Hollie Rawnsley

My baby

I have felt that rush of joy, disbelief, adrenaline when you see those two lines appear. I’ve had names in my head, a future planned, held a protective hand over my stomach knowing life was there. Unfortunately, I have also experienced the pain of having that disappear. 

In April of 2025 my fiance and I unfortunately miscarried our first baby together very early into the pregnancy. Then, I was blessed with a second pregnancy in August 2025. 

Whilst at work one day at around eight weeks pregnant, I noticed some light bleeding, however had no pain. I attended hospital and was reassured this was likely just early pregnancy spotting, but was told to rest and attend an ultrasound appointment the next day. 

This ultrasound appointment saved my life. I was experiencing an ectopic pregnancy. One that had ruptured, and was causing internal bleeding. Yet-I had none of the pain, none of the bloating. Just light spotting and a slight pain when I moved a certain way. Had I not been cautious, had I not gone to the hospital the day before, I would likely have ruptured further, rapidly losing blood and heaven forbid what could have happened next. 

I was rushed into a room with a team of doctors taking blood, checking my blood pressure, constant monitoring and informed I could not leave due to the risk of further internal bleeding. I was rushed into emergency surgery, and unfortunately, as is the case with ectopics, my baby could not survive and my right fallopian tube had to be removed. 

I had no time. No time to process. No time to grieve before I was taken into surgery, no time to really understand the gravity of what was happening. 

To this day, I think constantly about the baby I loved, the baby I dared to hope for after my fiance and I first had a miscarriage. This brings me to my why…

I carried a lot of my pain alone. When you lose a baby, there is no physical reminder of their presence. No funeral. No grave to visit. Not even a name to whisper reverently. SANDS has been a community. A community that understands the weight of the silence. The weight of the condolences when there should be congratulations. The weight of watching dates slip by, dates when you should have been growing life, dates when you should have been bringing a tiny soul in to the world. 

I want to help support mothers like me. Mothers who hold their babies in their hearts, rather than in their arms.