Baby loss: A father’s perspective

My wife fell pregnant with our second child, a boy, in September of 2021. As a family, we spent many precious moments talking to bump, telling him about our day and singing songs altogether. We were all so excited and couldn't wait to meet him.

At 40 weeks and 6 days pregnant, a routine overdue appointment turned into our worst nightmare. We were told he no longer had a heartbeat, shattering our world in an instant. Our baby boy had died before he ever got the chance to live, and the pain was indescribable. 

This was deepened when I realised my wife would still have to go through the pain of labour knowing the awful outcome. On the following day, she delivered our beautiful son, Joshua James Ottley-Porter, weighing 7lb 13oz. He resembled his older sister so much – it was both heartbreaking and heartwarming to see.

We had a precious 24 hours with our son to say goodbye. Some of our immediate family came to meet him and say goodbye themselves, and others did so over video call. The time came where we had to leave the room knowing we could never see him in person again. Although that time was bittersweet as they were both hello and goodbye, we were grateful to hold him, love him and continue to love him so completely. It began a lifetime of cherishing and honouring his memory.

The care we received from both the midwives and staff at the hospital was excellent. We were all treated with compassion and sensitivity; although, having been part of this community for a few years now, I am well aware that this is sadly not the case for everyone. 

We then had to return home and tell our daughter that her baby brother had died and wouldn't be coming home after all. It was heartbreaking as she'd already grown such a bond with him. 

Self-care and compassion

In those early weeks and months, I leaned on my PWP experience, which focuses on managing mood, anxiety, stress, and sleep challenges. A key principle I practiced – and often share with my patients – is the importance of establishing or maintaining a routine. Routine provides stability, and simple acts like regular meals and childcare drop-offs created a sense of normality for my wife and me. Combined with open communication this approach helped us navigate our immense grief and uncertainty as best as we could. I doubt it's a surprise that as a mental health professional I believe that being able to open up and truly talk about how you are feeling is important. Reframing my story, finding meaning in my experience, and integrate their grief into their identity.

It takes a village

The support we received during those initial dark weeks was incredible. Our friends sent a food parcel with ready meals, including portions for our daughter, along with a voucher to top up later. Family brought over homemade food, or provided delivery of food and drink from the shops. These gestures were a relief from the need to shop or cook for the first few weeks, allowing us to focus on getting through the days and caring for each other. This truly made a difference and is a meaningful way to help someone during such times.

Many people also offered to take our daughter out for a few hours, providing us moments to process our grief while ensuring she still experienced joy and normalcy. Although we didn't always accept, having the option lifted a burden.

Lastly, having space to talk – whether about Joshua or other feelings – was invaluable. Not everyone was comfortable with these conversations, but those who provided that time and support gave us something words can't fully express. These acts of kindness made an immeasurable impact during the hardest period of our lives.

Finding answers

After losing Joshua, we sought answers through a post-mortem and extensive investigations. Unfortunately, no cause was found. This left us grappling with mixed emotions: frustration at not knowing why it happened, and relief that nothing could have prevented it, offering hope it wouldn't happen again. It was a deeply numbing and confusing time.

Work was the last thing on our minds amidst our grief. My wife, like others who lose a baby after 24 weeks, was entitled to full maternity leave. 

In my case, I knew I was entitled to my two weeks paternity leave but I wasn't really sure beyond that. To complicate things, I actually have two jobs, working as a Psychological Wellbeing Practitioner in the NHS as well as a University Lecturer, meaning repeating similar complex conversations.

Concentrating on what was most important

The idea of trying to figure all this out, and have a funeral, amidst processing my grief, was daunting. However, I feel very fortunate to have been well supported by both employers in this regard, something that sadly is not the case for many.  

I was told to take as long as I needed, and through a mixture of my entitled paternity leave, parental bereavement leave and emergency/carers leave across the two roles, I knew I had a month before I even got into using up sickness leave.  

This gave me time in those early days and weeks to concentrate on what was most important, supporting my wife and 2-year-old daughter. Then, after a few weeks, I was able to discuss sick notes with work and the GP and take a bit longer.  

Why I told people at work about my loss

Everyone was very supportive, both colleagues and students. Everyone was aware of what happened as I was happy for them to be told. I wanted them to know for two reasons:

1. To normalise baby loss, as there is still a lot of societal attitudes and stigma around the topic.
2. To influence change in my Psychological work.

