Some people say that the birth of their child is the best day of their life. I can’t say the same. It was, however, the start of a journey that made my family, and a journey that I now look back on fondly.
Arthur arrived at 16:16 on Tuesday 31st October, 2023. He was born at 33 weeks and 3lb 3oz. My wife had already been in hospital for a week before Arthur arrived; we knew he was small and we had been told to expect a stay in the Special Care Baby Unit (SCBU). During that time we had spoken to the hospital's mental health midwife about what was to come and had been given a tour of SCBU; both of which had given as us an entirely misplaced sense of being prepared.
The day Arthur was born was a maelstrom. My wife had been seriously unwell overnight and, shortly after I arrived at hospital in the morning, the decision was made that our son would arrive that day. My wife was amazing. I will always be so proud of her. She remained calm throughout everything, even remembering that the nursery furniture was due to be delivered that day, and that we might need to do something about that.
I sat with my wife during the caesarean section, but I cannot remember what we talked about. I do remember hearing our little boy cry for the first time and feeling a sense of relief I cannot describe. Arthur was immediately placed in a plastic bag and, briefly, shown to the two of us before being given oxygen and getting checked over by the paediatrician. He was then taken directly to SCBU. Originally, we had planned that I would go with him, and leave my wife in the operating theatre, but the medical staff told me this wasn't possible. Watching him get taken away was one of the worst moments of the whole experience. A short while later, I was told I was able to visit our son. Unfortunately, my wife was too unwell to join me. There were four babies in Arthur's room in SCBU, and when I walked in for the first time I did not recognise Arthur. The guilt I feel because of this is something I think about a lot, and something that will stay with me for the rest of my life. I have been told by many people that this happens to a lot of parents in this situation, but, honestly, this does not make me feel better.
Arthur's first few days on SCBU were difficult. My wife was still very unwell and was an inpatient on the High Dependency Unit, so being able to spend time together as a family was not really possible. I was trying my best to be there for everyone, but had a constant feeling of guilt whenever I was away from either of them. This feeling only got worse on the rare occasion I went home for a few hours to sleep. It is, however, during this time that moments of kindness burn most brightly in my memory. I am eternally grateful to the midwife who took it upon herself to take my wife (and all her medical equipment) in a wheelchair to our son's incubator. It was the first time my wife was able to hold our boy, and it wouldn't have happened without that member of staff.
A day or two earlier, at some ridiculous hour on the night Arthur was born, I was standing with my head on his incubator, watching him without daring to touch him. Arthur's nurse came into the room and asked if I would like to change his nappy. Keen to be able to do anything at all for my son, I said yes immediately. However, it quickly became clear to the nurse that I did not know what to do (one practical downside of having a premature baby is that you miss all the useful ante-natal classes!) She showed huge kindness and patience to talk me through how to change a nappy, a task made all the more complicated given Arthur's size, the many wires, and the high sides of the incubator getting in the way. I owe that nurse a huge debt of gratitude for giving me that moment with my son.
Over the coming days and weeks things became easier. My wife's health improved, and she was eventually discharged. We found ourselves in a routine of rounds, cares and long hospital days. I learned to be a father with the help of everyone around us, including the other families on SCBU. This time was not without its challenges though; our lives revolved around the twice-weekly weigh-ins that would determine when Arthur would be able to come home. If he had only put on 10 or 20 grams, then we found the days tough. When he gained 140 grams over 4 days I could have cried with joy; it meant Arthur would be coming home soon.
Arthur arrived home at 14:48 on 22nd November 2023. Today Arthur is 18 months old and, whilst still on the small side, is doing fantastically well.
Looking back on our time in SCBU, I remember a strong feeling of belonging and community. Talking to the other families, when we all felt able, made everything feel more ‘normal’, and therefore easier. The staff looked after us parents so well, even though we were not their patients.
To those of you facing a spell in hospital with your little one, I would encourage you to find the positives where you can. Whatever you expected for your child’s first days and weeks, it almost certainly wasn’t this. But celebrate the wins where you can, whatever they look like, and look out for each other. You will have to get through tough times, but you will also experience moments of huge kindness and care. This is not the start you asked for, but you too may look back fondly on it all one day.
