With a bowl of strawberries resting on my bump, I smiled as my baby began doing a little jig in my belly.
‘He just loves his fruit!’ I smiled to my partner Reece, then 29.
Anytime I ate berries or pineapple, my little man would show his appreciation.
Reece and I were expecting our first baby and had just found out we were having a boy, who we decided to call Ollie.
Throughout my pregnancy I kept hearing the same thing.
‘Everything looks fine,’ doctors, sonographers and midwives told me.
Despite their reassurance, call it mother’s intuition, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that something wasn’t right.
Only my concerns were brushed aside.
‘They think I’m being overly cautious,’ I told Reece.
As my due date came and went, I was on tenterhooks.
I just wanted Ollie to arrive safe and sound.
On the morning of 15th October 2021, four days after he was due, a community midwife visited.
‘Everything looks fine,’ she told me.
They were words I’d heard so many times before.
But they didn’t ease my anxiety.
Once she’d left, I stood up to go for a walk to try and encourage my labour to get going.
Instead, I felt a popping down below.
Great! My waters have broken! I thought.
Nipping to the loo, I took off my black leggings.
That’s when I realised my waters hadn’t broken.
I was bleeding – a lot.
Reece was at a funeral, so I was home alone, and began to really worry.
Thankfully my pal Hannah, who lived near my home in Leeds, was able to rush me to hospital.
On the way, I kept thinking that this was going to end in tragedy.
‘I can’t feel him kicking any more,’ I panicked as Hannah drove.
Reece met me at hospital, and I was taken for an emergency scan.
I was told I’d suffered a placental abruption which had caused the haemorrhaging.
Looking up at the screen, before the words even came out of the doctor’s mouth, I just knew.
My precious baby’s heart was no longer beating.
It was impossible to take in.
Just weeks earlier, in the very same room, a doctor had told me my boy was ‘happy and healthy’.
Now, Ollie was dead.
Numb from shock, I was quickly taken into another room for labour to be induced.
Twelve hours later, my perfect baby was born sleeping.
As I tried to come to terms with what had happened, I was told I had to make decisions about Ollie’s post-mortem and funeral.
It was extremely difficult and, considering what we’d just gone through, I felt it was handled insensitively.
The next day I was discharged, catatonic with grief.
‘How will we ever get over this?’ I asked Reece.
‘We just have to take one day at a time,’ he soothed.
But from the teeny rompers I’d bought, to the room we’d assigned as Ollie nursery, everything reminded me of the baby we hadn’t brought home.
To add to our heartbreak, some family and friends pulled away from us.
It was as though they didn’t want to be tarnished with our heartache.
I knew people might find it difficult to know what to say, but some were downright thoughtless - or ignored our loss entirely.
Slowly, I found solace online, joining forums and blogging about my experience.
I connected with others who had sadly lost their children in similar circumstances.
We also held an intimate funeral for Ollie, which helped too.
I often found myself talking to his ashes, which we kept in an urn in our living room.
In time, we learned that when I’d been pregnant with Ollie my placenta was in the 10th percentile – meaning it was very small - and also had notches, which increased foetal and maternal mortality by up to 35 per cent.
If I’d been offered early delivery, or even a Doppler scan, Ollie would likely have been delivered safely.
As I researched more, I knew I had to raise awareness.
‘I can’t stand the thought of another family going through what we have,’ I told Reece.
Shortly after, I discovered I was pregnant.
It was a joyous moment, but one filled with trepidation too.
What if something went wrong again?
That’s how Reece came across Tommy’s - a charity researching the causes and prevention of pregnancy complications, miscarriage, stillbirth, and premature birth.
Through extra scans and invaluable advice and care, they offered me incredible support.
And when I was cradling my gorgeous newborn, Ella, I felt utterly indebted to them.
As my funny and feisty little girl grew, I told her all about Ollie.
Reece and I wanted her to grow up knowing she had a big brother in heaven who loved her very much.
Months passed, and I began thinking about how I could repay Tommy’s.
Then I came across the Royal Parks Half Marathon.
The run went through some of London’s most famous parks on 8 October.
It was the day before the start of Baby Loss Awareness Week, and the week of Ollie’s second birthday.
It’s a sign, I thought.
So I laced up my trainers and completed the race for Tommy’s, in memory of Ollie - and for all the parents I’ve spoken to who’ve been touched by baby loss.
As I ran, I even had a big rainbow flag behind me, with the names of hundreds of babies we’ve lost written on it.
I’m determined to continue to spread awareness and remove the taboo surrounding baby-loss, which affects one in four families in the UK.
If you’re going through something similar, please hold on – things do get easier.
And know that your baby’s life mattered.
To donate to Hayley’s cause, go to: justgiving.com/fundraising/hayley-storrs
