'This is NICU' filmstar: Tommy (26+6 weeks)

I’d never been the little girl who dreamed of her wedding, but I always dreamed of the family I’d have – what it would feel like to be pregnant, to carry a tiny life inside me. I longed for the flutters and kicks, and to proudly show off the bump I’d always wanted.

Unfortunately, I never got to that stage as I imagined. Because I’d advocated for early testing, doctors discovered a short cervix at 15 weeks. Years earlier, I’d had pre-cancerous cells removed at 25 and knew there could be a link. I had a cervical suture to save my baby and, despite fear, stayed full of hope after reading positive stories.

But at 22 weeks, our world turned upside down. I didn’t feel quite right, went to hospital, and was told I was fully dilated with bulging membranes – my body was ready to give birth. The chances of survival were minimal.

Terrified to hope

What followed were five weeks of strict bed rest across two hospitals. I showered sitting on a chair, was prodded with needles endlessly, but I didn’t care – I was defying the odds. The care in both Southampton and Poole maternity hospitals was incredible. 

Still, hearing daily how they would wrap our baby in a blanket and let him take his first and last breaths with me was unbearable.

At 26 weeks and six days, my waters broke, and Tommy was born weighing just under 2lb (900g). He was wrapped in a Sainsbury’s freezer bag to prevent hypothermia and rushed away. We didn’t know if he was alive for five hours. When we finally saw him – red, translucent skin, eyes still sealed, wires everywhere – words couldn’t describe how we felt. People didn’t know whether to congratulate us. We were terrified to feel hopeful.

NICU was another world – the beeping, the smell, the lights. I held my breath every time I walked in or the phone rang. The fear of the unknown was constant, and I hated having no control. Thankfully, I had an incredible support network. While my husband worked, my mum came each morning to visit and support me.

I stayed by Tommy’s side every day, watching his sats (oxygen saturation levels), torturing myself with every alarm. One moment he was stable; the next, we weren’t sure he’d make it. Every time his heart stopped, so did mine.

Tommy spent 101 days in hospital – three weeks in Southampton, the rest in Poole. When he finally came home, he still needed oxygen at times, but he was our miracle.

Fighting for survival again

The following year, I had a pre-pregnancy stitch to prevent it happening again. In 2022, I fell pregnant once more, full of hope. But at 26 weeks, my waters broke again – PPROM (Preterm Prelabour Rupture Of Membranes), a term I’d never known before. How could this be happening again? I blamed myself every day for not being able to carry my babies to term. Every day was torture, the risks to myself and my baby with no waters were so much higher and I was so scared I was going to miss vital signs. After another five weeks of bed rest, including a week transferred three hours from Tommy to Bristol hospital, I had an emergency C-section. 

At 31 weeks, weighing 3lb 1oz (1.4kg), Rafferty entered the world. I was grateful to have made it that far- but juggling NICU with a toddler and dealing with mum guilt no matter where I was, was another emotion altogether.

Seeing your baby fight for each breath is a feeling only those who’ve lived it can understand. To endure it twice is something I never imagined, and although I’m endlessly grateful for my two amazing little fighters, I’ll always grieve the pregnancies I never truly experienced.

To families in NICU today…

If I could offer any advice, it would be to get as hands-on as possible – take every chance to be involved in your child’s care. I was lucky to form incredible friendships with nurses and doctors, many of whom I’m still close to today. I also created an Instagram journal for both my boys, to document their journeys, update loved ones, and help me process my emotions through writing.

Celebrate the tiniest milestones – the weight gained in grams, the next nappy size, the first time you dress or bathe them. These small things mean everything.

The NICU journey demands strength, love, and resilience beyond measure. The fight doesn’t end when you finally walk out of those hospital doors – but that day will still be one of the best of your life. Thank you for letting me share my story and raise awareness. If you are going through NICU right now or have ever experienced any of these emotions, you are not alone! 

Thanks to Jennifer for sharing Tommy’s and Rafferty’s stories and videos for World Prematurity Month 2025