Kyra Jane was conceived on December 20th 1997. She was my
third child, I already had a son Michael who was 6 and a
daughter Rebecca, who was 4. I was a single parent to
Michael and Rebecca after a bad relationship with their
father, when Kyra was conceived. I thought my relationship
with their father was going to last, but it didn't work out.
So I found myself facing the prospect of being a single parent
to three children. I decided that we had survived so far, We'd
be ok. Several people "advised" me to have a termination, but
that was never an option. I couldn't part with my baby. I have
to admit, in my first two pregnancies, I did not do all the right
things. I didn't give up smoking, I ate pretty much what I wanted.
Michael was a perfectly healthy baby weighing in at 7lbs 8oz, after
a very non-eventful pregnancy. Rebecca was a different story, she
wasn't coming into this world without making her existence very
well known! I suffered with Placenta Previa when I was 30 weeks
pregnant with Rebecca, and was hospitalized for three weeks.
While I was in the hospital, I caught the chickenpox, which was
not much fun! The Placenta Previa put it's self right and I was
discharged, & Rebecca was finally born after being induced at 42 wks

I hadn't planned another child, but I was delighted after the initial
shock of discovering I was pregnant again wore off. My best friend,
Jane, declared herself my birth partner, which was partly to give
me all the support I wasn't going to get from Kyra's father, and
also to give herself some therapy as she had lost a little boy,
Sammy, not very long before. At 10 weeks pregnant I suffered chronic
stomach cramps, and was admitted to the hospital. The doctors told
me that there was a possibility of losing my baby. Thankfully that
was ruled out by a scan. They then decided that it was Placenta
Previa, which was when I knew it was a girl, because it was the
same scenario as with Rebecca. I was sent home, and knowing
the score from the last time, put my self on bed rest and
light housework. I was determined that this pregnancy was
going to be "by the book."

At 19 weeks, and 5 days pregnant I went for my first proper
scan. This was two weeks overdue because of the workload
in the Ante Natal clinic. Jane came with me for moral support
and after a while the scan technician asked us to go for a
walk up and down the stairs because baby's head was pointing
down and to get a good view on the scan they needed it to
move. She told me I was right, I was having a little girl
So we climbed the stairs a few times, getting some very
strange looks. When we returned to the scan room, the
technician was just going in struggling under the weight
of a pile of medical books. I didn't think anything of it
until we saw the expression on her face. She told me that
there was a little bit of fluid in my baby's stomach, but
also said that this does happen in some cases and it is
not always a problem.

I was given an appointment for the following day to have
another scan done on the bigger machine, which would be
more detailed. I went home, and to be honest, I wasn't
much concerned. I don' think it really sunk in that there
could possibly be something wrong with my baby. A friend who
was a nurse told me that it's not that unusual for some babies
to carry fluid, and that it usually passes through them. So
I told myself that this is nothing, that my little girl was
going to be fine. The following day Jane and I went back to
the hospital for another scan. This time it showed that there
was fluid in her stomach and her lungs. Now I was beginning to
panic. The doctor couldn't be sure why, so we were sent to an
expert at the John Radcliff Hospital in Oxford. There I had an
amniocentesis, and the specialist told me that it could be one of
two things. A hole in her heart, Down Syndrome, or Parvovirus.
He also told me that she only had a 50/50 chance of surviving,
but her chances would get better the longer she hung on. He told
me to pray that it was a hole in her heart, because out of the
three possibilities, that was the easiest to put right.
It isn't the major surgery it used to be. By the time I got
home my head was spinning, I couldn't stop crying. My baby was
going to die and there wasn't a damn thing I could do to save her.

All the medical terminology was making my head spin even more,
so I rang my midwife, Wendy. She arranged for my consultant to
see me and explain everything in English. He told me that basically
if she wasn't strong enough to hang on, there was nothing he could do.
If she could survive another five weeks, she could be induced. and
put into special care, she would still have died, but her chances
of survival were better than in the womb. So basically, the only
thing that any of us could do was wait and see and pray. I talked
to her all the time, begged her to keep fighting. I told her how
much I loved her, how much her brother and sister loved her.
Rebecca had been so excited when I told her I was having a baby.
I had two more scans over the next six days, and each time the
fluid was getting worse, now filling her lungs. My baby was drowning.

