Chelsea shares how she’s lost four babies, Coby, Carter, Hudson and Layton due to placental abruptions. Although her boys may not have had the chance to grow up, they changed her forever, and gave her memories, even if those memories are sometimes the most painful thing she carries. Chelsea doesn’t want her boys to only be remembered as losses, statistics, or medical complications because they were her sons. They had names. They had tiny hands, tiny feet, and faces that she will never forget. They were here, and they mattered, and she will spend the rest of her life making sure they are never forgotten. 

Please be aware that Chelsea has chosen to share pictures of her sons alongside her story. 

My story begins back in 2020. I was 18 years old when I found out I was pregnant with my firstborn — Coby. I had previously been told at the age of 14 that I’d most likely never conceive naturally due to severe Polycystic ovary syndrome PCOS, so it came as a shock, but I was immediately filled with so much love and joy. Around 28 weeks pregnant, we found out Coby had stopped growing and was falling below the 5th percentile. The EDF was also intermittently absent, meaning blood flow and oxygen supply were there one minute and absent the next. 

They advised me I would need to attend the hospital for daily monitoring as well as two scans a week. This continued up until I reached 33 weeks, when they gave me steroids to help Coby’s lungs. They advised me that I should stop daily monitoring and just wait for a phone call on 13th June with a time to attend for induction. This was only five days away, and I was assured Coby would be fine in the meantime. 

COVID had hit at this point and we were still in the later stages of lockdown, so I was told to just be ready for a call when a bed became free. I didn’t receive the call, and when I phoned them, I was told they were busy and I would now be booked for induction on 17th June. I was again assured everything would be fine in the meantime, so I agreed. If I’m honest, I wasn’t aware of everything that could go wrong after 12 weeks. I assumed it was "safe." I was very wrong. On 15th June, I woke up and realized Coby hadn’t moved that morning, he was usually so active in the morning that he would wake me up. I also had slight back pain; in my mind, I assumed I was going into labour myself. 

I attended triage alone due to COVID and was sent straight into the monitoring room. This is where my life changed forever. I lay there, as I did every single day for the last two months, but it felt different. The midwife who had cared for me all this time had a look on her face that I hadn’t seen before. She called for a doctor, and I just knew something was wrong. Coby had died. I had suffered a placental abruption, something I had never even heard of before, but something that would take over my life. 

They wanted a second opinion, and I was walked, sobbing, through the antenatal clinic, passing all these expectant mothers waiting to see their babies on the screen, something I could only wish for now. It was confirmed that Coby had left us, and I was told I needed to be induced. 

I returned the next day to begin the induction process. I was placed directly in the middle of the delivery ward, where I could hear babies being born the whole time I was there, hoping and praying my baby would cry too. He was born so very silently on 17th June 2020. My boy was so beautiful. I will never forget the time I got to spend with him, and I will never forget kissing his perfect little cheeks and smelling his scent. I often still smell him in the air to this day. 

It was later confirmed that the hospital failed us. They admitted partial medical negligence, and it was concluded that Coby would have survived if they had induced on the original date. 

I wish this was where the story ended, but this heartache was just the beginning of another six years of hell. 

Just after Coby’s funeral, my grandad, who brought me up, passed away unexpectedly. I went to visit him at the funeral directors and begged him to just send me a piece of my boy back. Just three weeks later, on Christmas Eve, I found out I was pregnant. I don’t even know what made me take a test as I wasn’t even late, but I could just feel it. I was lucky enough to give birth to a healthy baby boy the following year, on 13th August 2021. He became my rock, and without him, I don’t know where I’d be. 

I fell pregnant fairly quickly after giving birth to my earth baby. At the same time, my mom fell very poorly too. She was pregnant with my little sister at the time and developed heart failure, sepsis, preeclampsia, and COPD. She fell into a coma, and we were told her chances were slim. I was around 21 weeks pregnant at this point and had just found out I was having another boy, whom we were naming Carter. I started bleeding quite heavily at 22 weeks pregnant, but every time I attended the hospital, I was told I wasn’t "actively" bleeding, that it was most likely old blood, and that it was normal not to worry. 

