My dear Lucy,

It’s not long until you turn eight years old. I can hardly believe the years have passed so quickly. I sit down in my recliner and close my eyes to remember your story.

I remember being pregnant with you: the daily nausea, the afternoon headaches, the ultrasound appointment where I found out you had pericardial effusion. I remember the prayers offered up for you and the playful kicks that told me you were okay.

I remember the fortnightly trips to the foetal medicine unit, the bloating, the worry, and the every single Friday puking as I tried to hang on working part time towards the end of the pregnancy.

I remember being told to stop work and relax. I remember the final trip to the foetal medicine unit when my blood pressure rocketed and I had a killer headache. I thought I was just starving and sent your daddy to buy me a sandwich. The obstetrician was told and decided to keep me in and give me medicine for hypertension.

That evening she came to see me and said they had scheduled induction for the following day. I could hardly contain my excitement to meet you. I was to be induced on your late grandfather’s birthday. It seemed you were meant to be born on his birthday.

I couldn’t sleep that night. I was nursing a rotten cold, 38 weeks pregnant, and so excited for the induction to happen.

The next day came but we waited until 5pm to be transferred down to the labour and delivery ward for induction. That was a long day. The night was even longer. They connected me to a hormone drip but the contractions wouldn’t get going.

Every muscle in my body ached as I tried to get comfortable on that hard bed. I still had a tickly cough and a stuffy nose. The midwife diffused some eucalyptus oil to help me breathe. We listened to Ludivico Einaudi on repeat to help me relax.

The midwife broke my waters (or so she thought) but still contractions wouldn’t get going. More synthetic hormone was given but still progress was slow. We were shattered. It was late morning on the next day by this point.

The consultant decided to break my waters again, this time successfully. My contractions seemed to go from 20mph to 100mph metaphorically speaking. I was exhausted and scared at this point, unsure I would make it through delivery.

Suddenly the room filled with people. The monitor showed your heart rate was dropping. The obstetrician (a young lady with red hair just like yours) told me we needed to do a C-Section. I had always been terrified of going under the knife, but at that point I was just relieved.

I signed the paperwork while I was high on gas and air. That was bizarre. They rushed us into theatre and quickly prepared me for surgery. Daddy came in dressed in scrubs and sat beside me. A sheet blocked my view of my belly area.

A short while later they pulled you out of my womb. They exclaimed over your full head of red hair but rushed you away to the resusitaire because you had taken one breath, then stopped breathing and were turning blue.

“Is she okay? Is she okay?” John walked over to take a look. With his medical knowledge it must have been hard to take a back seat. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, they said you were breathing. What a relief!

I told John to go with you to the NICU while I was sent to recovery. Briefly, I stroked your little red head, and then I was wheeled away.

I was sent to a ward for recovery. All the other mums had their babies in arms. I knew you were safe but I still missed you. Eventually John came and updated me. You were ventilated but okay. We phoned family and shared our good news.

I sent John home to get some rest but unfortunately the hospital was short staffed. No one was available to take me to see you in NICU until twelve hours after your birth (2am). I put my hands into your incubator and stroked your hands and feet. I let you hear my voice. I sang to you while you held my finger with a fierce grip.

Later, after we had some rest, John and I came to see you again. Within two minutes of us walking into NICU your monitors started beeping and the numbers on the machines hooked up to you started dropping. The staff rushed around you and John took me out of the room. I was extremely scared.

A little later, once you were stabilised, the doctor spoke with us. The pericardial effusion had resolved but you had pulmonary hypertension, which they thought was caused by a heart valve failing to close after birth. The plan was to give you some drugs to help you to relax, in the hope that the heart valve would then close. The doctor was non-committal about whether it would work. He said you could be in NICU for weeks.

We went away and requested prayer from family and friends. We prayed ourselves. God answered positively. A few days later you were moved to the High Dependency Unit instead of NICU, and then a few days after that you were moved to our local hospital. Thankfully you have had no heart complications since!

Lucy, we love you. We love the many versions of you:

We loved the sleeping red headed newborn baby with the serious face.

We loved the bigger, bouncing baby with your giggles and mischievous smiles.

We loved the mess-making, into everything two year old.

We loved the shy, anxious toddler, who cried in new places and barely spoke.

We adored the three year old girl who suddenly started talking and then never stopped unless she was asleep!

We loved it when you said big words slightly wrong. Like the word “beaufital.”

We loved the pre-schooler who threw up when nervous and developed a sudden irrational fear of the sitcom, Dad’s Army.

We loved the confident girl who stepped out of nursery and somehow grew even more confident during the covid lockdown.

We love the girl who works so hard in school and also tries to be a friend to everyone.

We love the girl who likes to tell us jokes, even when they’re not funny.

We love the energetic girl who loves to play and sing and dance.

We love the girl who is a loving, kind, caring sister and always tries to help.

We love our Lucy. We are so very thankful that you survived your traumatic birth.

We are thankful for good medical care, which is a gift from God.

We are thankful for answered prayer.

‭1 Samuel‬ ‭1:27‬ ‭ESV‬
For this child I prayed, and the Lord has granted me my petition that I made to him.

https://bible.com/bible/59/1sa.1.27.ESV