Ah, the birth story.
I actually wrote this two years ago sitting on my living room floor, trying to piece together details that surrounded Olivia’s arrival and what exactly had happened. How our baby was born severely premature and why. You see, We spent 3 months living in 3 different hospitals, Whilst our daughter fought for her life.
Our story is intense and traumatic, and writing it down was my way of better understanding what had happened. It’s hopefully a form of closure for that chapter in our lives.
Our story starts on the morning of Sunday 14th December.
Our midwife a woman I will later credit in saving mine and my babies life was carrying out a routine home appointment. I wasn’t feeling 100% and My BP was causing her some concern. A quick phone call later myself and Michael were on our way to the local hospital to confirm the troubling news, Preeclampsia. My BP was so high in fact they couldn’t believe I was walking and functioning as normal.
We swanned up to the antenatal ward completely oblivious to the severity, without realising that in less than 24 hours we would be parents to a micro preemie. With damage to my organs, premature birth and death potentially following I was swiftly placed on bed rest, covered in drips and surrounded by doctors and nurses.
When the words emergency c-section were uttered & I was given a dose of steroids to help strengthen her lungs that I a began to feel a sense of apprehension at the complete unknown ahead of us.
The midwife, doctors and nurses were a blurry haze silently running back and forth. In fact, the entire room was silent nobody knew what to say the atmosphere was intense.
I didn’t have a single second to feel scared or to take in what was really happening, but there was a minute between wheeled one way down a corridor and Michael was led in the opposite direction. I was alone, tears began streaming down my face.
Being wheeled into a surgical theatre is surreal, I will never forget how it looked or the smell. There is something about a bright, white, sterile room filled with doctors and surgeons. Indescribable.
Even to this day when I go to the hospital the smell almost knocks me off my feet & my palms begin to get clammy.
1:15 am Tuesday 16th December 2012 weighing just 1lb 15oz Olivia Blossom Koropisz was born. Twelve weeks prematurely.
All I have from that moment is a cry. It replays like a broken record in my head, I can hear it perfectly. She wasn’t held up and placed on my chest like the movies. The atmosphere in the room completely shifted and there was almost sense of panic. Before It could sink in she was gone.
I stayed in surgery whilst they stitched me back up before I was wheeled to recovery and my little baby was taken to NICU. I had no idea when or if I would see her again.
I asked no questions for fear of what the answers would be.
I spent 3 days on bed rest a combination of pre-eclampsia & having pretty major surgery. A photo of Olivia was the only thing I had & I remember looking at this blurry blue picture knowing it was my daughter, but I didn’t feel this connection that people talked about, I didn’t feel anything which scared me a lot so I didn’t tell anybody. For 3 days I was terrified I wouldn’t love & bond with my own child.
We named her Olivia, purely because we loved the name. Her middle name, Blossom, however, had been chosen by Michael due to her one day blossoming into something strong and beautiful that meant the world to me.
We spent our ninety-three days at three different hospitals, two of which specialising in severely premature babies. You soon become accustomed to that life, your life before no longer exists. We moved into the hospital ward and eventually a specialist accommodation on hospital grounds.
It’s impossible to imagine, It’s terrifying and intimidating.
It’s unpredictable which we soon would learn.