Hello. My name is Nicola and this is mutually mums. To kick things off I'd like to introduce myself and share my story.
In November 2013, my life was turned upside down when, at 24 weeks pregnant, my son Jacob passed away. He had been diagnosed with a diaphragmatic hernia and Edwards syndrome at my 20 week scan. I gave birth to him on the maternity ward, surrounded by families who were bringing healthy babies into the world. I could hear them crying all around me, but my room was silent. We spent time with him at the hospital, taking photos of him and doing hand and foot prints, but no amount of time was ever enough. Eventually, I had to leave the hospital and leave him behind. Leaving a maternity ward without your baby is such as unimaginable pain. It is something that you never think will happen to you. It feels like an out of body experience, as if you were witnessing someone else’s life. The reality that this is happening to you is too painful to comprehend. I left the hospital in a daze and couldn’t grieve for Jacob. It was too awful and painful to acknowledge, so I buried what had happened.
After Jacob’s funeral, I became consumed with the idea that I had to be pregnant again, and I had to have a baby to ‘replace’ the baby I had lost. I was very mentally unwell at the time, although my tunnel vision couldn’t see that. All I could see was that I needed to have two children. If I could have another baby, somehow it would fix what had happened. I fell pregnant again twice in the next year, both of which resulted in miscarriages before 12 weeks. Every loss was a knife in my heart, but I couldn’t acknowledge it. Instead, I bottled my heartbreak, refusing to take the lid off and feel what I needed to feel. During this time, I had a very young baby at home who needed me to get well, but I couldn’t see that. I felt like in order to be a good mum, I needed to give him the brother I was meant to leave the hospital with months before. I felt like this was something I needed to make right before I could do anything else.
At the end of 2014, I was pregnant again and started to heavily bleed at 10 weeks. I felt different this time, it didn’t feel the same as the previous miscarriages. I went to the hospital and was seen by the early pregnancy unit. It wasn’t a miscarriage, but I had a large blood clots next to my uterus. The body can reabsorb this, but sometimes it bleeds out. The doctor told me these normally resolve themselves by 12-16 weeks and to take it easy. I couldn’t face the reality that I might have another loss, so I stopped everything I was doing. I didn’t leave the house or see anyone. I didn’t even pick up my son when he needed me for fear that this would cause another miscarriage. I was bleeding tennis ball sized clots every day and I was admitted to hospital at 16 weeks pregnant. I lived at hospital for the majority of my pregnancy from this point and was on complete bed rest, the midwives even escorted me to the bathroom. For me, this was an ideal situation as I was being monitored 24/7 and my baby was protected. I didn’t realise the mental strain it would have on me. I was away from my son for long periods, I was told that my baby only had a 10% chance of survival, I was alone in a hospital bed for many hours every single day. Being alone with my thoughts for long periods in that room, knowing that there was a high chance I would leave without a baby once again, was torture.
Finally my son was born at 40+2 weeks. I had the two sons that I’d always dreamed of. This should have been such a magical time for me and the opportunity to experience what I’d missed out on for so long. Instead of the happiness I wanted to feel, the trauma of the past 3 years hit me like a tonne of bricks. I hadn’t just lost my son, I had two miscarriages, I was hospitalised for months, I was away from my son for such a long time. I’d been through hell and it was time for me to feel every bit of that. I began to grieve for my son and the miscarriages I had suffered. I started to feel the trauma of being hospitalised for so long. The trauma of heavily bleeding every day while no one could tell me if my son would live or die. The weight that I had been carrying around was suddenly released. I began suffering with flashbacks, panic attacks, hallucinations, nightmares, anxiety, depression and agoraphobia. I couldn’t be around pregnant women or newborn babies. A hospital scene on TV would cause me to hyperventilate and panic. A slight inconvenience would cause me to violently lash out, punching doors and smashing household items.
I felt like my youngest son had replaced Jacob, and I resented him for that. I felt hatred and anger when I looked at him, and I insisted my partner did the majority of care for him so that I could be with him as little as possible. He was my miracle baby that had been born against all odds, but I couldn’t love him the way that I wanted to. I felt like I was betraying Jacob by loving another baby. My bond with my oldest son also was also impacted, as he had spent the majority of time with my partner while I was in and out of hospital unable to care for him. I felt like I didn’t know him or what he needed from me anymore, and I felt like I wasn't good enough to take care of him. The pressure on our relationship and everything that we had been through was too much, and my relationship with my children’s father ended. I was now a single parent to two young children that I didn’t feel a bond with, whilst suffering from various mental health issues and grieving.
I relied on my children’s dad so heavily, that when he was no longer there I had to relearn to be a mum again. I didn’t know how to do anything anymore because it had all fallen to him. I would stay awake all night, in case my youngest son woke up and I didn’t hear him. In my head, I was convinced that I would forget to feed them or change them. I suffered for a long time. Every day, I would just go through the motions and wait for bedtime so that I could be alone. I was giving my children the care that they needed, but I was an absent mum. Eventually my sadness turned into anger… Why wasn’t anyone helping me? Why was I alone? Why did the hospital send me home like this knowing what I’d been through, and not support me? After a long time, I started seeking out my own professional help and working on improving my life. I managed to create a wonderful relationship with both my children and finally felt like they had the mother they deserved. Fast forward to 2023, and me and my two boys have a lovely life. They are now 9 and 7 years old. Sometimes, I still grieve the time I lost with them when they were babies. It breaks my heart that I cannot get that time back and redo the baby years. I make sure that they know they are loved every day, and create as many memories as possible while they are still little. There are many things that I would go back and change if I could, but all of the experiences have made me the person I am today.
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