Veterinary nurse Jo felt elated when she became pregnant for the second time. But this soon led to a devasting loss that was to affect the subsequent birth of her rainbow baby. Here, she discusses her journey through postnatal trauma and how, with the right support, she found eventual empowerment.

February 2022, the month we had been waiting for, the month that we could finally share our happy news. From the moment that you see those two little red lines on the pregnancy test your new life is mapped out in the finest details and you begin to imagine life as a mummy of two. You keep it all a secret as you dare not tempt fate, and because, as a society, we are led to believe that this is just the way it should be.

I’m Jo, a qualified veterinary nurse and mummy to Lucas, aged 5, and Erin, aged 9 months. This is my story through the heartbreak of baby loss, the miracle of new life after loss, and the difficulties of navigating postnatal anxiety and post-traumatic stress disorder. I hope that by sharing my story, I can provide comfort to anyone experiencing the effects of baby loss and raise more awareness about a very taboo subject, therefore encouraging more people to talk. I want to reassure anyone who may feel similar that, with the right support, we can emerge stronger and with more self-compassion than we ever imagined.

“I hope that by sharing my story, I can provide comfort to anyone experiencing the effects of baby loss”

A shock to the system
After experiencing a very small amount of bleeding one week before our NHS scan at 12 weeks’ gestation, we decided to book a private scan for reassurance. An implantation bleed had been mentioned to me during a call to the midwives, so some of my positivity remained.

Sat waiting in a room full of other excited parents to be and being surrounded by baby and gender announcement memorabilia made the wait an even more anxious one. I, however, had hope, and hope is far stronger than fear.

In a darkened room with no screen available for us to see our baby on, I heard the words: “I’m sorry but there is no heartbeat.” In that moment, time stood still. People were talking but I had no idea what was being said. My focus drifted to a ticking clock, every tick registering in my mind as another second that I would have to accept that our baby had died.

We left back through the very same waiting room, with very little information except to expect a heavy period and a follow up from the NHS.

“I heard the words: ‘I’m sorry but there is no heartbeat.’”

Feeling isolated
The following days all merged into one whilst I attempted to carry on as normal. The enormous lack of information on what to truly expect during the loss of an 11-week-old baby resulted in an emergency dash to A&E in the early hours with a severe haemorrhage. It was here, in a hospital toilet - alone - that the baby we were so excited about was delivered.

We told close family and friends about our devastating loss because continuing to keep that secret felt as though our baby never existed, and for 11 very happy weeks, she very much did.

My world fell silent. No one really knew what to say to provide comfort so many said nothing. People I was less close to would say the wrong things to try and provide some kind of positivity. “It wasn’t meant to be” and “at least you weren’t too far along”, were just a select few. I began to distance myself from others as a method of self-protection.

“My world fell silent. No one really knew what to say to provide comfort so many said nothing”

Inescapable fears
Fast forward one year and we were very fortunate to be blessed with our rainbow girl Erin. Whilst the pregnancy was understandably an anxious one, I remained positive and focused that all would be okay this time.

Motherhood kept me busy and, indeed, all did seem to be well. But when Erin was around 10 weeks old, I began to feel an overwhelming anxiety for her life. Whilst she slept through the night, I would stay awake watching her breathe. Intrusive and disturbing thoughts would sweep through my mind about someone hurting her or taking her away. This quickly escalated into an obsessive compulsion to check the doors and windows when I was home alone. Would someone hurt her? Or would it accidentally be me? Nothing felt safe and I thought I was losing my mind!

Hypervigilance and a complete loss of trust in the world dominated my everyday life. Someone leaning into admire my beautiful blue-eyed girl meant that they were about to snatch her from my shopping trolley. Every innocent scenario had an ulterior motive to me.

“Hypervigilance and a complete loss of trust in the world dominated my everyday life.”

Flashbacks about the trauma of loss would catch me off-guard, and I found it increasingly hard to interact with people in case someone mentioned something that I would find a trigger, or something that my thoughts could use to create a new terrifying scenario for my child.

Processing trauma
After reaching out to my GP, I was quickly referred to a fantastic therapist who specialises in birth trauma and loss. We began Cognitive Behavioural Therapy. This allowed me to discuss my thoughts and feelings about my loss as well as learn the many coping mechanisms to control my thought processes. The trauma of that night in the hospital had caused my brain to store those memories incorrectly.

The moment that I discovered self-compassion was the moment that my wounds began to heal.

“The trauma of that night in the hospital had caused my brain to store those memories incorrectly”

Looking to the future
Six months on and I am still continuing to put into practice everything that I learnt in therapy. I am now able to control those thoughts and am therefore feeling more relaxed.

I strongly believe that had I received more support from the professionals looking after me, and been given realistic expectations of the true extent of baby loss, then my outcome would have been very different.

I cannot change this, but I can try and raise more awareness to help others in the future.

My story is just the beginning!

Did you experience loss too? Our organisation partner SANDS offers great support.

If you’d like to know more generally speaking what help is available and right for you, take a look at our Step By Step Guide here and we’ll talk you through it.

Emerging stronger: life after loss