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Miscarriage, Stillbirth and Baby Loss

Why did I become a Doula?

By Michelle Every

Michelle's photo, Michelle is a whit woman with grey-brown hair. She's wearing a blue puffa jacket and standing in fields

The answer to this question is simple. I became a Doula because people who knew me asked me to be present and support them at the births of their children.

At this time I lived in Mid Wales and was privileged to have a job which was predominantly connecting and supporting the local community. I had space and time to spend with people and found myself being invited into their homes and lives. This led to being asked into their pregnancy, birth and post natal stories.

When I reflect back to this time there are four significant experiences that shaped my journey into becoming a Doula as a full time job.

When I was pregnant with my fifth child, a friend of mine at the parent and toddler group we attended shared with me that she was having a miscarriage. We connected and I offered her support. A couple of weeks later she found me and shared her news that she had a baby still growing in her womb. She had been expecting twins. We kept in close contact throughout her pregnancy and as the time for the birth drew closer she asked if I would be willing to drive her to the hospital for the birth as her partner worked away. The hospital was an hour away and on this journey we had such fun. This was her 5th child and she was confident in how she wanted to birth. Her challenge was trust. She found trusting strangers difficult, so I was invited to be present to help her to let go and to trust her body.

I was astonished to see what a difference my presence made to this woman. I sat in the birth room. She didn’t want me to talk, to touch her or do anything. Yet she said afterwards that just knowing I was there was all she needed. Wow. This impacted me deeply.

The second experience that impacted my journey into being a Doula was the birth of my 5th baby. I share about Arthur’s birth often as he was born when I was 20 weeks pregnant and his life and death has impacted who I am deeply. Giving birth to a baby who is not “viable” impacted my world in a way that is difficult to describe. When I became a Doula I knew I wanted to support others who experienced miscarriage, stillbirth and infant death. As the years passed I also became passionate in equipping other Doulas to offer the same service so I created and facilitate Supporting Every Birth – a workshop exploring supporting loss.

The third experience was supporting another lady in my local community just days after I had given birth to Arthur. This lady had experienced a miscarriage before her first son was born. I spent time with her son while she birthed her daughter in another room. I was not needed in the birth space this time. What she needed from me was to keep her son safe. Being part of this family’s story so close to my own loss was emotional for sure but one I am so glad I agreed to do. Their joy brought me joy.

The fourth experience happened once I moved to Greater Manchester. Again, I was asked to support a mum bringing her firstborn into the world. She had a long labour at home and my role was encouragement, laughter, service and companionship. The midwife attending the birth was the voice that changed my life – she asked me if I was a Doula. And if I was not that I should be as this was what I was doing.

“Doula? What is a Doula?” I asked.

Looking it up on Google I could not believe that what I had instinctively offered was, in actual fact, a job.

Two years later I was looking for a new job. I found Nurturing Birth and trained to be a Doula.

Reflecting back today on why I became a doula what I notice is how natural and easy the process was. I took each opportunity that came my way and trusted my instincts. I hope my story brings encouragement and confidence to others.

A grandmother’s perspective on stillbirth: For Cillian

By Sharon Bridges

Photograph of Sharon, Sharon's daughter (Cillian's mum) and Sharon's aunt. Sharon's daughter is wearing a blue sash which says 'mum to be'.
Sharon, her daughter and her aunt at Cillian’s baby shower, before they received his diagnosis.

During my mentoring session with Michelle Every, facilitator of Supporting Every Birth, Michelle suggested that I write an article on the experience from a grandparent’s point of view. Around this same time, my daughter bravely made a Vlog offering support and sharing her own experiences, so I felt this was a suitable subject for me, following the loss of my first grandchild, Cillian.

Cillian was a little blessing we were told was on his way on Christmas Day 2019. I had lost my daughter Sophie in 2018, which made Christmas a difficult time, as it was Sophie’s favourite time of year. My older daughter, Hannah, had been planning to start a family in 2018, but following the loss of her sister she decided to wait until we were in a better frame of mind to welcome and nurture a new life, so this news was indeed very special. Hannah was only around the 6 weeks stage, and a bit nervous telling family, as my niece had sadly suffered a miscarriage of her first little girl in November 2019. Sure, what could possibly go wrong, when we had already been through so much loss? The 12 week scan showed everything appeared to be going well, and the 17 week scan confirmed this, but there was a brief mention of a little fluid on the kidneys. The hospital staff were more concerned with adhering to Covid-enforced restrictions to answer the questions of an anxious first-time mother, so Hannah decided to have some private scans carried out. Again, these showed no major cause for concern, and revealed that we were expecting a little boy.  A small heart defect was indicated, along with the fluid in the kidneys, so Hannah was referred to the Foetal Medicine department in the Royal Victoria Hospital, which is really the highest level of care on offer in Northern Ireland. The specialist could still find no reason to worry, and felt that perhaps by delivering early and having a look at the heart, Cillian had a good life ahead of him.

