I was 17 weeks pregnant with my second child and one evening I started to bleed. I rang the hospital and was told to go in. After sitting in the waiting area for 4 hours a bed was found and I was told to stay in bed at all cost. The next morning I was allowed to get up for the loo and as soon as I stood up the bleeding immediately became heavier. I was booked for a scan later that day (20 weeks was the earliest scan then)and told to stay in bed again. I was moved into a side ward by myself and I dozed for a few hours, not having had much sleep the night before.


I woke up late morning with what felt like heavy period pains but what were, in fact, contractions. Nobody came to check on me at all and after a couple of hours I felt "uncomfortable" down below and removed the pad that was there. Nothing could have prepared me for what I found. My tiny baby boy was there, perfectly formed and no bigger than my hand. I buzzed for help and after what seemed like eternity a cleaner arrived and said she'd find a nurse.


I was examined and the baby taken away. The female doctor who examined me was not very compassionate and intimated that I was making a fuss about nothing. A nurse popped her head around the door and said " the baby is in the prep room. Do you want to see it?" The Doctor replied "No, chuck it down the sluice". I'll never forget or forgive that Doctor for as long as I live.


I went to see my GP after I was discharged and he said that the placenta probably hadn't taken over feeding the baby and he'd died inside me a few weeks before. It took a long time to get over it but happily I went on to have 3 more sons and a daughter.


Now, 21 years later I've only recently had counselling, which really helped and a plaque has been erected in the Remeberance Garden at a local crematorium so now I have somewhere to go on Daniel's birthday.