Two stars and a miracle
Despite living through tragedy, Lauren Smith, 25, from peterborough, must keep smiling
Clicking off the tree lights, my partner Graham, 27, I grinned. ‘Should we leave a carrot for Rudolph?’ he teased.
‘Next year we will,’ I laughed. Giggling, we headed off to bed.
It was Christmas Eve 2015, our last one before we became parents.
After three years together, I was pregnant with twins.
It’d been a very traumatic pregnancy.
At 16 weeks pregnant, I’d been diagnosed with twin-to-twin transfusion syndrome
– a condition that can occur when identical twins share a placenta, causing one twin to not get enough nutrients.
I underwent laser ablation surgery in November that year, where doctors lasered my placenta in half in the hope of evening the blood flow.
Unfortunately, the surgery was unsuccessful.
But as I finally drifted to sleep that night, I thought all about the Christmases we had to come as a family...
At 7am the next morning, I awoke with a jolt. I felt hot.
‘Graham!’ I gasped. The sheets were soaking wet with blood.
Graham bundled me into the car to take me to Peterborough City Hospital.
‘Please let the babies be OK,’
I said out loud, clutching my belly.
As we arrived at hospital, doctors examined me.
They told me that my waters had broken and my membranes had ruptured. Please, no...
‘But it’s too soon!’ I cried to the doctor, clutching my stomach. ‘I’m only 23 weeks.’
Doctors said I’d need to go to Queen Charlotte’s and Chelsea Hospital in London for more tests.
‘What’s going to happen?’ I stammered.
‘We need to stabilise you and check the health of the babies,’ a doctor explained. ‘There’s a chance they might not survive.’
It was 25 December. We were supposed to be celebrating with family, having fun...
‘This is the worst day of my life,’ I wept.
In hospital miles from home, Christmas was all but forgotten as doctors fought to keep my twins in the womb. Over the next week, I endured steroid and magnesium injections.
But on 2 January, the contractions started. The babies were on their way...
Graham had gone home to clean the house and my mum Karen, 54, was with me.
After an 18-hour labour, my babies were delivered at 11pm, at just 25 weeks.
Thankfully, by then, Graham had returned to hospital from Peterborough and was by my side.
But giving birth to my babies so early was the most traumatic experience.
Ava was born first, weighing just 1lb 10oz, followed by Elouise, who weighed a tiny 400g – about 14oz – the same as a tin of beans.
Ava wasn’t breathing, though Elouise let out a cry, sounding like a little cat meowing.
Heartbreakingly, they were whisked away to Neonatal Intensive Care straight away.
But I managed to catch a glimpse.
Two tiny glass dolls. ‘What’s happening to my babies?’ I cried in horror.
Graham and my mum tried their best to soothe me but my mother’s instinct roared, and all I wanted was them close to me.
It took doctors six minutes to resuscitate Ava before being able to ventilate her.
But Elouise was still poorly... Extremely so. Doctors later explained that Ava had a greater blood supply in the womb, which left Elouise severely deprived of nutrients.
During the night, doctors came and went with updates but my mind was on my babies.
And finally, at 3am, I was taken to see them.
I’d braced myself for machines and wires.
But when I got down there, the sight of my tiny girls was so shocking I ran back out, crying.
So tiny, so poorly. How could they possibly survive?
Back on the ward, I crawled into bed, my heart breaking.
Five hours later, a doctor came and told us Elouise had suffered a bleed in the brain.
‘Elouise won’t live for more than a few hours,’ he said. ‘And Ava has a five per cent chance of survival.’
The words didn’t even register with me at first.
I let off a wail, as Graham wrapped his arms around me.
But I simply couldn’t
be comforted. Elouise was in her incubator, so tiny. Doctors asked Graham and I if we wanted to turn off her life-support machine.
The hardest decision, we agreed, despite feeling our world crumble around us.
We put Elouise into Ava’s incubator so they could have a last cuddle.
As I held Elouise in my arms, our darling girl passed away, just 18 hours old.
That night, as I lay in bed, I could hear mothers cooing over their newborns in the ward next to mine.
That was soul-destroying to hear.
I’d just watched my daughter die, while her sister was fighting for her life.
A few days later, we spent time with Elouise and had her foot and handprints printed.
It was heartbreaking. But we still had Ava, fighting to live.
So how could we give up? For 10 weeks, Ava remained on life support and had dozens of life-saving surgeries.
It felt like we were in a Christmas time warp, it felt surreal.
I just wanted my baby to come home.
Thankfully, slowly but surely, Ava’s condition improved.
We were finally able to take her home to Peterborough in April 2016, after four months in hospital.
It was only then that we could face holding a funeral for Elouise.
Her funeral was small and intimate, and was decorated with flowers.
We had Elouise’s ashes put into a big, brown teddy bear. Still close, I thought whenever I saw Ava giving it a cuddle.
And when the next Christmas came around, we spoiled her rotten as planned.
There was happiness and laughter that day... but Elouise was on my mind.
We should have been hanging two stockings, not one.
As we carried on with our days, looking after Ava, life took a cruel turn once again.
I found myself pregnant, but it wasn’t meant to be.
In May 2018, our son Theo was delivered stillborn at 35 weeks, after his heart had stopped beating in the womb.
Losing one baby was agony. But losing two... it’s impossible to describe.
I looked at everything
I’d bought for him. It was unbearable packing it all away.
But I couldn’t let the grief pull me under, I had beautiful Ava to think of.
So I set up a charity called EAT – Elouise and Theo – dedicated to supplying food and materials to parents who are in hospital with their unwell children.
We’ll never forget Elouise and Theo.
I’m a mummy to three with just one baby to cuddle.
But our miracle Ava gives us so much joy.
And this Christmas Eve, when the stars are twinkling in the sky, I’ll point up and tell Ava that’s where Elouise and Theo are.
Still shining. Always
shining.