“From that moment on, they referred to the girls not as ‘twin one and two’, but as Penny and Bella. It felt so strange hearing other people use their names. But it was also strangely comforting.
What was so wonderful was the way the midwives respected the fact that Bella was still our daughter, and treated her with as much respect and importance as Penny.”
Our Seismic News
My journey really begins in February 2024 in Warwick Hospital: a routine twelve-week pregnancy scan. My wife, Naomi, settles down on the bed, while the friendly staff make us both feel at ease. We’d only discovered we were pregnant about a month before – this was all very new and unfamiliar territory for us.
As the nurse began scanning, carefully examining the monitor which was visible only to her, she made some small talk: “So, how do you feel about twins?”
My wife and I laughed at her attempt at light humour, while the nurse looked somewhat bemused at our response. As she slowly turned her monitor for us to see, the realisation that her comments were no ice-breaker suddenly struck us. “No, seriously, you’ve got twins in there!” she continued. What followed was a period of stunned silence from both of us. “What?” I eventually managed to splutter.
The nurse carefully pointed to the screen: “There’s the first one,” she said, gesturing to a tiny little heartbeat of something which looked more like a baby penguin than a human, due to its beak-like nose. “And here’s the second,” she carried on, moving the scanner across Naomi’s stomach. Again, the tiniest little heartbeat was all too clear to see.
“… you’ve just doubled the cost of literally everything!”
How do you respond to seismic news like this? Well, in the only way I know how: awkward humour. “Well…thanks for that! You’ve just doubled the cost of literally everything!” I chuckled nervously.
They printed off the pictures of our two little babies and explained the next steps. As we left that darkened room and emerged into the light of the main reception area, the staff member at the desk wished us well on our way – not knowing what we had just been told. “Twins!” we exclaimed. And then more awkward jokes from me. “We only ordered one!”
I often think about those comments I made. With hindsight, I wish I hadn’t. It’s no joke. Having twins is an absolute blessing; an indescribable joy and privilege. Our lives, in that one moment, had changed forever.
The months that followed involved regular scans and appointments, visiting midwives, baby shows, reading books for expectant parents – specifically how to look after twins. The excitement grew and grew. The ‘squishies’ as we called the twins, were growing perfectly healthily, and we had no reason at all to be worried – other than being aware that having twins can be higher risk – but everything seemed so good nonetheless.
Naomi and Penny
We began decorating the girls’ nursery – a beautiful lilac – with two little cots, two sets of clothes, two sets of everything – two little pink cuddly bunnies, just ever so slightly different shades so we knew which was which.
Naomi had coped amazingly during the pregnancy. The first trimester was really tough on her – the sickness alone was brutal. She managed it all with such bravery and resilience. And now, as we turned into the month of August – there was only about six weeks to go. The excitement was very real.
Hit By A Wrecking Ball
When we woke up on 6th August, little did we know that our entire lives were about to change in the most earth-shattering way. The time of our 34-week scan was fairly late on in the day – about 4:45pm.
We arrived at Stratford Hospital as usual, and were welcomed into the darkened room for the scan as we were now so used to. The scan began in the usual way – twin one was wriggling about, posing for the camera as was her usual way. “Yep – all looking very good for baby one,” began the nurse. Naomi and I shared a loving smile, as I held her hand tightly.
“I’m so sorry. There isn’t a heartbeat for your second baby.”
What followed seemed like an eternity of silence.
At first I thought nothing of it – maybe twin two is just being a bit more difficult to see to measure. But then, as I realised that nothing had been said for quite some time, I remember vividly looking at the face of the nurse, and thinking to myself “she looks concerned.” At that moment, she turned to us both, and delivered the words which simply broke us:
“I’m so sorry. There isn’t a heartbeat for your second baby.”
It felt as though we had been hit by a wrecking ball. We were speechless, helpless, paralysed by our emotions. The nurse phoned ahead to Warwick Hospital to inform them we would be heading over straight away. As we left the room, we were both physically shaking, and holding each other tight. I somehow managed to find some words to speak to my sister on the phone (she is a doctor), so she could inform those who needed to know.
“…just maybe, they made a mistake.”
The whole car ride over to Warwick was virtually silent, but the thoughts in our heads were deafening.
I remember outright refusing to believe what we had heard. ‘Maybe’, I thought, ‘just maybe, they made a mistake. Maybe the heartbeat was just really faint, but something could be done.’ But deep down I knew this was not the case.
When we arrived at Warwick Hospital, we were rushed into the emergency room on Labour Ward for another scan, which did indeed confirm our worst fears: we had lost one of our beautiful girls.
Penny aged 18 months
I recall leaving the room briefly to just catch my breath. One of the midwives in the waiting area saw me and came rushing over to give me a hug. By this point, Naomi’s parents had turned up and were in the room with her.
When I went back in, one thing that will always stick with me is what my father in law did. He is usually a very quiet, laid back man – incredibly caring and kind, and a real support to us, but never really outward in emotions. He grabbed me and pulled me in for a hug. I tried after a few seconds to back away, but he just said ‘no’, and hugged me even tighter.
“What followed were two days of emotional outpouring…”
Naomi’s parents had – many years ago – lost a baby of their own. Back then, the men were supposed to just get on with it and go back to work the next day. Not now. And he wanted to make sure that I had the care I needed, unlike what he received all those years ago. This meant so much to me. I know he’s always looked out for me, but this felt different – he was going to help me through this, and I want it to be recorded here just how much of a difference that made to me, and how grateful I am to him.
