Chris & Bianca's Journey: Bereaved Parents Support

I was 25 weeks pregnant with Imiza when I started severely bleeding. After multiple visits to the hospital, I was diagnosed with placenta previa, and given the circumstances, the medical team reassured me that they could manage the situation, especially as Imiza’s heart rate kept dipping. As a bereaved parent, I wish I had known more about the possible challenges ahead, including the mental health support I would need during this harrowing time.

During my hospital stay, I experienced a significant bleed. A junior doctor informed me that an emergency caesarean was necessary at 28+6 weeks. Yet, more than 40 minutes passed before I was taken to the theatre. 

When Chris arrived, he was handed a set of gowns, and I vividly remember saying goodbye to my Nannie: “we will see you as a 3, next time, Nannie.” Unfortunately, this was not the outcome we hoped for, marking the beginning of our difficult NICU experience.

I had an emergency caesarean. It felt like someone was stamping on my chest, and I told Chris I couldn’t breathe. It was a pain I had never experienced before and never want to feel again.

When Imiza was born, everything began to blur. She wasn’t crying, and we didn’t understand what was happening. All day, we were informed that Imiza needed help breathing, yet we were led to believe that everything was under control. Despite this reassurance, I still wasn’t allowed to meet my little girl. We were told we couldn’t go to the NICU due to a police incident, but we were assured that everything was okay.

Later, we learned that Imiza needed to be transferred to another hospital, which was described as normal for her gestation. When I was finally allowed to see her, I felt overwhelmed by the machinery surrounding her, but no one informed me of anything alarming taking place. As bereaved parents, we struggled with the emotional toll of the NICU experience, and it became clear how crucial mental health support is during such traumatic times.

Two hours after Imiza was transferred to the NICU, I received a call. They communicated with my midwife and informed me that I would be transferred to be with Imiza. Chris and I initially believed she would be okay—he had planned to spend the night at home—but he stayed with me when I had a panic attack. 

I didn’t get to see Imiza again until the next morning, which was when we learned something was seriously wrong. Her organs were shutting down, and she had a bleed on the left side of her brain. From that moment, it became crucial to get our family to her, so they could meet her and say goodbye. 

On December 6th, we were moved to a family room where Imiza’s life support was removed. She passed away in my arms at 12:30 PM, and we were allowed only three precious hours with her. Afterwards, they attempted to send me back to the maternity ward, but I couldn't be around live babies and new moms while I was processing my baby’s funeral. There was no bereavement room or cuddle cot available for bereaved parents like us. My partner went upstairs to clear out our things from the maternity ward while I sought mental health support to cope with the NICU experience and the profound loss we faced.

We’ve since welcomed a rainbow baby. Her sister even chose a grave plot for her during my pregnancy, preparing for the unimaginable. This is the kind of situation that most people can’t truly fathom unless they’ve walked in the shoes of bereaved parents. The rippling effect of such loss impacts many within a family, emphasizing the urgent need for better mental health support for those navigating similar tragedies. Additionally, the NICU experience often highlights the emotional struggles bereaved parents face, revealing just how essential change is in providing support for families dealing with grief.