Andrea and Patrick

A chara, 

This Christmas will be our very first at home as a family. No wires. No monitors. No alarms. Just us, together, with our beautiful girls Molly and Summer. 

But last Christmas was so different. 

I’d already been to The National Maternity Hospital Emergency Department twice, so when my waters broke in early December, I thought, this can’t be right. My babies weren’t due until the 20th of February. I kept telling myself, maybe it’s nothing, maybe I’ll be sent home again. 

But I wasn’t. My waters had broken, and I was admitted straight away. The babies could arrive at any time, and that was terrifying. 

That first night, I had this hunger I can’t even explain. It wasn’t just a craving, it was like a deep emptiness. Dinner had been hours earlier and the kitchen was closed. I asked one of the midwives and she came back with tea and toast. That small act of kindness has stuck with me ever since. It sounds so simple, but in that moment, it was exactly what I needed. And that was the tone of everything in The NMH - small kindnesses, constant reassurance, always making me feel like I wasn’t alone. 

For two weeks I stayed as an inpatient. The staff put the girls on a trace, and I knew I was in the safest place. I’d had a couple of scares with Braxton Hicks and false alarms, but the team continued to reassure me with calm words that kept me going. 

Then, in the early hours of Christmas Eve, everything changed. Around 1am, I woke with pain and heat, and a strange popping sensation. At first I thought, is this just more Braxton Hicks? I even tracked my contractions on an app, convincing myself I still had time. But soon I knew this was different. I pressed the alarm. 

The midwife examined me and calmly said: “You’re going to meet your babies for Christmas.” 

Everything became a blur. Patrick rushed in, and within hours I was being prepped. Molly arrived first, naturally. Then Summer, who had turned and was breech. They were just 31 weeks and 5 days. Molly weighed 2.06 kilos, Summer just 1.71 kilos. So tiny, so fragile. 

I got to hold Molly briefly, but not Summer. She had to be taken straight to the NICU. I didn’t know then that it would be hours before I would see them again. 

Patrick went first to the NICU, but my blood pressure was too high. It was after midday before I could finally walk down. I’ll never forget stepping into that room. I was scared and very emotional - washing my hands, sanitising, walking past the machines, the alarms, the wires. My heart was pounding. I thought, this is serious. 

Christmas Day was nothing like the Christmas I’d imagined. I’ve always loved Christmas - the lights, the presents, the excitement. But that day, my own presents sat unopened in a bag. Patrick had brought them in, but I didn’t even look at them until late that night, after he had gone home. I realised then that none of it mattered at all. The only presents I wanted were Molly and Summer to be fine. They were our Christmas present. 

So Christmas was just the four of us in the NICU. We spent most of the day by their incubators. Holding them was both wonderful and terrifying. They were so small, and the wires made us afraid to move even a little. I would sit completely still, afraid I’d pull something out. Patrick felt the same. But even with the fear, every cuddle was such a treasure. 

When we arrived on Christmas morning and found a “Baby’s First Christmas” decoration on each of their incubators, it meant the world. It was such a small touch, but it made us feel like someone else understood that this wasn’t the Christmas we’d imagined - yet it could still be special. 

After St Stephen’s Day, I was told I could be discharged myself. But I wasn’t ready. The idea of leaving the girls behind filled me with guilt. I can’t go yet… I’m meant to mind them… 

But the mental health team helped me see that I needed to take care of myself too, and Patrick and I still had so much to prepare for the babies to come home. She was right, we didn’t even have car seats yet for them - but it broke my heart to walk out without my babies. 

The weeks that followed were a blur of machines, feeds, and visits. The girls were on and off the jaundice light, they needed these sunglasses, and we thought they were like their little superhero glasses. Patrick read to them every night from the NICU library, while I mostly just talked and whispered to them. The physios showed us how to position them, so they’d grow strong, and the nurses explained the beeps and alarms, that helped to calm us. 

I remember the day they wore their first little cardigans and lay side by side in cots instead of incubators. That was one of the best memories. They suddenly looked like “big” babies, and it felt like we were another step closer to bringing them home. 

In January, after five long weeks, we finally got the news we had been waiting for: both girls were ready to come home. I couldn’t believe it. I had been asking from the very first night, when can they be discharged? and now it was finally happening. 

But even then, fate threw one more challenge our way. A storm knocked out our electricity the night before discharge, and we couldn’t risk bringing two tiny premature babies into a cold, dark house. Their homecoming was delayed by a day. It felt like the longest 24 hours of our lives. 

When the day finally came, we were super excited to bring them home but the drive home was the slowest and scariest we’ve ever done. I checked their car seats every few minutes, terrified and overjoyed in equal measure. After weeks of alarms and wires, here they were, our babies at home. 

And so this Christmas will be different. This Christmas we’ll be at home, all four of us, our little family, celebrating our very first Christmas together at home. 

When I hang those little decorations on our Christmas tree, I will think of everyone who made it possible for us to be here - the incredible staff at The National Maternity Hospital, and the generous supporters like you who help give babies like Molly and Summer the best chance of life. 

The Christmas decorations will forever be a reminder that the only presents that matter are our precious girls. 

From the bottom of our hearts, thank you. With love and gratitude, 

Andrea and Patrick 

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