A Blip...

The bleeding started last night and had got heavier by this morning. I had another scan this morning which confirmed my baby has died. It has been 2 years now filled with discussions, consultant appointments, medication and trying for babies. I'm just wondering when I'll get my chance?

4.9 mm of Hope...

I went back to the hospital for my repeat scan today. I was terrified and struggled with the whole 'full bladder' thing as I was so nervous I had to go to the loo 4 times before my scan!! Dr B scanned me and straight away told me that there'd been progress since my last scan. She kept telling me that she could see the embryo but it was very tiny. She then asked if I'd had any bleeding and my heart just sank....
Minutes later she said 'there's the heart beat. I'm very, very happy-it's a viable pregnancy'. I can't believe it! I feel like I can finally say 'I'm pregnant' and took great joy in calling my wonderful friend to tell her straight away. We have been through 2 premature births, a still birth and 3 miscarriages between us and she understands better than anyone what I'm experiencing. What a joy to be able to finally tell her!
I'm still feeling pretty scared if I'm honest but it says in black and white in my notes 'crown to rump length 4.9 mm' 'fetal heart action seen'. It IS real and it IS happening to me.
I've started my fragmin injections tonight-ouch! I'm making a point of taking joy in each sharp scratch of the needle-it's one day closer to meeting my baby!!

Protection

A while ago, someone told me that she'd had a picture of a special sheep pen.  She said that it was surrounded by thorns and brambles to keep predators out and to keep the sheep safe. She said that this is what she felt it would be like for us when I became pregnant - that I would be protected from things that could harm us and would be safe. I wanted to find an illustration of such a sheep pen but really struggled and then last week, on a particularly low day, I found this.....


When I first looked at it I was struck by how thorny the surrounding pen was - I couldn't imagine anything being able to get in without a fight to harm the sheep.  But then I noticed the gap in the fence and my heart sank.  Predators would just be able to walk in and harm the sheep - this wasn't protection at all.  I read on and learnt that the open space at the side of the pen is where the shepherd sleeps to protect the flock.  I found this absolutely amazing and am clinging on to it. I have got the photo saved as the wallpaper on my phone so that each time I use my phone I am reminded of it.  The link to the blog where I found this is http://becomingbubbalooch.blogspot.com/2011/05/whats-sheeps-gate.html.

Reasons to be Thankful

So... Samuel turned 3 on Friday. I was reflecting on what a difficult three years it's been. When we decided to try for a family we already knew that I have polycystic ovaries - our biggest fear was not being able to conceive naturally.
I was chatting to one of my closest friends who had a miscarriage very recently and we were talking about the fact that noone and nothing can prepare you for when having a family does not follow the usual 'get pregnant, stay pregnant for 9 months and have a fluffy baby at the end of it all'. I don't think our experience could be further removed from this norm. Samuel spent a month in special care following clotting on the placenta and restricted flow of blood to his vital organs. He had stopped growing as a result of this and was delivered at 33 weeks. Emilie-Rose was stillborn at 32 weeks following the same problems with the placenta and the added problem of placental abruption. 


I have to admit, there is a strong sense of jealousy that I feel towards women who have a 'normal' and what I would consider 'easy' (don't shoot me!) experience. However, I also have a friend who has the same clotting problems as me. Her beautiful baby girl died in special care at 18 days after being born at 25 weeks due to clotting. Her second baby girl was stillborn 11 months later due to clotting and placental abruption. I think of her every day and remember how blessed we are to have Sam.


So... I guess, taking all of this into consideration, or putting it aside if you will, here is what I am feeling thankful for today:


That my little boy is happy and healthy regardless of his start in life.

For the short time I spent with my beautiful daughter-I would have given anything for her to live but I would not change her and will always treasure how special she was.

For every single pregnancy symptom I experience-I am taking joy in each bit of nausea, every ounce of tiredness and everything else that comes with it.


For the wonderful maternity hospital and the amazing fetal medicine centre on my doorstep. I can't imagine factoring travelling for care into all of this!


For my wonderful husband who has been amazing over the past 3 years and has stood by me when I've felt like I'm having a post traumatic stress induced breakdown!


For our amazing community of friends. I don't know how we'd be getting through this without them. They have cooked for us, cared for us, prayed for us and loved us. I guess it's true that you realise who your friends are at times like this and as a great friend told my husband this week, 'it's at times like this that communities are formed'.....

