"In November 2016, I was expecting my much-wanted second daughter after experiencing a year of unexplained infertility. I had had a traumatic birth with my first daughter and I was hoping for a healing and empowered birth second time round - no intervention, no medication, and no extended stay in a shared hospital ward away from my partner and toddler at home. I was accepted into a midwife-led continuity of care programme and was scheduled to deliver at the birth centre at my local hospital.

It was an uncomplicated pregnancy except for the presence of mild polyhydramnios (an excess of amniotic fluid in the amniotic sac) in the third trimester. Throughout the second trimester my baby was transverse and then in a breech position. The doctor sent me for a growth scan and said we would consider induction at 38 weeks. The scan revealed my baby had turned and engaged head down but she seemed to be in an awkward position and wasn’t moving much. I asked the technician to do a coloured doppler scan on the cord which she did. There was less blood flow in the cord compared to my previous scan but it was still within the normal range.

Two days after the scan I could feel and see that our baby was pushing out against my stomach. There was one quick moment of frantic kicking. It lasted only seconds. My partner and I decided that we would go into the hospital if it happened again. It didn’t. Eight days later I woke up and realised that my baby had stopped moving altogether. 

I called my midwife who told me to go into the birth centre for monitoring. I was already on maternity leave and was at home with my 2-year-old daughter. I called my partner at work and explained that we needed to go into the hospital as I couldn’t feel the baby move. 

I started to get ready. I ran a warm shower and as I stood under the water I started to cry. I knew she was gone. I had an unexplained feeling throughout the pregnancy that it would not end well. And now it was coming true. I wished I had listened to myself and valued my intuition more but it was too late. I later learnt that this is a common experience of loss mothers - sometimes you just know.

After arriving at the birth centre I was asked to wait while an examination room became available. It seemed like an eternity. My partner was parking the car and had my daughter with him. I sat alone on a chair and watched as midwives fussed over paperwork. No one seemed particularly concerned that I had come in for reduced movements, that perhaps instead of being an over-anxious expectant mother I was the one in six a day whose baby had actually died. 

My partner and daughter came rushing down the corridor and not long after we were finally ushered into the examination room. I was assured everything was probably fine but it wasn’t. The midwife couldn’t find a heartbeat. I couldn’t look at any of the medical staff only my poor little family whose faces were pale with shock. I watched my partner’s heart break as he saw our precious baby lying still on the monitor and we all heard those words - I’m sorry I can’t find a heartbeat.

We hung around the hospital for most of the afternoon and early evening. I was expecting to receive a copy of the hospital’s handbook to help us navigate what to expect now that your baby has died but all we received was a photocopied pamphlet with the numbers of funeral homes, something about autopsies and a list of support helplines. We were introduced to a social worker. She said she would put us in touch with a bereavement counsellor. It would be four months until we used their service.

My midwife arrived and said I could wait to go into labour naturally or be induced. I was tired and emotional. I couldn’t retain much of what people were saying. I just wanted this all to be over. So I chose to be induced the next day. 

I was allowed to deliver in the birth centre and we had the whole centre to ourselves - no labouring mothers or crying newborn babies or excited visitors - just silence. The room was bright and airy. The midwife gave us plenty of space and privacy. I laboured in the shower undisturbed and refused pain relief. Ironically, I got the healing and empowered birth I had so desperately wanted. 

After a relatively short labour, my daughter was born at 37 weeks and 5 days with her cord wrapped twice around her neck. A tight ‘true knot’ was also present. The two midwives present at her birth suggested it was the knot that most likely killed my baby. A true knot is rare and affects about 1% of pregnancies. A tight true knot is even rarer affecting 1 in 2000.

My beautiful daughter was placed in my arms. She felt warm and looked perfect just like she was sleeping. She weighed 2:52 kgs and was 49cms long. I had been apprehensive about birthing death. What if I mentally and emotionally couldn’t handle it but as I held her that day I only felt strength, peace and grace. I birthed without fear and in a strange way she was the one who birthed me. I felt so grateful.