How did that go so wrong? At 32 weeks, Hannah went through an amniocentesis to put her mind at ease before being induced, and at his point we discovered our beautiful little man had Patau’s syndrome, Trisomy 13. None of us had ever heard of this. We were familiar with Down’s syndrome, as I have a cousin who has had a wonderful 45 years of life so far with this condition, and that was the reason I had advised against this invasive procedure. If our worst-case scenario was Down’s syndrome, our grandson would still be so loved and a welcome member of our family. We were not prepared for this news in any way, and it felt like a horrible, cruel trick. We were given this news on a Wednesday, and told Hannah would be induced on the following Saturday. I still believe that where there is life, there is hope, and on those nights I stayed with Hannah before she went into hospital, we made memories with her little bump. We told him how much we loved him and wanted him to be part of our family, although Hannah and her husband Paul did not want to be given any false hope. My heart was completely shattered, but I kept it inside when I was with them, but when I was alone in the middle of the night, that is when the tears came.

Saturday the 27th June 2020 arrived, and Hannah and Paul had to report to the maternity hospital alone. Throughout lockdown, Hannah had to attend all her maternity appointments alone, but there was no way was I letting her face this unsupported. Having been induced 3 times myself, and also working in a maternity hospital, I was aware that we were probably in for an arduous journey of days, rather than the hours they were both expecting. I felt sick all day waiting for news, but it was only when the night staff were on duty that I was allowed to join them at the hospital. It was a horrible stormy night, as if Belfast was offering me her sympathies, but I made my way to the special Snowdrop room, which would be my home for the next few days.

That first night felt like it went on forever, as the niggling cramping of early labour began, but it was evident there was not much progress to be made. I guess that’s when my doula brain kicked in, and I encouraged Hannah and Paul to get some sleep.  The last thing you will feel like doing is eating and drinking, but it is vital that you all keep your strength up and stay hydrated. The staff were amazing, every one of them, who treated us with such compassion and empathy. Sunday was another long day, and between us we decided Paul should go home overnight for a proper rest and meal, while Hannah and I had our last bonding time with little bump, watching silly comedies that reminded us of happier times with Sophie.

Our perfect, precious little Cillian arrived and departed this world on Monday 29th June, born sleeping, still warm when the midwife handed him to me. It was surreal, being handed this beautiful little boy by someone who said ‘I am so sorry for your loss’. I wanted so much to try to resuscitate him, as I ached so much for him to breathe, that I put my mouth over his tiny mouth and nose, just waiting for a sign of life. I longed so much to hear those first little cries, but this was not to be, Sophie had already welcomed her little nephew to her as he entered the world. As Hannah and Paul comforted each other and expressed the rawest of emotions, I held Cillian to my heart and allowed one tear to escape, before reuniting him with his mummy.

The Snowdrop room in the Royal Victoria Hospital had been set up in 2018 by a family who had gone through this life-changing experience, and although it is in a maternity hospital, it is separate from the labour wards and delivery rooms. We had a sacred place to spend as much time with our special little man as we needed. I won’t go into all the sentimental things we did as it was personal to us as a family, but we were so thankful that we had that time with Cillian, and he was treated as a person in his own right by all of the wonderful staff, who not only looked after Hannah, but myself and Paul also.