If I Only Had a Heart....

Today was a big day. I didn't sleep last night. I booked in at the hospital and went through all of my medical and antenatal history. My appointment was 45 minutes late and I had to sit in a normal waiting room full of pregnant women listening to the TV voice over talking about the joy of pregnancy. It was a long, angry 45 minutes.
I then went through to see Dr B. She was great and told us how pleased she was for us. She explained that a scan is needed to confirm viability before I can start the fragmin injections but that it may be too early to detect anything-did I want the scan now or in a week? I was terrified but decided that now would at least have a chance of reassuring me. She first did a transabdominal ultra sound & could detect the gestation sac & yolk sac but no heart beat so tried trans-vaginally. Still no heart beat.
Dr B has been my consultant for three years now and I trust her. She reassured me saying there is a pregnancy there and I'm not imagining it but that it's probably too early and too tiny to detect a heart beat. Inspite of how much I trust her, I can't help but feel heartbroken again. I worry that the baby stopped growing a few days ago and that's why it's too tiny. I can't help but feel terrified. I've got to go back in 2 weeks for another scan.
I guess I have to cling onto the fact that faith is being sure of what we hope for and certain of what we do not see.....

Feet Up Friday?

Is there such a thing as putting your feet up when you have a toddler? I'm not sure, but it would seem I need to find that time. I'm doing everything I can to keep myself busy and keep my mind off things but I think it's starting to take its toll and last night I could barely keep my eyes open. I think I'm emotionally exhausted as well as physically.
I popped to the supermarket yesterday afternoon and found myself foolishly picking up a pregnancy magazine. One look at the cover was enough to send me onto a blind panic in the middle of Asda. I completely lost any ability for rational thinking. The stories on the cover were things like 'dispelling fears', 'enjoying your 9 months', 'how to plan your perfect birth'. How can me fears be dispelled?! They're totally rational and founded in experience. 9 months?! More like 7 with the last trimester on bed rest-who can enjoy that?! And as for planning my perfect birth; if I'm lucky enough to avoid a c-section I'll be wired up to monitors and closely supervised with a team ready to intervene at the smallest thing. I'll never see a birthing pool and the midwifery led unit will remain a mystery to me. I realised that looking at these magazines was not going to edify me in any way. In the same way that a celeb magazine would trigger insecurities and undesirable patterns of behaviour for someone with self image issues, these magazines just force me to compare myself to women with 'normal' pregnancies, making me feel inadequate and less capable. I need to remind myself of the truths surrounding this pregnancy-I have been given a gift and I will try to do everything I can to enjoy it-enjoying it in my own way, for my own sake and this has nothing to do with the experiences other women may have. A friend who has also experienced still birth reminded me that in addition to being pregnant I am also still grieving and that I need to remember to be kind to myself.

I had counselling this morning and i spoke about obsessive patterns that I can see emerging. I feel nauseous in the mornings but in some sort of self protection thing my mind is refusing to acknowledge it and instead I'm only noticing the lower abdominal cramping in experiencing even though I know that this is normal in early pregnancy. My counsellor explained to me that my brain consists of a sympathetic and parasympathetic nervous system. When you experience trauma, the sympathetic nervous system comes into force activating fight and flight response. Everything is overactive, stress levels are raised and it is much more difficult to normalise things. This is where I am at the moment and I need my parasympathetic nervous system, which is responsible for relaxation, to be more active. She discussed some breathing and relaxation techniques with me and I really hope that these eases the sense of panic and dread that I feel. I need to put aside some time each day to practise these techniques and relax......

On another note-the cake is virtually finished! I hope he enjoys it!

