Emma’s Story

It was my first pregnancy, I was 34 and had a very bad time.  I was in and out of hospital having checks and they decided to keep me in for six weeks.  I then had an amniocentesis, where they put a needle into the womb, and they said her lungs weren’t maturing properly.  So I was then sent home to have Emma naturally.

The Friday before the due date I went home for the weekend and that evening, I started to bleed.  My husband asked the hospital if I could go back.  All they said was, ‘Have the waters broken?’  All over the weekend he kept calling, but they said I couldn’t come in.

That Monday I met the consultant. He told me there was no foetal heartbeat so I knew then there was something terribly wrong.  I was put on a monitor in a room out of the way.  I wasn’t allowed to talk to any of the other women, it was all hush-hush.  I think I was an embarrassment to them really.  I was left in this room all day on my own, and at quarter past four I was taken into the delivery room.

I knew the baby was dead, but no one actually said that.  I kept asking if there was any other way I could have her.  I kept wondering how she had died, and when.  It was dreadful, absolutely dreadful.

I endured a four and a half hour labour.  Graham was able to be with me, but was made to leave the room before Emma was born.  He wanted to stay, he fought to stay, but they made him go.  I felt dreadful.  I had no one there for me at all and they gave me gas and air to keep me quiet.

I never saw her.  I wouldn’t ask if the baby was a boy or girl because I knew I just couldn’t cope.  Graham wanted to see her immediately, but they wouldn’t let him.  He had to really fight to see his own child.  Later the staff relented and Graham was allowed to see Emma.  She was dressed and he saw her head and her hands.  He said she had very long fingers and dark hair.  It was only a short time and he was never allowed to hold her.  I never saw her at all.

In the hope of getting some answers, Graham agreed to a post mortem examination, but the results were inconclusive.  To find out more we paid for a private appointment with the consultant.  As we walked in the door he said, ‘All you’re here for is to blame us for your dead baby.’  That was it, no ‘sorry’, no sympathy or asking how we were.  Then he told us our notes were missing.  This turned out to be untrue.

There was fresh heartbreak when I tried to discover what had happened to my baby’s body.  I didn’t go to her funeral, but a year later I wanted to see where her ashes had been scattered, so I called the crematorium and they said there were too few ashes from such a small child, so again we had nothing.  There was no grave, nothing we could care for.

Graham and I tried to rebuild our lives.  First we had to face the distress of returning home to all the baby things that lay waiting.  I kept them in the loft for two years after she died and as I didn’t have any other children I thought it was time I did something about it and gave it all away.  I wish now that I’d kept some of the little things I’d knitted.

We never had anymore children.  We just couldn’t think about going through it all again.  Instead we became child minders, pouring all our love into their charges and trying to put our nightmare behind them.  Then three years ago I read The Lost Babies in the Daily Echo.  It made me think it was time I did something to try to talk it all out, because I’d locked it away for all those years, all the pain and the sadness.  I contacted Heather Dunbar who agreed to help.

Graham did his grieving 24 years ago and couldn’t understand why I wanted to bring it all up again, but I had to.  I think it gnaws away over the years.  Heather traced the ‘lost’ notes, which contained, among other things a print out of Emma’s failing heartbeat.  We went through the notes together and she explained everything to me.  There was no problem with Emma, she had been perfect.

Heather showed me pictures of other stillborn babies, similar in size to Emma, who weighed six and a half pounds.  I’d had all these nightmares about how she would appear, but after seeing the photos, I could picture what she might have looked like. 

With Heather’s help, last year Graham and I commissioned a special memorial stone for the Snowdrop Garden, and held a service for Emma.  We chose some poems, including one we’d written for her.  At the graveside, Heather, Graham, Jenni and Jane the chaplain and I put flowers in a posy.  Then we lit 24 tapers – one for each year of life she would have had.  And we said our prayers.

Now I have a special folder of memories.  These include copies of the hospital notes, the words used in Emma’s memorial service and a treasured photograph of the tiny floral cross that I made for Emma’s original funeral.

A few weeks ago, Graham and I attended the memorial Snowdrop Walk.  We said prayers and released helium balloons with messages for Emma.

Mine said, ‘To dear Emma, remembering you with love, especially today. 

From Mummy.’