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Mummy for 2 weeks

Our struggle made you even more precious


Published by: Amy Thompson and Nicola Skinner
Published on: 9th August 2010

Dear Harvey,
There was nothing in the world I wanted more than you. Me and your daddy Dan, 24, had known each other since secondary school, but only started dating six months before we decided to try for a baby.
It might seem fast, but we loved each other and we both wanted a big family.
When doctors diagnosed that I had polycystic ovaries almost a year after we started trying, my world crumbled.
‘You could try losing weight,’ my doctor told me. ‘It could help your fertility.’
Every inch of me was dying to be a mum. I tried every diet going. But soon I began to give up hope.
How would losing a few pounds change anything? What if I never had the family I longed for?
The stress didn’t help either – if anything, I put on weight.
‘Maybe we should get away for a bit?’ your dad suggested. ‘We could do with a holiday.’
By now we’d been trying to conceive for almost a year.
So we went to Margate, Kent, for the weekend, and I’d soon found myself starting to relax.
When we got home, though, I found another couple of pounds had crept on.
‘Must be holiday weight,’ I sighed, patting my tummy.
I tried watching what I ate, but nothing worked – the weight was slowly, but surely, creeping on.
‘I don’t get it,’ I cried, miserably. ‘I can’t even stay the same size – how will I ever get pregnant if I keep putting on weight?’
Then a few weeks later, something incredible happened. I found out why I’d been putting on weight all this time – I was pregnant with you!
I was so cautious through my pregnancy, making sure I didn’t overdo it, and eating properly. I was so nervous I’d lose you.
Even when your nan bought us a nice pram and tons of Babygros for you, I was afraid to get too excited.
‘I don’t want to jinx anything,’ I’d told her, anxiously. You were my little miracle and I couldn’t chance anything going wrong.
I was right to be wary – you were born five weeks premature in October last year. Once again, though, you defied the odds and weighed a healthy 6lb 15oz.
Now, rocking you gently, I couldn’t get over how perfect you were.
I’d been worrying over nothing.
‘What are you going to call him?’ your granddad asked.
‘Harvey Lee Daniel,’ I smiled.
Granddad’s eyes welled up. We’d given you his and your daddy’s names. ‘Perfect,’ he smiled, as you gripped his little finger tightly.
Everyone doted on you.
Next day, we took you home. Our bedroom was filled with toys and clothes for you.
‘I couldn’t resist this,’ your nan beamed, handing me a multi-coloured, cuddly hedgehog toy.
Giving it a shake, it rattled.
Your little face tilted towards
the noise as you opened your bright blue eyes.
I laughed at the mesmerised look on your face.
‘I think he likes it,’ I smiled.
‘Well, me and your dad got him this, too,’ she beamed, handing me a blue teddy bear.
‘I can see someone’s going to be spoiled,’ I laughed, rolling my eyes.
‘He’s our only grandson,’ Nanny said, giving you a cuddle.
‘Just remember he’s Shelley and Dan’s baby,’ Granddad warned her. ‘Don’t go taking over.’
We were living with Nanny and Granddad at the time, so it would’ve been easy for Nanny to do that. Instead, it was Granddad who couldn’t put you down!
Before I could get up to feed you at 3am, he’d already warmed up your bottle.
‘Go back to bed, love,’ he’d whisper. ‘I’ll look after him.’
No one could get enough of you. I’d never seen a baby so loved.
When Nanny showed me how to wrap you up in blankets so you’d feel more secure in your Moses basket, it had me in stitches looking at your tiny face peeking out.
‘He looks like a little slug,’ I giggled, as you blinked up at me from your cocoon.
The nickname stuck.
Every night, I tucked you in.
‘Night night, Slug,’ I’d smile, kissing your forehead.
After two weeks, though, you didn’t wake up for your morning feed as usual.
And when I nudged you gently, you didn’t stop crying.
To top it all, your hands and feet were blue, and your skin was waxy.
‘Something’s not right,’ I frowned, and I bundled you into the car.
Daddy drove us to the doctors, but she wasn’t concerned.
Listening to your heartbeat and taking your temperature, she looked up and smiled.
‘He’s got colic,’ she said. ‘I’ll prescribe some medication for him.’
I breathed a sigh of relief as we took you home.
Only, you didn’t get better like we’d hoped – you got worse.
Next morning, your eyes rolled back as I lifted you out of your Moses basket, your body went limp in my arms.
Hurrying to the phone, I called for an ambulance.
In minutes, paramedics arrived and whisked you away, while me and Daddy looked on helplessly.
‘I think he’s going into septic shock,’ one said. ‘We’ve got to get him to hospital.’
Panic surged through me.
Whatever it meant, it didn’t sound good.
We rushed to Darent Valley Hospital, Kent, but, by the time we got there, you’d already slipped into a coma.
Doctors hooked you up to monitors and drips. Seeing the tubes and wires snaking round your tiny body, I broke down.
We’d fought so hard to have you, and I’d been so protective. All I wanted to do was wrap you up in your blankets nice and tight so you weren’t scared.
‘Come on my little slug,’ I whispered gently. ‘Please wake up for Mummy.’
You never woke up, though.
Just two weeks old, you slipped away. Doctors told us you’d died from acute meningitis.
There are no words to explain the pain of losing you.
We’d fought so hard to have you and, in return, you’d defied the odds to be conceived.
You were my little miracle, my dream come true… snatched away all too soon.
At your funeral, I placed Nanny’s blue teddy in your coffin to be cremated with you. Half your ashes we scattered where your great-grandma’s are. I know she’ll be looking after you in heaven.
The other half, me and Daddy have kept at home.
You were only with us for two short weeks, but you filled our lives with so much joy – the emptiness at home was devastating.
Me and Daddy came up with a plan, though. We didn’t want to forget about you, even though it hurt so much to think about what we’d lost. So we talk about you every day – your bright blue eyes, the way you’d suckle my cheek when you were hungry, as if you were giving me big kisses…
You gave me hope when I felt like there was none, Harvey. You proved that dreams can come true.
It’s been almost nine months since you died, and I’ve just found out I’m pregnant again. Your little brother or sister will know all about you, I promise.
For now, though, all I can do is tell you I love you, and say goodnight to my little slug. I hope, wherever you are, you can hear me.
Lots of love, Mummy xxx
Shelly Bagnall, 21, Swanley, Kent