It was September 17th 2008, I was 40 weeks and four days and my labour had started. 

We left our first born son Archie with his nan and made our way excitedly to the hospital. When we arrived I mentioned baby had been quiet during the day and asked was it normal? The midwife on duty looked concerned so said she needed to check, she tried to find the heartbeat with the doppler but failed, they then brought in a machine to scan me and sadly failed to see the heartbeat either. This is when they told us our precious baby had died.

I cannot explain in words how awful that moment was, it was like time stood still and our world was shattered into a million pieces. 
I was in full-blown labour by now but at that moment all I wanted was the baby out, straight away. I couldn’t bear the thought that my baby had died inside me. 

The midwife had called the consultant by this time and I was told I had gone too far for any pain relief and especially too far for a caesarean. So the next few hours were like torture, every contraction was as much a mental pain as it was a physical pain; I knew I had to go through the process of a delivery knowing my baby boy had died. 

My memories are very traumatic of the birth, George was actually breech and the pain of his delivery was worse than anything I had ever experienced, there was a lot of staff in the room and I remember a midwife putting a warm towel on my back to help ease the pain. After a while he arrived weighing 7lb and 13 ounces, he looked perfect, 10 little fingers and 10 little toes and he actually looked just like Archie had looked when he was born.

When he was born the worst memory we have was the silence, no cry came just the eerie silence. George was taken away to be cleaned and dressed; I needed some stitches and was exhausted mentally and physically. 

There is a bit of a blur from that point, I don’t really remember what happened straight after the birth but I know we didn’t move rooms. I would have liked to have gone away from the clinical room into somewhere more tranquil and peaceful where we could have got to grips with exactly what had happened, I feel it would have been beneficial to have had someone talk to us as we seemed to be in the room on our own for a while. 

When morning came we made the dreadful phone calls to family members. 

George had been brought to us in a Moses basket, the midwives had dressed him and put a blanket around him. He looked so peaceful, I can’t remember if I had been asked to dress him but I know from my experience with Sands some choose to do this, I think this part may have been too painful for me at the time so I may have declined. 

We were asked if we wanted to hold George, my husband decided he wanted to remember the look of him; he looked perfect so he didn’t want to hold him as he didn’t want to feel him cold. I had no idea what to do but this sounded right so I made the decision not to hold him either. To this day I regret not holding my beautiful baby boy, if someone had gently encouraged me at the time it would have been really valuable because I can never get that moment back. 

We were asked about a post-mortem, this had to be explained to us as we were unsure what to do. This is a difficult decision to make at this time but we needed to know if there was anything wrong, I think at this time we had to fill out forms but again my memories are vague.

The midwives gave us a lock of George’s hair and a couple of photos which we treasure to this day, unfortunately there wasn’t a Sands box available at this time.

George was taken away and I remember the panicky feeling that I would never see him ever again. 

We were asked to register his birth and death as the registrar happened to be there that morning, my husband and I were taken to the room where the registrar asked us for Georges name, date of birth etc.

It was then time to leave the hospital, I remember leaving the ward hearing other babies cry.

We were empty handed and heavy hearted, not how we had imagined it to be, in just a few hours our world had turned upside down, never to be the same again. 

We returned home to a nursery all ready for baby George. This was so painful but we had to carry on for Archie, it was very difficult to explain to a toddler what had happened and he kept asking where George was. I started to wish we hadn’t already named George as it had already bonded Archie to the brother he would never see.

I was offered counselling from the hospital but unfortunately something went wrong with the communication and I never received it. 

I spent a lot of time blaming myself. Luckily my husband is my rock and eliminated these feelings over time. We were very lucky with the support we received from family and friends during the weeks and months which followed.

We did have a few visits from the community midwives for a few weeks which was needed as no one told me my milk would still come through, this caused me terrible heartache at the time. How could Mother Nature be so cruel?

It was hard facing people for the first time.

For some reason I felt it was my fault, when I did start to go out I noticed a difference in how people reacted to me, some crossed the road as they didn’t know what to say and others would say it's meant to be or things happen for a reason, it was very difficult at first. A friend of mine actually had a baby girl a few months after I lost George and she was really concerned about me and even felt guilty herself. I held her baby straight away, it was fine, I didn’t want her baby I wanted mine.

The post-mortem results came back inconclusive so we will never know why George didn’t get a chance in life.

Just my husband and myself attended his funeral, it was so sad seeing the tiny coffin. George’s ashes are buried in the baby garden at Narberth crematorium. We had a plaque put up with the words George Vallance, “forever in our hearts" and we go to visit the baby garden on George’s birthday every year and take our children with us.

I went on to have a daughter. 

Her name is Honey. Honey was born on the 11th September 2009 by an elected caesarean; I had to try again so soon as I think had I left it longer I would have struggled emotionally. After Honey was born I suffered post-traumatic stress. I had the most awful night terrors and would wake up sweating and struggling to breathe, I had the same dream over and over that Honey was suffocating. In time they became less and eventually stopped.

Archie and Honey know all about George and let a blue balloon go every year on his birthday.

Some people put up their photos of the babies that didn’t survive which is their choice, however we have a poem on our wall in memory of George and this actually came from a very caring midwife who unfortunately had to share our experience that night:

Little Snowdrop

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 even 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,
Every beating of our hearts says that we love you.

I became involved with Sands a couple of years later, it made such a difference.

I finally felt I was surrounded by people who actually understood my pain. I eventually took over the local group and became chair. I have been involved with Sands ever since and have now qualified as a counsellor and psychotherapist opening my own wellbeing centre.

Sands was my lifeline. I felt the connection with others who shared similar stories made such a difference to my healing and I now help others which helps me. I have made some very special friends along the way. 

My connection to the Sands group have reassured me that Sands is helping to improve care, consistency and continuity, which is vital and I am hoping the National Bereavement Care Pathway will be rolled out in Wales soon.