Jessica’s Story

The loss of a child from a male perspective

Jessica Kate Mullins

Born 3rd April 2000

Died 10th April 2000

Many times in the past I have sat down and pondered whether I should put into words my thoughts following the death of Jessica and now through a change in my circumstances, I feel that it is the right time to do so.

For the reader to make sense of my thoughts it is necessary to fill in some background information and timescales surrounding the events.

In October 1999 there was much excitement in the Mullins’ household when we discovered that Sally had fallen pregnant. I’m sure Sally would disagree, but apart from a particularly bad bout of morning sickness is was a fairly straight forward pregnancy with no alarm bells ringing. Twelve weeks came and passed, regular checks were a formality and Sally was enjoying the experience that was due to change her life.

No one could have anticipated how it was going to change her life and how our feelings were to be devastatingly altered from euphoria to utter despair.

We had recently moved from our house and were twixt properties, staying with Sally’s parents. Sally was due for a routine visit to her doctor’s on Thursday 30th March and whilst her Doctor was not concerned, she made Sally aware that her blood pressure was a tad higher than it should be and that she would keep an eye on it.

On the Friday, Sally went out shopping on her own and came over quite poorly complaining of headaches and stars before her eyes. At that time, she tossed up whether to drive the two or so miles to Poole Maternity Hospital or to return home. She chose the latter option. It’s an old cliché but, hindsight is indeed a wonderful thing in that the former option would have been the much preferred one now. On returning home, with rest, she was able to feel better, only for further headaches to return on the Saturday, but, everything seemed under control.

After a couple of hours sleep that night Sally awoke with pains across her chest and assumed that it was a case of heartburn. Being a considerate wife she decided that she would get up and rest in the Lounge. Being a normal husband I slipped back into the arms of Morpheus. I was awoken by a crying Sally just after six o’clock, crippled with pain and not knowing what to do with herself.

It became quite clear at this stage that what we were dealing with here was not simply a headache and heartburn but something far more serious. A call to the Ante Natal unit at Poole Maternity Hospital established that it was necessary for her to attend the Hospital and within the hours of eight and ten that Sunday morning; she was seen by everybody from the duty nurse to the Consultant. Sally was suffering from pre-eclampsia.

I had never heard of it. If you care to browse the Concise Oxford Dictionary you will discover that Pre-eclampsia is defined as “a condition in pregnancy characterised by high blood pressure, sometimes with fluid retention and proteinuria”. Well, they weren’t wrong with that lot, but they did not describe the “Severe” version. Apparently, the high blood pressure causes the blood to form little bubbles which block the entrances to the main organs. I guess you could describe it as trying to shove polystyrene balls down a funnel. In the end they will jam, and this was what was happening to Sally’s renal organs. The pain that she was suffering was her liver failing.

Thankfully the medical staff at Poole were quick to recognise the symptoms and the severity of the Pre-eclampsia. This was indeed good news, however, bad news followed in that the Premature Baby Unit at Poole was closed and with surrounding Hospitals taking on Poole’s cases, the nearest hospital able to accept Sally was the Royal Hampshire at Winchester. With blue lights flashing, Sally was sped by Ambulance to be received by them. I followed by car. All this before lunch!!!

The speed in which the morning unfurled was numbingly quick. How did I feel? Numb, just numb. In truth, I still didn’t know what Pre-eclampsia was; this was not discovered until later. Therefore I didn’t take on board that my wife and child were at risk and it didn’t register until later that evening that Sally could have died. The Dictionary didn’t say that.

Sally was admitted to the Hospital and immediately harnessed to more monitors than you could ‘shake a stick at’. Unbeknown to me, it was a case of keeping everything going as long as possible to give the best opportunity for the baby to survive without further jeopardising Sally’s own life. Steroid injections were given to Sally on two separate occasions to help make the baby’s lungs stronger and aid survival. Sally at this stage was drifting in and out of consciousness, her blood pressure was being taken every 5 minutes and her heart was being monitored. She was receiving saline and drugs intravenously. The baby was being monitored in much the same way.

Even at this stage, the enormity of what was about to happen had not clicked. All this was a dream. It wasn’t happening to me. After numerous hours besides Sally’s bed interspersed with as many cigarette breaks, I made the lonely, to be familiar, journey home with the news that the Doctor would make a decision later that night whether to perform a Caesarean operation. Such was the severity of Sally’s condition that I received a telephone call at 10:30 that evening to inform me that the operation was to take place next day at 11:00a.m, I was convinced the call was to inform me that I had lost Sally. I settled down again. There was nothing I could do.

The third of April

After a patchy night of sleep, I am awoken with a plethora of thoughts whizzing through my head. Jobs to do, bits to get. Oh, better tell work I’m not coming in.

What if something happens when I’m on the road? Better get a mobile phone. I put £50 in it (still got a fiver 3 years later!!!). That should do.

I’m on the road. How will I find Sally? Will she be alright? How about babe? I arrive at the Royal Hampshire; nowhere to park as usual. I can’t really remember getting there; that’s scary!

True to their word, Jessica was born just after 11 o’clock on the 3rd April 2000; a spectacle that I was able to witness and always cherish. Having been born at 27 weeks and weighing just 1 lb 13 oz we knew that we were going to be in a fight for Jessica to survive. She was immediately taken to the Special Care Baby Unit which was to be her home for her short life. Looking around the ward and speaking to other parents there was real reason for optimism. Babies born more prematurely and lighter than Jessica had survived and there was no reason to suggest that Jessica shouldn’t be any different.

