A Premature Arrival: The Days That Followed

It’s been a while since my last post. There is so much to share. I’ll start by picking up where I left off in my previous post, A Premature Arrival: Navigating the Unexpected.

After giving birth via emergency C-section, I was promptly wheeled into a large recovery room. Still coming down from the panic attack I’d had, I felt very jittery and a bit out of it from the painkillers I’d been given.

I’m not sure how long I was kept in the recovery area, maybe an hour. Once I had been cleared to leave, they wheeled me out and over to the Neonatal Intensive Care Unit (NICU). There I got to see my daughter. I had seen her briefly after she was delivered, but only for a moment before they had taken her away. This was a really surreal moment. There she was, something I had hoped for since I began IVF in 2024. Something I hadn’t been sure I would ever have. She was here. Safely tucked away inside her little incubator.

There was so much going through my head. Everything I was feeling about what I had just been through over the past three days, mixed with the emotions I had for this other little person. All tightly wrapped together.

I lay there and stared at her for a while before the nurses wheeled me into the maternity ward. I didn’t know what this was going to be like, but given my experience over the last three days, I had very low expectations. Fortunately, though, I found out that I would not be sharing a space again. This time, I would have my own room, and my mum could stay with me all day and night. After everything, finding this out felt like I had won the lottery. I didn’t know how I was going to manage if I had to be alone again, in a room with strangers. I needed this.

Once we were settled, poor Mum, after everything, had to jump in an Uber and go back to the accommodation where she had been staying close by. I think it was about 8pm by this stage, and it had been a big day for both of us. But off she went to get her belongings, check out and then Uber back to the hospital. I felt terrible for her.

The following day, we woke up and tried to find our bearings. Surprisingly, I didn’t feel too bad, even after a C-section. Granted, I was on some really good painkillers. We had some breakfast brought to the room; Mum had a shower and tried to make herself feel human again. I can’t remember if I was able to shower at this time. Not sure. But we both tried to freshen up as best we could.

The maternity ward we were on was interesting. I was saying my Hail Marys that we had a private room. Jeepers, it was like the Wild West out there. The place was packed full of women who had given birth and their little babies. The nurses were all run off their feet. It was an area that was full of people from all walks of life, and some were pretty rude and aggressive towards the nursing team. Not a very pleasant place.

I had been told that there were two electric wheelchairs available on this floor. The friendly nurse encouraged me to use one, as the NICU was on another floor. I had just had a C-section and would need to get myself to the NICU every two and a half hours. The wheelchair idea was great in theory. I say that because there were only two, and by the second day, one had broken. I think I managed to use one twice during my nearly one-week stay. After that, I ended up walking to the NICU instead. To be honest, I think having to walk helped speed up my recovery anyway.

So there I was, staying in this very hectic maternity ward, pumping milk and walking every few hours to the NICU. By day four, I couldn’t wait to check out of that place.

One of the days I said to my Mum, ‘I need to get out of here, just for an hour.’ We drove to a nearby shopping mall and sat down at the food court for lunch. My brain was not functioning, and I was feeling very flat. We just sat there, exhausted, eating our lunch in silence before going back to the hospital.

The only thing that brought me joy each day was seeing my daughter. She was the light at the end of a very long tunnel. But seeing her like that was also hard. Here she was, this tiny little being, hooked up to all these cords. She was so small. Her little legs were like knitting needles.

She wore what looked like a helmet and was getting assistance to breathe. She was on CPAP, which basically gave her a little extra help by gently pushing air through her nose. I was told that because the hospital had delayed her birth for nearly three days, which allowed them time to administer steroids for her lung development, she was progressing well. So that was fantastic.

I loved it when she was taken out of the incubator and put on my chest. Once she was there, I relaxed. I felt calm and sleepy. Those were magical moments.

I will say the NICU team are some amazing people. The support they give is fantastic. That was at least one thing I didn’t have to worry about. She was in safe hands.

I knew my stay at the hospital was coming to an end. And whilst I wanted to return to the comfort of my own home, I would be leaving my daughter at the hospital. I was doing my best to push my emotions about this down, but it was hard. As the day got closer, I would just start crying out of nowhere. I couldn’t control it. It was like I was an overfilled bucket of water. The slightest bump and water would start spilling out the sides.

I kept on saying to myself, ‘Just focus on getting through. This will pass, and we will be home together soon.’

Then the day to leave arrived. It was time to go. I walked to the NICU one last time. I sat with this beautiful little baby who had been growing inside me only a week earlier. Leaving her there felt completely unnatural.

The drive home was horrible. Then arriving home was even worse. It felt like I was missing something, and I was.

But this was our new normal for now. I would be at home at night. Then my days would be spent at the hospital with her.