Answers for Elsie: Maddie’s story

“I trusted the hospital team when they told me not to worry. The next day, my baby died.” 

Elsie was stillborn at 34 weeks at Queens Hospital in Nottingham on 23 December 2024. Maddie and her partner, Corey-Jack, were among the bereaved parents who contributed to Donna Ockenden’s independent review of Nottingham Hospital Trust. The review concluded that failures in care contributed to Elsie’s death. 

Maddie and Corey-Jack were previously supported by Petals. The Trust cancelled the Petals service shortly after, and we have been working hard to get it re-established ever since.

Here is Maddie’s story. 

Corey-Jack and I had been together for about a year when we discovered we were pregnant. It wasn’t planned, but we considered it a lovely surprise. I’ve always loved babies and children, and I work in Early Years.  We told our families and I started planning everything. We were moving house, so I decorated the bedroom, bought baby clothes and began to imagine our future together as a family. 

At 12 weeks, I found out I had a heart-shaped uterus, which meant my pregnancy was high risk. I had to have scans every three weeks, then every two weeks from 28 weeks onwards.  We wanted to know the sex of our baby, and tried to find out from 16 weeks, but she was very stubborn and didn’t let us know she was a girl until my 28-week scan. That was another big surprise because I’d been sure she was a boy. 

Throughout my pregnancy, I was repeatedly told that she was small but healthy and growing at her own rate. I didn’t realise that being small could be much more serious than that. 

It was my 21st birthday when I went for my final scan at 35 weeks. It was always stressful because I don’t like hospitals, and I found the sonographers seemed to talk down to me. But I always loved and looked forward to seeing my baby. 

On this occasion, the sonographer told us that Elsie hadn’t grown for two weeks. She had been a small baby throughout my pregnancy, but this really concerned Corey and me. We questioned why she hadn’t grown, but the sonographer reassured us and said our baby was happy and healthy. She even said, “Babies often don’t grow at this late stage of pregnancy.” We raised our concerns again, but they told us to come back in a week for another scan. If she hadn’t grown any more by then, we would have to consider an early delivery. 

I trusted the hospital because it was my first pregnancy and they were meant to know best. I just thought they wouldn’t have sent me home if she wasn’t okay. We met my family for my birthday meal afterwards and I had an early night. Elsie died the very next day.

“Is there anything you’re not telling me?” 

The morning after my scan, I hadn’t felt Elsie move. Even when I ate an orange, which always got her moving, there was nothing. Coincidentally, the hospital phoned me to tell me they had found protein in my urine. When I told them I hadn’t felt her move yet, like I usually would have, they told me to come in. 

They didn’t say it was an emergency, so I wasn’t that concerned. I’d gone in for reduced movements before and I knew the process: I’d be monitored for a few hours and then sent home. I had no reason to believe this was different, so I told Corey to stay at home. But this time it was different. The team were waiting for me at the hospital doors and took me straight in for a scan. Within minutes, they told me they couldn’t find a heartbeat. I burst into tears and messaged Corey straight away. I said, “You need to come right now.” 

But while I was messaging him, the midwives were telling me to get off my phone. They kept telling me I had to be present in the moment. They were trying to hug me, but I was all alone and the only person I wanted was my partner.  I couldn’t believe it. I was numb, in complete shock. I don’t think I believed she’d gone until I saw her. 

“I was too overwhelmed by grief to keep asking questions.” 

After they told me Elsie had died, there wasn’t a bed available, so I went home. The house was full of baby things. We’d been decorating her room, and I’d been washing her clothes, so they were everywhere. I methodically went up and downstairs, taking everything to her room. Then I shut the bedroom door and didn’t open it again for about three months. I couldn’t bear to. 

I remember very little of the next few days. Everything is a blur. I was admitted to hospital the following evening to be induced. I remember there were Christmas decorations and families everywhere. 

The nurses left me for four days with Elsie still in my stomach because the labour tablets weren’t working as they planned, which felt like an added cruelty. Corey’s mum and my mum became our voices when we couldn’t find our own. I was too overwhelmed by grief to keep asking questions or push for help. Corey-Jack’s mum stayed with us the whole time. If she didn’t think something was right, she said so. She challenged the staff when she felt something wasn’t okay and made sure we weren’t left without answers. I don’t know how we would have got through those days without them. 

Delivering her was so hard. Some members of staff didn’t realise I was giving birth to a stillborn baby. They came into the room asking Corey what the baby was or what her name was going to be because they hadn’t been told our situation. There were moments that were incredibly difficult, it is hard to talk about. 

“She was the most beautiful baby I’d ever seen.” 

When Elsie was finally born, all of that disappeared. She was the most beautiful baby I’d ever seen. She looked like both of us, the perfect mix of me and Corey. We could see both of our features in her. What I remember most about the hours we spent with her isn’t just the sadness. It’s the overwhelming love I felt. I was so proud of her. 

