No family should experience what we did

Ezra Stevie Ruddle, born sleeping 30.10.2025

When Ezra’s parents found out the fluid at his 20 week scan was measuring higher than it should, they were forced to make an impossible decision that no parent should have to make about their precious baby boy. What followed was a series of events that will forever be etched into their memory.

Ezra’s mum, Lianne shares their journey with grief, their bereavement care experiences, and why they are dedicated to advocating for better standards of compassionate bereavement care for families.

Our family’s story

Written by Ezra’s Mum, Lianne (@lianneruddle)

At our 20-week scan, an abnormality was picked up.
“The baby’s fluid is measuring higher… it’s above my pay grade, don’t Google it, we’ll invite you back for another scan.”

My husband Chris and I left feeling confused. I held onto quiet confidence it would be nothing, it was only 1mm. But I could see Chris’ panic. This was his first child, and I tried to reassure him.

We were called back the next day. Two consultants were present. The “fluid” was now described as a cyst. Quiet panic crept in.

We were referred to a specialist fetal unit. After multiple scans and an MRI, the results were inconclusive. We waited over two weeks for further imaging.

The next day, we were called in and taken to a private room. The consultant closed the door and said immediately:

“I’m sorry, it’s not good news.”

Our baby had hydrocephalus (ventriculomegaly). The fluid on his brain was increasing rapidly.
We were faced with a decision no parent should ever have to make.

We were later called by a nurse who explained the process for giving birth. We were told about the bereavement suite and advised to call ahead, staff would understand the purpose of our visit.

Time stood still. Everything felt like slow motion and deafening all at once.

We called ahead and arrived at the hospital. I had tears streaming down my face as I croaked the name of the room.

We were met cheerfully at reception:
“Wonderful, that’s marvellous, who are you here to see?”

Sadly, this was the beginning of our experience with bereavement care.

After a four-hour wait with no communication, despite multiple attempts to ask, we were finally taken through to begin the process of labour.

It was gruelling. Painful in every sense.
My body willed it to be over, but my mind wanted time to stand still, because when it ended, our baby would be gone.

We had made one small, precious choice, not to find out our baby’s sex until birth. Something to hold onto. A small bit of ‘joy’ amongst all the sadness.

That choice was taken from us.

A doctor disclosed it while discussing the post-mortem.
We then had to hear about the post-mortem repeatedly, three more times before our baby was even born.

We had asked not to see our baby immediately. I didn’t want the experience to mirror a live birth, and we didn’t know how his condition might have affected his appearance. My mum was going to gently clean him first, so he would be held and wrapped in love from the moment he entered this world.

After birth, I lost over a litre of blood and struggled to remain conscious.

When I was finally stable, we asked to see our son.

We were in awe.

He was perfect. The most beautiful face, perfect hands and feet. Even the nurses said how perfect his hands and feet were.
Our Ezra.

After around 20 minutes, we returned him, saying we were worried about him getting too warm and wanted his body preserved, the thought of the post mortem ringing in our ears. The nurses smiled gently and took him away.

Chris asked for as many memories as possible. Me, too saddened to speak.
“Of course,” they said.

More discussions about the post-mortem followed. More paperwork.

Then quiet.

Chris lay beside me on the bed and we sobbed together as sunlight broke through the window.

We asked to see Ezra again.

He was brought to us in a cardboard box with blankets.

We held him. Took a few photos, but not many. We wanted to be present, and we trusted the hospital would take photos for us. We believed our time was limited.

Again, after a short time, we returned him, still believing we were protecting his body, again stating the reasons why we were returning him to the nurse.

We were discharged.

We left the hospital carrying a memory box.

Before leaving, we asked how much Ezra weighed.
A staff member scribbled it onto our support paperwork.

I still cannot tell you my son’s weight.
The way it was written, with no care, carries too much pain. And now, guilt, what mum doesn’t know how much their baby weighs?

As we were leaving, we were told the camera was broken.
The promised photos would not be possible.

And so, we left—empty-armed.

The next day, we were called back for an anti-D injection.

We asked if we could see Ezra again.
“Yes, but be quick, he’s leaving this afternoon.”

We rushed back. The pain of post labour aching through my body but the longing to see our son overtaking it all.

We were placed in the same room I had given birth in, my blood still visible.

Ezra was brought to us in a Moses basket.

There was no cooling device.

We held him. Talked to him. Even laughed, his face looked grumpy that day.

“Mum, Dad… leave me alone,” we joked, as we took photos ourselves. 

Again, after a short time, we returned him, still believing we were doing the right thing, again, stating why we were returning him.

That was the last time we ever saw our son.

Nearly 25 weeks of lovingly growing him, planning our life with him… reduced to less than two hours.

