Dads suffer too

The moment Harry’s parents Jenny and Martyn knew he’d be just fine

In 2018, my wife Jenny and I were expecting our second child, due in January of 2019 and we were extremely excited to welcome a new addition into our loving family. We had a big sister-to-be who was also excitedly waiting. 

Our daughter Leah was born in 2014. She had a fairly traumatic arrival as she was an undiagnosed breech. Everything happened very quickly and we hardly had time to digest it. Leah was healthy and happy so we began the journey of parenthood without much thought to what had happened. All c-sections come with risk but I can't say I ever felt that things weren't in hand. It wasn't easy, particularly on my wife who had the recovery to contend with. 

Though looking back, it was nothing compared to what we were about to go through.

The pregnancy with baby #2 was going well. My wife was keen to have a natural birth. Following various consultations and VBAC (Vaginal Birth After Caesarean) clinics, my wife was given the all-clear to try. Little did we know, the chance wouldn't even present itself. 

Pain and panic

At 34 weeks, my wife began suffering pains in her stomach, thinking it was indigestion at first. Things quickly escalated, and after a call to the maternity ward, we were instructed to head over to the hospital. Visiting family, we were an hour away, so put a quick plan in place to divert to nearer hospitals should things get worse en route. Our assumption was that she was going into early labour, particularly when the pain became intermittent. 

On the way we passed our hometown, we were two minutes from the house. I asked my wife if she felt comfortable to pop back so I could quickly grab the hospital bags. They were already packed and ready to go, this would only take a few seconds. She felt ok to do it, job done! 

Minutes away from the hospital, Jenny felt a tearing sensation in her tummy, and from what was excruciating pain turned to something unbearable for her. I stayed calm on the surface but inside I started to sense something wasn't quite right. With my wife in so much pain and barely able to walk, we struggled to get up to the ward until we came across a nurse we had met at one of the clinics. She helped to get Jenny upstairs where she was immediately assessed. 

Before I knew it, my wife was surrounded by a dozen midwives. She was screaming at the gentlest of touches to her tummy. Screams that echoed throughout the ward. I kept asking the midwives if everything was ok, they couldn't say! Perhaps they didn't know, or did they fear the worst? At most, I got a nervous smile in response. They struggled to find the baby with the ultrasound but eventually picked up a very low and faint heartbeat. The decision was made to rush my wife into theatre for a Category A c-section. This meant I was not allowed in; left alone in a room where time stood still.

"We have to act quickly," they said, "someone will come and speak to you in five minutes". I thought to myself that these five minutes will feel like half an hour. In reality, thirty minutes did pass! Thirty minutes of going out of my mind, sobbing, tearing my hair, screaming to myself and trying to get rid of the darkest thoughts going through my head, "what if my baby doesn't make it? What if my wife doesn't? What do I tell my daughter?"

Very, very lucky

I headed out into the main foyer of the ward, just as the doors burst open from the theatre. Coming through the doors in a plastic cot, alongside midwives and specialists was a baby boy. I knew he was mine. "You are very, very lucky!" said one passing midwife. I'm told to accompany my son to neonatal as my wife is still being stitched up in the theatre. En route, I was filled in with the details of what had happened.

My wife's uterus had ruptured! We'd been warned that ruptures are common for women who had previously had a c-section but this was no ordinary rupture. Her rupture occurred towards the back of her body, on the left-hand side. We were told a few days later that she was definitely not in labour and that there are no other recorded cases of this happening anywhere in the UK.

The rupture caused our son to fall into Jenny's abdomen. I was told that he wouldn't have survived many more minutes, and nor would my wife. Suddenly, that decision to get the hospital bags felt a very stupid one. To this day, I think about those precious minutes wasted, but at the time we had no idea of the severity of the situation. How could we? 

The placenta stayed in place but had it followed our son out of the womb, that too would have proved fatal As I write this, the severity of what could have been is obvious and frightening, yet at the time it was a blur of information that I couldn't digest - it was probably for the best in those moments. I could reflect on that later, now it was about getting my son better, our Harry!

Harry with wires, tubes and a mask, shortly after birth

Those first few moments with my son were painful to watch. In some ways, I'm thankful my wife didn't have to witness it. Struggling for breath, watching his chest compress dramatically as he fought for air, coughing up blood he had swallowed. Doctors and nurses were scrambling around to fit him with wires, tubes and a mask. It was devastating to watch him suffer like this. They soon stabilised Harry but make no mistake, he was very poorly.