My reason for sharing this with you is really just to give you a little background on our family dynamic, but I would like to share some suggestions to any grandparent who is facing the same scenario. Yes, you want to scream, and cry, and curse, so do it, when and where appropriate of course! Your child needs you to appear strong and calm, no matter how sick you feel inside. Your child is still, and always will be, your child, so you place your own pain aside and care for them first. Be there. I was told I may not ‘be allowed’ into the hospital, but no force on this earth would have kept me away. Make your memories, before and after the birth. That little heart is still beating, those little ears can still hear you and recognise your voice. Believe me, you will thankful that you did. Acknowledge that tiny life as part of your family. One thing that particularly touched me was a text message from my own mother, saying ‘I am so proud to be his great grandmother, and I love him’.  This also reinforced in me the assurance that your mother is, and always will be, your source of strength, and in her eyes you are forever her child. You may want to consider what you would like to dress the baby in, or put in the cot with them, but the hospital staff were a great help to us as we had not really given this a lot of thought. We picked a little outfit for Cillian, and the staff gave us a beautiful memory box containing 2 little blankets and teddy bears. One set went with Cillian, and the other stays with us. I have a ring that I had made containing Sophie’s ashes, and I placed this in his little hands overnight, so know it has an extra special meaning to me. Take photos, lots of photos. These will be all you will have to look back on, so make the most of every opportunity. It is not as morbid as it sounds, trust me.

Of course, there are practical things that need to be considered, such as registering the birth and death, or receiving a certificate of stillbirth, and arranging a funeral. Again, the hospital staff took care of so much, and we are eternally grateful for their support. There is so much more I could share, as a mother, a grandmother, and now a doula, but we experience every moment in our own way, and our journeys are all unique. Rest assured, you will get through this, your child will get through this, and there will be happier times ahead, but you will always have that little angel tucked away in your heart.

Cillian showed me that my calling was to become a doula, and I intend to offer my services to any woman facing this experience, who may not have family support around her. I will honour his memory, give him this legacy, and breathe the meaning into his existence that I was unable to breathe into his little body, and he will always be my first grandchild.

For Cillian Noel O’Gallachoir, 29th June 2020.

Further information and support:

SOFT UK: A charity providing support and information to parents of children with Trisomy 13 (Patau’s Syndrome), Trisomy 18 (Edwards’ Syndrome) and other genetic differences, before and after birth. https://www.soft.org.uk/

Sands: A charity which supports those who have been affected by stillbirth and neonatal death. https://sands.org.uk/

Miscarriage Association: A charity to support people affected by miscarriage: https://www.miscarriageassociation.org.uk/

Supporting Every Birth: Nurturing Birth’s interactive workshop created for doulas and birth workers looking at supporting both clients and themselves through all birth journeys including baby loss. https://nurturingbirth.co.uk/retreats-and-workshops/supporting-every-birth/

Wisdom and Freedom – A Birth Story

By Hannah

Sophia Saoirse

Multiple pregnancy loss and the resulting grief I experienced led to an inability to continue to try to show the world that I was OK.  At the end of 2015, after my miscarriage, I began to experience different flashbacks from my past and episodes where I didn’t feel in control of my body. 

I was suffering from PTSD, including something I later found out is called ‘post-abortion trauma’, from my teenage years.  It can be triggered decades later by pregnancy loss, or even pregnancy itself.  Within the pregnancy/parenting community it feels okay to talk about miscarriage, but not about abortion, even though I imagine many women have experienced it. I had so much shame and guilt around my abortion and felt so alone but it seems to be the ultimate taboo and must never be spoken about. Perhaps because of this, my miscarriage triggered this ‘post-abortion trauma’. 

I was told that I had to be admitted to hospital with my miscarriage, but being in a hospital room, using bedpans and the pain and blood loss made me relive my abortion. I don’t believe this needed to happen, I would have preferred to have been at home. 

As I started to learn that it was okay not to be okay (which I found so hard!) I could no longer contain and ignore the memories of childhood and adolescent sexual violence that I had held down and had blamed myself for for so long. I started to see an amazing counsellor who is very experienced in working with women who have survived sexual abuse and are experiencing trauma. I angered my GP by refusing antidepressants (as I wanted to conceive again) and was told that it was selfish to continue to try for a baby with the state of my mental health. This felt unfair.

It was after I transferred hospitals at 24 weeks (because I needed to be under a certain hospital for home birth) that I took on my doula.  I wanted a doula from the beginning but I thought I wouldn’t be able to afford it – I spent so many nights trying to work out the maths in my head.  My husband and I had a conversation where I said I know this is money we cannot afford but I also feel like we can’t afford not to have it.  I looked at the mentored doula profiles and Lauren had had had two home births herself and came across as a really gentle person.  We both met with her and I just knew she was the right person, she felt safe.  I think a doula is there to support whatever your birth choices are, but the fact she had had two homebirths for me was really powerful.