Before registering Ezra’s death, we opened the memory box from 4Louis, hoping for comfort.

It was empty.

Unused.
A sealed memory card.
Sealed clay kits.
Blank hospital bands.

I wailed.

We called the hospital in panic, hoping there had been a mistake.

“Too late. He’s gone.”

He had actually left three days later than we were told.

We were told to “calm down… just breathe… we thought you might want to use the memory card for something else.”

I collapsed to the floor in a shop crying.

Eventually, someone showed compassion and said they would try to take clay prints, but warned the quality would not be as good.

Another blow.

I contacted 4Louis to let them know how their memory boxes were being given to families.

Bob called the next day.

With our permission, he went to find our baby.

He found Ezra.

A nurse, on her day off, went in to take his clay casts.

4Louis made the impossible possible.

Bob said:
“I imagine our Louis is up there with his arm around Ezra, saying ‘don’t worry mate, my grandad will sort it.’”

In that moment, I understood something profound:

This community is heartbreakingly sad to be part of,
but it is built on love, care, and action.

Chris and I felt a fire ignite.

We could not allow another family to go through this.

We owed it to Ezra.

We submitted a formal complaint.

Two weeks after giving birth, we were invited to a meeting and sat next to a live baby event.

Another blow.

We were told there would be follow-up responses.

So we waited.

During that time, we discovered:

• The camera was not broken—it was a battery issue

• The hospital had multiple CuddleCots onsite
• A midwife later congratulated us on our baby, despite the outcome being clearly documented

We added these to our complaint.

After nearly six months of repeated chasing, we received a formal response.

It stated that staff “felt” we did not need a cooling device, because our time with Ezra was short, and because we had initially chosen not to see him immediately.

This has left us carrying an additional layer of guilt. We feel like we’re being blamed.

We spoke to Sian at Cuddlecot. Sian is a wonderful compassionate woman.

Her response was one of compassion, understanding, and shock.

She helped us and wrote a supporting statement with our response, calling for accountability.
And now, we wait.

This experience has shown us clearly who supports bereaved families, and who does not. We trusted those who should have cared for us.

We are deeply grateful to Cuddlecot and 4Louis.
But we would trade everything for more time with our son. 

We wish we knew about CuddleCots so we could have advocated for ourselves.

Time to make memories.
Time without fear.

As a family, we have since travelled from Surrey to Sunderland to volunteer with 4Louis and pack memory boxes.
We have fundraised and continue to raise awareness.

Through our pain, and with the incredible support of Sian, Cuddlecot, Bob, and 4Louis, we will continue to push for change.

No family should experience what we did.

Every family deserves choice.
Every family deserves time.
Every family deserves the chance to make memories.

We will do it for you, Ezra.

Ezra Stevie Ruddle
Born sleeping 30.10.2025
Forever young. Forever loved 🩵🕊️🪽

A message from Siân Ness, CuddleCot Bereavement Consultant & Relationship Manager, Midwife

“I would like to acknowledge just how incredible Lianne and Chris are, and how deeply grateful I am for everything they have done to raise awareness of the devastating impact of receiving substandard bereavement care after the death of their precious son, Ezra.

It is difficult for me to put into words how truly sorry I am that you were not cared for better, and that you did not receive the support, kindness, compassion, and opportunities to create precious memories with Ezra that you should have been given.

Despite carrying your own overwhelming grief and learning to navigate life without Ezra, you have shown extraordinary bravery, strength, and determination. Through the additional trauma of an ongoing and gruelling hospital complaints process, you have continued to speak out about baby loss, advocate for bereaved families, and fundraise for 4Louis. Your resilience is truly remarkable, and your unwavering commitment to ensuring that no other family experiences the care you received is deeply inspiring.

You are dedicated to creating change so that every bereaved family is listened to, fully informed, treated with kindness and compassion, and supported throughout their journey of loss. The difference you are making for families now and in the future is immeasurable.

Thank you both for everything you are doing. Ezra’s legacy is creating meaningful change, and that is because of your courage, love, and determination.”

While we wish our paths had never needed to cross, and Ezra was here to make memories with his family, we are incredibly thankful to Ezra’s family and community for all they are doing to create change for families navigating heartbreak in his honour. The journey of bereavement care advocacy is not an easy path, it is full of complicated feelings and repeated heartbreak. We are eternally thankful for their continued dedication to real change so that no other family experiences what they did.

Our thanks as always, to Bob, from 4Louis, who tirelessly puts the needs of bereaved families first and goes above and beyond to show compassion to families navigating heartbreak.

Follow Ezra’s mum Lianne on Instagram: @lianneruddle 

Ezra’s 4Louis fundraising page

Learn more about the work of 4Louis

Contact the CuddleCot team: info@cuddlecot.com