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He Beat The Odds
My little trooper
The birth of my oldest son was traumatic to say the least, and it was touch and go for the first few days, but he fought for his place in this world, for which I will be forever grateful.
Born three weeks premature because I’d had a fall three weeks prior and damaged my placenta, meaning my son was not receiving the nutrients he needed to grow. The decision was made to bring him out into the world early. He was the equivalent of a six week premature baby.
Oh boy, I was not ready to be a mum. No, I thought I still had three more weeks to come to terms with this new role and the new life I was about to enter.
The universe had other plans and they bundled me into hospital to induce me early.
At first my labour started mildly and built momentum for the first ten hours, but they stopped the labour to ensure I got a good night’s sleep; against my wishes I might add.
The next morning they induced me again and that’s when the shit hit the fan. Within sixty seconds my baby’s heartbeat dropped from 160 beats a minute to less than 60 beats a minute. He was severely distressed.
They had to get him out fast.
They began prepping me for surgery, racing me down the hallway to theatre with frantic haste.
