Lyndsey's Letter for you
A chara,
The joy I felt when I found out I was pregnant with my second baby in May last year was beyond words. Layla, our little girl was so ready for a baby brother or sister, and so were we. New baby due in the New Year. All good, all in good time, according to plan. We all know the place so well. Layla was born there, so was I and so was my partner Stephen and all of his side too. We’ve been doing the front steps photo at Holles Street in our family for generations!
I don’t know why but in early December I was thinking that the baby wasn’t very active and that little voice in the back of my mind started whispering "Go get checked."
So, finally at twenty-nine weeks, we made our way to A&E at Holles Street. I was hoping to just hav
e a quick scan, be told I did the right thing coming in, but not to worry, everything is fine, go home now.
But my instinct was right. My baby was looking a bit small on the ultrasound, so I was sent upstairs for a full check. Looking back now, I think this was the point where I started counting out my baby’s life in terms of days and weeks. I went over and over the dates. He was definitely 29 weeks. So if he’s small, something isn’t adding up. My mind was racing and my heart was pounding.
They have some high tech equipment in the ultrasound department and the super scan reassured me that although he was small he had a strong heartbeat. Keep a close eye they said, and mind yourself. Come back again on Monday and we’ll see how he’s getting on. How was I going to get through the next 7 days?
I don’t think I slept that week and by the time we went in again for the follow up scan I was hyper alert to every sensation and so exhausted I thought I was going to pass out when I heard the sonographers discussing the baby’s blood flow—it wasn’t what they wanted it to be.
That was the moment everything shifted. A doctor came in and calmly said, “We’re admitting you. We need to keep a close eye on this.” He was kind but honest. He couldn’t tell us if I’d be in the hospital for days or weeks, and the uncertainty was overwhelming.
Panic had really set in at that point but in Unit 3 they were so amazing. So professional, calm and kind. And then, within a few hours, I was getting prepped for a C-section.
Everything felt like a blur and my world was turned upside down. My baby’s life was being counted out in hours now and I had to put myself in the hands of the incredible people who work at the NMH. Was I ready for this? It felt like everything was moving so fast, but there was no turning back.
Time felt like it stretched forever and yet disappeared in an instant. At 8:55pm, my baby Stephen was born. I was lying there, in shock, in tears, hearing nothing at first and the quietness of it felt unbearable. But after the longest six minutes, I finally heard it—the faintest cry. My beautiful baby boy was so small, just over a kilo, and they had to resuscitate him before I could even see him.
Baby Stephen was rushed to the NICU, and all we could do was wait. Those first few days were the hardest, I still hadn’t held him, hadn’t felt his tiny body close to mine. He spent twelve days in NICU 1, and those days and hours went by in a blur of fear and hope. He struggled with feeding, his little body wasn’t ready for my milk, but he was stable. I clung to that.
Christmas was flying in, and our plans for it to be Layla’s special cosy Christmas with just us and her before the new baby came; making decorations, leaving out milk and carrots, her being the centre of attention was chaotic for me and dad Stephen. Layla’s little face on Christmas morning was priceless, but our hearts and minds were in the NICU.
When we went in to Holles Street on Christmas day, there was a special gift on Stephen’s incubator, a reminder of the warmth and kindness of the nurses who cared for him like he was their own and the people who support the hospital with donations and fundraising. Despite everything, that little present brought a moment of Christmas magic to us. And there was me and Stephen, two grown ups bawling our eyes out that Santy hadn’t forgotten our baby.
Baby Stephen was wrapped in the intensive care of the neonatal intensive care unit of The NMH for over seven weeks. I watched him grow, every gram gained feeling like a huge triumph. The first time I got to hold him was pure joy. Holding him made everything feel real. We spent hours just sitting, skin to skin, reading to him, loving him. He’s mine, my son, my tiny miracle. 210 days in the making, 7 weeks fighting for life in the NICU, this last 12 months watching him thrive, years ahead of us to be lived, to be cherished.
Taking Baby Stephen home was so surreal. We had waited so long for that moment—walking out of the hospital with him in his car seat for his photo op on the front steps!
Looking back, I’ve learned to trust my instincts. If I hadn’t listened to that nagging feeling and gone into A&E, I might not be telling this story at all. Stephen’s early arrival changed the way we think about everything, and he’s taught us how strong we are and how much love we have to give. We couldn’t be more grateful to The NMH and everyone who donates to help them do the incredible work that they do.
Stephen and Layla fill our lives with light, and this Christmas will be extra special thanks to our extended NMH Family.
Happy Christmas from,
Mum Lyndsey, dad Stephen, Sister Layla and baby Stephen.