On the 4th of May I was due to take Michael and Rebecca on holiday
for a week, and as much as it was the last thing I wanted to do, I
I felt bad letting them down when they had looked so forward to it
for so long. So I went to my GP to get a letter briefly outlining
what was going on in case I had to go to the hospital while we were
away. This was midday of Wednesday April 30th and Kyra was still
hanging on, I had felt her kick that morning. The GP wrote the letter
and I was halfway out the door when something made me turn back and
ask him to do a heartbeat check for me. I just had this awful feeling
He tried, but he couldn't find it and sent me up to the hospital for
another scan, trying to reassure me that it could just be the way
she was laying. The same doctor that had done the other scans was
waiting for me at the hospital. Every other time I had been glued
to the scan, but this time I was too afraid to look. I think I
already knew what had happened. The doctor had big tears in her
eyes ten minutes later when she told me what I think I already
knew, deep down, that my precious little girl was dead. My mum
was with me at this point, and I just lay there and sobbed, looking
at the image of my baby, not moving, not breathing. She had drowned
in the fluid.

After I had managed to stop crying I was taken up to a ward to be
given a tablet to begin labor. I had known people whose babies had
died and they had to give birth naturally, I had never understood how
the doctors could be so cruel. Then a nurse explained to me that is
was dangerous to do a cesarean section at this stage because
everything was still very small and they couldn't be sure what
they were cutting into.

So I took the tablet, and was told that because of the lack of beds
on the gynae ward I was on, I would have to be moved onto a maternity
ward! I couldn't believe that they would be so insensitive, my baby
had just died and they wanted me to go into a ward full of women who
had just given birth to their babies? in the end I had little choice
they wouldn't let me go home because I could go into full blown labor
at any minute. They put me in a side room on the maternity ward, still
close enough to hear all the babies crying! I lay and stared at the
ceiling, trying to take it all in. I kept getting flutterings, as if
she was still kicking me. I kept thinking that they had made a mistake
she would move in a minute and then I could go home and stop worrying.
The hospital chaplain came, I had requested Kyra be blessed when she
was born. He preached at me about God until I wanted to scream.
What God would let this happen? As far as I was concerned I stopped
believing in him the minute he let my baby die. I couldn't sleep, a
nurse brought me a sleeping tablet. I just wanted my baby. I wanted
all the other babies to stop crying. I didn't want to be here.

The next day, Friday morning, I was allowed to go home, as there
was no sign of going into labor. I was told to come back on Saturday
morning if nothing happened beforehand. My baby was dead and I
still had to carry her. I went home and had to explain to Michael
and Rebecca their little sister had died. Rebecca looked at me
with big tears in her little brown eyes and bit her little lip to
stop herself from crying. She was trying so hard to be brave for
me, she could sense how upset I was. I told her, "it's ok darling
you can cry if you want to," and she broke her little heart.
Michael is like his father. He doesn't show his feelings, but he
went off into the corner to be by himself. He still thinks I
didn't see his tears. MY mum, meaning well in her own way
decided that the best way to take my mind off of everything
as if I was likely to forget, was to get me out of the house.
The last thing I wanted to do was go visiting and have to
explain to everyone that my darling baby was dead. I just
wanted to wake up and for someone to tell me I had been
having a nightmare and that everything was ok, that my
little girl was alive and well.