Just a week later, I went into spontaneous preterm labour and was rushed to the hospital alone, where I gave birth to my sleeping angel at just 22 weeks and six days. I required three units of blood due to haemorrhaging; I had suffered another placental abruption. My baby Carter was born on 11th April 2022. Even though he was very premature, he had such beautiful features, he looked just like his brother Coby. 

Both my mom and my little sister pulled through, and are now doing well.

It was at this time I had multiple tests done, including testing on the placenta and tests for Chronic Histiocytic Intervillositis CHI. Everything came back normal, and again I had no answers as to why this had happened again. I decided it was best to start contraception, and I agreed to the pill. 

Despite being on contraception, I fell pregnant again in 2023. This time, it was a breeze. I had no complications whatsoever, no bleeding, no growing small, nothing. My boy was healthy; I was finally going to get another rainbow baby. It was a Tuesday, and it was time for my very last scan before induction (I was never allowed to pass 37 weeks due to the placental abruptions). The scan revealed Hudson was growing slightly small, but because I was already so close to 37 weeks, they said they’d just give me steroid injections and book me in for the following Tuesday. In a week's time, I would have my healthy boy. 

Two days later was my mom’s birthday, so I spent the day with her and the night with my nan. The next morning, I noticed a "pressure" feeling down below. I assumed it was due to Hudson being head-down now; he was also moving around a lot, which was normal for my little wriggle bum! 

That evening, as it was time for me to go home, I started to feel very sick and my stomach suddenly went solid. I asked my nan to call my partner to come pick me up. Before he had the chance to get to me, my nan had to call an ambulance because I was fighting to stay conscious. I was in the ambulance contracting but not dilating. I kept telling them that this feeling was all too familiar, and when they checked my blood pressure, it had become life-threatening. I was given an injection, and all I can remember is the sirens in the distance. 

I arrived at the hospital to around 10–12 doctors waiting for me in one room. I was told Hudson had died, and that I was dying too. I had suffered a concealed placental abruption, meaning I was haemorrhaging internally. My mom had to sign consent for an emergency hysterectomy should they need to perform one. They were told my life was on a knife-edge and to prepare for the worst. My partner had been told that his son had died, and his partner was fighting for her life. I was in theatre for five hours and lost four litres of blood. 

I woke up in the intensive care unit ICU with Hudson lying beside me. Hudson looked so peaceful, just like he was asleep, to the point where two cleaners came in on separate occasions to congratulate me on such a beautiful boy. They both later returned to apologise after the midwives told them he wasn't sleeping. It was concluded that he had passed away 15 minutes before my C-section, meaning he most likely died enroute to the hospital. Hudson had joined his brothers, and I was completely lost. He was born on 30th November 2023. 

Again, I wish this was where I could end our story but at the end of 2024, I fell pregnant with my youngest baby boy, Layton. I started bleeding at around 19 weeks, which didn’t give me much hope given how things went with Carter. But I attended the hospital regularly and Layton was growing perfectly. He was happy and healthy in there despite the bleeding; I was told some women still bleed while pregnant, so they put it down to that. 

At 24 weeks, on Valentine’s Day, I woke up clotting. Not just small clots either, I was bleeding heavily, which terrified me. I was told to call an ambulance, but as I was already on my way, they told me to get straight to triage. I was monitored and told this was most likely the start of an abruption, and that I would need to stay in the hospital until I gave birth. They transferred me an hour later to a specialist hospital equipped for premature babies so Layton would have the best care. 

Once we reached 25 weeks, I was so relieved. He was viable. He was going to be okay now. They advised me to go for a short walk because I had been lying in bed for four days and they were worried about blood clots. I went to get some food with my partner from the cafe downstairs. We walked outside and saw a robin. It didn’t hurry away when we approached; it just looked at us. 

Two hours later, the abruption happened. 

I was rushed to theatre for an emergency C-section and Layton was born in "good condition" on 16th February 2025. He was even breathing on his own for five hours without a ventilator. He required help again the next day, but he was healthy. He was finally safe. We were told that in eight to 10 weeks, we could take him home! 

