Real life: The little fighter who completed our family
anita hyams, 37, treasures her baby boy’s every smile...
Every time I look at my son, I can’t help but feel proud. At just a year old, William has already overcome more than many of us do in a lifetime – and I feel so lucky to be his mum.
I’d always dreamt of having a big family, and in January 2017 my husband Dan and I discovered we were expecting our third child.
‘You’re going to have a little brother or sister,’ we told our daughters Olivia, then seven, and Marion, four. I think even the neighbours heard their excited squeals!
Progressing well
Still, as happy as I was, having had a miscarriage a year earlier, I was terrified something was going to go wrong. As a nurse myself, I asked the doctors hundreds of questions and made sure I followed all their advice. But I refused to buy baby clothes or even talk about names. And, at our 20-week scan, we chose not to find out the sex.
Still, despite my fears, everything seemed to be going well. By the time I reached the halfway mark, my bump was already huge, and the baby was always kicking. ‘Definitely a wriggler!’ I’d say to Dan, laughing. Only then, three weeks later, on the evening of 6 June, I started to feel unwell. ‘I feel like I’m coming down with flu,’ I told Dan. ‘Have an early night,’ he said. ‘I’ll make the girls’ dinner.’
Climbing into bed, I was convinced I’d be able to sleep it off. But at 5am I was woken by a sharp pain in my stomach. I knew what they were – contractions. ‘Dan!’ I said, shaking him awake. ‘We need to call the hospital.’ We were told to go straight to the maternity unit, so my dad came to look after the girls.
In the car I took deep breaths and tried to stay calm. At just 23 weeks and five days, it was far too soon for my baby to be born, but my years working on the critical care ward had taught me that in times of crisis the best thing to do is take a deep breath and try not to get worked up.
Arriving at Southend University Hospital, I was assessed immediately. ‘You’re definitely in labour,’ the doctor told me. ‘You’re 4cm dilated.’
Staying strong
I was given magnesium injections to try and slow down the contractions, and it felt like I had drips and cannulas in every vein possible, but I didn’t care. I just wanted them to save my baby. Only, when the doctor spoke, my body started to shake. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said. ‘Babies born under 24 weeks are not recognised as viable. If we can’t stop the labour and the baby is born without a heartbeat, standard practice is not to resuscitate.’ I gripped Dan’s hand, and in that moment I felt a kick. Inside me, I could feel our baby alive and fighting and I knew I had to stay strong too.
‘I was woken by a sharp pain’
The doctor arranged for me to have a scan so they could work out the baby’s size. ‘Would you like to know the gender?’ the doctor asked gently. Dan and I looked at each other. Somehow, now, it felt right. ‘OK,’ I whispered.
‘It’s a little boy,’ he said. I looked at Dan and we both started to cry. After two little girls, a baby boy would complete our family. He couldn’t be taken from us, he just couldn’t. But by mid-afternoon my contractions were getting closer. I was given steroids to help the baby’s lungs, but soon I felt the urge to push.
Just a few hours later, at 1.41pm, our little boy was born. I listened desperately for signs of life, but all I could hear was the sound of doctors frantically working on him. ‘His heart is beating, but he’s not breathing,’ the doctor told us. Dazed, and having lost a lot of blood during the delivery I was taken for surgery to stop the bleeding. While I was being cared for, doctors did everything they could to keep our boy alive. Desperate to know what was going on, I pleaded for news. But it was terrifying. At just 1lb 6oz, our baby was tiny. For 30 minutes he didn’t breathe on his own, instead he was put in an incubator so machines could breathe for him. When I finally got to see my son his skin was red and so thin you could see his veins, his eyes were still fused shut and his whole hand was the same size as my
‘William is such a happy and smiley little boy’
little fingertip. But to me, he was perfect. ‘Let’s call him William,’ I said. Dan agreed.
William was transferred to the Royal London Hospital for specialist care, but I had to stay behind to recover.
Battling for survival
Two days later we travelled to London to be by William’s side. We knew he’d be in hospital for months, so Dan spoke to The Sick Children’s Trust, who offered us a family room at Stevenson House, just a short walk from the hospital, so we could spend every moment with our baby.
Every day we watched as William fought to survive. He had to stay in the incubator 24 hours a day, but I started expressing breast milk, which was fed to him through a tube. It wasn’t until he was 26 days old that I was finally able to hold him. And then, on 8 October 2017, we brought William, then four months, home.
He still needed oxygen to help him breathe but we were shown how to hook him up to the oxygen tank and, one year on, William is getting stronger by the day.
Now a year old, he’s still tiny, only just fitting into age three to six months clothing. But he’s such a happy, smiley little boy, with the most infectious giggle. We’re so grateful to the wonderful staff at the Royal London and Southend Hospitals for working so hard to save our son’s life. He’s still frail, and we don’t know what the future holds. But while William has a long way to go, when I see him smiling, I’m reminded of how far he has come.