His mum was advised to give up on him, but Josh defied the odds
Lucy Jones was 21 weeks pregnant when she was told there was little hope her baby would survive. Here, she reveals why she refused to ever give up on him…
With his adorable smile and squishy cheeks, my son Josh is such a happy baby. Looking at him, it’s hard to believe just how much he’s been through, but the truth is my little boy has been fighting for life from long before he even took his first breath… I can still remember the excitement I felt when I discovered I was pregnant in 2015. My partner Karl, then 36, and I had only been trying for three months, it was perfect timing. And my son Leo, then six, from a previous relationship, couldn’t wait to be a big brother.
Anxious moments
When I was pregnant with Leo I’d had pre-eclampsia, meaning my blood pressure and protein levels were dangerously high, so this time the doctors decided to monitor me even more closely. We found out that we were expecting a boy at the 16-week scan and – after a lot of debating – chose the name Josh.
As the weeks passed, I’d sing to my bump and read him stories, imagining what it would be like when I first got to hold him in my arms.
Doctors were pleased with my progress and everything seemed to be going well. The only problem was my very, very weak bladder.
‘The baby must be pushing on it,’ I told Karl at dinner one evening, as I got up again to use the loo.
I was even having a problem when I was at work. As a maths teacher, I often had to leave the class a few times when the students were working.
I researched my incontinence and felt reassured – it turned out that it was normal for pregnant women to wet themselves – but it kept getting worse.
Worried, I mentioned it at my next scan, at 21 weeks. As the sonographer scanned my belly, her brow furrowed. ‘There’s not a lot of fluid around your baby,’ she said.
I was referred to the antenatal ward that same day to see a specialist. Karl and I were both so anxious.
While we w were waiting, i i I started to search online for what a loss of fluid in pregnancy meant.
An hour later, after I’d terrified myself reading everything I could find online, we were called in to see the specialist.
‘You have preterm prelabour rupture of membranes,’ she said. Karl gripped my hand as the doctor explained that I hadn’t been wetting myself, I’d been leaking amniotic fluid. The fluid I was leaking was protecting my baby from injury. Without it, there was a list of potential problems the baby could have – one was lung development, our baby could be born not being able to breathe – and we were both at risk of developing sepsis if my placental fluid got infected. ‘In my 20-year career, I can count on one hand the number of babies that survive this,’ the doctor told us. ‘I’d advise a termination.’
I knew immediately there was no way.
‘I terrified myself reading online’
I’d seen our baby’s heart beating b ti g and nd I knew he deserved a chance. Karl agreed. We couldn’t just give up on our son.
So, doctors monitored me with fortnightly scans and I went in to have steroid injections and blood tests. I was prodded and poked, but I didn’t care. I’d have done absolutely anything to save my baby.
I had to quit work as I could miscarry, or go into labour, at any moment, and over the next few weeks, we lived in complete fear.
I couldn’t plan Josh’s nursery, or buy outfits – the odds of him being born alive were just so slim.
Getting support
I could have easily fallen apart, but then I’d feel Josh kick and I knew he was still fighting – so I had to, too.
Fortunately, I found a group called Little Heartbeats on Facebook – a forum of mums helping to spread PPROM awareness worldwide.
Some stories were hard to read but, among them, I saw success stories – babies who’d survived and were now healthy and happy.
But I had to be realistic too – we knew k the odds were firmly against us. I visited the priest in my local church that July to start planning Josh’s funeral. I even chose a song by Wiz Khalifa called See You Again. But our baby continued to cling on.
As the day of my planned C-section edged closer, I was terrified.
‘What if he doesn’t make it?’ I panicked to Karl. ‘He will,’ he reassured me. On 29 December 2015, at 35 weeks, Josh came into the world. Clutching Karl’s hand, and squeezing my eyes shut, I waited for a newborn cry. None came.
Karl gripped my hand harder as our baby was wheeled quickly out of the room, swarmed by midwives. My baby was dead, I told myself. Ex Except, seconds later I heard a faint ne newborn cry down the corridor. ‘He’s ali alive,’ I gasped, tears falling down my face. Miraculously, tests showed that although Jo Josh was a tiny 4lb, he was perfectly he healthy. He really had defied the odds.
Doing D so well
The T women in the Little Heartbeats group were w ecstatic for us, they sent their congratulations c and I thanked them all for f their constant support.
I regularly update them now with cute p pictures of Josh smiling at the camera.
Now two, Josh is doing brilliantly. I can hardly believe how lucky I am. He loves climbing – he’s a little escape artist – and he’s so clever. He can already recite the alphabet. And he adores his big brother Leo, now 10.
When I look back on photos of Josh as a newborn, I’m reminded of how far we’ve come – and what a brave little fighter my boy really is. l For more information and support, visit little-heartbeats.org.uk
‘I’d seen our baby’s heart beating’