Lucy and Tom – for Nuala

Just over a year ago we heard the words “there’s no heartbeat”, sorry became our most hated word and we were faced with the hardest decisions of our lives at a time when we just wanted to get into bed, lock the doors and shut the world out, for this just to be a horrible nightmare that we could wake up from.

1st August 2023 was a normal sunny Tuesday, awaiting the arrival of Nuala. We had reached 38+2 and were getting increasingly more excited for Nuala’s arrival. I wanted to keep active and encourage the baby to get into the right position ready to give birth. I decided to take Ronnie our beloved rescue dog for a walk at about 2pm, whilst walking I was aware I hadn’t really felt Nuala move in a while, her feet were sticking into my ribs so I was poking and prodding her but getting nothing back. I thought “She’s probably just sleeping and will move soon”.

Home from the walk, I remember bouncing and circling on the birthing ball trying to get her to move, still nothing. I think at this point I was in denial about how long it had been since I last felt movements, I told myself she was just sleeping and I had felt her at 11ish (I have no idea if I did, I think I made this up to convince myself everything was okay). I sat quietly and awaited movement from Nuala, still nothing.

A little while later I decided to eat, maybe that would get her moving. I attempted to cook a jacket potato in the air fryer, a complete disaster as when I sat down to eat and cut it open, the skin was burned to a crisp and the inside was still raw! I huffed and puffed, throwing a bit of a strop and on the way back to the kitchen stubbed my toe and started to cry. I vividly remember Tom asking me why I was crying over a jacket potato, I replied “My food’s not cooked and I’m hungry, I’ve just stubbed my toe and I’m worried because I haven’t felt Nuala move all day”. He encouraged me to call MAU.

I went upstairs into our ensuite bathroom and made the call – I have no idea why I wanted to be shut away whilst making the call but I did. On the phone I told the midwife that I last felt Nuala move at around 11am, it was now almost 10pm, again something I’m not actually sure about though. I wish I could remember the exact last movements I felt but I don’t. The midwife said it was best I go in to be checked. I went downstairs and told Tom we needed to go to the hospital and that we should probably pack the bags and car seat in the car just in case we needed to have her.

I was in full denial about the seriousness of the situation we found ourselves in at this point and genuinely believed we would be bringing Nuala home with us.

Waiting in MAU felt like a lifetime, we weren’t seen quickly and were made to wait a while, not that it would have mattered. This gave me some false sense of security that everything would be okay because they weren’t rushing to see us. I was definitely in denial about how long I hadn’t felt Nuala move for, maybe I had downplayed it on the phone to them, that’s likely what I had done. I hate calling doctors or hospitals as I worry about wasting their time.

Eventually, we were called in and the midwife went through the usual checks on me, then started to look for Nuala’s heartbeat. You could see on her face she was struggling to find Nuala’s, the faint one we could hear was mine. She tried and tried and then told us she was going to get someone else to come as sometimes a more experienced midwife can get it if the baby is in an awkward position. I think it was at this point we knew something was wrong, but both of us were not letting it show to the other. The second midwife couldn’t find a heartbeat either and told us she was sending for the doctor to bring an ultrasound machine to check. This time we both knew it was serious but again, we both tried so hard to protect each other and carried on normal conversations. A few minutes passed and then the room fell silent.

We didn’t talk while waiting, just held hands and waited patiently. I have no idea how long it took but the doctor came after what felt like forever and put us on the ultrasound machine. Five minutes of silence and then the words “I’m so sorry, there’s no heartbeat”. Our world came crashing down around us. I bit my lip, nodded my head, squeezed Tom’s hand and started to cry. The words “I’m so sorry” still haunt me now.

The doctor offered to give us time alone to process what we had just been told but we would have to be scanned again soon by a consultant to confirm. I got off the bed, sat on Tom’s lap put my arms around his neck and we both started to inconsolably cry. ‘Why us’ was the only thing I could think of and say. I even apologised to Tom, as if somehow this was my fault (I very much know it wasn’t).

The next part is a bit of a blur, lots of waiting, so many people coming in and out of the room, more checks and ultrasounds from a consultant to confirm that Nuala had died. This was the hardest part, knowing she wasn’t with us anymore yet still having people come in and scan us, looking for something. We had been scanned and checked four times at this point, each time a deafening silence and no movement on screen. The silence of the machines, the looks on everyone’s faces and the final confirmation that they couldn’t find a heartbeat was like I had been stabbed in the chest. The consultant held my foot, rubbed it and said those words again “I’m so sorry”.

