One day of winter
It’s always darkest before the dawn. Now I want to help other mums find the light We were returning home with an empty car seat... Nicola Gaskin, 33, Derby
Ipicked up the phone and dialled, my heart hammering out of my chest.
No sooner had my husband Dean, 28, answered, than I squealed. ‘I’m pregnant!’ I shouted. ‘That’s amazing!’ he cried. We’d been together nine years, desperate to be parents.
I’d always wanted a big family. The noise, the mess... the chaos!
Within months, we’d kitted out the nursery with blankets, nappies, toys, monitor, car seat, cot... We’d decorated, too, with colourful tepee wallpaper.
My bump grew and things went as smooth as clockwork.
On 22 October 2015, right on schedule, my contractions began.
And 24 hours later, at Derby Royal Infirmary, I gave one final push and our son Winter Wolfe arrived.
‘How amazing is this?’ Dean beamed as Winter was placed on my chest.
‘He looks just like you,’ I sobbed, taking in his strong brow and nearly identical face.
After a couple of minutes, the midwife picked Winter up to weigh him.
But suddenly, his little limbs went floppy.
Then chaos exploded around me, with medical staff rushing in and alarms blaring.
‘Tell me what’s wrong with my baby?’ I screamed.
But nobody could give me an answer.
I began to sob while Winter was whisked to the Neonatal Intensive Care Unit (NICU).
Minutes later, a midwife returned, placed her hand gently on my arm.
‘I need you to know that your baby may not survive,’ she said.
It felt as if a bucket of ice-cold water had been chucked all over me.
Numb with shock, Dean and I couldn’t speak and just stared at each other. Waiting for news was torture. Finally, a doctor appeared and explained that Winter had been without oxygen for some time during delivery and may have suffered brain damage or heart problems as a result. We were shown to NICU. When we saw our poorly boy, I gasped. His tiny body was covered in so many tubes. Tests showed Winter had persistent pulmonary hypertension of a newborn (PPHN), a condition that causes increased blood pressure in the lung arteries. Together with his heart issues and brain damage, Winter was hanging by a thread, a machine breathing for him. ‘We can’t keep him alive for much longer,’ the doctor told us gently. I can’t describe the pain. We’d longed to become parents. Now our child was slipping away from us, and there was nothing we could do about it. While Dean broke the news to our families, I sat silently next to Winter’s incubator. With a nurse’s help, I dressed our son in a white sleepsuit, and each relative came in to say goodbye. ‘It should be hello,’ I wept. Just one day after he’d arrived, little Winter Wolfe passed away in his daddy’s arms. We were crushed. Instead of taking our baby home to his beautiful
nursery, we returned with an empty car seat.
When my milk came in, it felt unbearably cruel.
While I’d imagined a lifetime getting to know our little boy, I was now planning his funeral.
So many people attended, it was standing room only.
He’d only been a day old, but Winter had been so loved.
‘I can move the Moses basket out of the lounge if you like?’ offered Dean sadly, afterwards.
‘No, leave it there,’ I replied.
It was important to me to remember Winter every day.
I spent hours in his nursery, sometimes crying myself to sleep on the rug.
But, despite our pain, we started trying for a baby again.
And in June 2016, we were overjoyed to be expecting once more, and excitedly told our families on Father’s Day. But next day, I began to bleed... Dean took me to the hospital and a scan confirmed I’d suffered a miscarriage at seven weeks.
I broke down as Dean wrapped me in his arms. ‘I’ll never have a baby,’ I wailed. ‘Don’t say that,’ Dean soothed. The loss took its toll on us. I later suffered a second miscarriage just before Winter’s first birthday.
I became jealous of other mums and blamed myself.
Our losses had left us in a whirlwind, struggling to make sense of anything. We kept trying, but I was too scared to think for a second I’d ever be a mum.
Even when a pregnancy test came up positive in November 2016...
‘Let’s not get too excited,’ warned Dean.
‘Just see how it goes,’ I agreed. I had extra scans, and everything looked fine.
But we’d been here before, hadn’t we?
When I went into labour on 17 August 2017, with a photo of Winter beside me, I was more afraid than I ever thought was possible.
Then Raven Rain arrived – and as soon as she was placed on my chest, she latched straight on. ‘She’s feeding!’ I cooed. ‘And she’s the spitting image of you,’ smiled Dean.
He was right, our little bird was my double.
Nothing could compare to the overwhelming rush of love I felt for our rainbow baby. It wasn’t without terror. I barely slept that first night, obsessively checking every few minutes that she was breathing. But two days later, Dean and I brought Raven home. We were finally a family. Raven is now 14 months old, and has grown up knowing her big brother. ‘Night Winter!’ she says to his photo each night. Our family has been through so much, and there must be so many other people out there suffering the same thing. So I keep a blog called ‘One Day of Winter’, where I write honest posts about my experience of losing a baby. I’ve also written a book, which I hope will help parents who’ve experienced a loss like ours to know they’re not alone... Because I know exactly what it feels like. It’s my tribute to Winter Wolfe and Raven Rain. Though Winter was only with us in body for just one day, in spirit he’ll be with us forever. Life After Baby Loss is available now in paperback via Penguin Random House UK.
Nothing could compare to the rush of love I felt