Heartbreak & inspiration
When I think back to my pregnancy, it’s still surreal how much of our journey was spent holding our breath, waiting, and hoping. I was diagnosed with severe IUGR (intrauterine growth restriction), and our daughter stopped growing at just 28 weeks. Alysha wasn’t born until 32 weeks, but those weeks between were some of the most terrifying of my life.
For a while, I knew something wasn’t right. Call it intuition or just a mother’s instinct, but I could feel that things weren’t progressing the way they should. Yet, all my blood work came back normal, and her heart rate always looked fine on the monitors. I kept pushing for answers, asking for extra checks, and it wasn’t until I demanded an ultrasound that we finally found the truth. Alysha had stopped growing. Her dopplers were abnormal and running too fast, sending most of her blood flow straight to her brain in order to protect her vital organs.
Our NICU world
The doctors decided to try for an induction, and to our relief it did start to work. But during the process, things quickly became urgent. They couldn’t hear her heartbeat clearly, and in that moment everything shifted. The team moved fast, and I was rushed into theatre for an emergency C-section. I’ll never forget that moment seeing my tiny baby, weighing just 1.3kg (2lb 14oz), whisked away before I even got the chance to really hold her. Alysha was rushed to the NICU for oxygen and needed a feeding tube straight away. In that instant, the NICU became our world.
We spent two months there, and those days felt like the longest of my life. Our daughter fought so hard, but the road was far from smooth. She battled jaundice for two weeks, spent seven weeks with her feeding tube, and needed oxygen for three weeks. Every step forward felt like a victory, but there were just as many setbacks that left us in tears.
“Looking back now, it’s hard to put into words what the NICU journey does to a family. It tests you in ways you could never imagine, but it also shows you the strength of love, resilience, and community. ”
Through it all, we were there by her side. I visited Alysha every day from 8am until 10pm. It didn’t matter if I was exhausted or emotional I just couldn’t bear to leave her. Sometimes, my partner would drive us in the middle of the night just to be with her. From where we lived to the hospital, it was 40 minutes, yet we needed to see her, to reassure ourselves that she was still fighting, still here.
Kindness and compassion
What made those two months bearable were the nurses. The NICU nurses are, without a doubt, the kindest, most patient, most compassionate people I have ever met. They didn’t just care for our daughter’s medical needs; they cared for her like she was their own. They dressed her in the sweetest little outfits, made sure her stuffed animals were dressed too, and filled her crib with love even when we weren’t able to be there. They took photos for us so we wouldn’t miss special moments, and they made us keepsake gifts that we’ll treasure forever.
When we weren’t in the hospital, we were able to watch Alysha through the iPad cameras. That connection, even from home, was such a lifeline. It meant we could see her sleeping peacefully or being cared for when we couldn’t physically be by her side. Those small things made the world of difference.
Over time, the nurses became like family. They celebrated her milestones with us, reassured us through our tears, and patiently explained everything we didn’t understand. Their warmth and dedication carried us through the hardest season of our lives.
Looking back now, it’s hard to put into words what the NICU journey does to a family. It tests you in ways you could never imagine, but it also shows you the strength of love, resilience, and community. Watching our daughter fight for every gram of weight, every breath without oxygen, and every feed without the tube was both heartbreaking and inspiring. She taught us more about courage in those first two months than we could have ever learned in a lifetime.
Tiny fighter
Now, when I see her smile or reach for us with her tiny hands, I’m reminded of every long day and night in the NICU. The fear, the tears, the joy, the gratitude it all floods back. But most of all, I’m reminded that Alysha is here, she’s thriving, and she’s proof of what it means to be a fighter.
The NICU never really leaves you, it stays with you, shaping the way you see life and parenthood. But it also gives you something extraordinary: the chance to help your child in ways you never thought you could. From learning how to gently place a feeding tube, to celebrating every single gram gained, to finally holding her without wires and machines, those moments are etched in us forever. The journey was hard, but the gift is immeasurable: the privilege of watching our tiny fighter grow, thrive, and remind us every day of the hope that carried us through.
Thanks to Indearna for sharing Alysha’s story.