Reflections Five Years On.

Five years and one day ago, I sat in a small room on my own, whilst a sonographer told me that not only was I carrying identical twins, but they had both died.

Five years ago today I walked into a hospital, with two tiny baby inside me, and woke up from a general anaesthetic empty. With a gaping hole not just where my babies had been, but also where my heart had been.

Time passed. Life went on. I finally let go of my toxic partner. I started to heal. I still carried that ache inside me, where they were missing, but it didn’t consume me anymore. I met my husband, we had our beautiful daughter. Five years later, I am living a beautiful life.

A life I wouldn’t be living, if my twins had lived. I struggle to make sense of this. How can I grieve them, miss the possibility of them, yet know if they were here, I would not have this life. I would not have my daughter.

My heart aches for all that I lost, those two little souls, my children. I was their mother, and I would have given them a beautiful life, but it wouldn’t be this life. They would not have had a father in their life. They would not have had the loving strong family unit that my daughter has. They would not have had financial security. We would have made it, the three of us, I have no doubt. None of that mattered, then. I would have fought, and struggled, and done everything in my power to give them the life that they deserved, if I had of been given the chance. I never got that chance.

And time keeps moving, and now I have this life. This life, my little family, that I wouldn’t give up for anything in the world. I try to understand how the twins fit in this life. I know that they are my daughters siblings. I believe that they delivered her to me, safely. I know that I think about them, wonder what they would have looked like, what their little personalities would have been like. I know every time I see twins, there is a twinge inside me, a tiny stab, a vision of what could have been.

People say that everything happens for a reason, but I don’t think I believe that. No matter how awful, and difficult my circumstances were, I don’t believe there was ever a good enough reason for them to have been taken from me. And even now, whilst I live happily ever after with my husband and daughter, I can’t believe that they had to die, so I could have this life.

Maybe there is no plan? Maybe sometimes really awful, shitty things happen to people, and sometimes wonderful, beautiful miracles happen to those same people? Maybe life just doesn’t make sense, and all you can do is keep getting up each morning, keep putting one foot in front of the other, and have faith that the world keeps turning, no matter what happens.

I can’t make sense of why I lost my babies.There is no sense. I did not have a choice. I do know that I am a different person because of them. I do know that I will never forget them. I do know that they will always be my children, no matter what happens, no matter how many years pass. I know that every October, the tears will flow, tears that I keep under wrap most of the time. I know that when I think of them, of the short time we had together, I will curse the universe for taking them from me.

I can’t understand how my beautiful angels could fit into the life I have now. This is what I do know ~ I can grieve for them, cry for them, wish everything was different, long to hold them in my arms. I can feel all of that, and still be grateful for all that I have now, for my husband and my daughter. One thing does not cancel out the other. Life does not make sense. The ‘what ifs’ cannot change a thing. This is my life. I am a mother to a daughter on earth and two angels in Heaven. I will love them, remember them, cherish them, until the day comes that we will be together again. That is all I know. xx

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Friend From Afar.

I’ve mentioned before about a lovely group of friends I’ve made from a forum of mums expecting bubs in December 2010.

There is one special friend I made, who ended up playing a very important role in my life.

Kirsty’s waters broke at 22 weeks, and her little miracle girl Imogen was born at 26 weeks. So teeny tiny, but such a fighter. I followed updates of how Kirsty and Imogen were going, amazed at their strength, and Immie’s progress.

Then, at 31.5 weeks, my waters broke. As we drove into the hospital, despite my pounding heart, I thought of Immie. My husband and I reassured each other. At nearly 32 weeks, we were fairly certain that our little one would be OK.

Over the next couple of days, as I spoke to family and friends about Milla’s imminent arrival, I told them about my friend, who’s beautiful bub was born at 26 weeks, and how well she was doing. Milla had eight weeks longer to ‘cook’. As much as I hated that Kirsty and Immie had to go through all of this, knowing their story gave me strength and confidence to deal with the fact that I was about to have my own little premmie. I know I would have been so much more afraid, if I had not been following their journey. I am eternally grateful for Kirsty, sharing her experience with us.

