Ivy would have been 18 months yesterday.

I still think about her every day.

Eddie, my ‘rainbow’ baby, is now 4 months old, and if his weight is anything to go by he’s thriving! I have so much love for him 🙂 His delivery was less than perfect, but at least I had a living baby this time. One of the most memorable moments from his hospital stay was the day of his release, but not because it was a moment full of joy and happiness as I can honestly say it wasn’t. It was a day that, in part, reminded me so much of what I had lost just over a year before. I was required to room in with baby the night before his discharge so stayed in a designated room on the other side of the postnatal ward wing. Whilst waiting for the paperwork to be completed I noticed the room opposite looked oddly familiar.

When you’re in the midst of trauma some details stand out, usually its the odd ones. I can almost hear the student midwife holding my hand telling me not to panic, not all that odd I suppose given the gravity of the situation. The location of the oxygen hookup in an ambulance. The digital clock that timed our journey from Birth Centre to Hospital. Making a ridiculously relaxed comment in the theatre room as they were prepping me for the general anesthetic, because that’s what I do in an emergency. I make casual comments. It’s my coping mechanism I suppose.  It’s laughable really – my daughter was dying and there I was making remarks about the theatre assistant’s glasses!  But back to my point, I can vividly remember the butterflies on the wall of the room where my daughter struggled to take her last breaths.

I’d been across from this room for over a day and hadn’t noticed it. I was carrying Eddie at the time I saw the butterflies so we went in together.  I cried.  Held him a little bit tighter.  Thanked my lucky stars that he was alive.  I cried again because she wasn’t.  I could picture the NICU nurse sat in the corner crying along with us in her last moments. I could remember the hideous pink, scratchy acrylic blankets that she put on Ivy after she had died and how quickly I pulled them off her. I could remember leaving that room in a wheelchair holding my baby and just crying. It’s a horrible memory really, but then a part of me thinks that actually, no, its not as it was time spent with her.

And that’s what life is like after losing a child. At least for me. It’s hideously complex.



3 thoughts on “

  1. I will never forget Ivy Florence. I want you to know that you will never be the only one remembering your baby girl. Adam Gabriel should be 2 this month based on his due date. I am so glad you had a better experience after Ivy, but I know the feeling of being in that hospital and remembering. There is just no “easy” about it. Much love to you and your whole family.


  2. Beautiful blog entry, as always hun. I’m glad Eddie is doing well and I hope the rest of you are too. Still think about you and beautiful Ivy all the time hun x


  3. Oh my goodness so complex! Better now that our rainbow Kit is 8mo but those first few months are crazy being a mum to all three babies. Bethan’s brother Austin arrived safely too. Our rainbows – congrats on Ivy’s little brother Eddie 🙂 x


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