Ayeisha’s Story

After a year spent travelling, adventuring and settling into life as newlyweds, my husband Tom and I decided we were ready to try for a baby in July 2023. I felt cautious from the beginning. Before this pregnancy, I had already experienced two early miscarriages, one from a previous relationship and one chemical pregnancy with Tom before we were married. Both losses affected me deeply, and I carried that fear quietly into trying again.

We were surprised to conceive almost immediately and felt overwhelmingly happy, if slightly disbelieving. Tom was especially excited that my due date fell only a few days before his birthday, and he hoped they might even share the same day. At first, everything seemed to progress perfectly. I experienced severe morning sickness, which healthcare professionals, as well as friends and family, repeatedly reassured us was a positive sign. Two early scans showed a healthy baby moving energetically on the screen. Hearing and seeing a heartbeat for the first time was something I had never experienced in a previous pregnancy, and it allowed me to finally relax and believe that things were going as they should. With every appointment, our confidence grew, and we truly believed this pregnancy would be different.

After scans, and whenever we talked about or to our baby, we often noticed bright rainbows appearing in the sky. The symbolism felt deeply meaningful to us, as rainbows are often associated with a child born after loss. Long before we knew her sex, she became “Baby Rainbow”, and somehow we both felt convinced she was a girl.

At a routine scan early in the second trimester, we were told that our baby had died a few days earlier. The shock was indescribable. It felt like a complete out-of-body experience. I remember sobbing, covering my face and being unable to look at the screen. I also remember feeling embarrassed by how confident I had been that everything was fine.

I was admitted to hospital for medical management of the miscarriage, where I gave birth to our daughter. We named her Enfys, a Welsh girl’s name meaning rainbow. After her birth, I became seriously unwell and suffered a haemorrhage while trying to deliver the placenta, which was deeply traumatic. We were given only 24 hours with our baby. We held her, talked to her, took photographs and said goodbye. I replay that short time in my mind every day and would give anything to see her again.

When we came home from hospital, we buried her in our garden beneath a rose bush. I remember the distress of leaving her outside as night fell, wishing I could bring her back indoors into the warmth with us.

A few months after losing Enfys, I was desperate to be pregnant again, and we conceived very quickly. From the beginning, the pregnancy was marked by severe hyperemesis and intense anxiety. I carried a constant sense of dread that something was wrong, although I tried to convince myself it was simply fear after pregnancy loss. At eight weeks, a scan and further testing confirmed a molar pregnancy. A molar pregnancy is a rare complication where abnormal tissue forms instead of a viable pregnancy. It can become cancerous if left untreated, and my treatment required two surgeries and referral to a specialist hospital.

After this loss, we decided to stop trying for a while and pursue private investigations to understand why we had experienced multiple miscarriages, as routine NHS testing had found nothing wrong and we had repeatedly been told, “It’s just bad luck, try again.” This period took a huge toll on our mental health. Much of our lives revolved around waiting for the next appointment or test result, and a significant amount of our income was spent on consultations and investigations. We questioned whether it was worth continuing, and whether we would ever become parents to living children.

Private testing eventually showed that I had an overactive immune system and that Tom had high levels of sperm DNA fragmentation. With appropriate treatment, nutritional support and lifestyle changes, we were able to improve our health and develop a plan for another pregnancy. Exactly a year after being signed off from the molar pregnancy, in July 2025, we finally felt emotionally ready to try again.

We conceived very quickly once more. Although the pregnancy progressed well and our baby remained healthy, emotionally it was one of the hardest experiences of our lives. Joy and gratitude existed alongside fear and grief every single day. Every milestone felt terrifying, and even good news was difficult to fully trust after everything we had been through.

Our son Ray was born in April 2026. He has brought a joy that is impossible to fully put into words. We are completely overjoyed by him every single day, and there are still moments where we look at him in disbelief that he is really here in our arms. After so much heartbreak, he feels like the brightest light in our lives, and we are endlessly grateful for him.

Enfys remains part of our family, as she always will. She was our first baby, and the one who made us parents. She changed our lives completely and will always hold that special place in our hearts. We mark both her birthday and due date each year in ways that feel meaningful to us. We read her a story, go for a special family walk with our dog, and light her candle beside the teddy bear that is the same size she was when she was born. At Christmas, she has her own handmade rainbow decoration that hangs on our tree each year. The rose bush beneath which we buried her flowers every year around both her due date in April and her birthday in October.

What I wish more people understood about baby loss is that it is the loss of a child, not simply the loss of an idea or possibility. Even in early pregnancy, there are hopes, plans and an imagined future. Grief does not depend on gestation or on other people’s perceptions of what “counts”. Loss changes you permanently. It changes how you see yourself, your body and any future pregnancies. You feel robbed of absolutely everything and often want to withdraw from the world entirely.

A new pregnancy does not erase what came before, nor does it mean that everything is suddenly fine. Joy can exist, but it often sits alongside fear and grief. There is no timeline for recovery and no correct way to grieve. What helps most is not advice or reassurance, but simple acknowledgement; saying the baby’s name, recognising them as part of a family, and allowing space for that loss to exist without trying to fix it.

Find out more about Project Finding Your Rainbow.

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