I had little understanding of pregnancy loss until it happened to me. I assumed secondary infertility was the biggest challenge I faced and that, after IVF and a longed-for second pregnancy, that it was the end of a difficult chapter.
But, at five months pregnant, I went into premature labour at home and my baby died. With the advice of the emergency services on the end of the phone, I gave birth to my son on towels hastily laid on the floor and held his hand as I watched him slowly stop breathing. My first son, then five, had woken up from the sound of the ambulance outside and my husband had gone to be with him in another room. With the aid of paramedics, I walked to the ambulance, holding my baby. I remember how grateful I was that it was the middle of the night and that my neighbourhood was deserted. The feeling of my baby’s cold body against my chest as I travelled to the hospital will forever be present in my mind.
