Serena's Story

Working it out - a bereaved mother's struggle to return to work.

In January 2006, after two years of trying, my husband and I were over the moon to discover I was pregnant! Managing a busy press office for a national public-sector organisation I had every intention of returning to work, but at 38 I was definitely going to enjoy my rights to a whole year off. I'd planned to start my maternity leave in mid-August. 

Early on in the pregnancy I suffered some heavy bleeding, and had taken a couple of weeks off sick. Things settled down and by April, my bump was really beginning to show, so I couldn't hide the good news at work any longer. A colleague who sat near my desk was also pregnant and due a few weeks after me, so we joked how we would soon be comparing notes. I remember telling her that she was now entitled to use the staff first-aid room for a lie down if she felt a bit off colour - I had already been taking the odd afternoon nap!

However, over Easter, my carefully laid maternity plans went to hell. I had again been bleeding heavily and was diagnosed with a large blood clot behind the placenta. This finally caused my waters to leak and contractions to start at home. Even though I was on all fours in front of the telly rocking back and forth with pain, I hadn't actually realised or even contemplated that I was going into labour!

Our beautiful little boy, Vincent, was prematurely stillborn at 2.56pm on 2nd May, at 20 weeks. Having gone through a five hour induced labour, I gave birth to my small but perfectly formed baby, with little hands and feet, a button nose and cupid lips. A stillbirth in my book, but not in the eyes of the law. Had Vincent been born just four weeks later, he would have officially existed. We would have had to register his birth and obtain a death certificate. I would have been entitled to start my maternity leave. But at 20 weeks this little baby didn't officially count: he was technically a "late miscarriage".

In a state of shock we left the hospital the following day and I still looked pregnant in my maternity dress. This was all wrong; you're not meant to leave hospital without the baby you've been carrying.

Two days later I rang my boss in floods of tears to let him know what had happened. Over the next few days we were very touched by the cards, letters and flowers that we received from my colleagues. I was signed off work for a further two weeks, and as we had a three-week trip already booked to the States, I said I'd get in touch again when we got back. The hospital was helping to arrange Vincent's funeral, which was scheduled after we returned from holiday since we had elected to have a post-mortem.

 

During our time abroad, we were both in a bubble. The shock of recent events felt like a dream, and we actually managed to enjoy our holiday. However, the harsh reality hit hard as soon as we returned. Feeling under pressure, I went back to work immediately on June 13th, only five weeks after Vincent was born and even before the funeral, which was delayed because the hospital had mislaid my notes! I don't know how I managed that first day. I felt very panicky and cried all the way in to work, and wore sunglasses in the office for the first week to hide my red-rimmed eyes. They somehow gave me a sense of protection - a barrier to hide behind. 

Everyone was sympathetic, and I felt supported by my colleagues. With my doctor’s help, I had negotiated a "staged return" to work, which meant that I was on reduced hours for six weeks. However, the worst thing was having to see my pregnant colleague every day, overhear her talking about her maternity plans, and catch her admiring her growing bump in the ladies loo. She never said anything to me about my loss, and I couldn't bring myself to say anything to her in my fragile, jealous state, so we would just exchange awkward hellos. 

Vincent was cremated on 5th July. We worked closely with the hospital bereavement officer to make the arrangements. We had a humanist ceremony, and the officiant was very sensitive to our needs. On the day itself I found the strength to carry Vincent's tiny white coffin into the funeral parlour and to do a reading. I took two days off work as compassionate leave, and then it was back to the grind.

The long hot summer wore on. I was already barely functioning in my stressful job, full of deadlines that I no longer cared about, when my manager was made redundant. Suddenly bereft of immediate support when I most needed it, and faced with uncertainty in the office, I struggled on, increasingly experiencing anxiety attacks and crying continuously when I got home from work. Things came to a head in mid-August when I realised I was utterly exhausted by my grief, both physically and mentally. Having explained the situation to my HR department, they suggested I take a couple of weeks off. 

However, my doctor saw things differently: I was shocked and yet very relieved when she signed me off for the next two and a half months. She said that I needed time to grieve for my baby without the added stress of a high pressure job, and what I was experiencing was completely normal under the circumstances. I also realised that I was approaching the time I would have started my maternity leave, and still had to get through Vincent’s due date in  September. Unfortunately, my sick note said "reactive state to miscarriage" – I gave birth to a baby, for God's sake! Why did it have to say miscarriage?

During the following months I felt very depressed, the emotional pain at times so unbearable that I wished I were dead. I missed (and continue to miss) Vincent so much; a part of me was gone, and I was left with a mother's love but no baby to hold. However, I was determined to avoid anti-depressives, and rediscovered meditation and yoga to help me through. I avidly read books on baby loss and grief, and began to see that what I was experiencing was a normal part of the process. Although no stranger to sudden and traumatic death, as my father was lost at sea when I was 26, losing my son felt far worse.

I felt very angry that I was, by law, denied maternity leave. Most of the very supportive women I was meeting at the local Sands group had lost their babies after 24 weeks and so had been entitled to take their maternity leave, or were not working anyway. They had time to grieve without the added pressure of having to 'get back to normal' at work in the first few months. However, the local Sands group was a lifeline to me, along with the specialist baby loss counsellor I had been seeing over the summer. 

By the time Vincent's due date arrived, I had made progress. However, I still felt that my confidence in relation to work was at rock bottom, and this was proved when I attempted to return in October. On my first morning I experienced another anxiety attack, and felt like quitting there and then. When your baby dies, you can feel a failure and work and career no longer seem important.

Luckily, I again had the support of a very empathetic HR staff member. I asked to be redeployed to a less frontline job while I rebuilt my confidence. I was signed off for another month while a solution was sorted out.

I finally went back to work at the beginning of November, to a different post. Slowly my confidence has grown, and although I still have bad days where I feel very demotivated and tearful, I take each day as it comes. I have also made friends with another colleague who contacted me after she heard my story and offered support, since her son was stillborn four years ago. Meeting at work over a coffee with someone who really understands the struggles to resume some semblance of a normal life has been so helpful.

Sixteen months on from Vincent's birth, I have had a second pregnancy which ended in early miscarriage, at the same time as having to care for my mother who has been seriously ill. I've had to take another three months off, but I've been fortunate to work for a flexible and supportive employer, who has helped me retain my job through all of this. 

However, I still consider it unfair that women who lose a baby just before 24 weeks are denied the right to take maternity leave, and are faced with additional pressures at a time when our grief is so raw and disabling. In hindsight, I returned to work way too soon after Vincent was born, but didn't feel able to extend my sick leave. I've also found that there is very little written about the struggles of bereaved parents trying to move back into the work place, and this is a gap that needs to be filled. I hope that my story will help others in a similar situation.

Serena, mum to Vincent, Stillborn 02/05/06