We were completely broken, I think it was now around 1am and all I wanted to do was go home, sleep and wake up and for this to be a horrible horrible nightmare. What then followed were a series of choices and discussions on my care and what happens with Nuala after she is born. I hadn’t thought about the part where I still had to give birth. The doctor came to give us our options on delivery and mid-conversation someone started to give birth in the corridor, he ran out to help and this gave us some time to discuss what we wanted to do. But also the reality of where we were and what we should be doing kicked in. We should be having our baby here, not deciding what to do because she had died.

It didn’t take us long to decide on what we wanted to do. I did not want to stay in hospital, I wanted to go home and stay in my own comforts with Tom. I also did not want a C-section, the risks involved with that meant future pregnancies and my own health were at risk and I wanted to do everything as naturally and as close to my birth plan as possible. I also didn’t want to wait for natural labour to start, this could have been another two+ week wait, knowing our daughter had died and every day longer, she would start to deteriorate.  We opted to take a pill there and then to ready the body for labour, after some research I believe the same pill is used for early terminations, this info sucks but I guess that’s science and medicine. I signed what felt like my life away on a bit of paper, accepting the medical risks I was about to undertake by taking the pill and then being induced later in the week. I took the pill and they let me go home.

It was 2am now and all we did was cry in silence the whole journey home. I could feel Nuala’s feet still sticking into my ribs and knew they would be there until her arrival as she couldn’t move them. For two days I had them jabbing into my ribs uncomfortably, a reminder that she wasn’t moving, wasn’t alive. We got into bed, held each other, cried and attempted to sleep.

The days that followed were horrific, having to tell people about our loss and explain that she wasn’t actually born yet and would be at the end of the week. Phone calls with the hospital bereavement team and so much information on stillbirth and what happens next, how to plan a funeral, where to get help and then just waiting. Two days at home just sat waiting.

I think the days went something like this…

2nd & 3rd August – calls to our parents to tell them that we had lost Nuala. I vividly remember ringing my mum to tell her and I just cried down the phone and said ‘Nuala’s died’ – Mum asked if we had had her and I replied ‘no’ – she said she would be round straight away. Tom was my absolute saviour and hero that first day – he did all the other calls needed, to his family and some of our closest friends. We asked our families to share our devastating news with others as we couldn’t bring ourselves to do this ourselves.

We are beyond grateful that we have a wonderful family and they dropped everything to be by our sides straight away. It’s hard to imagine what they were feeling, grieving for their granddaughter but also for their children. Looking back, I am in awe of how they were around us. A phone call with a bereavement midwife also happened during this time at home and she confirmed we were booked in on delivery suite for the Friday. She talked me through what might happen in the next few days to my body and how I could go into labour and what to do if that happened. I really was hoping that happened and that all this would be over with, but also juggling with the emotions of just wanting to keep Nuala inside me and never let her go. The days were a blur of crying, hugging, sleeping and more crying with little words spoken.

4th August – induction day – my dad very kindly dropped us off early in the morning at the John Ratcliffe Hospital. We walked through the Women’s Centre main doors where we had been just days before and buzzed through to delivery. A lovely young midwife (Ishbal) met us and showed us to our room. It had no windows, was dark and I instantly clocked the tiny made-up bed on the floor for Tom, but at least we had an en-suite! We were left to get settled and then there was a knock at our door, a familiar face in Flora who is a midwife but also the mum of one of the girls I used to coach football. We had been texting before I went in and it was comforting seeing her and being able to ask questions to someone I knew. Flora wasn’t going to stay with us as she has a special job working with breech babies but she reassured us she was there if we needed. Having a familiar face made the whole experience a little less daunting, we had no idea what we were about to go through and how we would feel. The only way Tom and I know how to deal with things is to put some positive sprinkle on it – so that is exactly what we did throughout the birthing process.

The time eventually came to get started with induction. Getting a cannula in was an experience, my veins did not play ball and poor Ishbal had poked me three times on one hand without success, on my other hand I then fainted and had to be carried to lie down on the bed. This is where I then stayed. Ishabl decided to get someone else to have a go, again my veins not playing ball, no success. I felt like a failure at this point, I had failed to safely get our baby here and now my body was failing to let medical intervention help us deliver her. The anaesthetist was called and got me with a tiny vein! I was covered in cotton wool, bleeding and bruised but I was ready to start this whole process. Every four hours I was allowed some induction medication.

