Cormac fought hard for a week. It was an uphill battle for our fighter. That week was a roller coaster, each day, each hour saw its own highs and lows. Each time we walked down that corridor saw me giving myself an internal pep talk. I had to build up my armour each and every time to walk through that door. As soon as I saw him my armour fell away.
Trying to hold myself together for conversations with doctors was so hard. I just wanted to look at Cormac, read him stories, tell him I loved him, sing badly to him.
He suffered several brain bleeds. His kidneys began to fail and his lungs and heart couldn't cope. On 21 May at around 3.00am Cormac took his last breath in my arms.
I bathed him and dressed him. I put him in a little blue cardigan and hat that were way too big for him, a preemie vest and baby grow.
That outfit was his coming home outfit, his school uniform, his communion outfit, his suit for his wedding day... all the outfits for all the occasions we’d now never get to witness. My heart that had once been so full of hope, excitement and joy had been shattered into a million pieces.
I wanted to be one of the parents who got to bring their baby home in a car seat, instead we left the unit with a memory box and had to make arrangements with the undertakers for them to bring him home.
I became very depressed. I didn't want to see anyone, I couldn't go anywhere without my partner, I just wanted to hold my baby. Every so often I would feel able to take on the world but then it would hit me like a ton of bricks; my baby had died. I wanted to be with him, I wanted him with me. I was referred to the perinatal psychology service; it's a long waiting list.
When I fell pregnant again in March 2018 my anxiety rocketed. I cried down the phone to the psychologist’s secretary and I got an urgent referral. I felt so guilty skipping the very long queue to see the psychologist but I was holding on by my fingertips and I needed the help. Every twinge could send me into a spin; I was convinced this baby would be taken from me too.
A rainbow pregnancy is exhausting. I was in the hospital almost weekly for scans, psychologist appointments, and physiotherapy - thanks to sciatica and pelvic pain. When I was 29 weeks pregnant I was told my cervix had shortened, I was given steroids as a precaution.
The following day I was admitted into hospital as I had been having contractions and they suspected an infection. I was much further on than I had been with Cormac but they thought of losing this baby too terrified me.
I hated being in the hospital. The ward was below the NICU and beside the quiet room where I held Cormac the mornings after he died. One doctor kept calling Cormac a miscarriage, another doctor asked me during rounds if I was eager to get home to my other child. I said that of course I wanted to be at home with Cormac but he died in this very hospital.
I was eventually sent home only to be back in at 33 weeks pregnant with more contractions. After a week I was discharged again by reluctant doctors. I was more stressed in the hospital than I was at home but as I lived so close to the hospital they agreed.