What followed were two days of emotional outpouring, trying to come to terms with what had happened, while also trying to stay as strong as we could for our surviving twin.
We hadn’t told anyone what we were going to call the twins – we were going to wait until they were born. Yet it felt wrong to wait now. The midwives asked if we had names, and they were the first people we ever told: Penny is our surviving twin, and Bella is sleeping.
“Bella is sleeping.”
From that moment on, they referred to the girls not as ‘twin one and two’, but as Penny and Bella. It felt so strange hearing other people use their names. But it was also strangely comforting. What was so wonderful was the way the midwives respected the fact that Bella was still our daughter, and treated her with as much respect and importance as Penny.
Throughout the entire process, the staff at Warwick Hospital was beyond exceptional. They cared for us and loved us like their own family. Staff would come and visit us on their days off, just because they wanted to check we were ok. One midwife in particular, who had looked after us for the two nights before the twins were due to be born via C-section, made the most remarkable difference.
Chloe made the most unbearable experience just that little bit bearable – she made such an impact on our lives, that she is now one of Penny’s godparents.
Our Girls Were Born
We were woken early on the morning of 8th, knowing that a C-section was due first thing.
We had waited with baited breath over the past 48-hours whenever they scanned to check that Penny was still alright – ever time we heard that heartbeat the relief was incredible. But now it was the moment our girls were to be born. Naomi was taken off to Theatre to be prepared for surgery, while I was whisked off elsewhere to put scrubs on.
Penny and I
When I eventually went into Theatre to join Naomi, I saw her sat on the table, with a team of medical staff around her administering medications, prodding and poking her, and making sure she was as comfortable as she could be. I simply fell to pieces. I couldn’t cope with seeing my Naomi – my incredible, loving wife, going through all of this on top of the grief she was feeling.
Seeing me in such a state of distress, one of the midwives rushed over to me and assigned herself to look after me. She put her arms around me and held me tight, and gently spoke to reassure me that everything was ok, and she talked me through what would happen.
“Look at all that hair! …”
That midwife – Jenna – was beyond amazing. She, like Chloe, would turn out to be one of those extra special people who would support us on our journey. She, too, is now Penny’s godmother.
Once I was calmer, I sat by Naomi’s head as she lay on the table, and the operation began. The fear and anxiety would have to wait – now was time for hope and expectation. Just a few minutes later, we heard the voices of the midwives saying:
“Look at all that hair! Hello little one!“
In that moment, we felt reassured. Our little Penny was here, and she was alright. They lifted her up so we could see her, before taking her to clean her up. Bella was then born just two minutes later. We were parents. We were parents of twin girls. No – not in the way we had ever wanted or expected, but we will always be the parents to twin girls.
Penny was taken to the Special Care Baby Unit (SCBU) as a precaution, as they did not yet know what had caused what happened to Bella. Bella was swaddled in a cosy blanket, wearing a little pink hat, and placed in a special ‘cold cot’, designed specifically for babies who had been stillborn so they could stay with the parents and remain comfortably preserved.
“… they treated her as if she were alive.”
Bella stayed in our room for two further days – and those moments were incredibly special. The hospital arranged for a photographer to come and take photos of us as a family of four. We cuddled both of our girls. They held hands. I read a story to them. We sang to them. Those are moments which we will always cherish.
Again, I must emphasise the phenomenal care from the staff at the hospital. They spoke to little Bella as well as Penny – they treated her as if she were alive – they treated her with the most amazing respect. We were never rushed. We were always loved. They are superheroes – each and every one of them.
“… our little Bella.”
In the months that followed, we received support from some incredible charities – most notably The Lily-Mae Foundation – who provided a beautiful memory box, and led bereavement counselling for both Naomi and myself. All of their counsellors are bereaved parents, so they were by far and away the best qualified to help us.
The other charity who left a very lasting impression on us was The Skye High Foundation. They support families who have suffered a loss in a multiple pregnancy. They introduced us to the symbol of a purple butterfly, which represents a baby who has been lost as part of a multiple pregnancy. From that moment on, we have associated both the colour purple, and butterflies, with our little Bella.
As a Primary School teacher, I have a lot of experience of working with children with additional needs, emotional needs, and bereavement. I thought lots about how Penny might be affected as she grows up, by the knowledge that she is a twin whose sister isn’t there by her side.
A proud moment
‘I have to make something for her, to help her when she’s old enough to understand,’ is what I thought to myself. I have always loved writing, and also had ambitions of being an author one day.
And so I set to work: not with any clear plan in place as such, but with a determination to produce a story in a light and engaging way about a serious topic. Something which could not only be seen to help bereaved children and their families, but also be a good story for any child to read; a useful resource for educators to view so they could better understand how to help a bereaved child. As the weeks went on, the story came together, and Whispers of a Purple Butterfly came to be.
I waited about a year before revisiting the story to edit and prepare for publication – though the story was completed, I wasn’t ready to share it with the world at the time.
But now? Whispers of a Purple Butterfly is official published in both paperback and ebook. I am officially an author. And Bella’s legacy – to provide support to children and families around the world through the gift of this story – is so very alive and thriving.
I am determined to help others all around the world, to navigate and understand their grief. I am going to support children especially, in grasping what grief is, and how it can be navigated, and how – through experiencing grief, we can learn a new, even more powerful type of love – like my love for both Penny and Bella.
Naomi and Penny