After Milla’s birth, I received so much support from Kirsty, as we discussed NICU, desats, B1′s, C-paps, all the medical jargon that you couldn’t understand unless you were living it. We understood each others highs and lows. We understood the feeling of jealousy of a ‘normal’ pregnancy; as we heard about the other mums in our group holding baby showers, going on maternity leave, growing bigger and bigger. We messaged each other to say how pissed off we were when one mum in the group told Kirsty that ‘they were jealous of her because she got to have her baby now, whilst they were still waiting’ (I mean, seriously??)

As time went on, and our babies grew, we discussed ‘secret premmie business’, that mums of term babies just couldn’t understand. The health problems, the developmental delays, the set backs. Despite never having met each other, we became firm friends.

When I was planning my surprise wedding, Kirsty was one of the few that knew about it (being in a different state, it didn’t count!) She gave me the most amazing wedding present, which I was so grateful for. She had even hoped to fly down for the wedding, but unfortunately had last minute work commitments.

I know that she has my back, and has stood up for me when so many others didn’t.

What started as a friendship based around our mutual situations with our premmie babies, has grown into a genuine, true friendship. We have shared many ups and downs together, and finally, this weekend, we will meet face to face. I am leaving hubby and toddler at home, and flying to Adelaide on Saturday for the weekend.

I am so excited to finally meet a person who has meant so much to me in the last few years. I cannot wait to meet the little miracle Imogen, and of course her gorgeous older brother. Despite being a little nervous, I know we will get on just as well in person as online, I know there will be a lot of laughter, and maybe the odd moment of ‘running amok’… And as much as I will miss my little family, it will be a nice break for me to recharge.

So bring on the weekend! I absolutely cannot wait!! xx

Things I Know ~ Fighters Keep Fighting.

I am linking up with Dorothy from Singular Insanity this week, for “Things I Know”.

I know I have an amazing daughter. She is beautiful and funny and smart. She was born fighting, at 32 weeks, and is about to turn two years old next month. She has always been slightly delayed, particularly in her gross motor and language skills, but I never doubted she would catch up. She is a whirlwind of a child, always on the go. She can switch from happy to sad and back to happy again within minutes. She has little quirky behaviours, some of which make me laugh and some that make me tear my hair out. She charms everyone who meets her, and she knows it. She is perfect, to me.

I know that last month the paediatrician told us that she can see autistic traits in our daughter. That we should get her assessed, sooner rather than later. Last week we took her to the speech pathologist. I was worried, nervous, but I think deep down I really thought we would get told not to worry, that it was just a language delay. Instead we were given a referral to take her to a psychologist, for further assessment.

I know that I am really pissed off. I’m angry at the world, and I want to rage, to scream, DON’T TOUCH MY DAUGHTER, LEAVE HER ALONE. I have fought so damn hard to be a better person, to get my shit together, to give my daughter a normal life. I want her to have every opportunity in the world. I want her to grow up believing in herself, I never want her to feel small, and not worthy, like I did for so much of my life. I want to protect her, to take all of life’s punches in her place. Take my sight, take my ability to have more children, tie that bloody Black Dog to my front gate. I’ll fight it all, but leave her alone.

I know that we have a long road ahead of us. Specialists, assessments, reports. A diagnosis probably wont be made for at least a year. It could be argued that at two years old, she is too young to come to any definitive conclusion. So we just take each day as it comes, put one foot in front of the other, try to ignore the ‘What if’s’ and just focus on the ‘Today’.

I know that whatever the future brings, she will always be my baby girl, my Mooie. She will always be perfect to me. I will love her fiercely, adore her, be in awe of the miracle she is. I know whatever hurdles we are faced with, we will fight them. We are fighters, and fighters never stop fighting.

These are the things I know.

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Wordless Wednesday ~ The Little Girl That Could.

Originally this post was going to about my daughter, her developmental delays, and the fact that our paediatrician wants her to be assessed for autism.

The trouble is, I don’t know what to write. I don’t know how I feel. Some days I’m convinced that nothing is wrong, other days I’m certain the paediatrician is right. We are seeing a speech pathologist next week, maybe that will provide more clarity. Maybe after that, I can succinctly describe my thoughts, my feelings.

For today though, I just want to share what an amazing little girl my daughter is, and how far she has come after her unexpected entrance into the world at 32 weeks. No matter what the future brings, I know she will always remain the strongest, smartest, funniest, cheekiest, cutest girl in the world to me.

