When we told Mum over Zoom, she was in complete shock, as white as a ghost. She thought he was a doll
house was all ready for the big arrival. On the shelf there were good luck and congratulations cards. And then we had to go back into hospital, knowing Gaynor was carrying our dead baby.’
By confronting the bleakness of their loss now, they hope other parents, similarly bereft, will feel empowered to speak about the lacerating grief of stillbirth.
‘I had to go through a 15-hour labour and it was the worst experience ever,’ says Gaynor. ‘You don’t expect to have to give birth to your dead baby. It was just devastating; heartbreaking.
‘You spend nine months growing that life and you feel you could die with them. You’re in shock, yet you still have to put your body through that gruelling experience.’
Ben cuddles Apollon, now six weeks old and dozing contentedly in a blue sleep suit, and remembers the awful emptiness of losing their baby, whom they named Kallipateira (after a character in Greek mythology).
‘To be in that room in the maternity suite, hearing the sounds of other families celebrating the births of their babies when you’re holding your dead daughter, was just indescribable,’ he says.
‘We walked out of the hospital with a shoebox containing a lock of her hair, her hand and foot prints and photographs. That was all we had of our daughter.
‘Other parents were coming out with their babies in carriers, holding balloons. You feel, “What have we done so wrong?”
‘We were two people who had so much love to give, even in death.’
They are a couple who exude kindness — much of their life together has been spent raising money for charities — and so from their daughter’s death has sprung hope for other families similarly bereaved. They have set up a foundation in Kallipateira’s name and raised £17,000 for a suite for parents who have had stillborn babies at their local Calderdale Royal Hospital.
THE two of them spent 24 hours at the hospital cuddling their dead daughter. ‘ We just didn’t want to leave her,’ says Gaynor. ‘And I felt a sense of guilt. I was meant to be protecting her and I’d let her down.’
There followed, on their return home, the harrowing process of ringing family and friends.
‘They were waiting excitedly to hear about the new arrival; how much she weighed, who she looked like. And we had to make those calls to say she had died.’
To compound their sadness, Gaynor miscarried their next baby in May last year. ‘We were at rock bottom,’ she says.
But finally, in October, came glad news. On the day when they had organised a service at Halifax Minster to commemorate their daughter and mark the lives of other babies who had died at birth, Gaynor discovered she was pregnant for a third time.
‘It seemed fitting that on that day of remembrance we found out we were going to have a brother or sister for Kallipateira,’ she says. ‘We both cried. It felt like an angel was looking down on us.’
This time, Gaynor — who had been under the care of Calderdale Hospital — sought help from experts at the Rainbow Clinic, part of the Tommy’s Research Centre at St Mary’s Hospital, Manchester, which looks after women who have suffered stillbirth or neonatal death.
Appropriately, a ‘rainbow baby’ is one born after bereavement — and that’s why the name Apollon ( the Greek god of rainbows, medicine, light and poetry) had a special resonance for them.
Ben, who works in customer services for a housing association, explains that they choose Greek names for their children because of the close affiliation he and Gaynor have with the island of Rhodes: Ben lived and worked there in his early 20s and they have returned regularly to visit friends.
Professor Alex Heazell, in charge of the Rainbow Clinic, prescribed Gaynor medication to avoid the problems that had contributed to their daughter’s death — undiagnosed gestational diabetes and an issue with the placenta.
even at the height pandemic, when many people were hardly leaving their homes, Gaynor was glad to make the 100mile round trip for her fortnightly check-ups and scans, knowing she was under specialist supervision. Truth be told, it seems she was so worried about her baby’s safety that she hardly spared a thought for herself.
‘Tommy’s phoned before every appointment to check that we had no symptoms of coronavirus,’ she says. ‘Ben wasn’t allowed to attend my final three pre-natal appointments because of the Covid restrictions and that did make me a little anxious.
‘But the hospital did everything they could to make me feel at ease and Ben was able to be there with me at the birth.
‘We had outstanding care. even so, there was not a day when we didn’t worry — which was why we decided to keep the pregnancy a secret. We didn’t want to jinx it. It was best there were no cards, no social media messages.’
APOLLON was born prematurely on May 23 at 35 weeks, weighing 4lb 8oz. It was a day of huge jubilation and relief for Gaynor and Ben.
‘I’d bled a little bit, so I went to the maternity ward (at Tommy’s) and my waters broke,’ she recalls. ‘ There was no time to feel apprehensive. I was due to have a C- section but instead Apollon arrived after 16 minutes’ labour. The midwife didn’t even have a chance to introduce herself!
‘In a way it was a blessing that he arrived so quickly. I didn’t have time to feel scared.’
‘There was a ten-second interval before he cried, then I just felt overwhelmed with every single emotion. I wanted to cry and laugh, I was so overjoyed. I thought, “He’s safe, he’s well, he’s here!”
‘I also thought about his sister and asked why it couldn’t have been the same for her. Her death was avoidable. That’s the tragedy.’
‘everything happened so quickly I was in shock,’ Ben admits. ‘I was so delighted but at the same time my mind went back to his sister. Apollon will help us, but not a day will go by when we won’t think of her.’
Apollon was kept in an incubator for two days, where he was tube-fed, then Gaynor and Ben were able to take him back to their home in Halifax.
All around are mementos of the baby they lost — aside from their memory box there is the little play mat, rattles, cuddly toys and a bouncy chair, all of which they bought for their daughter.
‘They were chosen with love for Kallipateira and we thought then of the joyous hours we’d have with her. now we believe she will be happy knowing her brother is playing with them,’ says Gaynor, nestling Apollon by her neck.
‘ He’s unbelievable, such a contented little bean. You start to pinch yourself and ask, “Is it all a dream?” He’s our little miracle, and I can’t stop looking at him and giving him cuddles.
‘We cherish every moment with him and lockdown allowed us to spend a few precious days together, just the three of us, without any visitors, in our own little bubble. And the pleasure of that has been indescribable.’