Red Nose Day ambassador Fiona Ellis-Jones tells her heartbreaking story

The grief of losing a child is indescribable, even when coupled with the joy of birthing a healthy baby. Sydney mum and Red Nose Day ambassador Fiona Ellis-Jones shares her story.

“It’s hard to describe what it’s like to be told your unborn child will die. Sure, there was the slimmest chance she’d survive the birth. But it would likely only be for a few short minutes.

Ultimately, she would die. Of that, the doctors were certain.

And they were right.

Our baby girl passed away in utero almost a year ago today, snuggled up next to her twin. After developing normally through two trimesters, her umbilical cord failed her. It was random and rare. She was almost seven months gestation.

Fiona Ellis-Jones with husband Mark Scognamiglio and eight-month-old son Banksi at their Bilgola Plateau home. Picture: Sam Ruttyn

Because I was carrying two babies, what was already a high-risk pregnancy turned into a test of modern obstetrics.

Teams of specialists. Weekly scans. And six weeks of bed rest.

The loss of a twin late in a pregnancy is relatively rare. The doctors weren’t sure how my body would react. Would I go into early labour? What would happen to the other baby if I did? What would become of the baby’s body, given I couldn’t birth her straight away? What would that mean for my uterus? For the other baby’s sac? Would my amniotic fluid be contaminated? Would the other baby die too?

The day Twin B passed away, I knew that if I was ever going to get back to “normal” — to function again as a mother, wife and contributing member of society — I needed to get support.

I was overwhelmed with grief for my dead daughter, and fear for my remaining baby.

The hospital put me in touch with a peer-to-peer volunteer at the Red Nose Foundation.

Asha, 6, kisses her mum Fiona Ellis-Jones’ pregnant belly.

A scan of Fiona Ellis-Jones’ stillborn baby Elizabeth.

Her name was Anna and she told me about the stillbirth of her daughter a few years earlier. She assured me the pain I was experiencing was an important step in my grief journey and that it would get easier. She said I would get through the darkness, and that while I’d be changed forever, I would one day laugh again.

Hearing this from someone who had lived through the loss of a baby helped enormously.

Red Nose also provided me with a psychologist who specialised in bereavement.

She guided me through the remainder of my pregnancy and helped me prepare for the impending birth of my twins.

She also offered practical support; like contacts for funeral directors, resources to help our other children through their own grief, and advice about how to announce the arrival of our twins.

 

Thanks to medical science and a huge amount of good luck, our remaining twin, a little boy, made it. The doctors say our baby girl stayed alive for long enough to ensure the maximum chance of survival for her brother. Any earlier or later, we almost certainly would have lost him too.

The birth itself was bittersweet. The twins were always going to be delivered together and we were grateful for the time we could spend with both our babies after delivery.

Our little boy, Banksi, was safe and healthy. And our sleeping daughter, Elizabeth, was perfect.

She had 10 fingers and 10 toes, and a beautiful little face with our signature lips.

Seeing Elizabeth in the flesh, side-by-side with her twin, was the proof I needed that she existed.

Mark and Fiona during the pregnancy with their older children Lachlan, Asha and Josh.

Baby Banksi is now a thriving eight-month-old. I often look at him and wonder how, or even if, the loss of his twin will impact him. Will he still consider himself a twin?

Will the love from his three older siblings be enough to make up for what he has lost? Will he miss the sister he shared a womb with for nine months?

While life with four young kids is a haze of nappies and lunch boxes, occasionally the sheer horror of what happened last year catches up to me.

The trigger can be something as innocuous as a glimpse of a double pram, the smell of hospital disinfectant, or a pregnancy ultrasound photo on Facebook.

But when I think of Elizabeth now, it’s with fondness rather than sadness. I’m so grateful she came into my life, even for the shortest of moments.

Elizabeth changed our family to the core. She taught her siblings about love and loss. She tested but ultimately reaffirmed our marriage. And she imparted a sense of resilience and fearlessness that I never knew existed inside me.

But Elizabeth’s biggest gift to us was her twin. And for that, we’ll be forever grateful.”

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