Amour [h.s]

☼ forty four ☼

"Time stands still, beauty in all she is, I will be brave, I will not let anything take away, what's standing in front of me. Every breath. Every hour has come to this"

☼ ☼ ☼

Trigger warning: talks of death, baby loss, medical intervention/trauma.

Another reminder to take care of yourself whilst reading. This is very raw and real.

This chapter is not an easy read.

As some of you may or may not know, this week is baby loss awareness week. A week to bring people of all kinds together to share their experiences with loss. It's so important we allow families touched by baby loss, a safe and secure place to share their experiences.
And it's a chance for us to show they're not alone in this <3

It's time to break the silence around baby loss.

https://babyloss-awareness.org

Be gentle <3

Amelie

My mind has been eating me alive all day and all night. Our babies are nearly twenty four hours old and I'm still yet to see them. I've been told I need to rest and my body needs to recover before I endure the mental pain of seeing my two little babies fighting for their lives in a plastic box.

I've barely slept. Harry hasn't slept either. There's nothing either of us can do for our children and it's killing us.

Every few hours a NICU nurse comes down and to tell us that the babies are as okay as they can be. We're mostly getting updates on our little boy, he's looking strong but still needs a lot of help, but our tiny little three pound baby is fighting hard.

The same isn't said for our little girl.

When we get updated about her state, it's often along the lines of "her lungs aren't working as well as we'd hoped" or "even with oxygen being constantly pumped into her, her heart still isn't beating as it should."

We've been told a NICU doctor wants to hold a meeting with us after lunch, once I'm cleared to be moved into a wheelchair.

That alone raises my heart rate.

Something is wrong and I know it.

"I- uh- I phoned my mum- she's on her way down. I don't know when she'll be here" Harry says to me, coming into my room from the corridor he once stood in to make a call. He isn't the same.

He's falling apart. There's bags and blisters under his eyes from crying so much. He's slow when he moves and his face is set like stone.

I thought maybe he'd be the positive one, I thought that maybe he'd hold onto a strand of hope.