My wife, on the other hand, made a brilliant recovery. The next day we were told "NO MORE KIDS!", and that was ok. We only ever wanted two so this wasn't a big blow for us to hear. We tried to carry on as normal as possible in those first few days. Harry's sister came to visit him on Day 2 but at four years of age, she was extremely wary of the wires and machines. It took her a few days before she felt comfortable being next to him. Grandparents visited too, and after three days, my wife was discharged. Considering what she had been through, that was amazing. 

Going home alone

We went home without our baby. It felt strange but we had little time to think about it. We spent most of every day by his side. We made calls every morning and evening to check on him and his progress. He was in good hands and it gave us some time to catch up on much-needed sleep.

My wife finally got a cuddle on Day 3 although time was extremely limited, she offered me a cuddle with him but I declined, not because I didn't want to - I wanted nothing more, but I wanted those moments to be for her. They had both been through so much - my time could wait. If memory serves, it was another two days before I got my cuddle but it was worth it.

In the following days, Harry was taken off his oxygen support but was put back on it after 16 hours. We were told not to be disappointed and that it was two steps forward and one back for him. He was making progress.

On Day 4, Harry opened his eyes while my wife and I were speaking to him. He stared intently at us, looking alert and curious. THIS was the moment, the moment I knew he would be alright. Then a song lyric popped into my head, a song by Athlete, called Wires. "I see it in your eyes, you'll be alright".

Finding hope

I'm extremely passionate about my music. I listen intently to lyrics and dissect song meanings and it suddenly occurred to me that this song (about the singer’s daughter who was ill at birth) was everything that we were going through with Harry. Literally, everything in that song rang true. The song became a comfort to me, I didn't tell my wife about it. Everything that happened was still so fresh and raw, there was a lot of emotion and it didn't feel the time to share the song with her, that would wait for a little while. In some ways it's a sad song to listen to, "first night of your life, curled up on your own", but there was such hope in it too. It helped me cope with all that was happening. It helped me to be a rock for my family, to put on a brave face. 

Five days after Harry's birth, sitting by his incubator, my wife and I witnessed another young baby rushed into the ward, followed by the dad. He was young, only 19 or 20 I'm sure. He looked scared and lost, not knowing what to do with himself. I thought about myself and how that was me a few days previously. Yet, I felt being so young this was so much harder for him. We were politely asked to leave the room and as I left I put my hand on his shoulder and asked if he was ok, I think in some small way, it comforted him. Dads suffer too, and in moments like that, we have no-one! 

After a few days, Harry was breathing on his own and on Day 6 was transferred to a normal cot where he continued to be monitored and fed through a tube. We spent another seven days in neonatal before being discharged four days before Christmas. We could finally take home our baby, just shy of two weeks old. He fought incredibly hard. 

Normal life could finally resume!

Harry with Chris the surgeon, mum Jenny, dad Martyn and big sister Leah

We kept in touch with the surgeon who delivered Harry, a wonderful man named Chris. He spoke honestly with us about those moments in theatre and the confusion when he looked in the womb to find no baby. Chris had performed over 6000 c-sections and had never experienced anything like this. He speaks and campaigns all around the world about the importance of c-sections, particularly in countries that are against it. My wife's story has become a case study for him, and one he speaks about at these events. He even came to visit Harry on his first birthday. We're forever thankful to him and everyone at the hospital for what they did for us.

Two months after his birth, we visited the neonatal unit to deliver a donation of over £1,000, raised by family and an online fundraising campaign. We've now made it our tradition to visit the ward every Christmas to donate money, clothes and give a bag of treats for the hardworking team. 

Understanding our experiences

Healthy and happy Harry today

We attended a listening service some months later to go through what happened. The nurse explained so clearly that, although my wife and I share the same story, our experiences were extremely different in those moments. What she went through in theatre is very different to what I experienced in that room, all alone, not knowing whether I was going to be welcoming my son into the world, or if I was going to see my wife again. While I experienced my son in such discomfort, Jenny had to wake up with no baby by her side and be told why that was. We both suffered and we're both scarred but in different ways. Out of the whole experience, that half-hour alone in that room is probably what will stay with me the most. 

I've learned to accept what happened and I choose to tackle what happened head-on. I talk about it candidly (if people ask), I listen to Wires a lot (it continues to help me) - the lyrics are framed in Harry's bedroom. The photo frame intended for Harry's first photo is one of him with his wires and tubes - not the perfect photo you'd hope for but that was him, in those moments, and we choose not to ignore that. 

Will my wife and I ever get over it? Probably not, but we take comfort in the fact that we got through it. Harry got through it. Many don't have such a happy ending and no matter what had preceded it, we have a healthy boy, and to steal another line from Wires, "Looking at you now, you would never know".

With thanks to Martyn Beeby for sharing the story of Harry’s journey with us