Please be aware Rachel has chosen to share photos of baby Cian with her story.
Saturday 8th July 2023 - the day our world was turned upside down and what followed would be the worst week of our lives.
I had what some people would say was a relatively easy pregnancy. No sickness, no pains, no bleeding; other than a little tiredness it was all smooth sailing. We got through those nerve wracking first 12 weeks and were over the moon to be able to share the exciting news with all our family and friends. In all honesty, I was so naive to the fact that things could still go wrong. You hear of these things happening all the time, but you never think it’s going to happen to you. How wrong were we?
Aiden and I were due to take our niece to her Gaelic football competition that morning, but instead we ended up in the hospital because my waters had broken. I was 22+6 days. There was no warning, no indication. Everything had been completely normal just hours before. We knew deep down it wasn’t good news. We were terrified.
After a few tests our fears were confirmed. My waters had broken and it was highly likely I could go into labour. The next 48 hours were critical. I would be put on antibiotics due to risk of infection, kept in for monitoring and the obstetricians and paediatricians would come and speak with us. I will never forget the conversations that followed. We had to make decisions that no parent should ever have to even think about.
If our baby was going to arrive imminently and be born alive, the hospital we were in only had a level 2 neonatal intensive care unit (NICU). More can be done for premature babies in level 3 NICUs so we had to decide if we wanted to transfer. Of course the gestational age of our baby meant the prognosis was very bad regardless, so how were we supposed to make such an impossible decision? We knew the statistics, we knew there was no right or wrong decision and that we had to do what was right for us and the baby. In that moment we both agreed that we would stay put.
Sunday passed with no changes and Monday was the same. My observations and bloods were all okay and baby’s heartbeat was still going strong. A scan showed that other than lack of fluid around the baby everything else seemed okay. We welcomed the uneventful, boring days as it meant baby was staying put a little while longer. Each day that passed made our baby stronger, so the longer they stayed put the better. We were sent home the Monday evening, advised to take it easy and go straight back to the hospital if anything progressed.
Within a few hours what I assumed was just a bit of a tummy ache turned out to be very mild contractions, so back to the hospital we went during the early hours of Tuesday morning.
On assessment the doctors confirmed my cervix was closed, baby’s heart was beating and all observations were fine, so it was back to being regularly monitored for the foreseeable. The contractions lasted over 24 hours but didn’t really increase in frequency or intensity. I struggled to get to sleep that night, but when I woke up for observations a few hours later the contractions had stopped. Our emotions were all over the place. Everything was so up and down. One minute we thought baby was on the way, the next minute it seemed like they were staying put for a little while longer.
Google was my worst and best friend as I started researching everything and anything to do with PPROM (preterm premature rupture of the membranes).
I tried to avoid looking at the statistics as I knew it wasn’t looking good for us, so I started searching for stories of hope. Stories from other mothers who had suffered from PPROM but went on to have healthy babies. Of course, there are so many sad stories out there too, but I needed to focus on the positives. I needed to believe that our baby had a chance because even if that chance was small, there was still hope. It was that little bit of hope that kept us going. It was that little bit of hope that helped us stay strong for our baby.
Wednesday and Thursday went by without any further developments. No more contractions, observations still fine and that tiny heartbeat was still going. We were getting closer to 24 weeks; a milestone that we were praying for as the chances of survival were that bit better. We were also constantly thinking about our decision to transfer to a level 3 NICU. The prognosis would have still been bad, but statistically things could have improved from where we were that first day in the hospital.
Friday morning arrived and it’s a day that will haunt me for a very long time. After updating family and friends that there had been no changes overnight, I went to the toilet and screamed out to Aiden in horror. I hadn’t really processed what was going on but one of the midwifes shouted ‘cord’ and pressed the emergency button. The alarm went off and I was suddenly surrounded by about 15 members of staff. It was cord prolapse - if you are full term this is usually a medical emergency for the baby which explained the mass panic around me. I was rushed up to a delivery room and have never been so afraid in my entire life.
After an anxious wait in the delivery room, another scan confirmed that there was still a heartbeat. What a fighter! We knew the cord prolapse meant our chances were even lower, but as long as that heart was still beating, they were still fighting. It was at this point that Aiden and I decided we wanted to be transferred to a level 3 NICU. We were 2 days away from 24 weeks. The hospital made the necessary arrangements and we were blue lighted to the level 3 hospital that evening. A journey I won’t forget - the staff were amazing and made us laugh the whole way. A 20 minute journey took over an hour due to an accident on the M1 but we laughed, we cried, and I was made to feel as relaxed as possible. I can’t say thank you enough to all the staff involved.