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Finding Jane ~ Part Three

After nearly two years of feeling frumpy, of neglecting myself, of disappearing into the role of a ‘mother’, a ‘wife’, I knew it was time for a change. I owed it to my family; my husband and my daughter, to be the best ‘Me’ I could be. But more importantly, I owed it to myself. Thanks to Justine, from Total Image Solutions, I took the plunge, I put myself out there, and I said “This is not OK. I want to be better than this.”

clothesI made the decision to “Find Jane”. It is a work in progress. Discovering who I am now, post baby, is not going to happen over night, it will take more than a shiny new look. But damn, this shiny new look has given me the confidence I need to start respecting myself again. To remind me that I am more than “Milla’s mum”.

So here we go ~

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My comfy ‘at home’ clothes.

My comfy ‘at home’ clothes.

Replacing the baggy track pants, and my husbands hoodie!

Jacket ~ Kmart, $15

Singlet ~ Face Off, $7.50

(Already owned the leggings)

clothes2Blazer ~ Target $35.08 (on special, RRP $39.20)

Singlet ~ Face Off $7.50

Jeans ~ Target $25 (on special, RRP $30)

clothes3Cardigan ~ Kmart $15

Shoes ~ Rubi $19.95 (2 pairs for $30)

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Green shirt ~ Target $25.06 (on special, RRP $28.00)

Jeans ~ Target $25 (on special, RRP $30)

clothesSleeveless top ~ Kmart $15

Jeans ~ Kmart $7.00

All in all, I spent $263.40, on a total of fourteen ‘mix and match’ outfits.

clothes(Not shown; a new bra, and two pairs of high waisted knickers)

On Sunday, I went out to the shops with the family. Nothing special, just to pick up Milla’s birthday present of lay buy, and do a bit of grocery shopping. Before my makeover, I would have worn track pants and a hoodie. Embracing the new ‘me’, I wore green pants, a blue shirt, blue shoes, mascara and tinted moisturiser. And, do you know what? I felt great. I don’t think I actually realised how invisible I felt before, until I didn’t feel invisible anymore. I felt like “Me”. I felt like “Jane”. WOW.

To be honest, when I started all this, I really didn’t expect to feel so different. I honestly didn’t realise how crap I felt about myself, until I starting feeling good instead.

I know so many of you have been feeling the same way as me, lost, searching for your identity. I think these posts have received the most feedback of anything I’ve ever written. Believe me when I tell you, that once you start respecting yourself, you will start to realise that you deserve that respect.

Changing what is on the outside, doesn’t necessarily change what is on the inside. One of my favorite quotes, is “Fake it until you make it.” Some things are out of our control. Depression, the “Black Dog”, sometimes these are things we can’t control. But confidence, self esteem, and most importantly self respect, these are all weapons against the negative ‘self talk’ that fuels these issues.

I would like to say a huge thank you to Justine from Total Image Solutions. She has truly helped me to find a style that suits who I am now. Yes, I’m a mother, but I am also still Jane. I can, in all honestly, vouch for her passion and commitment to working with women to rediscover their ‘mojo’, their style, their confidence.

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If you are interested in finding out more about the services Justine from Total Image Solutions can provide, you can visit her website www.totalimagesolutions.com.au , ‘like’ Total Image Solutions on Facebook , or give her a call on 0438 271948. Another service that is coming soon to Total Image Solutions is “Girls Night In” where a group of friends can get together and Justine will come to you for a fun and informative styling session. I should have the details of this within the next few days!

If you take nothing else from these posts, please take this ~ You are worth it. You deserve to feel amazing, to feel confident. What do you need to do to feel good about yourself? Do it.  xx

Wordless Wednesday ~ Winter on the Peninsula

I really hate Winter. I hate the cold, I hate the rain, I hate dark afternoons.

12 months ago, my family and I, on a complete whim really, packed up our little unit in suburbia and made the sea change to the Peninsula. You can see the ocean from the top of our road. The beach has always been my ‘happy place’, and this is where I spent the first day of Winter this year.

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Living the dream.

Counting My Blessings.

There is really very little I can say in this post, that I haven’t already written about in Baby Baby Baby and One Pink Line. Since developing Proliferative diabetic retinopathy during pregnancy, and losing a lot of my sight, it has appeared unlikely that I would be able to have another pregnancy without risking complete blindness.

However, earlier this year, my husband and I made the decision that we would like to try and have another baby. It is something that we both want, and it appeared that perhaps my condition was improving. My left eye that had been operated on last year appeared stable, and although there was still residual blood spots in my right eye, we were hopeful that if the same operation was performed on that eye, there was a chance that the risk of blindness from a susequent pregnancy may be much lower than originally thought.

