Having already experienced a textbook pregnancy and given birth to my eldest daughter in 2019, my pregnancy with Ava was also classed as low risk and was, initially, a straightforward pregnancy minus the acute morning sickness in the first trimester that at the time, came as a bit of a shock. How I wish now that's as bad as it got.



Fast forward to week 29/30 and I was diagnosed with Gestational Diabetes which although I know isn't uncommon, it did increase my anxiety around my fear of needles given I was finger pricking four times a day and knew there was always the chance I'd go on to need to take insulin if things got worse.



However, I stuck to the controlled diet and my sugar levels stayed within range which I was pleased about but then came the bleed.



Around this same time, just a week or two later, I rushed into hospital with my husband one morning filled with fear and panic after I noticed blood trickling down my leg whilst standing in the shower. We were only able to breathe a huge sigh of relief once hooked onto the monitor and reassured by the midwife there was a heartbeat and baby was OK. I was kept in for monitoring but it was an isolated incident and I felt fine too so once discharged, I tried not to let it worry me too much and lead to unnecessary stress for both me and the baby, something that I now reflect on with great sadness, if only I had known what true sadness lay ahead...



The initial sense of relief was short lived as fast forward to week 36 and the additional growth scan was showing Ava had dropped in weight, something I admittedly wasn't prepared for as there are ample stories of pregnant women with Gestational Diabetes being told their babies are "large" and so, if anything, I had mentally prepared for a similar conversation. I remember that gut feeling of knowing this could be serious, despite being told Ava was still within weight range.



I then proceeded to be monitored at the DAU that day and the following two consecutive days, with a mixture of outcomes but every time being reassured that there wasn't anything to worry about. Fortunately my husband was also in attendance at the consultant meetings and advocating for me when needed so that we both felt we understood the situation and the options. The bottom line was there was nothing worrying to the naked eye and certainly nothing to suggest the baby needed to be born early



As my regular midwife appointment was in the diary for the following Tuesday I was told I didn't need to return unless I felt it necessary and that we would continue weekly checks as required for the final few weeks until due date.



My first pregnancy had ended in emergency C-section and so I was keen to avoid this again where possible but rather than opt for an Induction, we booked a planned C-section for week 41, hopefully giving baby a chance to come spontaneously before then to avoid either option.



The following Monday morning, exactly 37 weeks, all options were taken out of my hands when I arrived at the hospital with reduced movements. As reluctant as I had been to go to hospital yet again in such as short space of time, there was a voice inside me, a gut feeling, an instinct that knew something wasn't right. I'm so thankful I acted on those feelings or the outcome is one I would have on my conscious forever more.



Unfortunately I was kept waiting far longer than I should that morning but when I was seen and strapped to the monitor it wasn't long before it became clear it wasn't showing them what we all wanted it to and I was taken downstairs. We are lucky to live so close to the hospital or my husband Mike would have missed her birth altogether because I was in theatre within 30 minutes.



As soon as Ava was born it was apparent she was very poorly, it was actually a miracle she was still with us at birth and I’ll never forget the deafening silence that filled that room at 13:09. We later learnt she wasn't breathing when she was born and was resuscitated for 7 minutes, which to us in those traumatic circumstances felt like a lifetime. After a short time we were told Ava would need to be transferred to another hospital for specialist treatment in a dedicated Neonatal unit for sick babies. We later discovered it was a "cooling" treatment designed for babies suffering HIE (hypoxic-ischemic encephalopathy)



No cuddles, no introductions, no studying of her beautiful face and tiny features, instead I watched her be wheeled away with me on the operating table, only able to glance and reach out at her tiny fingers to let her know Mummy was there.



We spent the first night in different hospitals with my only comfort being that her Daddy was with her and I made it my goal to be physically strong enough the following day to be transferred to them, which thankfully happened. Reflecting back now, I honestly didn't appreciate the severity of the situation or fathom the idea we would be joining the club no parent wants to be part of. I know I was in complete shock and was on lots of morphine but I'm pretty sure even without that, I just wouldn't have believed it could happen to me.



The rest of those days passed by in a blur of shock, devastation, pain and complete disbelief at what we were being told and decisions that we were having to make for our tiny precious youngest daughter whilst also being apart from her big sister.



Every time I saw Ava, I had the overwhelming maternal urge to grab her perfect little body with the softest skin and hold her so close, to keep her safe but the machines keeping her alive prevented me from doing so and it wasn't until she was 4 days old and we inevitably knew the devastating outcome ahead from her MRI results, that I was able to hold Ava for the first time.



We spent the next 24 hours reading her books, telling her stories, playing songs and having her meet her big sister, which was so very special to us.



When the time came, Ava passed peacefully in my arms just before 8pm on the Saturday evening during Baby Loss Awareness Week’s Wave of light. Mike and I took great comfort in our friends and family lighting candles for Ava at this time, alongside the rest of the baby loss community and essentially being her guiding lights to a better place.



We are still awaiting Post mortem results which I really hope can shed some light on what exactly happened to our precious baby girl. It’s difficult waiting for the phone to ring yet not wanting to hear it at the same time in fear of what we will be told.



A hospital review is also pending but we are being told that apart from the waiting time, officially no other protocols were broken which is both a relief and difficult to hear. Ultimately nothing anyone will tell us will bring Ava back but I vow to do what I can to avoid as few families as possible from experiencing the same heartache of going home without their babies whilst trying to live life to the full for Ava and holding onto hope.

Sands were the first charity I reached out to when we arrived home without our baby. Unfortunately, we hadn’t been put in touch with a bereavement midwife so Mike and I were in complete shock and disorientation at the thought of having to arrange a funeral etc. with no guidance



The next day, I was contacted by a Sands Befriender who helped to signpost me to local organisations and contacts and from there we have been connected with some of the kindest people I have ever met that have held our hand through the process and have become key people in our journey to date.



We have also attended in-person support groups local to us and have had the opportunity to meet other bereaved parents of whom have been a great pillar of strength to us, particularly in the early days when you feel isolated and alone in your thoughts.

This year, I will be taking part in London Marathon on Sunday 23 April for Sands in memory of Ava and have so far raised over £15,500 which I am incredibly proud about. I was actually informed of my place on what would have been Ava's due date.