We were encouraged to hold her and bathe her as well as take hand and foot prints. A cuddle cot was available for use but unfortunately we turned it on too late. Cuddle cots have a refrigerated mattress which keep babies cool so their bodies don’t deteriorate too quickly giving families more time to say goodbye.

We had a photographer come in and take photos. At first this seemed morbid and strange. Our baby was dead. How do you smile for the camera whilst holding a corpse? The photographer was so kind and sensitive. Once we relaxed into spending time with our baby we only focused on the incredible love that we felt for her and for each other. It’s love not death that we see in these photos. 

Photos of your baby are so important when all you have are memories. Our only regret was that we didn’t include her older sister. We thought the experience would be too scary or scaring for a young child. She’s now five-years-old and often asks why she’s not in any photos and says she wishes she had met her sister. 

We didn’t choose to have a funeral although one was offered at no cost. We said goodbye just the three of us at the funeral home. We covered a small white coffin with printed photos of almost 9 months of family memories, a red rose from our garden, some letters and cards. These were then added to the coffin by the funeral director. My partner carried the coffin to an awaiting car and placed it on the backseat, which was covered with tulle and baby trinkets. So much care was taken by the funeral home to recognise our baby as a person and to give her a dignified send off. Our daughter was cremated on her due date. We have her remains at home with us which feels right for now. 

Many months later it was confirmed via autopsy that the tight true knot was the cause of her death. We chose to have a post mortem examination as we knew the value of contributing to data collection and research. We met with the Head of Obstetrics and Gynaecology at the hospital we delivered at, and also with a doctor at the Fetal Medicine Unit at another hospital. Both assured my partner and I there was nothing that could have been done to prevent her death. We were just extremely unlucky. 

I still question this. I was advised to monitor my baby’s movements and if they decreased to drink something cold and call my midwife. No one mentioned a one-off sudden change in movements was also something to be concerned about. Maybe if we had gone to the hospital that night our daughter might have survived. Our baby was experiencing fetal distress. Clinical guidelines for antenatal care and education should be evidence-based and regularly reviewed. It was too late for our daughter when we became aware of the available research. Fortunately for others, public awareness of a single episode of frantic movement being a risk factor for stillbirth is slowly starting to increase, largely due to organisations such as Still Aware.

Stillbirth is so common in Australia when it happens to you or someone you know. It’s suddenly everywhere. Stillbirth affects around 2000 Australian families each year. Our rate of stillbirth hasn’t changed in 20 years and for Indigenous Australians it’s twice as high. Yet before it happened to me and I became that one in six, I never considered that babies could die in utero. It’s never spoken about. There’s a lack of public education and awareness. The doctor told me about my increased risk of cord prolapse with polyhydramnios but no one mentioned I was at an increased risk of fetal death. Antenatal education and care should be more inclusive of the diversity of birth outcomes. This would help to end the stigma and lack of understanding felt by parents.

Grief is so multidimensional and losing a child in pregnancy or after birth is something that most people don’t and won’t understand - you receive a lot of sympathy but not empathy. I find solace in connecting with other parents who have experienced miscarriage, stillbirth, and neonatal death. There are a lot of families out there just like mine feeling isolated and seeking community. Whilst our experiences are all unique we share a common bond gained through the shared understanding of such a profound life experience.

I participate in online support groups and talk with bereaved individuals and advocates raising awareness and telling their stories on social media. I attend a monthly face-to-face grief wellbeing group run by Bears of Hope and last year I attended a 3-day retreat for bereaved mothers. 

I started studying to become a birth and bereavement doula because I believe that birth can be a positive and empowering experience regardless of the outcome. My partner has started a local men’s group for bereaved Dads to have conversations of substance about grief and life. They meet monthly around a fire, cook, eat and talk.

A lot of superficial friendships we had before losing our daughter have fallen by the wayside. People failed to understand that you don’t get over losing your baby you just learn to live with it. Sometimes you grow in ways you never imagined. Sometimes you need to retract, rest and hide from the world. 

Our daughter will always be a part of our family and we will honour and miss her forever. We are endlessly grateful for how she continues to enrich our lives and the people we have met because of her".