When we found out we were having a little girl, we couldn’t believe how lucky we were. At 23 weeks, this news gave us some light at the end of a long, dark tunnel. We kept our guards up in the beginning, not wanting to be too hopeful, due to the fear we might lose her. I was trapped in every mother’s worst nightmare. My membrane had ruptured at 23 weeks to the day. The only glimmer of hope was that I hadn’t had any contractions. I had been rushed to hospital and told the statistics and the risks. I remember thinking the worst but hoping it would be okay, that we would be one of the small percentage where she would stay inside until much later in the pregnancy. I found myself counting down and wishing the days away so that she would be safe. As the weeks passed by, we let go of our fears and opened our hearts to what a beautiful little girl would bring to our family.
My husband and I agreed to a name, and we dreamed of our life with Blake Louise. I had dreamed of her coming home with us, having skin-on-skin cuddles, and just enjoying every moment of that baby bubble. We envisioned introducing her to her big brother and watching him fall in love with her. I know he would have protected her and guided her through the early years, showing her the ropes in his own boisterous way.
Weeks had passed, and I was doing well and had been categorized as low risk. It was 29 weeks and 4 days when I went into labor. The delivery that I had been briefed on over and over by the doctors seemed like a fairy tale in comparison to what actually happened.
I woke up from the anesthetic of an emergency cesarean and was told that my little girl was okay and had been taken up to the NICU. It was strange being put under, as I woke up feeling like I hadn’t even had a baby. There was a feeling of detachment. My husband had been there with Blake and showed me photos. The excitement he shared with me was evident when he told me that she opened her eyes when she heard his voice. I knew that she already had him wrapped around her little finger.
It was a few hours later that the pediatrician came down to break the news to us. Blake’s health had deteriorated, and she was on maximum support. I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. I sat with her for hours holding her hand and talking to her, hoping that she would miraculously improve. But she didn’t.
All of the midwives and nurses in that room were very supportive. I was able to hold her, comfort her, and have skin-to-skin contact for as long as I needed before turning off the life support. It doesn’t seem fair that our reality is without her–that we had to leave her behind. We all tried so hard to give her the best chance at her beginning, but it just wasn’t enough. I wish I could have had more time with her or a chance to cuddle her while she was awake. I wish she had felt her mummy’s touch and had known how much love I had to give. I’m sorry she missed out on sharing her magical story with us and experiencing all the firsts that life brings.
While there are no words that will bring her back, my legacy to my darling girl is to let go. I will let go of the anger and frustration and all the what ifs. We will let her memory live on forever in our hearts, and we’ll never forget her.
This picture of Blake was a generous gift from an artist who didn’t even know me. She had heard my story through a friend and so generously offered to create this beautiful memorial portrait that I will treasure forever. Thank you @honor_bradbeer
No Comments