Gwen's Story

Our beautiful daughter Gwen Serena Hooper was born on Friday 8th April 2011 at 1.40pm. I was 8 days overdue, and so happy and excited to meet our little girl after four days and nights of on-off labour at home.

When Gwen was delivered, I was on top of the world for about one second before hearing the midwife sound the alarm. Gwen’s heart had stopped shortly before delivery. A team of doctors worked for 20 minutes and managed to restart her heart – but the outlook was very bleak for her. She weighed only 5lb 5oz, an indication that things had not been going well for her before labour even began. I’d had a growth scan at 37 weeks because I was measuring small, but Gwen had been on track for growth back then.

Gwen was transferred to the NICU at Southampton’s Princess Anne hospital so she could have brain-cooling treatment. This was her best shot at controlling the damage from the lack of oxygen – but she was not a good candidate for this because she had been unresponsive for so long. She had never breathed on her own, showed no movement and did not show any distress in response to intervention.

Even amongst the shock and confusion, I already felt strongly that, whether Gwen lived or died, there was something valuable that we had gained. We had now become a mummy and daddy and that would be forever.

While Gwen fought for life in the NICU, we spent her first and only night on earth in the postnatal ward, where we could hear babies crying all around. It was hard to believe I had given birth that afternoon. I was no longer pregnant, but my baby was not here with me.

On Saturday the doctors gave us more bad news. Gwen was not responding to the cooling. The extensive damage could not be reversed. There was nothing to be done for our daughter but to let her rest.

The family room was put at our disposal for the day, and Gwen’s grandparents and aunties were there too. With the help of specialist nurses, we looked after Gwen all day, taking lots of photos with family. We were able to hold her for the first time. The feeling was intense and amazing – a rush of love. We took prints of her hands and feet, which was fun but rather tricky. We undressed her, bathed her and put a new nappy and a stripey sleepsuit on her. It was lovely to handle her all over, see what she felt like in our hands, talk to her. We had as much time as we wanted with her while she was still on the ventilator.

Then at about 8pm we felt it was time to take her off the machine and have our last goodbyes. For the first time, we could see her without her tubes and hat, and stroke her gorgeous fair hair. We held her close as she fell asleep forever.

The cause of Gwen’s death was found to be a poorly-functioning placenta. Small, with poor blood flow, it had been able to get her so far, but no further. Not only was she undersized for her 41 weeks, but the post mortem revealed her brain had not been getting enough oxygen for some time before birth. To have a reason for her death was in some ways a comfort, even though we still did not know: why? We had done everything ‘right’. We had had an illusion that we were in control. But we were not.

Gwen’s funeral was held on 26th April 2011, exactly nine months after we found out we were expecting her. Over the following weeks and months, which were filled with grief and pain, we continued to bond with Gwen and in some way continued to get to know her. We came to associate many special things with her: Peppa Pig, elephants, lily-of-the-valley, forget-me-nots, blue tits, wood sorrel, pink blossom, pink fizz and princesses. Our home and garden are covered in Gwen’s things, just as it should be. Her birthday is always an occasion for celebration and pride. Gwen has opened our eyes to suffering in the wider world and in her name we support causes that we connect with her, such as female education in Africa, forest conservation and the local hospital appeal. But Gwen’s greatest legacy is that she made us a family, and a very loving, appreciative one at that.