Maternity bereavement suite at Epsom Hospital

We're raising money for a specialist bereavement suite in the maternity unit at Epsom Hospital, following our heartbreaking experience that you can read about below.

Thank you to everyone for completing the following events to help contribute to the fundraising effort:

- Colchester Zoo Half Marathon - 6 Oct 2019 - Rachael Rackham

- Family 5K Walk - 17 Sep 2019 - Kelly Fincken

- London Ultra Duathlon - 8 Sep 2019 - Jon Coppin - Completed in 5h 20m

- London to Brighton Cycle - 16 Jun 2019 - John Musk - Completed in 5h 30m - Smashed it!

- London Marathon - 28 Apr 2019 - Andrew Speller - Completed in 3h 37m - Amazing, well done!

- Sponsored hair donation - Saskia Wright, 8, grew her hair long to cut short and donate to a child with cancer. Amazing!

Our Story

When Jo was diagnosed with cervical cancer having just turned 30, a question mark remained over whether we could have children. Although the cancer treatment was with future fertility in mind, there had been complications following the surgery, which led to 3 years of correctional operations and difficult consultation discussions. Last year we gave IVF a chance, with a 5% chance of success we didn’t hold out much hope.

The IVF process was straight forward, but we never expected it to work. But low and behold, a few weeks after it was completed we got a call with the news that Jo was pregnant. We tried hard not to get too excited as we knew we had a very high-risk pregnancy. Like any pregnancy getting to 12 weeks was crucial and additionally we knew at 12 weeks that Jo would require keyhole surgery to have a stitch put in, to replace the job of the cervix which had been removed.

7 weeks - We had our first scan, which was when we first heard a heartbeat, strong and healthy, the realisation of life. We still tried hard not to get too excited.

11 weeks - Jo woke to heavy bleeding and our hearts sank as we feared the worst. We got to A&E, where she was checked and scanned, but all was well - a strong and healthy heartbeat. The consultant advised us the bleeding was down to a low placenta, but this wasn’t uncommon and baby shouldn’t be affected. The bleeding continued on and off all of the next week, with several scans each time reassuring us that baby was OK.

12 weeks - Jo was admitted for the pre-planned surgery. For the very first time for many involved they were planning to perform the operation through key hole, whilst pregnant. Although trickier than they first thought, the operation was a success and Jo spent 3 days in hospital and spent a further few weeks at home on antibiotics recovering.

14 weeks - For the first time Jo started to feel well, went back to work and continued to tick off every passing day.

16 weeks - We found out that our baby was a boy! We started to think more positively for the first time during the pregnancy.

19 weeks - Jo’s belly had really popped, a lovely bump slowly forming and the first flickering of life could be felt. We started to believe that this was actually going to happen. We shared our news with wider friends and family and started to discuss names. There was excitement amongst us all and everyone was so happy for us, it was finally our time.

Later that week, Jo woke early one morning as she feared her waters had broken. We didn’t panic at first as we had been through so much, this could just be another hiccup. So we headed to the hospital to seek some reassurance. As soon as the consultant started to scan, he let out a sigh and confirmed her waters had gone, but again baby was still going strong. The consultant went on to explain that he could continue to grow and survive without the waters, Jo would be monitored twice a week to check for infection, but he was optimistic we could get to a point where he could be delivered safely. Jo was admitted to the labour ward for a few days as a precaution.

By the time we sat down in the private room that had been set aside for us, Jo was shaking uncontrollably. Within the hour a fever had set in. Doctors started to appear and tried to work out why she was feeling so bad. Bloods were taken and blood pressure and temperature checked regularly. Bouts of fever and sickness came and went.

Jon eventually went home late that evening to get some sleep. Throughout the night Jo continued to deteriorate and was given fluids intravenously and had observations taken every 15 minutes. Her heart rate was soaring, blood pressure dropping dangerously low and her temperature had hit 40. ‪At 3am‬ a midwife crouched down by her side and gently explained that it was now highly likely that they would need to terminate the pregnancy as infection had set in.

For the next few hours she held her bump and hoped for a miracle. Jon arrived at the hospital early in the morning and the doctors confirmed that an infection, most likely sepsis, had taken hold inside the uterus, which was making Jo seriously ill. In order to save her, they would need to terminate the pregnancy.

Before we signed any paperwork, they did a scan and for the first time there was no heartbeat. Our little boy had slipped away from us already. Instead of grief we felt relief, relief that it was not our signatures that ended his life but the infection that was threatening to take Jo’s. 