Word Filled Wednesday

This past week my days have been filled up with planning for Sam's 3rd birthday party this Sunday. He is beyond excited. I have been making hundreds of tiny bananas for his birthday cake-he's asked for a 'monkey lying in bananas' birthday cake, hmmmm. I have been working out how much food I need to prepare, how many people will be vegetarian, ensuring there's no stray nuts flying around to cause allergic reactions and whether I should do fresh fruit or not. That's before I even factor in blowing up balloons and thinking about party bags! Sam has asked, rather unassumingly, for the cake. It is the only request he has made for his whole party and there has been no doubt in his mind that I will deliver. He hasn't felt the need to keep reminding me about it or to check with me whether I will still do it, or whether I've changed my mind. Every so often he'll ask me all about his cake and want to know how I am getting on with making it but he trusts me completely to give him what I've asked for.
I know this is the sort of trust I should have for my baby growing as it should and being born alive. I was reading this this morning and it really rang home with me so I thought I'd share it: 'it is as though God has asked you to copilot this most important flight. He is holding the controls, but you're asked to come alongside on this journey, doing what he asks & responding to his requests. To be an efficient copilot you must trust your pilot implicitly and remain in constant communication. Trust God, your pilot, with ultimate control of your pregnancy journey.'. I know, that in the same way Sam can't painstakingly make tiny sugar paste bananas, or prepare sandwiches & pizza for his party, there is nothing I can do to form this baby. I can accept all of the medical advice I am given, eat well, rest as much as possible and ensure that I'm caring for myself. I can present my requests to God and let him know how scared I'm feeling but I can't form this baby-that is His job and I need to trust Him to deliver.
Philippians 4:6-7 (NLT)
6Don’t worry about anything; instead, pray about everything. Tell God what you need, and thank him for all he has done.[] 7Then you will experience God’s peace, which exceeds anything we can understand. His peace will guard your hearts and minds as you live in Christ Jesus.

Making the Blanket...

I've had a difficult couple of days trying to stay positive. I know that I've let fear take over and desperately don't want to live this way. My pregnancy calendar informed me that in a couple of days 'the nose, mouth and ears that you'll spend so much time kissing in eight months time are beginning to take shape'. I find I can barely read it. I want to know that I will hold and kiss my live baby when they are born but I feel almost too scared to let myself believe it. We had some people pray for us yesterday. They spoke to us about trusting God. One of them said she feels that at the moment our pregnancy can be likened to a misty morning where everything is quite dark and gloomy but by the end of the pregnancy the sun will have broken through to reveal a glorious day-that we will have our baby to bring home at the end of this. I am trying so hard to trust.....
I have started making a blanket. I made one for both Sam and Emilie but in the chaos and terror, Emilie never got to be wrapped in hers. It took me hours to make and is folded neatly in her memory box. I made a decision when we were trying for this baby that I didn't want to make or buy anything for them, just incase. But as the desire for another baby increased, so did the need to provide for them. The morning I found out I was pregnant I began to painstakingly crochet a new blanket. It will take me weeks but I know that that is what I need! I am focusing intently on the baby as I am making it and this is helping to make them more real to me. I read a while ago that hope is not wishy washy-it is a 'strong and confident expectation, the sure certainty that what God has promised in the Word is true, has occurred, and or will in accordance with God’s sure Word.' We will have a baby to wrap in the blanket I am making. They will be alive.

A New Start?

30 th December 2011


I found out this morning that I'm pregnant again!! I can't quite believe it.  I know that the next few months are going to be so long and hard but I feel that it's a step in the right direction.  We want to keep it quiet until we know that everything is ok.  I desperately hope that at the end of this I have a baby to bring home.....
I still miss Emilie so desperately but think that being pregnant again eases the grief in some way.  I just can't bear the thought of miscarrying.  I need to trust and cling onto God's promises - he has a plan to bring me HOPE and a FUTURE and a baby will bring us hope.  Bring on the scan...

Starting Again

14th November 2011


We got our results today at the hospital.  They have confirmed that what happened with Emilie was the same thing as what caused Samuel to be born prematurely although this time, in addition to the blood clots and placental infarcts, I also suffered a placental abruption causing her blood supply to be completely cut off.  I can't quite believe it - how can the same thing happen twice?  We are so grateful for Sam and his survival and this whole experience has reinforced how special he is.
We have been given the go ahead to try for another baby.  I will be on a higher dose of aspirin than I was with Emilie-Rose, high dose folic acid and daily fragmin injections.  I will have a very early scan and will be admitted at 28 weeks.  As long as I have a baby at the end of it all I don't mind!

Glimpses of Hope

13^th and 27th October 2011

I feel like I’m really struggling.  I miss Emilie so much – I will be ok for a couple of hours and then my chest seizes up as if my heart is physically aching for her and the panicky feeling comes back.  I’m physically and emotionally exhausted from not sleeping and spending hours crying. I find myself staring at people with young babies and panicking when I see a pram.  I know that they are doing the things that I should be doing and am finding this incredibly painful.  I keep thinking about all of the milestones we’ll never have with Emilie – her first smile, weaning her, learning to sit up and learning to walk.  I can’t bear the thought that these are all things we won’t get to see.  

