The truth Hayley carries now is hard-won and straightforward: even on the worst day of your life, a small light remains. Hold on to it because that light is hope. Hayley was 33 and lived in Leeds with her partner, Reece. On October 16, 2021, after a 14-hour labor at Calderdale Royal Hospital, she delivered their first child, a boy they named Ollie. He arrived at 40 weeks and 5 days, but he was stillborn. A sudden placental abruption had happened at home shortly after a routine stretch-and-sweep. At that moment, the life she knew had ended, and a different one had begun. Before Ollie, Hayley would have described herself by her studies, her NHS job, her love of books and Ibiza, and the roles she played for others: daughter, friend, partner, colleague.
Motherhood changed the center of gravity. Her story became his from the day she saw the positive test on January 31, 2021, during the UK’s lockdown. She and Reece, newly living together, were surprised and thrilled that it happened so quickly. A private scan at 16 weeks told them they were having a boy, and they celebrated with family, moved to a bigger place, and shared the news after the 12-week scan, believing the road ahead would be straightforward. Around 26 weeks, Hayley noticed Ollie’s movements felt off, slower, and irregular. They went to the maternity assessment several times. Every time, the staff told them he was fine; his heart rate looked good. Still, her worry didn’t lift. At 37 weeks, she asked for a scan to check the cord and placenta; it also appeared normal.
His due date came and went. She tried all the usual tricks to get labor going. Her midwife suggested a stretch-and-sweep at home on October 15. It was uncomfortable but quick. The midwife mentioned Ollie had turned and that Hayley’s cervix wasn’t as open as expected, but said it wasn’t concerning. His heartbeat sounded normal on the Doppler. The midwife left. About an hour later, as Hayley sat at her dressing table getting ready to walk to the shop, she felt a pop and then saw blood, pale red and thick, and it didn’t stop. She called the labor ward; a friend rushed her to the hospital while Reece traveled from a funeral far away.
COVID restrictions meant her friend couldn’t stay. She waited in assessment, bleeding and increasingly aware that something was wrong, realizing she hadn’t felt Ollie move in a while. She says her concerns were brushed aside for over an hour. When Reece arrived, a receptionist pushed to get her seen. The midwife strapped on the monitor, moved her in different positions, but there was no heartbeat. A doctor repeated the checks and finally said the words no parent should hear.
What followed was a blur. Hayley went silent; Reece shouted, “No.” She was moved to a bereavement suite, called her parents, and asked friends to pass along the news to spare her from more messages asking if the baby had arrived. Labor was induced and managed with pain relief.
After hours of pushing, forceps and an episiotomy were needed; at 6:42 a.m., Ollie was born. He had light brown hair and weighed 7 lb 10 oz. Hayley hemorrhaged but stabilized. She clung to the small comfort that his passing was likely instant and that he died hearing her heartbeat. Leaving the hospital without a baby was the hardest thing she has ever done. The days after were dark. She moved through hours one by one, surrounded by people who sat with her when she couldn’t be alone. Anxiety and panic came in waves; sleep was scarce.
A postmortem confirmed that a significant placental abruption had cut off Ollie’s oxygen. Hayley filed complaints and met hospital leaders twice, hoping no other family would endure the wait she did. She cannot forgive the midwife who left her waiting. After about three months, she needed to do something. She started therapy, joined a SANDS support group, and signed up for a charity walk. She and Reece moved house. To keep Ollie’s memory alive and to comfort other bereaved parents, she created “OJ the Octopus,” small handmade felt octopuses named after Ollie.
More than a hundred have been sent around the world through Instagram. She began a blog halfway through a book and plans a podcast with another loss mother to break the silence around baby loss. In May 2022, Hayley and Reece learned they were expecting a girl. Pregnancy after loss has been a daily mix of fear, grief, hope, and love. She takes it one day at a time, aiming to bring Ollie’s sibling home in December 2022. Knowing nothing is guaranteed, she trusts that hope still matters. She has promised to live in a way that honors her son—that when people hear Ollie’s name, they think of love and light, not only loss.