If we prepared for this pregnancy, knowing all the risks, under strict monitoring, we really believed it could be done. Perhaps even start trying towards the end of the year. We were excited, hopeful.

Just over a week ago, I went back to the eye specialist, all prepared to talk to him about our plans to try and conceive, and the possibility of scheduling an operation on my right eye. We went through the usual process, drops in my eyes, testing the sight, then he looks in them with his fancy medical equipment. He sits back in his chair, and writes his notes. And he tells me that there are further hemorrhages in my left eye, on the outer sides, that’s why I can’t see them yet, and I will need further laser to try and prevent more bleeds. My left, operated on eye.  My right eye has grown more abnormal blood vessels, in the centre of my retina, despite the copious amounts of laser therapy I have had. They just keep growing. The Dr explains that there is only so much laser he is willing to do, as every round of laser causes scarring to the retina. It’s a balancing act, between the laser getting rid of the abnormal blood vessels and trying to minimise the damage the laser itself is doing to my eyes. He tells me that if the vessels are not hemorrhaging then it might be safer to leave some of them there, as opposed to risking permanent damage from the laser.

And I know.  I ask anyway- “So, if I was to get pregnant again, the vessels would hemorrhage?”   Without a doubt. And I know.  The time has come that I need to be realistic. My body, my eyes, will not handle another pregnancy. My condition has deteriorated even without the stress of pregnancy. The specialist is not sure how much more laser my eyes will take. Hopefully, enough that I will regain enough sight back to be able to drive. Enough sight to be able to lead a normal life, to be able to see my daughter grow up.

As much as I want to wallow, and cry, and lament about how unfair it is, (and trust me, I have already, a little!) I need to count my blessings. I have a beautiful, healthy daughter. I am a mother. I am more blessed than many women, who are desperate for a child and are unable to conceive, or who have carried a child, but not been able to bring them home.

I am not blind, despite it having been a real possibility when I was pregnant. In fact one specialist said that I probably would have lost my sight if my daughter hadn’t have been born two months early. Now there was a real blessing in disguise!

I am sad, desperately sad, that I will never carry another child, that I will never have another baby. However the only way I can move forward, is to not let the sadness blind me (pardon the pun!) from the fact that I am truly blessed. Not let the sadness be stronger than the gratefulness I feel for all that I have in my life. I will count my blessings every day, every time I look at my daughter. xx

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Wordless Wednesday ~ 6 Months

On Saturday, the 26th of May, it will be my 6th month wedding anniversary. For my first link up with My Little Drummer Boys Wordless Wednesday, I thought I’d share a trip down memory lane, with some of my favorite photos of my best friend and I.

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Ah, young love! Ok, so I was 29, THAT’S STILL YOUNG!!
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New Years Eve 2009.
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A week after we found out I was pregnant, trying to hide it from everyone at a party.
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11 weeks pregnant, still trying to hide it. (I fooled no-one!)
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A weekend away, 2 weeks before the surprise arrival of Miss Milla.
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One of the first family pictures, taken in Newborn Intensive Care.
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Our first Christmas, as a family.
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Reading our vows.
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The two greatest loves of my life.

“To the world you may be one person, but to one person you may be the world.”

Author: Unknown

Mummy Fail?

“Mummy Fail”. I had never heard or used this term, before I had my daughter. I had always believed there were either ‘good mothers’ or ‘bad mothers’. I know, how could I have been so naive, so black and white? I had no idea. I have no idea.

19 months since becoming a mother to my daughter, and most days I can’t even tell you if I am a ‘good’ mother or a ‘bad’ mother.

I can tell you that some days, by the time I put my daughter to bed, I am so exhausted, so stressed, so strung out from the tantrums, or the crying, or the battles over food, or a combination of all of the above that i just sit and cry. I wonder what the hell I’m doing wrong that makes this so freakin hard.

I can tell you that by the second or third time that she has woken overnight, I sit next to her cot, crying, as I try and pat her back off to sleep. And when that doesn’t work, sometimes I shout at her ‘JUST GO TO SLEEP!’. Then I hate myself, a little , for shouting at her. I go and wake my husband, because I know I’m losing it. I tell him I hate my life, and I crawl under the doona and cry, whilst he takes his turn to try and get her back to sleep.

