“I felt like I couldn’t afford to fall apart.” – Jason’s story

My wife Lisa and I are based in North West London and our story unfolded in winter of 2022.  

We were pretty standard first-time parents, not knowing quite what to expect and the pregnancy had been uneventful, almost textbook even.

Then, at 27 weeks and one day we had wanted to get into the Christmas spirit, so we decided to watch Bad Santa 2, (which we remember because it was such a terrible film!)

At the end of the film, we switched off and went to bed. At about 1am, Lisa bolted up in the bed and told me something wasn’t right and she thought her waters had broken.

We didn’t know what to do, so we jumped in the car and drove to the hospital. Looking back, I ask myself why we didn’t just call an ambulance but we just acted on instinct.  

We went to the Royal Free Hospital in Hampstead, which is about ten minutes away, where they gave my wife a magnesium drip (this made her felt like she was on fire along with a sensation of ‘impending doom’ she now calls it!)

Luckily, she wasn’t in active labour, but they transferred us to University College Hospital (UCH) not long after and we stayed there on the pre-natal ward for six days before our son was born.

I actually bought a blow-up bed so I could stay with my wife during the nights (even though it was frowned upon by the nurses) and there were some nights I was sent home.

I tried to sleep in the chairs provided by the bedside, but it was awful on my body. I know space is tough, but we live in a day and age of innovation...there's got to be something better I'm sure.  

From my perspective, it was incredibly tough with so much unknown in front of us. 

Although I know it was even harder for my wife. She was on constant medication, and we were on the prenatal ward, surrounded by the sounds of other women going through procedures like sweeps, which honestly sounded like torture.  

So, Lisa’s situation was a lot worse than mine, but equally, I was the situation of being in a position of wondering... ‘what happens now? Is my son going to be OK?’ It was a very powerless situation to be in.

We even decided to tell everyone Finn’s name before he was born, I felt like everyone needed to know, just in case he didn’t make it. I look back at this now and probably didn’t even register how tough this moment was.

At one point, the doctors thought there was no infection and even considered sending us home with regular check-ups. That seemed likely for a while. Then things shifted and they started aiming for 28 weeks which we later learned is an unofficial milestone.  

On the day he reached 28 weeks they decided it was time. Lisa’s infection markers were rising and they didn’t want to risk waiting any longer.  

Before we knew it, Lisa was having a C-section and that’s when our son, Finn, was born. It was one of the most amazing moments of my life, but also one of the most surreal.

You have this idea in your head of how it’s supposed to go. The baby comes out and goes straight to skin-to-skin contact and some in the moment memories/photos as a family.  

But for us, it was different.  

The team had told us beforehand that we’d only get a quick look as they took him straight away to make sure he was safe. And that’s exactly what happened.  

I managed to look at him for a few seconds but Lisa didn’t get a chance to. She was still being stitched up, still in the middle of surgery. It was such a strange, intense moment, one I’ll never forget.

When Finn was taken to the NICU, I stayed with my wife while they got him settled. They told us they’d let us know when we could see him.  

Lisa was taken up to the postnatal ward which, honestly, I don’t know how neonatal mums manage that part. To have just had your baby taken to NICU and then be put on a ward with other mums and their newborns…it was just horrible to experience.

That was hard, because she wanted to be close to Finn, but she wasn’t in a position to get better in that environment. The biggest tribute I can give her is that she somehow managed to deal with everything while recovering from a C-section. She was (is) superhuman.

Etched in my memory is the first time I saw Finn. I’ve got a photo of my hand on his tiny foot, under the blue light (as he was jaundiced) and it was just surreal how little he was.  

He weighed 1,080 grams.  

The doctors were actually quite positive because they said him being over a kilo at was a good sign. But for us, it was just the maddest, most overwhelming moment. To see him there, so small, was something I’ll never forget.

Finn spent a total of 75 days in the NICU, and If I’m honest, I don’t think I ever had the space to panic or really let emotions take charge. You’re almost on autopilot, day after day.

My wife had just had a C-section, had to deal with round the clock pumping and getting to the hospital to see Finn.

I felt like I couldn’t afford to fall apart.

She was going through so much more, both physically and mentally, and there just wasn’t room for both of us to be struggling.  

We owed it to each other to be as strong as possible and to keep the other one going.

That was the hardest part for me. I couldn’t have bad days. If I broke down it wouldn’t help anything. So my focus was on holding everything together. I think if I had shown how scared I was, it would have made it even harder for Lisa. So I stayed calm and just kept going. 

Finn is the best thing that’s ever happened to me. I honestly can’t imagine having a better kid. He sleeps well, eats well, and is so much fun. Everyone loves their children, of course, but when you’ve been through a journey like ours and end up with such a great little person, it makes you even more thankful.

We feel blessed every day. One thing I’m really grateful for is that I found my faith before all of this happened. I became a Catholic later in life. It wasn’t something I grew up with, and I didn’t convert just because my wife is Catholic. I met the priest when we got married, and we had some honest conversations that really stayed with me.

A few years earlier, I’d gone through a bereavement that hit me hard. Looking back, I think that experience, and finding faith through it, helped prepare me in some way. Faith can be a rock, something to lean on when you’re trying to make sense of things. I don’t know if it was fate or something else, but it felt like I had been given something to hold onto when I needed it most.

If I could say one thing to other dads, it’s this: expect a rollercoaster and don’t try to carry it all alone. Lean on people. You’ll need them.

We were lucky in many ways and had a relatively smooth experience, but there were still tough moments, and I think the biggest thing to know is that this journey is full of ups and downs. But remember just that, it’s a journey. Just a chapter, and if you’re lucky like us, the rest will be amazing.