Time went slowly and we did things to try and pass it – as I have previously said, Tom and I try to sprinkle positivity on everything, so even though we knew we were about to give birth to our daughter who would be sleeping, we tried to have a positive experience. So Ishbal and I hooked Tom up to the TENS machine and tried to give him electric shocks, he lasted to Level 10 (brave!), braver than me who only got to Level 4 before I decided it was too much! We napped and I watched endless episodes of Olivia Meets Her Match whilst Tom watched football. It wasn’t until about 8pm that I started feeling things happening. At this point, there was a shift change and we said goodbye to Ishbal and in came the amazing Trish, a lovely experienced Irish midwife and the only one who could pronounce Nuala’s name correctly first time!

Trish had read our birth plan and was running around the hospital trying to find anything she could to make it a positive experience for us. She came up with the goods and we had a diffuser with lavender and orange oil and what she called the disco lights! I got comfortable on the TENS machine (only to Level 4 to Tom’s disappointment). These were my calming factors, hypnobirthing gems that set the mood.

The rest of the time is a bit of a blur between timing contractions on apps and trying not to throw up, being pumped with anti-sickness and as Tom describes it me ‘mooing like a cow’ with every contraction whilst inhaling gas and air. I do remember trying to shoot Tom with the gas and air and saying ‘pew’ as I did it – who did I think I was?!

There came a point where I was in so much pain that my legs were shaking and all hypnobirthing had gone out the window! Trish whispered in my ear that she thought I’d been through enough and did she want me to contact the anaesthetist for an epidural. I squeezed Tom’s hand he told me to go for it. He had to read me this long agreement/ risk form that I had to verbally agree to, listening to him trying to pronounce some of the medical terminology and pausing every contraction so I could listen was hilarious.

While waiting for an epidural, I got some intense contractions and urges to push, Trish came to check on me and was shocked that Nuala was almost there. There was a knock at the door and Trish sent the anaesthetist away as Nuala was about to make an appearance.

A few pushes later, at ten to one in the morning on 5th August 2023 Nuala Sarah Louise Williams was born.

The immense pride and love literally felt like my heart had burst. I snuggled her close to my chest and watched Tom cut her cord. We were parents to the most perfect daughter. After this, we were transferred to the bereavement suite to spend time with Nuala and were presented with a lot of information on what happens next.

It was in one of the many leaflets we were handed after Nuala’s birth that I saw the leaflet for Petals. I handed it to Tom and said to him I thought it would be a good thing to do together. He agreed and we followed the instructions and we registered for a place. Tom and I are not strangers to some counselling but doing it together was a new experience, scary and we went in not knowing what to expect. Our first session that matches you with a counsellor was over Zoom. This was tough, reliving everything we had just been through and having someone analyse us so that she could match us with the right help. However, I think the lady got us within about five minutes of chatting and described us as: “Tom, you look like you want to leave the room and not speak about any of this, Lucy, you look like you are about to break down and cry any moment behind your smile”. I remember thinking, that’s exactly us and that’s why we need this.

We then received an email from our Petals Counsellor, Daniel, we had our first session and although we never spoke about him personally, we just knew he understood us and our emotions. This is the thing we liked about Petals, you get to talk to people specifically trained in baby loss counselling. Unfortunately, some people trained in this have experienced it themselves so they get you, they understand what you might be feeling but they are extremely good at being professional and making you feel safe.

Speaking with Daniel was the first time I’ve seen Tom fully open up about Nuala and his feelings, the ease we both felt sharing our journey and memories of Nuala with Daniel made the sessions flow and fly by. Daniel would always start and end with conversations about football, something both Tom and I appreciated to ease us in and finish off some tough sessions, just feeling normal.

A few months into our session we found out we were expecting again and Daniel was one of the first people we told. We needed this to happen as part of our journey and he recommended us for pregnancy after loss counselling when we had finished our baby loss counselling. We made use of these sessions when we needed them during the pregnancy and after the birth of our rainbow, Ariya.

As our way of giving back we set up “Nuala’s Gift” a team on just giving to raise money in Nuala’s memory to support the wonderful charities that have supported us, we have raised over £30,000 in a year with over £15,000 going to Petals all raised through various events such as an interactive horse race night, Tom completing Brighton Marathon and Tom and Nuala’s Uncle Rob along with friends walking the Yorkshire Three Peaks in a day.

We can’t thank Petals and Daniel enough for the incredible work that they do for the baby loss community. Without your support, there would be many families left hopeless. Your tireless work makes life that little bit easier and more manageable for families like ours. We will be forever grateful for your wonderful services.