I can tell you that some days I am so tired, so mentally and physically exhausted, that I put one TV show after another on for her, just so I can breath, and think, and not lose my mind. Then I hate myself a little, as I remember all the articles I’ve read about how bad television is for children, as they shouldn’t even watch any television before they are 2 years old, let alone two episodes of Hi5 in a row.

I can tell you that sometimes I honestly feel like I hate being a mother. That I am no good at it, that I am failure, that I am messing everything up. The term ‘Mummy Fail’ should hang around my neck, like a scarlet letter.

I can tell you that I wish someone had told me being a mother could feel like this. That there is no such thing as a ‘text book baby’. How can there be, when every damn book is different?? That being a mother is wonderful, and amazing, and joyful, however it is also the hardest thing you will ever do. That you will doubt every decision you make, that you will be so tired some days that from the moment you wake up, you will be focused on just getting through the day, and getting back in bed again. That your worst enemy, at times, will be other mothers. That some women will cut you down, tell you what you are doing is wrong, attack your choices, and, the biggie, judge you. It will happen, at least once.

I can tell you, that no matter how many other mothers judge you, it will be nothing, NOTHING compared to how harshly you will judge yourself. As a mother, you are your own worst critic. At the risk of making assumptions, I think I can tell you why that is too.

A good mother is never going to be able to meet her own expectations. A good mother, loves their child so much, that they want to be the perfect mother. A good mother is always going to declare a ‘mummy fail’, as there is no such thing as a perfect mother. They are a myth, along with the ‘text book baby’. A good mother is going to make mistakes, and is going to feel guilty about every single one . A good mother knows there is no such thing as black and white when raising a child, just all shades of grey, mixed with a kaleidoscope of crayon colours.

So, maybe today, I can tell you that I’m a good mother. That I love my daughter more than I ever imagined possible, and I tell her that several times a day, even on our worst days. Maybe today, I can believe that I am not doing such a bad job.

I can tell you, beyond a doubt, that good mothers are not perfect, they just wish they were. xx

Hospital Daze.

On the 24th of November 2010, we finally walked out of hospital with our daughter, after a month in the NICU and Special Care Nursery. As far as I was concerned, I never wanted to see another hospital ever again. Ironically I had planned on writing a post about our NICU experience this week. Instead, I am writing about Milla’s latest experience in hospital, just last week.

She hadn’t been well for a few days. Her temperature kept spiking, it would come down with medication, then as soon as it wore off, straight back up again. She would wake in the middle of the night, burning up, and vomitting from fever. She had been to the Dr already, and he said it was a virus, keep her fluids up, etc etc. We just couldn’t keep this damn temperature down, as her medication wore off, she would become flushed, lethargic and miserable.

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When I took her temperature on Tuesday, and it read 40 degrees, I felt my heart jump into my throat. I took it twice more, just in case it was wrong, 39.9 , 40.0. CRAP.

We soon found ourselves in the emergency department of our local hospital. Where we waited for over 2 hours, with our toddler who was burning up, and screaming. Actually, the screaming was probably a good thing, as eventually I think we were ‘rushed’ through, just so the waiting room could get some peace and quiet again.

Something to know about Milla, she’s not really a fan of other adults. She is a very sensitive little girl, and rarely tolerates being held or sometimes even spoken to by anyone other than myself or her daddy. A health nurse told us once that it could be due to her time in NICU, every time someone came near her, it generally brought pain. Blood tests, drips, feeding tubes, breathing apparatus. She did not have a gentle introduction to the world, and it seems to have affected her social/emotional development.  With this in mind, being examined by drs and nurses does not go down well.

She screamed hysterically when they just tried to listen to her heart. When they said that they were going to have to put a drip in, I felt a clench in my stomach. They said we could wait outside. No. I would be there for my daughter. They wrapped her tightly in a blanket, with just her arm out, whilst they attempted, several times, to put an IV into her little tiny arm. I wondered if she remembered this pain from when she was born? Did she have flashbacks to her time in NICU? I know I did. I stroked her forehead, and whispered shhh, over and over again. I think this was to calm me, as much as it was to calm her. By this stage though, she was almost beyond burning up, and was so lethargic, she was slipping in and out of sleep, even as the Dr was still working on the IV. I didn’t know whether to be relieved that she was not screaming, or panicked that she seemed so out of it.

