Our story

How to write this?

A homebirth, unassisted because there was no medical support for a VBAC at home with a baby bigger than 3.5kg.

A little boy born after an uneventful 7 hour labour.

Not breathing.

We don’t know why. Nothing was wrong, nothing was out of the ordinary. The paed thought he’d probably inhaled amniotic fluid. Something that can happen even at elective C- Sections. Had we not panicked, we might have been able to get him breathing. As it was, we got in the car and rushed to hospital. It took too long – we hit peak traffic. And though he was resuscitated, he was without oxygen for a long time. Too long. He was taken to NICU – very ill.

I started bleeding from tears high up in my vagina. The nurses were angry, they were rough and they were abusive. I allowed them, because I thought I deserved it. Only at 16:00 did I receive proper medical care. By that time, I’d lost enough blood to warrant a blood transfusion.

I pleaded with them to take me to L. The paed said to get better myself first. Maybe she thought I wouldn’t get attached to him. Maybe she thought it would be easier on me this way when he died. Because she didn’t think for one minute he would survive. Fortunately she was wrong. He did survive… and I? How could I not love him?

Harsh words were spoken. Things were said that will stay ingrained on my soul for the rest of my life. As they were meant to be by the people who spoke them.

He ended up staying in hospital for 35 long days. After a week, he was taken off the ventilator. He fought for breath for a day – and won. A few days thereafter, he started opening his eyes. I sat by his bed, my eyes averted, just focusing on him. Praying and touching his head and feet. After a while I could hold him. And I did. He felt like a ragdoll, but he was alive and he was mine. I became part of the furniture. I would go home, look after M, pump milk, go back to the hospital. Fall into bed, sleep dark and dreamless and wake up knowing something was dreadfully wrong, but couldn’t remember what it was. And then it would hit me… An endless routine.

At first, remorse nearly killed me. But I soon realized that I had two kids, a husband, wonderful parents and a sister and friends who stood by me. I had to carry on. There was no alternative, really…

So I carried on. God helped me. He sent people across my path who said the right words and kept me upright at the time I needed it most. And I chose LIFE. Not just for myself, but for our whole family, particularly L.

Some of my..our bruises have barely healed and others never will.
But here it is. Here is our story.