The following morning, Saturday I kissed the children and
went back to the hospital with my mum and Jane to give birth
to a baby. Again I had to go the maternity ward. My consultant
gave up his Saturday morning day of golf to come and see me.
On of his minions stood at the end of my bed and talked about
"this product," and how "this product had to be removed." After
hearing him say it for the third time I got out of bed and
screamed at him "this is not a product, this is my baby!"
It was only Jane that stopped me from doing him an injury.
Eventually it dawned on someone that it was pretty heartless
keeping me on the maternity ward, and I was taken back to
gynae ward to give birth. At 12pm lunchtime, I was given
a peccary to start labor, and exactly four hours later, my
darling little girl delivered herself. I didn't even have
time to push. Chris, the sister that was looking after me
took her away to clean her up. I didn't know what to expect,
one doctor had painted a picture of what she would look like
at only 20 weeks that made me expect an alien. Jane decided
that she and my mum should see Kyra first to make sure I
could handle seeing her. They meant well, but I didn't care
what she looked like, she was my daughter. They came back,
declared her beautiful and shortly after she was brought in
for me to see her. She only weighed 350 grams, was no longer
than about 8 inches long. She was very red, and so tiny, but
had all her fingers and toes. I didn't cry, I couldn't cry, I
had no more tears left. Somehow when I looked at her I felt
more peaceful than I had done since it all went wrong. I held
her, talked to her. the nurses took two Polaroid's for me and
gave me her hospital band. I had a blanket, which my mum had
made when Michael was born, both him and Rebecca had been
carried home from the hospital in it. I had planned to
bring Kyra home in it too. Instead we wrapped her body
in it. I had been given morphine, to blot everything
out, I think, not that anything could make it go away,
so I wasn't allowed to go home until the following day.
The next morning, Sunday, another hospital chaplain,
Steven, came to perform the blessing service I had
requested. He was such a lovely, understanding man,
so much nicer than his colleague. Jane and Dilly,
a hospital auxiliary who had been good to me, were
with me and I held Kyra and rocked her all the way
through. The words were so lovely, and Steven gave
me copy to go into an album I wanted to make for her.
Later that morning I was allowed to go home, and
walking out of that hospital leaving my baby behind
was one of the hardest things I have ever had to do.
I wanted to turn back and go get her. All I could
think was that there was no one there to give her
a cuddle. She needed her mum to look after her. She
should be coming home with me, not going to the morgue.

My Mum was waiting at home with the children, and the following
day I had to go on the holiday that I had been dreading so much.
I hated every minute of it, and the children were so good,
not expecting me to do a lot. besides the almighty hole
that had been left in my heart, I was in a great deal of
physical pain as well. Everywhere I looked there seemed
to be newborn babies, or pregnant women. It was as if I
was being taunted. Every morning I woke up with this
feeling that I should be doing something, or that I had
lost something. Then it hit me what it was, like a blow
to the stomach and I just dissolved into tears. On that
holiday, Rebecca won first prize in a beauty competition.
I was really proud of her, but I just kept thinking that it
wasn't the same, it was never going to be the same again.
There would always be something missing.

I was glad to get home, I didn't want to have to pretend
to be having a good time when my heart was broken. Kyra's
funeral was planned for Wednesday 20th May 1998. I had
been given the choice to have her cremated, but that
sounded so barbaric. Three or four babies were cremated
at the same time, no one was allowed to attend apart from
the hospital chaplains say a prayer and the ashes wouldn't
wouldn't be available afterwards. I chose to have her buried
in the local cemetery, which has a lovely section of baby
graves. It was a beautiful sunny morning, which made me feel
even worse because I knew she would never get to play in the
sun. Stephen, the chaplain, held a beautiful service for her
beside her grave. I just wanted to scream and tell them that
they couldn't put my baby in that hole. All the people that
really cared about Kyra were there, which helped a lot,
but I still couldn't believe that my precious little girl
was gone. That was the one time in my life that I actually
NEEDED alcohol. It was only ten thirty in the morning, but
we all headed to the local pub. I have never started drinking
that early, ever and I hope I never have cause to again.
I just wanted to blot out the pain. Unfortunately, the more
I drank, the more sober I seemed to stay. I couldn't understand
why the world was caring on as normal- didn't they know what
had happened? My bay was dead, why weren't they sad?

Three months later, Jane and I went back to the hospital to
see my consultant to get the results from the post mortem.
Apparently Kyra had caught, from me, an infection of Parvovirus
I didn't even know what it was, never mind that I had it! I
had been so careful! Even when Rebecca went on a school trip
to a local farm I had her father collect her and take her to
his house for a bath and change of clothes before she came home
because of the risk of infection from sheep at lambing time.
I couldn't understand it. It turned out that parvovirus is very
common and fatal in unborn babies, yet all of the infections that
you are warned about when you are pregnant, it's never mentioned
Not a single warning is given in any of the leaflets or books
they give you to read during pregnancy. There had been an epidemic
in our town at that time, the local hospital lost 20 babies to it.
There is no prevention, and no cure. If Kyra had contracted it
after she had been born it would have done no more than make her
miserable for a few days, if she had hung on the five weeks she
might be here today. I spent months trying to figure out who I
had caught it from, where I had been. It ate away at me that
someone was to blame for spreading these germs and killing my
baby. In the end I have had to accept that I will never know
how or why she caught this thing, I just hope and pray that one
day they can find a way to cure it and that no one else has to
know the pain that I have.