Tony and I were overjoyed to find out that we were pregnant with our long-awaited first child. Conceived through intrauterine insemination after four years of trying, we felt we were finally where we wanted to be: on the road to parenthood.

We actively enjoyed our pregnancy, because we felt so grateful to be expecting a baby. I was very lucky physically and felt well through virtually the whole nine months. Indeed the only time we had the odd moan or groan was when our baby was overdue and we were waiting rather impatiently for her to arrive. Our due date was 2nd April at the beginning of Tony’s Easter holidays from the school where he is a teacher and we had hoped that Eve would arrive towards the beginning of the holidays, so that Tony could spend more time with her.

When I was eight days overdue, on 10th April, the community midwife visited me at home to perform a cervical sweep to try to get labour going. The midwife did a full antenatal check and, once again, we heard our baby’s heart beating strongly. We were very happy when I had a show at 3.00am on Tuesday morning and we eagerly awaited the onset of labour. I felt our baby move that morning, as was her usual pattern, and went out to lunch with one of my new friends from NCT. Towards the end of our lunch, my back pain intensified and I felt I needed to return home.

Contractions started at 3.30pm on Tuesday 11th April and were very strong from the start. I was contracting for 40 to 50 seconds every three or four minutes. I was taken aback by the intensity of the labour, so we called the hospital early on and were told to stay at home. We wanted to do as much of the labour at home as possible, but I was concerned that I was likely to have a fast labour, as both my mother and sister had delivered their first babies within five hours. We continued with the TENS machine we had hired and after about the first hour and a half of contractions, they had stepped up a gear, lasting 50 seconds at one minute or so apart. Again we rang the hospital and again we were told to stay at home. They advised us to change our method of pain relief and get in the bath. After a brief period in the bath, I got out and changed and said to Tony that we needed to go to the hospital immediately. I struggled into the back of our car and Tony drove us to the hospital.

When we got to the labour ward, I was examined immediately. I was five centimetres dilated, but the midwives couldn’t find a heartbeat. They said that it could be the way our baby was lying and brought in another machine. Still no sound was audible. A senior registrar came into the room to try to locate a heartbeat. Her bedside manner left something to be desired. She merely barked at me, “When was the last time you felt your baby move?” and left the room after her examination, leaving the midwives to tell us that they still couldn’t find a heartbeat. Although they needed the consultant to arrive to confirm that our baby was dead, Dawn, the most senior midwife present, came close up to my face and said that in her experience she was certain that our baby would be stillborn. For my part, I knew what her words meant, but I couldn’t really take them on board, as I was too focused on coping with the contractions that were still coming thick and fast. 

Tony, however, knew exactly what they were saying. He was crying as he hugged me, and it was this that made me realise the gravity of the situation. “I’m sorry I’m not delivering your baby alive,” I said to him between contractions. “It’s not your fault; we will get through this, Jules,” came his swift reply. In many ways, I feel that the experience of the labour was more traumatic for my beloved husband, because he had to be brave and encourage me to give birth to our baby, knowing that she was already dead.

After two and a half hours at the hospital, our baby was born, beautiful, perfectly formed, but lifeless. She was delivered on to my chest and I asked Tony and the midwife to confirm her sex. A baby girl, which is what I had secretly wanted all along. She looked just like her dad, with a little button nose and full lips, and weighed in at a substantial 8lb 6oz. We immediately felt a gush of love for her (indeed we had loved her since the very beginning), but this was complicated by the shock that she was dead. Eight weeks after her death, I look back at the photos post-labour and I see the extreme shock and sorrow in our eyes. Exactly the reverse of the elated parents picture we have so often seen following the birth of our friends’ children.  

The midwife bathed Eve and dressed her in the clothes we thought we would take her home in. Then myself, Tony and Eve went into a bathroom so that I could clean up and we could be together as a family.

We spent three hours with Eve at the hospital following her birth and went to see her four more times at the hospital and then at the funeral directors. As any parent who has been through a stillbirth or neonatal death will know, these moments are precious and remain with you forever. 

In retrospect, we wish we had spent longer holding her each time we saw her, because we will never hold her again. In fact, the morning of her funeral, it was a shock to realise that this would really be the last time we would touch her body and see her gorgeous little face. 

It is only eight weeks since Eve’s birth and the pain and sorrow we feel at losing our precious daughter is still extremely raw. People talk about saying goodbye to your baby, but I don’t think we have.

We will never know why our daughter died on the day she was born. The consultant obstetrician met with us to discuss the results of the blood tests they performed on me and of the tests on Eve’s placenta. None of them showed any infection or abnormality. The only tentative conclusion that he could draw – and given that we did not have a post-mortem – was that either Eve had a rare heart arythmia before or during birth or that she died during the early stages of labour and was unable to survive the strong contractions. Judging by the pictures of her post-labour in which only her lips were slightly discoloured, he said that he thought she had died relatively recently that day.

Although we are heartbroken by her passing, we feel privileged that Eve graced our lives – albeit for a tragically short period of time. We sincerely hope that during her nine months, she felt the intensity of our love, and that, in her death, she feels comforted by the eternal and unconditional love we will always feel for her. 

Rest in peace, our little button

written by her mother, Julie