This was a morning just like any other morning. I was in the bathroom doing what I usually did. As I sat on the toilet, I felt the sensation I had been dreading, a gush of water. I immediately managed to convince myself that it was probably just my imagination. I knew this was close to the time when I had miscarried Kathryn and my mind was just playing tricks on me now. I had my usual shower. Before I had been out of the shower for very long, I was soaking up fluid with a towel. My husband was at work and I phoned him. He arranged to meet me at the hospital. I rang the hospital and then drove myself there.

Examination revealed that my 'waters had broken'. This was only 20 weeks into the pregnancy. If I was going to lose the baby, it was most likely to happen within the next day or so. I was given a single room in a maternity ward.

I remained in that room, resting mostly, for a week. I wrote letters, I read, I prayed. I had a few visitors. The hospital even provided me with a TV, and I watched some of that. The baby was doing OK. There was still no fluid around it, or at least there was very little. It was possible, I was told, for the sac to mend itself and be refilled. We waited and waited and watched and waited and hoped. If I could make it to 23 weeks, I could be moved to another hospital where they might be able to do more to help the baby to survive. I made a calendar and ticked off the days as they passed.

About a week after I had been admitted, I began to have contractions (I recognised them this time). I accepted pethidine to help with the pain. I was moved to the labour ward and had contractions for most of the night. My cervix did not dilate. My husband spent the night on the floor next to my bed.

Next morning, I was moved back to the room I had left the night before. The contractions had stopped and the baby was still doing fine. My husband went to work.

Later that day, my husband returned to visit, after work. Things were fine. I went to use the toilet and found that the umbilical cord had fallen out. I waddled back to my bed and rang for the nurse, who confirmed that what I had felt was indeed the cord. Once more off to the labour ward.

Just after arrival there, a friend who had timed a visit rather well(!), came to find us. The baby was dead or almost dead and birth was now being induced. Our visitor would have stayed for as long as we wanted her to, but I asked her to go when the pain was bad.

David Vaughan was born dead at 10.16pm that night. He weighed 380g. He was born, like Kathryn, at 21 weeks. It was too soon and nothing could have been done. Someone took some photographs of him for us.

After surgery to remove the 'leftovers', my husband and I spent the night in the hospital 'SANDS' room. This was a room furnished and maintained by SANDS for this very purpose. David's body was brought to us there in the morning, so that we could say our 'goodbyes' and take some photographs.

I left the hospital that day, despite advice to the contrary (I didn't discharge myself - I persuaded them to agree to let me go). I was barely OK and had refused a blood transfusion as my life didn't depend on it.

We had a funeral for David. He was buried in the 'baby garden' of the cemetery, very close to Kathryn.