We survived five tragedies to complete our family
Clare Davies, 42, from Manchester, tried again and again to have a baby. Now, she is so grateful that they never gave up...
Taking a step back, I smiled, admiring the clean, freshly painted white walls. The nursery was coming along beautifully.
‘Perfect,’ my husband Rob agreed, folding tiny white sleepsuits into the drawers.
It was August 2009 and we were preparing for our first baby.
I’d met Rob in my 20s, and we’d spoken about kids from day one.
So, after getting married in March 2009, we started trying for a baby on our honeymoon.
Weeks later, we were ecstatic when a test came out positive. ‘We’re so lucky,’ I told Rob. It was all coming together. Before long, the 20-week scan was upon us.
But the sonographer said the baby looked small.
‘It’s quite common,’ she explained to us.
Only, something didn’t feel right. As a nurse myself, I’d learned to listen when my body was telling me something was wrong.
‘I can’t feel the baby moving,’ I told Rob.
I tried to push my worries to the back of my mind – and at 23 weeks, we went in for a follow-up scan.
‘I’m sorry, but there’s no heartbeat,’ the sonographer said to us, sympathetically.
The doctor came in and explained that I needed a pill to tell my body that it was no longer pregnant.
Then, three days later, I’d give birth to a baby we’d never get to take home. It felt so surreal. Rob was too sad to talk. I went into autopilot, ringing family and friends.
We sat in despair, grieving for our first baby.
And then, in September 2009, I went in to hospital to give birth. Labour took three days.
I don’t know how I managed to do it.
But my heavy grief outweighed the physical pain I was feeling.
‘It’s a girl,’ the midwife told us when I’d given birth. ‘Emma,’ I said. I kissed her on the head before saying goodbye.
Then we went home, feeling completely numb.
All I could think about was
My body told me something was wrong
getting pregnant again.
But we left it three months before we started trying – and, soon after, it happened.
Nerves and sadness tinged our excitement and hope.
I had extra scans and, thankfully, the baby was fine. In September 2010, I gave birth to a healthy little girl.
We named her Eva and fell completed and utterly in love.
But we wanted her to have a sibling to grow up with.
Then after a while, we fell pregnant again…
But this time the baby’s heartbeat stopped at 25 weeks.
When you go through something so tragic, you never believe it could happen again.
Yet, in April 2012, I gave birth to a little girl.
‘Her name is Faith,’ I sobbed as I said goodbye.
Eva kept me going – oblivious to our pain, she chatted and laughed.
Tests on our two angel babies couldn’t find anything wrong, so we were hopeful when I fell pregnant again.
Only, in February 2013, we lost our little boy, Bobby, at 27 weeks. Heartbreak upon heartbreak. ‘Don’t do this to yourselves again,’ my mum, Val, 64, begged. ‘Maybe it’s just not meant to be.’ Even Rob had his doubts. ‘We need to do it for Eva,’ I protested. ‘She’d love a sibling.’
Every time a friend announced they were pregnant, I shed a tear.
Having another baby consumed my every thought.
In 2014, we were referred to Tommy’s Stillbirth Research Centre at St Mar’s Hospital, where we met Professor Heazell.
After performing tests, he said that he believed I had an autoimmune condition that meant the blood vessels in my placenta became clogged.
The babies were starved of blood and oxygen, so their hearts stopped working.
‘It’s a miracle Eva survived,’ he told us.
With steroids, he thought I’d be able to carry a healthy pregnancy full term.
Full of hope, we tried again, and in late 2014, I fell pregnant with twins.
Only in February 2015, I lost them at 18 weeks.
‘Not again,’ I sobbed. We named the two of them Isla and Georgie.
Four pregnancies had ended in tragedy.
We’d lost five children. ‘I can’t go through this again,’ I told Rob.
He agreed that we were both too traumatised.
But then, weeks later, we had a call from Professor Heazell, who had been testing my placenta.
‘The steroids worked,’ Clare,’ he explained.
‘It was just bad luck you lost the twins as they were much higher risk,’ he told us. ‘We need time to think,’ I said. Not long after, I turned 39. And I realised I didn’t have long left to try for a baby. ‘This is our last shot,’ Rob and I both agreed.
And in August 2017, I fell pregnant again.
This time, I had blood-thinning injections, steroids, and an antiinflammatory medication. ‘The baby’s progressing well,’ we were told after our 20-week pregnancy scan.
I hardly dared believe that we would actually make it to the end of the pregnancy.
We’d lost the baby late so many times before.
But then, on 4 May 2018, at 35 weeks, I was booked in for a caesarean in hospital.
At 10.02am, I was handed my little girl.
‘Lyla, you don’t know what we’ve been through to get you,’ I sobbed, holding her.
Her round little face was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen.
She was perfect.
Finally, I felt free of the longing that had consumed the past decade.
The pain of losing five children was unimaginable.
I will always love Emma, Faith, Bobby, Isla and Georgie and wonder who they could have become, if they had been given the chance to live.
We don’t do anything special on their birthdays or due dates, because there are too many and it would cause us too much pain to relive it.
But I remember them in my heart.
And I always will. With Eva, nine, and Lyla, 21 months, I feel very lucky.
My rainbow girls. I’m so thankful to Tommy’s charity for helping me get here.
Even now, when people ask if I have kids, I’m unsure what to say. Usually, I tell them the truth. That after years of hurt and loss, we have finally got our perfect rainbow family.
We both agreed to one last shot