As a lecturer training PWP's, I've integrated discussions about baby loss into our teaching on perinatal mental health. That way these practitioners will be aware of resources and signposting and feel able to either support their patients directly or guide them to the most appropriate for that individual's needs.  In my clinical role, I've championed awareness around baby loss, ensuring both colleagues and patients benefit from the same increased knowledge and resources. This initiative to incorporate discussions about baby loss in this way, emphasises the importance and application of increased understanding in perinatal psychological care.

Going back to work

In all, I had 10 weeks off from lecturing. I could have had longer if I wanted, but I felt I needed to get some sense of routine back and returning to one of my roles, the less emotionally taxing one, felt like something I could do.  

In terms of my clinical work, assessing and treating mental health difficulties such as depression and anxiety, I needed much longer. The idea of returning to sitting (physically or remotely) opposite people as they opened up about their troubles was a terrifying prospect in my early stages of grief. Either I would feel I was taking on their burdens with my own which felt too much to bear, or (and more worryingly for me personally) I would be sat thinking 'I don't want to hear about your work stress or family drama, I've just lost my child' and be unable to tap into my empathy, which I rely on so much in that role.  

I took the time I needed, about 4 ½ months, and then returned to work. There was then a gradual phased return to full clinical duties after about another 4 months. This illustrates the careful balancing act of empathy and self-protection, crucial for practitioners in mental health professions.

I definitely feel I was able to do the right thing for myself and my family by taking the varying degrees of time out for each role. 

Despite my understandable anxiety and hesitation around returning to work, I couldn't have asked for better teams to work in and return to.  

This was important too, when 8 months after losing Joshua, we experienced another loss via miscarriage at 11 weeks. I had to take some more time off, which was only a couple of weeks, not as much as I would have liked. But again, I was well supported in both roles. 

Hopefully through further normalising, societal and governmental changes and education of employers (and employees so they know what they're entitled to) everybody will be as lucky. This is why the recent news of extending bereavement leave to less than 24 weeks pregnancy and for it to be more widely acknowledged is so important, so that people have one less thing to juggle. A loss is a loss and having that properly recognised, both through this leave and the baby loss certificates, is so important and shows mental health considerations can shape societal and cultural norms, including legislation.

Questions from strangers

Simple questions from strangers, like "Is she your only child?" can carry an unintended weight. My initial instinct was to avoid sharing the pain: "Yes, she's my first." Over time, I decided to honour Joshua's memory and answer truthfully: "She's our eldest; her younger brother died."

Why should I hide my son's existence? Just as someone might openly talk about a late spouse, I believe parents should be able to speak about their children who have died. Saying Joshua's name keeps his memory alive and helps normalize these conversations. This is just as true now, having welcomed our youngest daughter in December 2023. She will grow up knowing who her brother was.

Changing perspectives

In our society, loaded questions like "When are you having kids?" or "When's the next one?" are often casually asked, without considering the potential pain behind the answer. Since joining the baby loss community, I've learned how common miscarriage and stillbirth are – and how often this grief is hidden.

By sharing our story, I hope to raise awareness among families and professionals alike. Through my work with the pregnancy loss charity Tommy's and my professional roles, I aim to ensure others feel empowered to talk about their loss and know where to turn for support. It is fair to say that through this journey I have found solace in reframing my story, finding meaning in our experience, and have integrated my grief into my personal and professional identity. My hope is that by normalising these conversations, we create space for others to open up, honour their children, and seek the support they deserve.

Baby loss is a deeply personal and painful experience, yet its prevalence underscores the importance of awareness and support:

• Miscarriage: 1 in 4 women experience at least one miscarriage, which occurs within the first 23 weeks of pregnancy. (Source: Tommy's)
• Ectopic Pregnancy: Around 11 in 1000 pregnancies are ectopic, where the fertilised egg implants outside the womb, typically in the fallopian tube. (Source: Tommy's)
• Stillbirth: Approximately 1 in every 200-250 births ends in stillbirth, occurring from 24 weeks of pregnancy to birth. (Source: Sands)
• Neonatal Death: 1 in 360 newborns dies within the first 28 days of life. (Source: Sands)

These figures highlight the need for greater societal sensitivity, research, and robust support systems for families facing such losses.