I was discharged the following day, and leaving Layton was torture. Luckily, we only lived a 12 minute drive away, so I was at the hospital all day long. Layton was three days old and I had just left the hospital after visiting with my mom all day. I went home to get some food before my partner and I went back up for the night. The second I got home and took my shoes off, my phone rang. It was the hospital. My heart sank immediately and I found myself saying the words, "Oh God, no" out loud. My partner was on the edge of his seat waiting for news. They informed me that Layton had taken a turn and we needed to get straight back up there. In the middle of all this, our car wouldn't work. We had to order an Uber. It felt like an eternity. 

When we arrived, I RAN from the car park to the ward, not giving a care in the world for my C-section stitches from three days prior. They wouldn’t let us through the doors. Why? Why can’t we see our boy? My partner was shouting and trying to push past them. It turned out Layton had dislodged his breathing tube, and they didn’t want us to walk in and see all the doctors surrounding him like that. They offered us a room on the ward, I thought at the time it was just to be nice because we didn’t have a car. It didn’t even sink in what the real reason was. 

Layton’s lung had collapsed and it went downhill from there. They would get one thing under control and another problem would occur. Our boy was very poorly. He wasn’t dealing well with being touched; every time they took his blood, his oxygen levels and heart rate would drop into the 50s. Witnessing a student nurse try and fail to take his blood four times in a row while his oxygen dropped so much became too much to handle. I couldn’t cope, and I remember being consoled by the midwives and doctors. They agreed to let nobody touch him except our designated doctor. 

Day four came and he was picking up! "We’ve had the best night and best results we’ve had in four days," I was told. I thought my prayers were being answered but by day five, Layton was very, very poorly. There was nothing more they could do. They advised us to start making memories. We took his footprints and handprints and finally got to hold him. 

For the first time since my baby was born I was going to hold him and it was going to be the last time I would hold him alive. The whole family arrived, and it was time to turn Layton’s machines off. We all held him and said our goodbyes. Our little fighter lived for over an hour without any machines helping him. He opened his little eyes to look at me while he was on my chest, and he coped so much better being held by me and his daddy than he did in the incubator. He was stable on our chests. 

I’m so glad he knew nothing but love. He passed away in my mom’s arms on 21st February 2025. 

Over the years, I’ve had people say things like, "Why keep trying?", "Why didn’t you get sterilized?", or "You knew what was going to happen, so why did you keep doing it?" The truth is, every pregnancy was a huge risk. I knew that. But I also knew what it felt like to have everything go right. I have my living proof of that. So, each time, there was always that little voice inside me saying: What if this time is different? What if this is the one where I get to bring my baby home? I don’t think there is anything wrong with hoping for that. 

After losing a baby, people sometimes expect you to be frightened of ever trying again. But grief and hope can exist at the same time. I knew the risks, but I also knew how desperately I wanted another piece of my babies. I wanted to know what it felt like to leave the hospital with one of them in my arms. And when that didn’t happen, I was left with a feeling I still struggle to put into words. 

After nine months of carrying them, feeling them move, talking to them, imagining their future, and preparing to meet them, I was left going home without them. 

I didn’t have a baby inside me anymore, but I didn’t have a baby in my arms either. 

I had become their mum, but I had nowhere to put all of that love. 

Sometimes I still ask myself, "Why me?" Why did this happen to my babies? What did they ever do to deserve it? I know I will probably never have the answers. 

But I do know this: my boys were here. They were loved. They were wanted. They were real. 

Coby, Carter, Hudson, and Layton may not have had the chance to grow up, but they changed me forever. 

They gave me memories, even if those memories are sometimes the most painful things I carry. They gave me four more reasons to love, four more names to say, and four lives that deserve to be remembered. 

I don’t want my boys to only be remembered as losses, statistics, or medical complications. 

They were my sons. 

They had names. They had tiny hands, tiny feet, and faces that I will never forget. 

They were here, and they mattered. 

And although I will never understand why their stories had to end so soon, I will spend the rest of my life making sure they are never forgotten. 

For Coby. For Carter. For Hudson. For Layton. My four beautiful boys. Forever loved. Forever missed. 

Forever my babies. ❤️