite.  I was afraid of seeing pictures of dead babies.

I didn’t know what I wanted to do when my baby was born.  I am so glad we were helped to wash and dress him.

We have such lovely photos to keep.

We have made 3 Memory Albums, 1 each for Jay’s grandmothers.  It makes it easier to talk about him.  He was a real baby”

It is not just the parents who are affected when a baby dies – the whole family feel the pain.

This is a letter written by a grandmother to her grandson, Brandon, still born at term:

To ‘be’ there is hard – to sit with another’s pain without moving away takes courage and a safe place inside ourselves.

Awareness of ourselves and knowing what we can give safely helps us to ‘be’ with others.

It does not make us less if sometimes we feel ‘unsafe’ inside but the awareness of it can ensure we keep ourselves in a safe place and ensure the other person in need also has the support they need from another who is ok. 

S.P.R.I.N.G. continues to endeavour to work towards helping parents and helping others to help them.

We have two big projects in hand.

1. To fund a Bereavement Support post.  A Midwife with a special interest in this work who can be there for parents and staff, supporting and co-ordinating the care.  A part-time post 3 days a week.  The Trust will be the employer and S.P.R.I.N.G.  will pay the costs of the post.
   
   
2. To expand the suite to make the single room 21 into an en suite bedroom with access to the lounge.

We have brought our Scrapbooks and samples of Memory Albums and Newsletters for all.

Full handouts of this talk are also available. Please contact us using our contact form to further information.

I would like to thank these brave parents for sharing with us.