I registered my babies’ deaths while sat next to joyful new mums --[Reported by Umva mag]

No parent should ever have to outlive their child.

But me? I’ve outlived two of mine and it’s the worst heartbreak I’ve ever suffered.

When I first learned I was carrying twins I was shocked to say the least. 

I’d known I was pregnant for 14 weeks – the home test I’d taken and extreme sickness I’d been experiencing told me as much – but I never expected the sonographer to announce I was carrying two babies. 

‘There’s another one!’ they’d said cheerfully and I couldn’t quite believe it. 

I remember feeling excited at the prospect of raising twins and was confident that this pregnancy would be OK. 

Looking back now, I was so naïve about what was to come… 

Unbeknownst to me at the time, multiple pregnancies, compared to singletons, come with higher risks. 

I didn’t know any of the complications that can result from a multiple pregnancy or the increased likelihood of preterm birth – around 6 in 10 twins are born before 37 weeks. 

Nor did I know that twins are nearly three times more likely to be stillborn and more than 4.5 times more likely to result in neonatal death than a singleton pregnancy.  

I never knew these risks. Not until they were born and the consultant in charge of their care seemed very cautious to say they would be OK. 

But then again, for more than half my pregnancy everything had been looking good. 

At my 20 week scan I was told that the babies were doing well. We also found out that we were expecting twin boys. 

We started to buy things for them both – cots, car seats, and lots of matching outfits – and began to organise their room. We went with a Winnie the Pooh theme and bought them Tigger toys and of course grappled with names. 

On 11 September, we ordered a pram and everything felt like it was falling into place. 

That evening though, I woke to a small bleed. I was exactly 26 weeks pregnant and while I knew bleeding during pregnancy is fairly common, I was a little concerned. 

My husband phoned the hospital, who said they’d send an ambulance, but as we only live five minutes away we drove. 

When we arrived at the hospital, doctors checked the twins’ heartbeats and then gave me steroids to mature their lungs. They also started ringing around to other hospitals to see where had two incubators just in case. 

I don’t remember feeling scared or panicked. Just numb – like the whole thing wasn’t really happening, telling myself it’d all be OK. 

Almost immediately, we were told we were being sent to another hospital. It was two hours away, but it was the closest with two available incubators. 

Before we could say anything, I was bundled into the ambulance, my husband following in our car close behind. Perhaps it was denial, but I still thought it was precautionary at this point, I really didn’t think I was going to be in labour anytime.

On the journey though, I began having contractions, although I wasn’t really sure that they were contractions at the time. 

When we arrived at the hospital I was told that the twins could be viable at 24 weeks pregnant. Nobody mentioned that there was also a chance they might die. 

The next morning, after a heartbeat check showed that one of the twin’s heart rates had started to decline, I was rushed to delivery. 

Twin one was born at 10.30am and twin two followed close behind at 10.44am. But before I could even see them, let alone hold them, they were both whisked away to NICU.  

Two hours passed before I was able to lay eyes on them for the first time. As I was wheeled to the NICU I just remember silently pleading: ‘Please be over 2lbs. Please.’ I thought that weight would give them a better chance at survival. 

Sadly they were both just under, and yet, they were perfect. 

They were beautiful with their dark hair and perfectly formed faces. I felt that instant swell of love you read about and was proud that they were my babies.  

All we could do now was hope they survived. 

The main problem with being so premature meant that their veins were tiny, which made it difficult to get the lines in. Doctors advised us to take it day by day. 

When we were asked to name them, I remember feeling surprised – I didn’t know if it was OK to name them if there was a chance they might not live. But with guidance from the health care professionals we managed to do so.  

We eventually named them Charlie and Joshua respectively.  

The next few days were hard though. A NICU is a very overwhelming place to be: There’s lots of wires, alarms and monitors, and the staff are always doing something. 

We were lucky in the sense that we were allowed to be in their room all of the time. We could put our hands through small holes in the incubator and touch them both and we got involved changing their nappies, giving them my breast milk and doing their mouth care.  

However, we were unable to hold them to begin with, as they were too poorly.  

Being there, every day willing them to live, was so important. 

Sadly, there never seemed to be a moment when they were doing well.  

Charlie began showing signs of an infection quite early on, which was the one thing I didn’t want to hear – I knew it would be hard for them to survive an infection. Meanwhile Joshua had a few blood transfusions and they picked up a heart murmur.  

They were also both under the UV lights a fair bit for jaundice and both had episodes of low blood sugar.  

I slowly began to realise quite quickly that, devastatingly, I might not be taking either of my babies home. 

In the end, Charlie lived for just a week. We were told he wouldn’t survive and he died in my arms – the first time I ever held him – on 19 September.

Joshua lived for another six days, 13 in total. I got to hold him while he was alive but eventually he too died.    

We were then offered the opportunity to make memories with them, first with Charlie and then with Joshua, so we got their hands and footprints printed and, alongside the ones we’d got while they were alive, took as many photos as possible.

Losing them both was inexplicably awful. 

But having to register both their birth and death while surrounded by other people with their bouncing babies at a registry office was heart wrenching. It felt so unfair. 

As soon as we got home, at the beginning of Oct, we began organising a funeral for family and friends to attend. It’s what we both wanted – a chance to say a final goodbye – but knowing I could never see them again once they were buried was the worst moment for me. 

Life carried on as normal for everyone else but it could never be normal for me again. 

We left their room as it was for ages as it felt too difficult to take it apart and as much as I loved to go in there, it was hard to see all of the things we’d bought for them. 

The only thing that got me through was the peer support we received from other families who had experienced twin loss. I chatted to mums who had also lost both of their twins and it was comforting in a way to know we weren’t alone in this journey. 

Three months later I fell pregnant with our next child, Jess. It was such an anxious pregnancy, especially up to 26 weeks, but thankfully she was born healthy a week before Charlie and Joshua’s first birthday.

I was so pleased to have Jess, so pleased she had been born alive but I was still grieving for the twins. 

I always remember our boys though, and as such, wanted to do something to help other people through the loss like I had. 

Shortly after Jess was born I began volunteering as a befriender to support families experiencing baby loss. I did that for 14 years alongside a supply teacher role all while raising Jess and our other child Samuel before leading a multiple birth loss bereavement service. 

Most recently though, I co-founded a new charity, Footprints Baby Loss, which provides support to families similar to my own that have experienced the death of a twin, triplet or more. I co-founded this with my friend Suzie, whom I met when I was her befriender almost 12 years ago.  

While we both wish that baby loss was less frequent, sadly we see lots of families experiencing this pain and heartache. Together with our volunteers, we provide peer-to-peer support and a safe place to talk about our babies that have died and I think a lot of our families like to be able to talk about their loss with people who truly understand. 

Because they are not alone. We’ve been there and we will do whatever we can to help. 

Charlie and Joshua would be 25 now and while it is still hard at times to think of all things I’ve missed out on with them, I like to think that I have done a lot of good in their memory. 

I will always be the mum of twins, and I am proud of that, I just wish I could have changed the outcome. 

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