At 37 weeks after growth scans which were all spot-on, and never having had any of the conditions associated with raised BMI; the female consultant, with a high level of resignation, left me to my ‘fate’.  She said “You know the risks, I’ve read through your notes, we’ve repeated the risks to you” which obviously I was well aware of.

The midwives were willing and I felt like I had a really supportive community team.  The two midwives I had overnight when I was labouring I had never met before.  One of them I really liked, and then a second one came but it took me a while to check her out.  My friend in the US had recommended the book Birthing From Within and I had read the chapter on being a wolf mother and how you need to ‘sniff’ people out as it were and check if they feel safe enough to be let into your ‘territory’.  I really felt like the first midwife made me feel safe.  I could see her reading my birth wish list carefully.  So after the second arrived I needed to retreat to my bedroom to get back into my safe head space and slowly I let her into my ‘territory’.

However, when morning came, there was the shift changeover and I felt really upset.  I was upset that it was daylight and that I was going to lose these two midwives who I had grown to trust in my space.  The new midwife arrived and I had met her before, but hadn’t liked her.  So I retreated again with Lauren, my doula, to my bedroom.  Again, I had to re-find my safe space in my head.  Lauren was so central to that because I knew and liked her and if she hadn’t been there I believe my labour might have failed to progress and that I might have had to transfer to hospital.  The midwife was great when it came to pushing and that’s when I felt safer with her.

Just after birth – in the pool at home


Afterwards, when I was lying on the sofa and found out I needed to be stitched up and had to transfer to hospital in an ambulance I became hysterical.  It was the only time I had gas and air and it made me very emotional and I said “It’s my BMI, that’s why I’ve torn, I knew it would come into it in the end”.  The midwife, in a very strong Mancunian accent said “It’s got nothing to do with your BMI” and that’s when she came in to her own and I believed her.  I had this feeling that everything was right, in its rightful place. 

Me being in my own home and having Lauren as my really safe person was integral to it going as well as it did.  Ironically when I went in to hospital I couldn’t believe they took me to my own room on the Labour Ward I had tried so hard to avoid and the doctor who saw me was the last consultant I had seen who resigned herself to the fact that she couldn’t do anything about me wanting a homebirth.  I had this moment when I felt like “Look, I did it.  I had my homebirth and I did that successfully, and had my golden hour of skin to skin in the pool before I knew I needed to go to hospital, and I delivered the placenta naturally and all these things I wanted.”  But there was also this spiritual moment of humility and recognition for me where I said to myself “Yes, I’m so grateful that you do what you do and that you have your training because this is my medical moment and this is when I need YOU.” 

I feel really emotional talking about it because I didn’t need the doctors for the birth, I didn’t need the doubts and the feelings of power that I think doctors can have over people but I needed them afterwards … so it felt like it was good for both of us in that context.  I think Doctors can feel threatened when you want to go against what they know and see and experience and I felt that was perhaps why they fought me. So, it felt like moment of victory for me but also a grateful moment of humility to say “Yeah, I’m grateful the NHS exists and these services exist so that you can repair my body”.

Wisdom & Freedom

I gave birth to our beautiful daughter in a birthing pool in our living room with the support of my husband, my doula and the midwives. It was the most empowering experience of my life to have conceived, grown and birthed my girl (and myself as a Mama) in the way that I knew I needed to, for her and for me.  I can’t explain how in love I felt with my daughter, but also how in love I felt with my body and myself in that moment. 

I know you’ve got crazy endorphins and stuff, but that feeling hasn’t gone away.  Birth is incredibly empowering if it is a positive experience but I think regardless of the birth that this is going to take me forward, along with my hard work in therapy to help me feel like my body is mine again. I never thought that pregnancy, labour and birth would be part of the healing process but they have helped me come home to myself and my body. 

It just feels like a miracle compared to what I was told labour with my body was going to be like. I feel so blessed because this isn’t something I have to add to the list of traumas in my life that needs to be worked through.  I am so grateful not to feel traumatised by my birth. We named our daughter Sophia (meaning ‘wisdom’) and Saoirse (which is Gaelic for ‘freedom’). Two powerful words which truly summarise this journey.”

If you have been affected by this story then please don’t hesitate to contact us – [email protected]
For support after miscarriage The Miscarriage Association has a helpline, operated from 9am to 4pm Monday to Friday – 01924 200799
For information about counselling services available to women going through abortion/termination please contact Marie Stopes
To find a doula fill in the search box on the homepage of the Nurturing Birth Directory