I never really thought he’d be gone
I never really thought Tommy would be gone. I always thought: ‘No, this is going to be OK. This is just something that we have to go through. It’s horrific. But he’ll be OK.’
I vividly remember the day they said: “We’ve got one more medication to try.” I remember being on my knees on the floor of that hospital toilet, just praying – praying for the only thing that was left, really.
Our miracle baby
Tommy was our miracle baby. We’d been through several infertility treatments and I’d got pregnant with twins. But, sadly, I miscarried and we lost them both.
A year later I was pregnant again. I just remember feeling so blessed and so happy that we were finally out of that big, long journey, as I thought we were then.
But my waters broke at 27 weeks and at 31 weeks Tommy was born by emergency C-section.
They tried everything
They tried absolutely everything they could and Tommy was so brave and such a fighter.
But he was so very poorly and when the last medication left to try failed, I remember being adamant: ‘He cannot be in pain just because I want him here. If he’s suffering then we need to do the right thing.’
I’m going to get to hold my baby
I’d never been able to hold Tommy, just gently touch his head and his feet. He was so premature and couldn’t tolerate being held.
So at that point a bit of me was like: ‘Oh, I’m going to get to hold my baby!’ But then instantly I knew that the first time I’d hold him would technically be the last. When he was alive, anyway.
I call Kirsty from Tŷ Hafan the angel of our family because in that moment she just appeared – I know now, someone from the hospital must have called her. And it’s only thanks to her that we’ve got pictures and a little video of our last moments with Tommy.
Walking out of those NICU doors with him – I’d only ever imagined doing that when he was OK. But I knew then: ‘The reality is, we are going into this room and he is going to pass away. And we are going to have to walk out of this NICU without a baby.’
I sang Tommy to sleep and he passed away in my arms on 30 October just after 6 o’clock in the evening. He was eight days old.
The hardest thing
Kirsty had brought a canvas, paints and a casting kit to do Tommy’s hand and footprints and a cast of his foot and these are now my most precious, treasured things.
I’d never have those things, or the photos and video, if it wasn’t for Tŷ Hafan and Kirsty.
Taking Tommy to the mortuary was the hardest thing. I couldn’t walk so they put me in a wheelchair and I was holding him all the way. People would look at us with such sadness. And then, having to leave him at that door and being wheeled back up to a room that was empty.
Everyone was gone. He was gone – and I had to just, somehow, carry on.
I just wanted to be with Tommy
Tŷ Hafan arranged for me to have counselling but my life did fall apart a bit and I became very poorly with suicidal thoughts. I just wanted to be with Tommy.
It was my Tŷ Hafan counsellor Jill who noticed the signs, as did a friend of mine. Both of them were so worried about me that they contacted my GP who recognised how ill I was and I was admitted to a mental health ward.
Very slowly but surely and with medication and more counselling, they helped me to realise that I wasn’t a bad mum because I didn’t want Tommy to go.
Without Jill, my Tŷ Hafan counsellor, without Kirsty, and without my friend, I wouldn’t be here today.
Somebody knows my baby
I always struggled because Tommy was in hospital and not in Tŷ Hafan, so I thought: “Oh, we can’t go there.”
But the second I went there when I saw the waterfall and stones and the peacefulness, I knew that Tŷ Hafan is where I’d feel at peace remembering Tommy.
The thing with losing a baby like we lost Tommy is that most of my friends and family have never met him. They only know what I speak of him.
But with Kirsty and Tŷ Hafan there is that emotional connection and shared memories and that is so powerful. And I’m now supported by Tracy from Tŷ Hafan too. Tracy helped us to get Tommy’s body back from Swansea to our home in Merthyr Tydfil so he could be close to us and helped to arrange the funeral. You never think you might be planning a funeral when you’re pregnant.
So I feel like Tommy is held at Tŷ Hafan even though he was never there.
When I came for that first memorial service, where the children’s names are read out – it was so powerful hearing the names of all those beautiful children being read out.
Towards the end Tommy’s name was read out and I glanced at Kirsty and saw her look at me and nod. And that to me, as a mum, meant everything. Because somebody knows my baby. Somebody is thinking, ‘I know that little one.’
I feel really sad for people who don’t get a Kirsty. No one should have to go through what I’ve gone through without someone like her.