She was wheeled straight to theatre where they removed the stitch they had so carefully put in 7 weeks before. She was moved to the high dependancy unit, the top level of care in Epsom hospital. After the surgery, Jo was finding it difficult to breath and required a blood transfusion.

They then gave tablets which would start the contractions and a few hours later behind a thin curtain Jo gave birth, while we held tight to each other’s hands. This was something most parents go through scared, but with anticipation and excitement. We just felt numb, too scared to look. It didn’t take long for baby to arrive, but we couldn’t face seeing him straight away. A midwife carefully wrapped him in a blanket with complete compassion, she told us he was beautiful and walked away with him in her arms. They then gave us a blue knitted blanket to hold on to.

Jo was sent back to theatre an hour later to remove the placenta that hadn’t detached. By now it was ‪9pm‬, she was exhausted and desperate for it all to be over.

She came back to the high dependency unit around 5am. Due to sepsis she had machines around her legs, lines coming out from both arms and neck, loud beeping from the machines surrounding her. Once Jo became more comfortable, we asked about our little boy and felt that the time was right to see him. A short while later a midwife came in clutching a basket and passed him over. They closed the curtains around us and for the half hour that followed the noise and confusion stopped, it was just the three of us. He was perfect, so tiny, delicate and peaceful. We stroked his face and touched his hands and cried together. We had only ever agreed on one name and it seemed so fitting. Sonny. Our little ray of sunshine. We talked about how he would always be our little boy and part of our family. We tried to absorb as much of him as we could, knowing that this would be our only time together. We wished we knew what eye colour he had or what his cry might sound like. When the midwife returned she swapped the blanket they had given us when he was born with the one he was wrapped in. He then got the blanket that had comforted us and we got a small part of him, which has continued to provide some small comfort in the following weeks. Sonny was then taken away.

Jo spent three more days in high dependency and was eventually moved back to the maternity ward, where she was moved between 2 different rooms, throughout 5 more days of intravenous antibiotics.

The rooms were pretty clinical, designed to deliver babies and care for them in their first days. There were lumps of blue tac on the walls where pictures of babies and breastfeeding had been removed by midwives before we entered. Most nights Jon went home as there was nowhere for him to stay. He had to go back to an empty house, while Jo lay alone with empty arms trying desperately hard not to hear the new baby’s around her crying. The immense feeling of grief and unfairness was unbearable. 

When it was finally time to go home Jo was torn. She was desperate to get out of hospital, but the thought of leaving Sonny behind was heartbreaking. We walked passed open doors where new mums glowed with their new babies surrounded with balloons and proud families. We walked with our eyes to the floor, unable to speak.

Over the following weeks we read other stories by parents who had also lost a baby. Most got to spend the day and night with their babies after the birth in a room on the maternity ward. We thought how lovely, but also felt cheated, because Jo had been so unwell we hadn’t had much time with Sonny. We missed out on precious memories of bathing him, reading him stories, singing to him, holding and cuddling him. 

We had a funeral service for Sonny 6 weeks later, which gave us some level of closure. No longer was he just lying on his own in a cold room somewhere. He was gone in body but remained with us in spirit forever.

We went back to the hospital to thank the team of midwives who looked after us. They were all super humans in our eyes who held our hands, hugged us, cried with us and helped us immeasurably. It was then that we discussed doing something that could help ease the pain for future couples going through the same thing. They mentioned about having a dedicated private room for couples who have suffered a bereavement. A room that was decorated nicely, with a comfy reclining chair and a bed for dad, close to the entrance so there was no need to walk past other new families and away from crying new born babies. A bubble where life long memories can be made with dignity, privacy and sensitivity.

Sonny wasn’t meant for this world, but we want the world to be a little better because of him. Our plan is to raise as much money as possible to get a dedicated room designed and refurbished in the maternity ward at Epsom hospital, so something good can come from all of this. Based on a similar room in a local hospital, £20,000 would more than cover the cost for what we want to provide. Whether we are able to fund the room ourselves, or join forces with other couples, we will keep raising money until we can make a difference.

All donations would be hugely appreciated, thank you.

Jon, Jo and Sonny xxx

The world may never notice,

If a Snowdrop doesn't bloom,

Or even pause to wonder,

If the petals fall too soon.

But every life that ever forms,

Or ever comes to be,

Touches the world in some small way,

For all eternity.

The little one we longed for,

Was swiftly here and gone.

But the love that was then planted,

Is a light that still shines on.

And though our arms are empty,

Our hearts know what to do.

For every beating of our hearts,

Says that we love you.