Critical passages came and went and by the fourth day, the Doctor’s were becoming more and more optimistic that Jessica would be OK .As parents,( me more than Sally; she was still very poorly) we were becoming actively involved in her care in washing her and changing her nappies. I say her nappies loosely, because she was so small, the nappy engulfed her and it was more of a nest to her than a nappy. All the attention that we could give her was administered through the holes in the side of the incubation cot. As you may imagine, Jessica was monitored very closely and all the support and medication was given to her intravenously. Cleanliness was of paramount importance and it was this factor which proved to be Jessica’s ultimate downfall.

Late Friday the 7th April Sally and I were advised that Jessica wasn’t so good and that she was not responding to the medication that she was being prescribed. Jessica had contracted a virus. Over the next two days her health continued to deteriorate to the extent that on the Sunday, it was suggested to me that I should not go home, but stay at the hospital. No provision whatsoever was made for fathers and to the hospital’s credit they did find a camp bed and a blanket to put over me. Toilet facilities were set aside just for me and I was able to sleep with Sally in a room off the main ward.(Oh, how I wish there had been a SPRING suite at Winchester, like there is now at Poole)

I am not sure whether it is female intuition, but Sally woke me up at 4 o’clock on the Monday morning telling me that she wanted to see Jessica. By this time she was very poorly and we spent some time with her, just looking and wondering was the outcome of her little life would be. To this day, I vividly remember her opening one eye. I could see the effort that went into do this. It was almost as if this was to be her last act, her swansong, as if she was saying goodbye, ‘I Love you’. I am sorry if this sounds a bit corny, but, it brings a lump in my throat every time I think about it and is something very real to me. Jessica died at 5:40 am 10th April 2000.

Throughout Jessica’s life, the Hospital staff were superb in the way that they treated Jessica, Sally and I, and this continued upon her death. Every effort was made to soften the impact. We were given comfort when needed and more importantly time to grieve on our own. One of the most poignant moments was when we had our photograph taken with Jessica. My immediate reaction was that this a rather bizarre and morbid thing to do, but, it was the only time that we were able to hold and cuddle our baby and we also have the photographs to remind us of her; a very precious moment.

Jessica was cremated on April 19th in a simple service at Poole Crematorium, surrounded by our friends and family. The music was poignant and non religious (given our feelings at that time) and poems were read by Sally’s closest friend. Jessica’s ashes are placed in a garden in her name, located at Sally’s parent’s home.

I know that many people take solace in God in times of trouble and for other’s the opposite stance are taken. For me, the most salient point is the love and care that came from our families and friends in helping to deal with our grief and the good that has come from Jessica’s death.

My way of dealing with it was to tell anyone and every one of what happened and how I felt, where as, Sally rightfully took the route of counselling. This is how we met with Heather Matthews and our involvement with S.P.R.I.N.G evolved. From this our family involvement has been immense.

On looking back on my experiences over this period of time, I wish that I had understood more, what was happening to me and how it was going to affect my life and my future happiness.

Being a man, Counselling was not high up on my agenda, as I considered it more of a female need and with the service being offered by female Counsellors, the emphasis, quite naturally, felt more to the care and well being of the bereaved mother.

The male has to be strong and effectively has to deal with two issues, namely, the loss of a child and the emotional turmoil cast upon his partner. No one prepared me for this and the consequences.

Having been personally involved with SPRING for twelve months, I felt that it was time for me to move on. Ellie our second daughter had been born and I saw this as a new chapter in our lives which would help to dull the loss of Jessica although never eradicate it ( I would never ever want it to). With Sally and my mother- in law, Kate Ward becoming more intensively involved in the running and organisation of SPRING, at times I have almost resented SPRING for not allowing me to have my life back, and I am sure that this, coupled with the loss of Jessica, was contributory to a mental breakdown some three years after the event.

My period of illness has allowed me to reflect upon the past and to evaluate my present and future. It has allowed me to accept that SPRING will always be a part of my life and has precipitated my involvement again.

Some how, I don’t feel that I am on my own when I say that there seems to be a need for more support to be made available for the partners of bereaved mothers. I defy any man to be able to fully understand the complexity of a female and I feel that may be a gap exists in the Counselling Service to help the men to cope with the emotions of their partners and indeed themselves.

Is there a God?

I have had many thoughts on this emotive subject and in truth the answer is ‘I don’t know’

I was brought up on a background of churchgoing and although it was never actively practiced in the home, I attended Sunday school. When I was considered old enough, I graduated to the Church Choir and until I was eighteen, regularly served at Holy Communion. Apart from Weddings and Funerals, I haven’t been to a church since.

Why? It was probably because of the old staid image of the local churchgoers and through my eyes at this time, the falseness of the people involved in my Church.

Jessica’s death brought about a close examination of my thoughts and how I should deal with them and I have asked the following questions to myself many, many times.

Question…. If there is a God, then why did Jessica die?

Question… Alternatively, if Jessica did survive, what quality of life would she have had? Would she have been brain damaged for the internal bleeding that she suffered? How would we have coped with that? Was this God’s way of relieving her from any potential suffering that she may have had?

Question… On one of my frequent cigarette breaks, after Jessica died, just after the sun had risen, two blue tits came down and danced on the branches of a birch tree before me. Was one of these Jessica?

Answer…. I don’t know and I will never know. The only thing that I do know is when she was on this earth she was loved dearly and that I have a strong belief and feeling that she is being looked after right now.

Richard Mullins
04 Jan 2004