Where are his eyes?
My baby boy was born far too soon
Scrolling through Facebook, I spotted photos of a friend holding her newborn baby. ‘That’ll be us soon,’ I whispered softly. It was February 2020 and I’d just found out I was six weeks pregnant. It felt like a miracle – the doctors had always said I’d struggle to conceive, due to polycystic ovary syndrome.
Yet here I was, having my first baby with my boyfriend Nathan Lowerson, then 24.
We’d only been together for a few months but we were both excited.
However, the following week, as I sat on the loo… ‘I’m bleeding!’ I yelped. Nathan rushed me straight to Royal Bolton Hospital for an emergency scan.
Clutching his hand,
I froze as a blob appeared on the screen.
‘What’s that flickering light?’ I asked, my cheeks wet with tears.
‘Your baby’s heartbeat,’ the sonographer smiled to me. ‘It looks strong.’
Such a relief!
But the next few weeks were tough. I needed medication for chronic sickness, and COVID-19 restrictions prevented Nathan coming to hospital appointments with me.
Still, it was wonderful to see my bump growing and to feel little kicks.
At 20 weeks, I had another scan and asked the sonographer to write the sex on a piece of paper. Back home, Nathan and I unfolded the note. ‘A boy!’ I cried. ‘Amazing,’ he beamed. But days later, there was more blood.
‘There’s a bleed in your placenta,’ a doctor told me. So, while the placenta was still providing nutrients, things might change. Three weeks later, I was watching TV, eating a cheese toastie,when I felt a gush. My waters had broken. ‘But I’m only 24 weeks!’ I said, panicking.
I was having contractions by the time we’d got to hospital, but the doctors were able to halt them with drugs.
After two weeks with no more signs of early labour, I was discharged.
But next week, on 3 July 2020, the contractions started again, and this time tests showed my placenta was no longer doing its job.
‘Your baby must be delivered now to give him a chance of survival,’ I was told by a specialist.
I was 27 weeks – not due for another three months.
In the operating theatre with Nathan by my side for my emergency caesarean, nothing felt real.
I felt a tug, heard someone say, ‘He’s here’, and saw a tiny body being whizzed past me on a trolley.
‘Look at his button nose,’ I murmured.
‘He’s gorgeous,’ Nathan said, smiling.
My arms ached to hold him, but he needed urgent care in the Neonatal Unit.
It wasn’t until I’d been stitched and helped into a wheelchair that I could meet my son.
‘Hello, Myles,’ I said to him, through the incubator. At just 1lb 9oz, he looked like a fragile bird, his skin translucent, his forearms the size of my little fingers. Then I gazed at his face in panic.
‘Where are his eyes?’ I cried realising his eyelids were fused shut. Heartbreaking.
Staring at my precious baby, I wept – he’d been born far too early.
If only he was still safe inside my belly, I thought.
How could he possibly survive this..?
At just 1lb 9oz, he looked like a fragile bird