We dressed her, held her, did skin-to-skin, took photographs, had her handprints and footprints done and made a memory box. We read stories to her, stared at her and simply spent time together as a family. We stayed with her for about 12 hours before leaving hospital on Christmas Eve. I wanted to stay with her forever, but I just couldn’t be in that place any longer. 

Even though our care had been negligent, some of the midwives I had were amazing. One called Grace cared for me, helped me shower afterwards, untangled my hair, helped me change Elsie’s clothes because I was too frightened to do it on my own, organised a photographer to take photos of us with Elsie and made sure we had every precious memory we could create. I don’t know what I would have done without her. 

“I’m grieving my daughter while fighting for answers about why she died.” 

Looking back now, I know being told that Elsie was small was much more serious than I realised, but nobody ever explained that to me. I often felt like we were dismissed or talked down to because of our age. I asked questions during my scans. I even said, “Is she actually going to be okay? Is there anything you’re not telling me?” Every time, I was reassured that she was fine. Even though I sensed I wasn’t being given all the information, when I did raise concerns, they were dismissed. It’s hard to comprehend that if somebody had listened or acted sooner, as they should have done, Elsie might still be here.

Since losing Elsie, we’ve become part of Donna Ockenden’s independent review. The review concluded that Elsie’s death was down to a failure of care. Like many other mothers who were neglected during their pregnancies or births, I’m grieving my daughter while still fighting for answers about why she died. I’ve never been given a proper explanation. 

Being there when Donna shared her review was horrible, but it was also comforting to know that I was in a room full of people this has happened to. Because of it, I don’t feel alone. 

Donna and her team have been incredible. She has been a voice for all of us, and her review team have listened to us in a way that no one else did. They’re also helping me try to get my medical records because the hospital won’t release them, and they’re still fighting my case for me. Some parents have been fighting for justice for ten years. It is hard to know that the hospital was supposed to have improved and was already under review when I had Elsie. We’re all living with the grief of not having our babies, but we’re also fighting for answers we never got from the people who were meant to keep us and our babies safe. 

“I knew this was something I couldn’t run from.”

Back home, I couldn’t cope with the constant phone calls from the hospital. It was Christmas and I just wanted to be left alone. It was our bereavement midwife who told me about Petals. Normally, when something difficult happens, I don’t really do counselling. I don’t like talking about things. I always tend to run away from them. 

Bit I knew this was different. This was something I couldn’t run from. I can’t remember much of the first six months after losing Elsie, but I started my sessions around March time, and I know those conversations with my counsellor helped carry me through them. Corey found support through Sands while I had Petals, and it was important that we both had somewhere safe to talk. 

My counsellor made me feel like what I was feeling was normal. The most important thing we did was talk about the love I have for Elsie. I could tell her everything about my daughter and she simply sat and listened. I still have counselling now, which has been organised through Donna Ockenden’s review. But those early sessions were really important to help me process what I’d been through, and how to remember Elsie.  

“You don’t just lose a baby – you lose yourself.” 

 We celebrate Elsie as much as we can. On her first birthday, Corey and I wrote a little note, tied it to a balloon and sent it up. We obviously have times when we feel really sad, but we also try to celebrate her with our families. His mum had also been through a stillbirth, so she understands. Me, my mum and his mum are very close. We look through Elsie’s photographs, which we’ve had framed, and do everything we can to keep her memory alive. Every night I sleep with a little sleepsuit we’d bought for her that she never got to wear because it feels like I’m cuddling her. 

18 months on, I can go in her room now that all the baby stuff is gone, but I still haven’t opened the wardrobe with her clothes in. Christmas will always be hard. 

Losing Elsie changed every part of my life. I lost all my confidence. I developed anxiety and panic attacks. Some days are okay, but other days it feels like the world has moved on while I’ve stayed exactly where I was. I’ve learned through this experience that people don’t understand child loss. They don’t understand how much it affects every part of your life. Even my workplace doesn’t understand. I changed jobs because my old workplace wasn’t good with wellbeing. My new workplace talks a lot about wellbeing, but they still expect you to be okay. 

It’s not just losing a baby. You lose yourself. You lose your confidence, your friendships, the way you move through the world. I’ve lost so many friendships through this. No one understands.

“A club no one wants to be part of.” 

Now that I’m part pf this community – a club no one wants to be part of – I’ve realised how many people have been

through this. Some parents have been fighting for answers and justice for years. We’re all living with the grief of not having our babies, while also trying to understand what happened and why. 

If sharing Elsie’s story helps even one family feel less alone, then I am determined to do that. Elsie will always be part of our family. And I will keep telling her story.