Last week I wrote Life and Death in the NICU , and I got talking to one of my Twitter friends and discussed whether she would like to share the story of her beautiful son Aneurin.
It was World Prematurity Day last year when I met Naomi. I was struck by her encouragement and grace, and her support on that day was so valuable. Naomi's son Aneurin was a very special gift, but sadly lost his fight against prematurity after 4 days. Here is their beautiful story.
It was World Prematurity Day last year when I met Naomi. I was struck by her encouragement and grace, and her support on that day was so valuable. Naomi's son Aneurin was a very special gift, but sadly lost his fight against prematurity after 4 days. Here is their beautiful story.
Aneurin on Day 1 |
Our little boy was a
fighter. It was apparent early on in the pregnancy that something was
wrong. Eventually after many scans and consultations, he was
diagnosed with severe intrauterine growth restriction, because of a
placental dysfunction.
We knew that we could
lose him at any point. We got through those long days by hoping for
the best, and being reassured by his constant kicking (he was a
particular fan of disco and Donna Summer).
Eventually at 30+3, it
was decided that he would be delivered. On April 24 2012 at 13:11,
Aneurin Fred Owens was born. It was the happiest moment of our lives.
The Neonatal Team were in the theatre, ready to whisk him off. His
Neonatologist, Dr Barr, came over and said he looked under 500g. We
knew that for him to have any chance, he needed to be over 500g. They
weighed him, and he was 550g (1lb 2oz). Small but possibly big
enough.
The Neonatal Team at
the University Hospital Wales, Cardiff were amazing. While I was
recovering they brought a picture of Aneurin, which we will always
treasure. As soon as I was well enough we went to see him in the
incubator. We knew what to expect because we had a ‘tour’ of the
Unit before he was born. But nothing quite prepares you for seeing
your beloved child, hooked up to all those machines and wires.
We were amazed at how
‘big’ he looked. We had expected him to be tiny, but he was quite
long. He looked perfect to us and was utterly beautiful.
Over the four days he
was with us, Aneurin bore the many interventions with courage and
grace. But the difficulties were becoming insurmountable. Sadly, on
the fourth day, Dr Barr gave us the news that we had been dreading.
After frantic phone calls to our parents, to get to the hospital, we
went back to the ward to sit with him. The incubator doors were
opened, and we stroked and talked to him.
We watched the figures
on his monitor; we knew if they kept coming down, this would mean he
wouldn’t survive. Despite the Neonatal Team’s best efforts, they
kept coming down. Even now, 17 months on, every time I hear beeps, I
am taken right back to sitting on that stool stroking him, and
looking nervously at the monitors. I hated those beeps.
Eventually, we were
told it was time. Screens were brought in for privacy, and we were
prepared for the first time we would get to hold our son (he had been
too small for kangaroo care). Despite the fact we were in the middle
of a busy Neonatal Unit, it was as if there was just the three of us.
That is testament to the Neonatal Team. Dr Barr hand-ventilated him
as he was put in our arms. We marvelled at our little fighter, who
had given us so much joy and happiness. Holding him was like holding
a bag of air. We were determined not to cry, we wanted his passing to
be peaceful. That he would just hear our voices telling him that we
loved him. He passed away peacefully in our arms.
The peace didn’t
last. As soon as he had gone, I wailed in the way you see people on
TV do. Dan carried Aneurin in his arms down the corridor, to
introduce him to his Grandparents.
When we went to see Dr
Barr after his death, she said something that stuck with me. She said
that ensuring that deaths are peaceful is an important part of their
job. We will always be grateful that they were able to make
Aneurin’s passing as peaceful as possible.
It’s the small things
that stick in your mind. Such as Dr Barr remembering that my in-laws
were Welsh speakers, and speaking to them in Welsh, the way Dr Barr
described Aneurin as a ‘valiant fighter’ in one of her letters,
the card we received on Aneurin’s birthday from the Neonatal Unit,
and even the mortuary assistant who told us how beautiful our son
was.
For these reasons and
so many more, I’ve always said I would walk through fire for all
the staff at the UHW who cared for Aneurin and us during our
difficult pregnancy. There will never be enough words, in particular
for the Fetal Medicine and Neonatal Teams, for us to say thank you.
Losing a child is on
the top of most people’s nightmares. I struggle to explain what it
feels like. The only analogy that I can come up with is that it is
like a nuclear bomb going off, and everything in your life is laid to
waste. Because your past, present and future is never the same. But
during the hardest days, we remember how brave and valiant Aneurin
was, how much he fought, and this gives us the strength to keep
putting one foot in front of the other.
Thank you so much for sharing Aneurin with us.
I will be supporting World Prematurity Day again this year, with a 24 hour social media marathon. I will also be dyeing my hair purple. All proceeds with be going to Bliss - UK's only charity dedicated to special care babies and their families. You can sponsor me here, thank you.
I will be supporting World Prematurity Day again this year, with a 24 hour social media marathon. I will also be dyeing my hair purple. All proceeds with be going to Bliss - UK's only charity dedicated to special care babies and their families. You can sponsor me here, thank you.
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