Expectant first time mother Elli Amadis tragically lost her beautiful son Constantine “Tino” when she went into pre-term labour at 23 weeks gestation.
Elli shares her story with us and why she wants the community to help support her petition for the government to fund research programs that help support pre-term labour and pregnancy loss.
My son, Constantine “Tino,” was born prematurely at 23 weeks gestation. Tino spent his brief but cherished life in the NICU at a Brisbane hospital, where he was lovingly cared for over four precious days.
My pregnancy was anything but normal. As a first-time mother, I always felt something was wrong. From the very beginning, I suffered from relentless nausea and vomiting, which persisted until the day I gave birth. I repeatedly voiced my concerns to midwives and doctors, expressing that this pregnancy felt far from normal. Each time, I was met with dismissive remarks like: “You’re just overwhelmed since it’s your first pregnancy.”
Throughout my pregnancy, I also endured breathing difficulties and debilitating back pain, which were never investigated.
I went into labour on Friday 27 September, the day my husband and I returned from our honeymoon. We had been married the week before. That morning, I went to the bathroom, expecting it to be a routine trip, but instead, I began bleeding heavily. Moments later, I felt the first contractions. Panicked, I screamed, “I think the baby is dying!” My husband immediately called an ambulance and I was rushed to the hospital.
While in hospital, I was given various medications, but the bleeding didn’t stop. Despite the medical team’s best efforts to keep Tino in the womb longer, I was rushed into an emergency C-section the next day. Lying in the operating room, I was consumed with fear – fear for my baby, fear for myself, fear of the unknown. It was the most terrifying moment of my life.
Though I never heard Tino’s first cry, a kind medical worker later told me he had let out a mighty cry before being intubated. My husband and I chose to give Tino every chance at life, asking the doctors to resuscitate him. We clung to hope, no matter how slim it seemed.
The NICU staff described Tino as feisty, a little fighter who made his presence known. That was when I truly knew he was my son. The first time I saw him after surgery, I reached into his incubator, and to my amazement, Tino reached out to me. We held hands, and my husband captured that moment in a photo I will treasure forever. Tino’s tiny hand gripped my finger with surprising strength—it was as if he was telling me, “I’m here, Mum!”
Tino faced many challenges during his time in the NICU: infections, blood pressure issues, and the frailty of being born so early. Despite this, my husband and I stayed optimistic. In my hospital room, I would cry endlessly, but when visitors came, I put on a brave face – I didn’t want to make anyone feel sorry for me, even though my heart was breaking.
It’s October and four days after my C-section, I was discharged from the hospital. I cried knowing I would be leaving without Tino. As I sat outside the hospital waiting for my husband to fetch the car, I watched other parents joyfully carrying their newborns home. I sat there, empty-handed and heartbroken.
That same afternoon, we received a call from the NICU. My husband’s face turned serious, and I knew something was wrong. We raced back to the hospital, receiving multiple calls from the NICU team on the way. When we arrived, we saw Tino surrounded by doctors and nurses performing CPR. I screamed, pleading with God to save him.
One of the doctors gently approached me and said, “Elli, he’s not going to make it. Let’s place him on you so he can feel your warmth and hear your heartbeat.” In that moment, I finally accepted what I could not change. I held my baby boy for the first and last time. Tino took a few soft breaths before slipping into a peaceful sleep.
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“When I held my son for the first time, he was on my chest. He took a few breaths. I got to hold my baby one time alive and he died on my chest. Any mother or parent who has been through that, knows the pain is the worst possible pain that no words can describe.”
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Afterward, the doctors explained that my preterm labour was spontaneous, meaning no identifiable cause could be found. I’ve since spoken to many mothers with similar stories, all searching for answers that science currently cannot provide.
This is why I’ve started a petition: Pregnancy, Infant & Child Loss - Causes and Prevention Research. I’m asking the government to fund research into preterm birth and pregnancy loss. These tragedies are heartbreakingly common, yet grossly underfunded. My dream is to see a future where science can offer answers, where no parent is left wondering “why?”
Every day, I wrestle with feelings of guilt and blame, wondering if I could have changed the outcome. But I’ve come to realise it wasn’t my fault, just as it isn’t the fault of any mother who has faced this pain.
Pregnancy healthcare must change. Concerns raised by pregnant individuals should always be taken seriously, no matter how trivial they may seem to others. A person knows their own body, and their voice deserves to be heard.
Though I am still searching for my purpose, I know this: I will always be Tino’s mummy.
“This petition for all those little babies that have died – they matter, their stories matter. Their stories are valid.”
Show your support for Elli’s petition by adding your signature. Visit: https://www.aph.gov.au/e-petitions/petition/EN6822/sign