Stories

Stories >> Stories home >> Mummy for a month

Mummy for a month

After 17 years of waiting, you finally made my desperate wish come true


Published by: Jessica Gibb and Lucy Laing
Published on: 26 January 2012

The first time I heard your heart beating was one of the most magical moments of my life. All I wished was that your daddy Paul, 43, was there to share it with me.
But Joshua, don't think for one moment that Daddy didn't care - it's just that he was too afraid to fall in love with you.
We'd had 17 years of heartbreak as we'd tried for a baby. I'd been diagnosed with polycystic ovaries when I was 15, so we'd tried for a baby for seven years before turning to IVF. But two courses of that had failed us too.
‘Will I ever be a mum?' I'd sobbed on Paul's shoulder.
‘Yes,' he'd insisted, hugging me. ‘You were born to be a mum.'
Joshua, I was so scared that it would never happen. Six long years later, we'd managed to conceive naturally... but I'd suffered a miscarriage at 11 weeks.
So maybe now you can understand why, when I miraculously fell pregnant with you, Daddy was scared.
Hearing proof you were alive inside me, though, I finally believed and rushed home to tell Daddy. ‘We're going to have a baby!' I gushed.
‘Don't get too excited,' he warned, but I could see a twinkle in his eye. A month later, he came with me to the 12-week scan and we saw you for the first time.
It wasn't until the 20-week scan that we really allowed ourselves to hope though. ‘It's a boy,' the sonographer told us.
Daddy had tears sliding down his cheeks. ‘I'm really going to be a dad,' he whispered.
I started crying too, fast-forwarded through the years in my head. I saw us cheering you on as you played football, Paul clutching your bike seat as you pedalled without stabilisers for the first time, the three of us snuggled in bed on Sunday mornings...
We practically floated out of that room. We decided to name you Joshua and while I rushed out to buy you little jeans and tops, Daddy got your nursery painted in pale yellow and built your cot.
But just four weeks later, a check-up with my midwife showed my blood pressure had shot up. Joshua, as I rushed to St Mary's maternity hospital in Poole, I was so frightened. ‘We're losing him,' I panicked.
‘No, Joshua's a fighter,' Paul assured me. But I'd developed pre-eclampsia and kidney failure, so was hospitalised for three weeks while doctors monitored us.
‘We're going to try to get you to 30 weeks,' the doctor explained. ‘By then, he should be strong enough to be born.'
‘Hang in there, little guy,' your daddy told you, his hand on my bump. Just then we felt you kick inside. We grinned at each other - you understood.
A few days later, I realised something. I hadn't felt you move all morning. ‘Nurse?' I panicked. ‘Something's wrong.'
I was taken to the delivery suite and given steroid injections to try to strengthen your lungs. I was only 27 weeks pregnant and so scared. Daddy held my hand tight, stared at me with such fierce love in his eyes. ‘I'll be right next to you,' he promised.
He didn't let go of my hand all through the emergency c-section. It was all so fast, though. Joshua, I didn't even hear you cry before you were rushed to intensive care. ‘He's a good weight at 2lbs,' the doctor told me. ‘He's doing well.'
Daddy went straight to see you and, when he came back, he was grinning so proudly. ‘He's beautiful,' he whispered. ‘I took a photo on my phone.'
You were so tiny, but so perfect too. ‘Look at his little fingers,' I whispered. ‘God, Paul, he's really ours.'
I constantly asked the nurses for updates. After two days, I was finally well enough to meet you. My heart was hammering as Daddy parked me in a wheelchair next to your incubator.
You were hooked up to so many machines, looking so vulnerable. I just wanted to cuddle you and tell you everything would be okay. ‘He's gorgeous,' I smiled.
‘Takes after his dad!' Paul grinned. The doctor said you had a good chance of survival, especially after an operation to close a valve in your heart a day later.
A week after the surgery, I was finally allowed to cuddle you for the first time. Holding you in my arms, I couldn't stop crying, I was so happy. I'd not realised a piece of my heart had been missing... until now. ‘Now I'm whole,' I smiled at you.
I put you back in your incubator with a teddy called Snuggles. And over the next couple of weeks, the nurses let me wash and change you. Finally, I was a proper mum.
‘He's reached 2.2lb,' the doctor said. ‘He'll be home by the beginning of October.'
Only a couple of months away! We couldn't wait.
One day, I was changing your nappy, and you squirmed constantly. ‘He's not been himself all day,' I frowned.
‘Maybe he's just tired,' Paul replied. Reluctantly, we went home and, at 8.30pm, we called to see how you were. ‘He's being sick,' a nurse said.
We rushed back and a doctor called us into his office. I've never felt fear like it. ‘Joshua had necrotising enterocolitis,' he said. ‘His bowel's died and it's poisoning his body.'
‘Well what are you going to do?' I begged. As soon as the doctor hesitated I knew - we were losing you.
My mind span. We'd waited 17 years for you, how could we lose you after just 32 days?
We were taken into the family room and the doctor brought you in and put you in my arms. I was crying so hard. ‘There you are, my perfect little boy,' I crooned. ‘I love you.'
You took a couple of laboured breaths and then your little chest stilled. You were gone, your spirit floating up to heaven with the other angels. My beautiful son.
Joshua, I told you that you completed me. Well now, your death had taken an even bigger piece of my heart.
Daddy was a broken man too, taking his turn to cuddle you. We bathed you, dressed you in a white suit with blue storks that read special delivery. Then we put you in a Moses basket with Snuggles. ‘Goodbye,' I choked.
I wasn't ready to leave you, though, visited you every day for a week at the funeral home.
On the last day, I changed your nappy and put you in a smart beige stripy trouser and jacket set. As I pulled on your tiny white socks, I pretended I was dressing you to take you home.
But as I brushed your cold cheek, I realised we'd never take you anywhere. The grief stabbed like a knife. ‘Why you?' I wept.
At the funeral, Daddy carried you in a little white coffin. Afterwards, we wrote messages to you and tied them to 40 blue balloons we let float into the sky. I hope you caught them all, Joshua.
You're buried just around the corner from us and I visit every day. ‘I'm organising charity nights in your memory, to raise money for the hospital that looked after you,' I told you recently. I hope you're proud of me. You gave me the most precious gift ever - the chance to be your mummy.
Sleep tight, angel.
Tracie Wright, 42, Poole, Dorset