God has been speaking to me alot over the past couple of days, through the books I have been reading, and has been using these, and his word, to reassure and comfort me.  He has reminded me that he ‘will fulfil his purpose for me’ (Psalm 138:8) and that this applies to Emilie also – that her short life was not a waste or in vain and that she did have a purpose.  That I don’t know what her purpose was at present is no obstacle to God and he has reminded me that he has a plan for me to prosper me, and NOT TO HARM ME – to bring me HOPE and a future.  I need to keep clinging to this, especially when the doubts creep in.  God has also been reminding me that the voice I’ve heard accusing me of doing something to harm Emilie is NOT his voice and that I need to learn to hear and recognise his voice more.  I realise that nothing can happen without God’s knowledge and permission... ²⁹ What is the price of two sparrows—one copper coin[a]? But not a single sparrow can fall to the ground without your Father knowing it. 30 And the very hairs on your head are all numbered. 31 So don’t be afraid; you are more valuable to God than a whole flock of sparrows (Matt 10: 29 – 31).   I need to cling to this and wait to find out how God will use what has happened for good.

Saying Goodbye

7^th October 2011

Today was Emilie’s funeral.  We have spent the week preparing for it and I think that has given us a focus.  This morning we took Sam to playgroup and went for a coffee together before picking him up, going for a lovely family lunch and taking him to Nicola’s house to look after him.  Our friends came up before the funeral and we spent some time with them chatting and praying before the car picked us up. 

I nearly had a panic attack when the car arrived and I saw Emilie’s coffin. It was white and sterile and I couldn’t bear the thought of her being inside it.  John held her in the car but I could barely look at her coffin or touch it. It was so painful.

The drive to the crematorium was long and slow and I felt sick the whole way there.  I knew that this was the time to say goodbye to Emilie and the thought felt so final.  We could see all our friends arriving at the crematorium when we arrived and I was overcome by such grief at the thought that this wasn’t a ‘normal’ thing to do.  No parent should have to have a funeral for their child and this wasn’t the way I wanted to spend time with my friends.  We should be going for coffee together with Sam and Emilie – not cremating her.

We had wanted Emilie’s funeral to be a special occasion that acknowledged her life within me and recognised her as a special child – not just another lost baby.  Our Pastor led the service and it was absolutely beautiful.  I managed to read the Eulogy which I was so proud of myself for and I know that I’ll be able to look back and be pleased that I did it.  We had barely planned anything for her funeral.  It was such an example of all of our friends coming together to do something for us.  One friend had designed the order of service with John and had arranged for it to be printed and photocopied, another friend had arranged the reception in the form of an afternoon tea and so many of our wonderful friends had baked cakes for it.  We didn’t have to think or be stressed about anything and I think this is part of what made the service and reception so special for us – it was testimony to how much people love us and how much they loved Emilie.   People kept telling us what a lovely service it was and I genuinely think this was because of the love they could feel.  It was important to us, not only to give thanks for Emilie, but the dedicate her as part of the service to acknowledge that we were giving her back to God and trusting him with her.  I thought I would find this incredibly hard but actually felt a sense of release after the funeral.  I know that I will meet her some day and that she will be waiting for me.  I can’t wait to hold her again.

Baby Steps

1^st October 2011

Today has been another hard day.  I felt so empty when I woke up and my heart felt so heavy.  I think if it wasn’t for Samuel I wouldn’t have bothered getting out of bed.  Things just seem so pointless.  A friend came round to see us this morning which was really helpful.  Things always seem easier when you can talk about them rather than keeping the emotions inside.  I go through moments of feeling ok and feel guilty for smiling or getting on with things and then I feel so low that I don’t know how to go on.  There doesn’t seem to be any middle ground. 

We also went to healing rooms today.  I found that really hard – it was the first time we’d been out of the house actually knowing we would see people we know and who know what we’ve been through.  Everyone was great and I know that the prayer will have done us some good – I just struggle to see how at the moment.  After healing rooms we went to pick Sam up from from our friends who had been looking after him for us.  Knowing that their new baby was in their house, no matter how much I love him, felt almost crippling for me and I was certain I wouldn’t be able to see him.  I began to panic in the car at the mere thought and felt incredibly sick.  Once inside, thought, I just felt so loved by our friends and knew that the will be able to help us get through this.  I think it will take me a while to be comfortable around him but I guess that’s all part of the healing process.

