My Abusive Ex

Prelude

In 2008 my partner and I experienced a trauma we wouldn't wish upon our worst enemy. Our son died. Our newborn son. Our beautiful, blonde baby boy, Luke. Born full term, a healthy weight, and a birth so undramatic that nobody suspected anything was wrong. He wasn't poorly, he wasn't premature, but he wasn't interested in feeding and during neonatal checks the paediatrician picked up a heart murmur. Luke's heart wasn't making the noises it was supposed to and he was taken away for some further investigation.

The specialists said Luke would be gone around thirty minutes, but when the clock was two hours forward and he wasn't back, I knew it was something serious. Confirmed by the presence of two heart specialists returning to the private room, no baby, just a writing pad and pens. They started drawing hearts, how they should work, how Luke's works and explained he needed an operation.

I'm not ashamed to admit that my whole world fell apart and I struggled to concentrate through the tears and pain in my chest. Luke was having some foods through a drip, his reluctance to feed had meant he wasn't getting the nutrients he so desperately needed. He was in an incubator, in special care, and the hospital were arranging for an ambulance to transfer him to another hospital.

Luke's heart simply didn't work properly, due to a condition that was extremely rare. I was told not to Google it. Bravely I asked how serious, on a scale of 1-10 and was told 5. That gave me some hope, but I couldn't shake the undeniable feeling of absolute dread.

My beautiful boy, my Scandinavian baby. His hair so very white. It's all in the genes you see, as both myself and his dad, Robert are very fair. There was the possibility that Luke would be ginger, there's so many of them in our family, and I suspected he had lots of hair because I had the most horrific heartburn throughout the pregnancy, but when he was born, he surprised us all with his huge mop of pure white angelic hair.

The transfer from the maternity unit to the hospital went well and the staff fussed over this newborn with the most gorgeous complexion. He really was a rarity. I kissed him goodbye and off he went to have surgery. Days old and having an operation that I couldn't even imagine. Luke had a catheter inserted into his heart, with a small balloon attached, which would open a valve that had not developed correctly.

The surgery was deemed a success and Luke's stats were completely normal. He wasn't on any medication, he was just being kept in for observation and although I was terrified to hurt him I was assured he was perfectly fine. He spent hours in my arms and the only target was to have him drink from a bottle, rather than be fed through a tube.

My milk didn't come in, I had tried to express but only the smallest amount was coming through. Although, after what we had gone through it seemed irrelevant. I just wanted Luke to feed so I could take him home. His nursery was all set up, drawers filled with baby clothes and blankets, all that was missing was Luke.

We weren't allowed to sleep on the hospital ward as it was a high dependency unit, but we were offered a room at the Ronald McDonald house. I declined the offer as we lived ten minutes away in the car, and I knew there were families' hours from home who needed somewhere to stay.

As the days passed Luke became stronger and on the fourth day he started drinking from his bottle. He was allowed a few visitors and we progressed from the incubator on an open ward to a private room with a cot. We were told Luke was well enough to return home and I can't tell you how relieved I was.

The long-term prognosis was good, he'd just need another operation when he was older, maybe around four or five. And then we'd monitor and see what was ahead. The hospital said Robert was allowed to stay the night and they set up a bed next to Luke's cot. I was sent home to get some rest, and the plan was for me to return in the morning when Luke would be discharged.