A Storm Is Brewing

Learning Curve

No sleep eventually caught up with me, my eyes finally getting to close as I felt Leah's fingers making their way through my hair. I wasn't sure how long I had been asleep when a gentle kiss on my head woke me, my eyes sore and tired.

"Soph, the doctor is here." Leah whispered.

I sat up slowly, the pain in my stomach now much worse after a few hours sleep.

"Is the pain worse or better, Sophie?"
"Worse." I cringed.
"We will get you some pain relief, which should help it subside a little bit. You'll be sore for quite some time."
"Okay. Thanks." I croaked.

The doctor took a seat in the chair beside the bed. Leah attempted to move from beside me, but I tightened my grip.

"Stay here." I whispered.
"I'm here, don't worry. I was just going to let you stretch out."
"No. Right here." I shook my head.

I tried to judge the doctor's face but failed.

"Does he have a name yet?"
"No. We haven't really; it didn't feel right." I said, clearing my throat.
"That's okay. It's been traumatic for both of you—something that none of us could have predicted."
"Yeah." I nodded.
"I want to talk to you about what happens now and give you some likely outcomes. Do you have any questions first?"
"Was it my fault?"
"No, Soph. Of course it wasn't." Leah whispered, placing a kiss on my head.
"Leah's right, Sophie. Nothing that you did or didn't do caused this. If anything, the fact you had been so careful is probably why he has made it this far."

I didn't respond. I still wasn't convinced.

"Baby is still critically ill, okay? That's something that I need to make very clear to you from the outset. I would love to say that we can put some kind of confirmation on this and tell you that he will pull through, but we are unable to do so at such an early stage. He is responding to our treatments, and he is fighting with everything he has to pull through. The problem with premature births is that the baby is extremely underdeveloped, with the lungs and brain being the two most worrying. We are currently breathing for him, so although you can see his chest rise and fall, that is us, not him. What we aim to do is continue to help him along the way until he is strong enough to do that himself.
With that comes the possibility that his lungs don't develop how they should, and by that we mean that he cannot be compatible with life or that he develops secondary conditions. The second we can treat, of course. The first - well the first would mean that there may come a time when we make the decision to withdraw our support, with your consent, and accept that we have done everything we can. It's important that you know this moving forward. I think it's important that we are completely transparent."

Tears. More tears from Leah and me, despite the fact that we both thought we couldn't cry anymore.

"And the brain?" Leah asked, almost at a whisper.
"The brain can take a lot longer to diagnose. There is a chance that, due to the distress during birth and the medical procedures that have had to be carried out since then, his brain may have been impacted during this. There is a chance that he could have some brain damage, but in time we will discover that, should it be present. The most important thing right now is his lungs and keeping him free from infection."
"Can we do anything? We both feel helpless; all we've done is stare at him. He needs us, and we can't even hold him."
"It is normal to feel that you should be doing more. What I would suggest is that you talk to him and let him know that you are there. It may seem strange at first, it may feel like a tiny part that you're playing, but the sound of your voice will remind him that he is loved. As long as you thoroughly wash your hands, you can touch him. Soothe him. Holding him will come in time, we hope."
"Is he in pain? Can he even feel pain?" Leah asked.
"No. He's comfortable. We can't give you a lot of definite answers, but we can tell you that he is comfortable. He can, of course, feel pain, but we won't allow that to happen."
"If he—if he—if we get to the point that you decide that he's incompatible with life—can we hold him while he's still alive?" I asked tearfully.
"Absolutely. If—and that's an if, not a when—we get to that point, we will plan together for those final moments." The doctor nodded.
"Okay. Thanks."
"Brazil?" The doctor asked, pointing to the Teddy that was sitting beside the bed.
"Yeah - I was at a camp there. Bought the teddy for him." Leah smiled.
"Would you like to put it in with him?"
"Are we able to do that? I was worried—about germs and stuff." Leah asked.
"We can take it to be sanitised. Every baby needs a teddy, eh?"
"Teddy." I smiled.
"Teddy." Leah whispered.

We didn't speak of that moment again; instead, we just held one another. The doctor returned soon after with the teddy and let Leah place it beside him.

"It's really important that you get rest too, Sophie. Your body is also weak, at risk of infection, and needs to heal. I know it sounds impossible right now, but we ask that you try to sleep as much as you can and eat. Very important that you eat." The doctor spoke gently before making his way back outside.

Leah and I discussed everything the doctor had said, both trying to stay positive, but our minds kept going back to the what-if. What if we were statistics, the percentage of parents who lost their baby? The difference we had on this journey was that Leah wasn't afraid to be vulnerable, and I wasn't afraid to focus solely on one task: being a family.

The pain relief seemed to force my body into a sleep again. I woke up a few hours later and realised straight away that Leah was no longer in the bed with me. I opened my eyes slowly, seeing that Leah was sitting with her hand in the incubator, her finger rubbing gently up and down his arm. I closed my eyes again, though, because I wanted to hear every single second of this without Leah knowing that I was awake. I wanted to give her this time to bond.

"I always thought that I'd be a cool mum, you know? Especially because of your mummy, I thought she'd be the strict one. She's a solicitor; did you know that? No, of course you didn't; that was silly. I'm not being very cool right now, though, am I? Sat here crying on my first time properly talking to you."

Leah chuckled to herself slightly, almost like she was trying to will herself to be strong.

"I loved you since the second I found out you existed. Your mummy thought she had eaten some dodgy food on her way to Spain, but really you were just causing her all sorts of sickness. We don't mind, though; we don't mind that we had to stay in for days until we worked out what was causing it, because you were the reason. And you're something that neither of us would change."

Another deep breath came before she continued.

"I know it's scary, being out in this big world. I know you don't understand why you aren't comfortable in mummy's tummy anymore and why I haven't talked to you before we fall asleep at night in a while. You don't have to be scared, though; you never have to be scared because I'm here. And no matter what comes next, I'm always going to be here."

Another deep breath.

"So I need you to keep fighting for me, for me and mummy. I need you to fight all of this, because I promise you that once you get through this fight, the life we're going to give you will be worth every tired little breath that you're taking right now."

She chuckled gently again.

"It's a bit silly this, isn't it? You're probably bored listening to me. I'm not, though; I'm not bored talking to you, and I won't ever get bored looking at you. You have your mummy's nose, you know? I can just imagine it when you're older, when you're laughing at me swearing on the pitch and pretending to be hard, you'll get those same crinkles in your nose that she gets. Maybe you'll have her sparkly eyes too, or maybe you'll have mine. Maybe you'll be a footballer like me, or you'll enjoy arguing in court like your mummy, or maybe you'll do something completely different. You will, though; you will grow old. I can see it. I can see it in that tiny little body; I can see how strong and brave you are. You're just like my Soph, you're just as strong as her. You will. You will come home with us; please, little man, come home with us."

Leah's voice broke with her final sentence, prompting me to open my eyes and let her know that I was there.

"He's coming home, Le. I know it too, and so does he. That's why he hasn't given up. He's coming home." I whispered.
"I really hope so, Soph. I'm not sure I can do life without him now; now that I've met him, I'm not sure I would know how to go on."
"We make every minute count. We make every second count. Even when he's better, we remember these moments when we didn't know if we would lose him, and we remember how hard he fought for us."
"Yeah, Soph. Yeah, babe. The three of us, just the three of us." Leah smiled with a sniff and a weary nod.