The hospital we transferred to was a new and scary place for us. We had been in the other hospital for nearly a week but it wasn’t long before we were made to feel like we were in safe hands. Saturday was uneventful and we went through the same process. Regular observations and monitoring. On Sunday we had family visiting throughout the day while we watched the Wimbledon final. I had my routine observations at 4pm and all was fine. I will never forget what I said to my Mum before she left that evening ‘You will probably go home and it will all go tits up.’ It was a lighthearted comment in what was such an up and down few days. None of us knew what to expect next, but sadly, I was right. Mum text me to let me know she was home and that was when I had to share our heartbreaking news.
It was about 8pm on Sunday 16th July; the moment we could no longer hear that heartbeat we were so desperate to hear.
A day that we knew was highly likely, but we could never have prepared for. A day that changed our lives forever. Our beautiful baby boy Cian was born sleeping a short few hours later. Our hearts were completely broken.
It pains me to admit that the moments that followed are a bit of a blur. Our family entered the room shortly after Cian was born and it wasn’t the moment they ever imagined it to be. We were holding our baby boy, but he wasn’t going to wake up. He wasn’t ever going to play with his cousins or be spoilt by his grandparents. He wasn’t going to live the life we had all imagined for him.
Fortunately I didn’t have to go through a painful labour and Cian was delivered naturally and quickly without contractions, but no contractions meant the placenta could not be delivered. Had we not been through enough already!? After quite a lot of blood loss I was sent to theatre with my Mum by my side and waved off Aiden as he held our lifeless son. My blood pressure had dropped so I had to be stabilised before they gave me the epidural. All I remember is watching my Mum’s face. I thought the worst, so I needed to know that things were going to be okay. I needed my Mum’s reassurance. Once I was stabilised and the epidural was given, the procedure itself didn’t take too long. They had to make sure that every last bit of the placenta was removed.
An hour and a half later and after nearly two litres of blood loss I was wheeled back into the room where Aiden was waiting with Cian and our family. It was then that the reality hit me all over again. We had lost our little boy. How were we ever going to be able to deal with this? How were we ever going to be able to say goodbye?
With the help of the midwives we spent the next two days making memories with Cian. Not the kind of memories we ever had in mind, but memories we are beyond grateful for and will never forget. Our family and some close friends were able to meet Cian. We were able to hold him, cuddle him and spend some time with him before it was time to say goodbye.
The midwives helped us take photos and get footprints and handprints for Cian’s memory box. It really was so special but so heartbreaking at the same time.
On Tuesday evening it was time to say goodbye, and it was without doubt one of the toughest moments.
How could we leave the hospital without our son? How could we leave him there all by himself? We were surrounded by our family who all said their goodbyes one by one. It was so hard to watch but even more painful because I knew it was our turn very soon. Once it was just me and Aiden in the room, we gave Cian one last cuddle and told him how much we loved him and how proud of him we were. I handed him to the midwife who reassured me she would take good care of him. Our hearts broke into a million pieces as we walked out that door that day.
They say that grief is love with nowhere to go. It’s all the love you want to give but cannot. We will always love Cian, and he will forever be our baby boy, but sadly we will never get to see him grow up. We will never get to see him take his first steps or kick a football. We will never get to wave him off on his first day of school or do any of the things we had dreamed of doing with him. I’m sure Cian knew just how loved he was (and still is). We take comfort in the fact that he passed away in the place he was safest, warmest and surrounded by our love.
Child loss changes your life forever.
It changes you as a person and shapes everything about you. Aiden has been my absolute rock, and I will be forever grateful to him for being the most amazing boyfriend and daddy to our Cian. We are so lucky to have such incredible family and friends who continue to support and guide us during the most difficult time in our lives. We honestly don’t know what we would do without them.
Of course we can’t forget the staff at both hospitals we were in who treated us with so much compassion and kindness every single day. They held our hands every step of the way and were truly amazing.
Cian James Lynam - Rest in eternal peace beautiful boy 🩵
It has been two years since I wrote this story and we have had another beautiful baby boy Shay.
He is nearly 20 months now and has helped so much with the healing process. We are beyond grateful that we were able to have our rainbow baby, but the wonderful moments will always be bittersweet.
For every milestone that we celebrate with Shay, we think about all the moments that could have been with Cian. Regardless of how many more children we may be lucky enough to have, our eldest boy will always be missing from our family.
My one bit of advice for anyone going through something similar talk about your baby (if you are comfortable doing so of course). Tell everyone about them and keep their name alive. They are our beautiful angels and will always be a part of our lives, so they deserve to be remembered.
