JO Halsey, 47, and her husband Mark, 48, from Hull, reveal how after 13 miscarriages their dream of parenthood came to an earth-shattering end.
Here, the couple open up about their heartbreak as “losing a child shouldn’t be taboo”.
Jo says: “Staring at my newborn, Benjamin, in the incubator, I couldn’t believe what was happening. His life was slipping away – and there was nothing I could do about it.
“Growing up, I’d always loved kids. I worked as a nanny for several years, and then trained as a home maternity nurse caring for newborns. When I met Mark on a dating website in May 2007, we quickly fell in love and got married in September 2008. We immediately started trying for a baby and I was thrilled when three weeks after our honeymoon in October, a pregnancy test was positive. But six weeks later, I started bleeding. My GP confirmed I was miscarrying twins and sent me home to recover. It was horrible, but we decided we were just unlucky.
“The doctor told us because I was 36, we shouldn’t wait too long to try again, and I was excited when I became pregnant in January 2009. But it was crushing when, just three weeks later, I miscarried. Still, we kept trying, and in April I took a pregnancy test at the same cottage in the Cotswolds where Mark, a flood risk manager, had proposed. It was positive and we both believed it was a sign, so for the first time we told friends and family. Our parents were delighted, but I was terrified of seeing blood every time I went to the toilet.
“At our 10-week scan that May, we found out that I was pregnant with twins again, and we named them Benjamin and Oliver. However, a 14-week scan revealed the twins were sharing the same amniotic sac and placenta. They said there wasn’t enough blood flow for Oliver to develop properly, and he was likely to be premature. I was signed off work to rest, and every night I lay awake, worrying endlessly.
“I was 28 weeks pregnant when my waters broke. At a scan on October 9, doctors couldn’t find Oliver’s heartbeat. Devastated, I looked into Mark’s eyes and saw despair for the first time. Three days later, I went into labour and Benjamin arrived weighing 2lb 10oz. Oliver was born sleeping four minutes later, and seeing his lifeless body was like a stab through the heart.
“Despite the doctors’ hopes, Benjamin’s lungs weren’t strong enough, and I screamed as I was told he wouldn’t survive. I held both my babies as Benjamin took his last breath that evening. Nurses dressed him and we spent two precious hours with our boys, taking small cuttings of their hair.
“As grief set in, I blamed myself, as the doctors had no answers as to why my babies kept dying.
“At their funeral a week later, I carried the casket, wanting to hold my boys one last time. I couldn’t face going back to work as it was too painful being surrounded by newborn babies, and I was prescribed antidepressants and diagnosed with PTSD. Signed off work, I spent the next few months in a daze, but slowly, with Mark’s help, I began to feel a little brighter and in March 2010, I fell pregnant again.
Sadly, I miscarried just a few days later. Still, doctors reassured us that there was no reason why we couldn’t have a baby so we kept trying, but went on to have another two miscarriages in July and October 2011. While the routine of miscarrying became depressingly normal, each time my mental health got worse.
“By the time I’d lost our eighth baby, I often felt suicidal and I’d cut myself off from friends after one made a thoughtless comment that ‘at least I could get pregnant easily’. Mark got me through it all, as he was the only person who understood. For several months, I barely left the house other than to see my counsellor.
“Desperate for answers, we started seeing a professor of gynaecology at Hull and East Yorkshire Women and Children’s Hospital. Tests came back clear, but he thought a blood clotting disorder might have caused my miscarriages. In January 2011, I became pregnant again and I was given daily heparin injections to combat the clotting. With each week that passed, our hopes grew.
“Then, at 13 weeks, our baby who we’d named Pip, passed away. I sobbed as I had to have an operation to remove him from my womb, which was one of the hardest days of my life. Afterwards, he was buried alongside Benjamin and Oliver.
“My head said it was time to give up, but my heart wouldn’t accept it. I knew that Mark would keep on trying as long as I wanted, but I felt guilty. It was taking over our lives. After more tests, doctors still couldn’t find a reason. Sadly, in January 2012, I lost twins again at six weeks, and a few months later, I suffered my 12th miscarriage. In June 2014, I had my 13th miscarriage at 43, eight weeks into the pregnancy. I finally accepted that we needed to stop, as it was killing me emotionally.
“I had to focus on Mark and our relationship, or it might break. The grieving never stops and I’m still on antidepressants and having counselling.
“I’m 47 now, so my chances of falling pregnant are slim, but we use condoms. If I did get pregnant I’d be excited, even though my body probably wouldn’t let me keep the baby. I still feel like I’ve failed Mark, though I know he would never leave me. It’s hard for us to see friends having kids, but I dote on family members’ babies and my goddaughter Willow, five.
“Surrogacy is too expensive for us and although we’ve looked into adoption, agencies won’t accept us as I’ve developed non-epileptic seizures. People struggle to talk about losing babies and to acknowledge loss, but I just want our children to be remembered. Losing a child shouldn’t be taboo.”
Mark says: “Miscarriage isn’t spoken about openly and after our first two losses, I assumed we’d go on to have a healthy baby. To protect Jo, I masked my anxiety about the strain she was under, secretly dealing with miscarriages while looking after babies at work.
“When he was stillborn, Oliver was so tiny that he fitted on the palm of my hand. I felt like an emotional zombie rushing backwards and forwards to neonatal intensive care to visit Benjamin with Jo. I never had the chance to hold Benjamin before he died, and I felt robbed. When Jo apologised, saying she blamed herself for stopping me from becoming a dad, I told her that it wasn’t her fault. We had done nothing to cause this. At the funeral, she insisted on carrying our boys’ casket and I told her that we would cope together, just as we had done before. If I wanted to cry, I’d wait until Jo was asleep, and during my darkest days I’d distract myself with work.
“I was really worried when Jo told me she was suicidal. I was able to confide in my work colleagues, which helped, and I promised Jo that I’d keep trying for a baby with her, but I feared her attempting suicide more than losing another child. After our 13th baby died, I was terrified Jo might hurt herself and we agreed to stop.
“Since then, we’ve put everything into our relationship and we renewed our vows last September. I’ve accepted I won’t be a dad, but we have Willow and lots of family friends whose children see us as an auntie and uncle. Losing 13 babies could have destroyed our marriage, but my love for Jo has only grown stronger. Most men don’t have a support system and our grief is usually overlooked, but I feel the pain of losing our babies as much as Jo does. Baby loss is a lonely world. I hope that anyone out there struggling knows they’re not alone.”
