Reminding a doctor, they're a human first...

Olivia-Grace, I've had another productive week, channelling my grief and passion into what I hope, will create necessary change in the medical field. I met with a neonatal consultant who wanted to hear from NICU parents, specifically those who had experience with HIE, and how our time spent at the hospital had impacted us. I had a lot to say of course, but no amount of time or words could do your story any justice. He could only imagine your beauty and strength, a glimpse into our time on the NICU. A time that feels so long ago now, whilst also being right now, still the reality in my heart. I still remember the smells, the sounds, the feel of perfect skin as I stroked your head, and in a heartbeat, the memories blur and become hazy again. I spoke of you with such pride and love, as I always do, and I remember back to a time where in the midst of so much pain and confusion, I felt so much love. I remember the faces and names of those who hold a special place in my heart, and I am so grateful to them. But I also remember the fear and distance I felt with the neonatal consultants, terrified they were about to give me more bad news. I couldn't trust them to not shatter my heart further or steal what little hope I had, as they always seemed to be the bearer of bad news. An unfortunate and difficult job, which I'm sure hurts their own heart; but it will never be as hard as being the one on the receiving end.

The consultant requested we do a video for his training course, that will be available to all neonatal consultants, doctors, physicians and nurses, and so I began to type out my piece, allowing myself to return to a place that still haunts my dreams. I went back to 2019, where I was sat beside your cot, and I remembered. 

And this is what I had to say...

"There was a day, not too long ago, when I thought I was going to die. The adrenaline was wearing off, and the overwhelming tones, beeps and alarms of the daytime madness was simply a memory of yesterday’s shift. At 3a.m. when the quiet and darkness of the NICU lit up my life like an explosion of fireworks, and I looked at your tiny body, foreign with wires and pads, I fell to the floor, sure I was about to die.

But I didn’t die.

That is the opening chapter that I wrote when I came home from the NICU, with empty arms and a baby that lived in my heart. That is how I felt, like I was going to die. Olivia-Grace passed away at 5 weeks 2 days old from severe HIE. But she will never be defined as the baby who had brain damage. She is defined by her beauty, strength, bravery and fight to live, and was and is so loved. Each week the doctors would tell me how broken she was, and all the things she would never do, that she couldn’t possibly do, and it broke my heart in a way I cant explain. I didn’t need false hope, but I did need hope. Hope was the only thing that kept me alive in the NICU, and is the only thing that gets me through each day as a loss mum, living life without her  by my side. I needed the doctors to cheer for my baby the way the nurses did. I needed them to root for her to live, because I needed an army behind me, to carry me when the weight of my pain was just too great. Ill never forget how the nurses were her biggest cheerleaders. When Olivia-grace breathed on her own, despite being told she probably wouldn’t, when she moved her little arms and legs in protest to the catheter being inserted, and when she finally opened her eyes, they celebrated so loudly that it drowned out some of the doctors silence. I wanted everyone around her to acknowledge these incredible achievements, instead of preparing me for the next challenge. I needed a moment to just be happy at how well my little miss was doing. I used to think the doctors were giving up on her, because they knew I would be leaving with an angel, instead of a NICU miracle. But the truth is, she is a miracle. The way she has shaped my life, and the wonderful things I have achieved in her memory, is nothing short of miraculous. I will always appreciate the consultants incredible knowledge and expertise, because they gave her the best shot at life, but when my heart was breaking, I didn’t need a medical approach, I needed a human. I didn’t need words, I needed to see that my baby had made an impact on their heart, and that she mattered. I will never forget all those who looked after us, and when I have nightmares about the NICU, those faces feature in my dreams. I think they will live deep within me for the rest of my life. Olivia-grace may have just been another patient to the doctors, but to me, she was my whole world; She is my whole world. I was a new mum, scared, bleeding, in pain and so confused and lost. I watched my baby fight for her life, and I watched her die; that was my reality. And my heart was comforted by those medical professionals around me who acknowledged and embraced my reality, with no words needing to be said, just an unspoken gesture of love and pain, for what we were going through. I get it, the doctors are busy and don’t go into medicine to hold hands and wipe tears away, they go into medicine to save lives. But the way they treat the parents in the NICU, is saving a life. Its saving the life of that parent. The kindness that was showed to me and Olivia-grace saved me. Knowing she was so loved by so many, saved me. Sharing heartbroken tears, and knowing how my tiny, perfect baby had impacted so many, saved me. There is more then one life at risk, when you’re standing at the cot side of your  brain damaged baby, and the doctors needs to know that. "

If my words reach the heart of just one doctor, and they are reminded that they're a human first, with emotions us loss parents welcome, then you've done it again, Olivia-Grace. You're changing the world. Restoring kindness, patience and love. 

And I am so damn proud of you 🤍✨️