They finally gave her something to bring her temperature down, which had been hovering around 40 degrees. She slept for a while, somehow in that noisy emergency department.Then we had to take her for a chest xray. I held her down whilst she screamed. At least I knew it wasn’t hurting her, she was just scared. (just scared? That’s bad enough really)

Back came the Dr. Her blood results showed an infection. Despite managing to get a urine sample, which also showed infection, the Dr decided she wanted a more accurate sample, which involved inserting a catheter to get it straight from the bladder. I felt that clench in my stomach again. By this time we were on the ward. As I carried my little girl to the procedure room, already with an IV in her arm, I tried not to think about what was going to happen. Where I was taking her. I had the option not to be in the room, but again, I said no. Of course it would be easier for me to just wait in another room, not see what they did to her, not hear her crying. But why should I have the easier way out? She was the one going through the pain, I would be strong for her. As I held her down, whilst another Dr held her legs, and yet another Dr inserted the catheter, she screamed and screamed and screamed. She fought against me, she fought against the Drs. Again I kept whispering ‘shhhh’ ‘it’s ok’ ‘it’s nearly over’ and ‘I’m sorry’. And I was, so so sorry, that my baby girl had to go through this. I tried to be strong for her, but the tears escaped, spilling from my eyes. I imagined her wondering why her mummy was letting people do this to her, why was her mummy helping them do this to her? Finally it was over, I held her so tight, and just kept whispering over and over again, ‘I’m sorry’.

She screamed most of the night, on and off. She screamed when they came back in to hook up antibiotics, and discovered her IV was loose and had to reinsert it. She screamed as her temp crept back up, and she started shivering and shuddering. She screamed when she threw up all over herself, the cot and me. She screamed and cried and screamed all night.

At about 5.30am, she finally fell asleep out of sheer exhaustion. At 6.30am, her temp spiked again, and she woke up vomiting. I was exhausted, I had vomit on me, my body ached from leaning over the cot all night, from holding her down for one procedure to the next. But the worst pain was in my heart. Watching my baby girl go through so much, hearing those screams, wondering what she was thinking, did she feel betrayed by me? Imagining how scared and confused she was. Relishing the few moments that she managed to sleep, grateful that she had at least a little peace.

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When the Dr came and told me that she wanted to put a feeding tube through her nose and down her throat, my instant reaction was NO. Please, no more procedures, please don’t hurt her anymore. I desperately tried to get her to drink. ‘C’mon baby, you have to drink, please drink’ I begged her. The Drs were adamant. I tried to be strong, but I couldn’t stop the tears, as I tried to convince them to give her fluid through the drip that she was already connected to. No.

Once again, I carried her to that damn procedure room. They bandaged her hands so she couldn’t pull the tube out. Once again, I held my baby down, whilst she screamed and thrashed around. Once again, I whispered meaningless words, that she wouldn’t even be able to hear over her screams. My tears flowed freely now. “I’m sorry baby”.

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Can you believe, a couple of hours after this photo was taken, we were allowed to take Milla home?! She was so upset, so distraught, that’s the real reason i think she wasn’t drinking or sleeping. She needed to be at home, where she felt safe and comfortable. The Dr agreed. We could give her antibiotics at home, they had already pumped so many through her IV over the past 24 hours or so. As long as we could get her to drink, otherwise she would need to come back. Thank God we were right, and once she was home, she drank nearly her whole bottle of milk.

Later that night, when I finally went to bed, after being awake for around 40 hours, I lay in bed and cried, silent tears. My body felt like I had run a marathon. My muscles were so sore, so sore from holding my daughter down, whilst people hurt her. Her screams still echoed in my head. I’m not silly, I know the reality of the situation was that she wasn’t actually that ill, that the Drs were helping her, that so many children go through far, far worse than she did. But she is my daughter, I am her mother. It is my role to protect her. It goes against nature to pin your child down, whilst they scream in pain and terror.

Being a parent can be hard work, every day. It can be tiring and exhausting and frustrating. Being a parent, when your child is sick, is not just hard work, it is heartbreaking. The reward is, when they get better. They smile and laugh, and seem to forget all about the ordeal they went through. And as a parent, it’s our job to dust ourselves off, harden up and move on.  How does the saying go,  Motherhood is a piece of your heart walking around outside your body”. xx