As told by Mum, Kelly
Ollie was born at 40 weeks and 2 days, but his arrival into this world was nothing like I had imagined. Having experienced a drug-free birth with my first child, I felt prepared. Yet this time, from the start, something felt different.
The induction began, but my body didn’t cope well. Labour was hard and fast—so intense that it was overwhelming. Fetal monitoring revealed that Ollie was in distress, and everything suddenly became a blur of urgency. I remember being rushed down the hospital hallways on a bed. A nurse running alongside us tripped and fell, and the bed nearly toppled over her. That chaos mirrored the fear in my heart.
In the theatre, they acted quickly. A suction cup was used to deliver Ollie, and thankfully, it worked on the first attempt. Ollie was born breathing, but his Apgar score was only 1, then rose to 2. The room was tense, full of hurried movements and grave faces. He was whisked away to neonatal care while a helicopter was placed on standby. My husband followed him, but I had to stay behind in the theatre, bleeding and alone.
The diagnosis came—Neonatal Encephalopathy. The doctors couldn’t tell us how long Ollie had been without oxygen. His tiny body was placed under a cooling treatment to protect his brain, and he was given morphine. For the first 48 hours of his life, I couldn’t touch him. It was heartbreaking to stand by, hearing the alarms and not knowing if my baby would survive.
I will never forget asking the doctor, “Will my baby live?” and his solemn reply: “I don’t know.” Those words haunt me even now.
When they warmed Ollie’s body for the first time, he had a seizure. The decision was made to cool him again for another 24 hours. After this second cooling, they tried warming him again. This time, he became alert. It felt like hope was creeping back into the room.
Finally, I was able to hold my baby boy. That first cuddle was overwhelming—I cried rivers of tears, holding him close, feeling the fragility of his life but also his strength.
After ten long days in the neonatal unit, surrounded by incredible nurses and doctors who cared for him as if he were their own, we were finally able to take Ollie home.
Now, Ollie is a thriving, cheeky 10-year-old who embraces life with so much joy and energy. It’s as if he knows he’s lucky to be here, and we are lucky to have him. His resilience inspires me every day, even as the memories of his traumatic birth remain with me. The smells, sounds, and stories of neonatal babies still trigger that painful time, but they also remind me of how far we’ve come. Ollie is our miracle, our fighter, and the light of our whānau.
I joined the Neonatal Trust in Taranaki and organised fundraisers just as my way of saying Thank You to those that saved my child’s life.
Thanks so much for sharing your personal story
We get a lot of positive feedback from families in a neonatal unit who read these stories and feel strength, hope and positivity knowing that they are not alone going through these experiences and feeling certain emotions.
If you would like to discuss sharing the story of your neonatal journey, we’d love to hear from you. Please email info@littlemiraclestrust.org.nz
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- The Little Miracles Trust provides support to families of premature or sick full-term babies as they make their journey through Neonatal Intensive Care, the transition home, and onwards. We do not receive any Government funding and are entirely reliant on the generosity of individuals, companies and organisations in the form of donations, value-in-kind donations, grants, sponsorship and fundraising events to supplement operating costs and fund our services and initiatives.
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