Family Time

30^th September 2011

I woke up again this morning with the familiar feeling of emptiness and brokenness.  I think the only reason I get out of bed, have a shower and make any attempt to face the day is because of Samuel – he keeps us going.  A friend took him to a toddler group this morning to give us a break and so that he can maintain some sort of normality.  We decided to go for a coffee whilst we discussed funeral arrangements.  It was a very quick coffee as being out of the house and trying to enjoy some sense of normality just didn’t feel right to me and I was very panicky.  We talked about songs, readings and who we would like at the funeral.  We decided on immediate family and Liverpool friends plus close friends who have supported us over the years.  Thankfully a couple we are incredibly close to who moved to London a few years ago can come so we have asked them to come in the car with us as we don’t think we can handle going on our own.  After coffee we went to order flowers for the service.  This was very hard and the poor ladies in the florists were horrified at what we’d been through.  We chose autumnal flowers including sunflowers and pale orange roses – bright colours to reflect how beautiful Emilie was. 

This afternoon we actually had a really lovely time going for a family walk at one of our favourite places.  Sam was in a really good mood and we all enjoyed ourselves.  I feel that as long as I keep busy I’m ok – as soon as I sit down or have some time to reflect I’m hit full pelt by the emotions and such a strong sense of loss.  In the garden centre where we went for coffee there is a children’s clothing section and as soon as I saw all the pretty pink clothes my heart leapt as I thought ‘I can buy them for my baby’.  It is only then that the reality hits me – there is no baby to buy for. This sort of thing recurs so many times throughout the days and I just don’t know how to handle such strong and confusing emotions.

Limbo

28^th September 2011

We waited in this morning for the midwife and in the meantime a friend came to see us.  Her support has been amazing and she has offered to sort out afternoon tea for the funeral.  We have been overwhelmed by the sheer volume of support we have had from friends.

When the midwife arrived I could tell that she was worried about me.  My blood pressure was still very raised and she wanted me to see a doctor in the afternoon.  She encouraged me to try and get more rest but it’s when I’m stopping and resting that things are more difficult. If I’m on the go then my mind doesn’t go over events so much.  The doctor came out in the afternoon and was absolutely lovely – so caring and supportive.  She prescribed me some sleeping tablets and explained that it’s important to try and get my blood pressure down so I will be monitored really closely over the next few weeks.

After putting Sam to bed friends who lost their little boy in similar circumstances 5 years ago came round to chat to us.  It was so good to be able to talk to someone who knows exactly what we’ve been through and to be able to cry together knowing that they totally empathise with us.  All I can focus on is having another baby and Celia explained that this is a completely normal reaction to what has happened.  They said that it takes a long time to get over what has happened and did not pretend that things would get better soon. I think their honesty has really helped us.  We sat up and chatted for a while after they had gone home and I actually felt ready to go to bed for the first time all week.

Back Home

27^th September 2011

Today was a very hard day.  Our friend picked Sam up early to take him to playgroup for us and we went for a coffee.  I needed a new pack of maternity pads and John went into the chemist to save me having to go.  The lady in the chemist was gushing and asked him how old his baby was.  Such kind words become so cruel at times like this.

We sat in the coffee shop preparing ourselves for a trip back to the hospital to register Emilie-Rose on the still birth register – a legality.  Nothing could have prepared us for this.  Once at the hospital we were greeted by Val, our family support worker who told us ‘this is going to be hard for you’.  We were taken up to the registry office where we met our registrar – a very well meaning lady who unfortunately was not prepared for meeting a grieving couple.  We filled in the necessary forms and I broke down at putting ‘full time mother’ in the occupation box.  I had taken a bold step to take a career break to look after Samuel and Emilie-Rose.  I think this is the first time it dawned on me that I was going to have alot of adjusting to do.  After registering we came out of the registrar’s office and were greeted by a waiting room full of happy couples and their new babies.  Again I felt every eye on us as we stumbled through the waiting room and out into the corridor where once again I broke down. 

