from the heart: there’s always someone missing
Laura Monks, 33, was convinced she was somehow to blame for the death of her baby son. But then the truth came out…
Standing in the nursery, I put down my maternity bag and gazed round at the lemon-painted walls, the Baby-gros and the white teddy bear in the cot. I’d imagined this moment for so long, me bringing my little boy back.
But seeing the room so still, my arms so empty, I began to cry. There were no celebrations because, quite simply, there was no baby to bring home...
I was already mum to my son darcy, three, when in March 2011 I discovered I was pregnant again. My partner Peter, 30, was thrilled and darcy kept telling everyone he was going to be a big brother. As the weeks passed, I prepared for becoming a mum-of-two, and at 18 weeks we discovered we were having another boy. ‘I like the name rueben,’ Peter said, and I agreed that it was perfect. We painted the nursery and bought the white teddy. ‘rueben’s first toy,’ I said, putting it in the cot.
Then, at 34 weeks, a scan showed rueben was in the breech position. ‘We’re going to have to turn him,’ the doctor said. This hadn’t happened when I’d been pregnant with darcy, so I had no idea what to expect, but the pain I felt as the doctor pushed on my stomach was unimaginable.
And at my next appointment two weeks later, rueben had turned back around again. The doctor insisted on moving him again. ‘surely this can’t be good for the baby?’ I thought, but I trusted that the doctor knew best. Besides, I could feel rueben wriggling inside me.
He’d always been fidgety, but 10 days later, that november, I woke up and couldn’t feel anything. ‘Peter, the baby’s not moving,’ I said. I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong, so after dropping darcy off at my parents’ home, we drove straight to the hospital in Wigan.
There, midwives gave me a jug of water to drink. ‘That’ll wake him up,’ one said, smiling. But still there was nothing. By now I was terrified.
‘Please help me,’ I pleaded, as tears streamed down my cheeks. The doctor booked me in for a Caesarean but there was no urgency – he even went for his dinner first.
Peter and I sat in the ward, both sobbing, as we waited. ‘The baby is in trouble,’ I kept saying over and over. Finally, four hours after arriving at the hospital, I was taken for my C-section.
Unbearable shock
As rueben was lifted from my stomach, Peter and I waited for his cries to fill the room. I could see him wriggling in the surgeon’s arms and for a moment felt a surge of hope, but our baby wasn’t making a sound. Then an alarm started. ‘rueben, please be ok,’ I screamed, as the room filled with medics. I wanted to stay with him, but I was wheeled away from my baby.
Peter and I waited for news. After an hour, the doctor walked in. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘We did all we could. There might have been something
‘I could feel Rueben wriggling inside me’
‘I couldn’t shake the feeling this was my fault’
wrong with the placenta. It’s just one of those things.’ I felt as if the air had been squeezed from my body, my head swimming. But I was too shocked to ask questions. All I could think was if it wasn’t their fault, it must have been mine. And that was unbearable.
rueben was brought to me. ‘We love you,’ I said, kissing him. For the rest of that day and night, Peter and I sat with him, singing to him and taking pictures. He looked like he was asleep. It was so hard knowing he would never wake up.
The next day, Peter and I made the sad journey back home. ‘Where’s baby rueben, Mummy?’ darcy asked, running up. I tried to be strong, explaining rueben was with the angels. But darcy looked so confused. How could he make sense of this when even I couldn’t?
Peter took six months off work from his teaching job and it was a great support to have him at home, but I couldn’t shake the feeling this was my fault. My body had failed our baby. I couldn’t bear to walk past the nursery, see the toys he should have been playing with.
Then the following year, in June 2012, I discovered I was pregnant again. only, instead of celebrating, I was filled with dread. What if we lost this baby, too? I was going back and forth to the doctors and had scans twice a week. But while they showed our baby was fine, I was filled with anxiety. I hid my bump under baggy clothes because I couldn’t bear telling people I was pregnant in case something went wrong. In February 2013, niamh was born, healthy and strong. As I held her in my arms, I began to cry. I adored her, but the memories of what should have been stung again.
‘Can we keep this baby, Mummy?’ darcy asked, when he saw his little sister, and I nodded. ‘of course we can, darling,’ I replied. But back home, I couldn’t stop worrying about everything. I’d worry niamh wasn’t crying or eating enough, and all I wanted was for her to stay awake so I could see she was still alive.
With each of her milestones I ran parallels, thinking how it should have been with rueben.
My head was so full of questions that in August 2013, Peter and I asked to meet with the hospital bosses. We had no idea what to expect but couldn’t believe it when they admitted errors had been made. Confused and angry, we contacted a medical clinical negligence solicitor at stephensons solicitors and asked for an investigation. They discovered from hospital notes that the second time rueben had been turned the umbilical cord had been damaged. They also discovered that the hospital had failed to carry out the Caesarean quickly enough – had they done it straight away, rueben would have lived. doctors said our son had been stillborn but I had seen him moving, and the report found that rueben had a heartbeat. I realised I wasn’t to blame, that errors had been made. Anger roared inside me – all of this could have been prevented.
In november 2015, the hospital trust awarded us £40,000 in an out-of-court settlement – but no amount of money could make up for our grief.
now Peter and I are waiting for an inquest to take place in February 2018. rueben wasn’t stillborn and I want to prove that.
But it can never bring our son back. rueben would have been almost six now, full of energy and fun. He’ll always be in our hearts, but there should be three children in our family, and without our little boy, there will always be someone missing.