We then had some more time to spend with Emilie who had been laid in a tiny crib in a special nursery room.  She looked so quiet and peaceful – my beautiful little angel.  I leant down to touch her and was startled by how cold she was.  This scared me and I nearly refused to hold her but Val encouraged me to do so.  Once I’d got her I wondered how I was ever going to let her go again.  My arms literally felt empty without her and holding her was the only thing that remotely filled that gap.  I knew that she was just a body and not really my beautiful girl – I know that my real baby is in heaven and that one day I will get to meet her but clutching to her body was the only thing I could do to feel close to her.  We spent a while with her before speaking to a bereavement counsellor and discussing funeral arrangements with Val.  Leaving Emilie at the hospital that last time is the hardest thing I have ever had to do and once again the crippling sorrow I had felt came crashing back down on top of me.

We told Samuel what had happened tonight.  We showed him some photos of her this afternoon and then left him to ask about her when he was ready.  He asked at bedtime.  I explained that Emilie had been very poorly and that she was unable to come home from hospital.  I used the word ‘died’ to try and enforce a sense of normality.  I showed him a picture of Jesus ascending into heaven and explained that she was in heaven with Jesus and that he wouldn’t be able to see or hear her.  Through the questions he asked I think he is beginning to understand.  Telling Sam was possibly one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to do.

Crashing Down.....

25^th September 2011

I woke up this morning after quite an unsettled night due to pins and needles running down my arms.  My left arm had been quite painful in the night and both my hands were puffy and sore.  When I got up to go to the toilet I realised that my face was also puffy.  I haven’t felt any movement from my baby for at least 24 hours – that is I haven’t felt any kicking, I am still aware of her shifting position.  I asked John to take Sam to church for me so that I could rest but I felt so awful I couldn’t sleep.  When he got home I decided we should go to hospital to get checked over.  I packed some makeup just in-case I was admitted – I know what my track record is like!  We arrived at hospital at about 1pm and were seen in the assessment room at around 2 pm.  The midwife measured my abdomen and tried to find a heart beat with the CTG machine – she couldn’t find a heart beat so used a smaller sonicaid instead although was still unsuccessful.  Eventually they called for a scan machine to look for our little baby’s heart beat.  Through some coincidence our consultant was walking past the assessment room at that moment and saw our name on the board.  Thankfully she came in to see what had happened and was able to carry out the scan for us.  I watched her intently as her brow furrowed at the image and I knew exactly what she was going to tell us.  After a few minutes she looked up and said ‘I’m so sorry Claire but your baby has died’.  No words can describe how I felt at that moment and I began to scream.  The next few minutes are a blur as I remember being taken out of the assessment room and helped down the corridor to another room.  With each step I took my legs seemed to cripple more and I could feel myself sinking lower to the ground.  Eventually we got into a special room for such situations and we were advised to let someone take Samuel whilst we talked.  I screamed and panicked at the thought of them taking away my little boy – my little girl had already been ripped from me but I was told it was for the best to avoid him seeing us in such a state.  I can’t really piece together the next minutes and hours of the day – them seemed to pass in a haze of panic and dread.  I had, at some point, realised that our baby dying meant she was still inside of me and that we would somehow need to get her out.  I began to have another panic attack at the mere thought of having to give birth to her and begged the doctors to allow me to have a caesarean.  They explained that this would not be the best option for me due to recovery time and urged me to have an induction instead.  They explained that I would be given a tablet to block progesterone release into my womb and then would come back 2 days later for induction to begin.  2 days?!! How was I going to sit at home for 2 whole days pretending that nothing had happened and knowing that my beautiful baby was dead inside me.  Again the panic set in.  Eventually I was told that my blood pressure was dangerously high and that there was protein in my urine indicating pre eclampsia and that I would need to be induced as early as possible. 

Once I had stopped panicking I asked John to call our Church leaders and let them know what had happened.  Unbelievably they all came out to the hospital to spend the afternoon with us.  I don’t know what we’d have done without them as their presence was so loving and supportive.  I think the panic would have continued for the whole day as we bounced off each other but I am certain that the fact we were able to talk to them meant that alot of our terrified emotions were contained on the first day prior to delivery.  Thank goodness!

 My consultant carried out umpteen blood tests to try and find out what had happened whether it was the same thing that had caused Samuel to be born prematurely and growth restricted.  Throughout the day, various people came to talk to us about post mortem and funeral arrangements but the whole day is a blur.  I remember saying over and over again to anyone who would listen that there was no point in trying t find out what had happened as can't go through it again and won't be having any more children.