In the stillness of the early hours, when most new mothers cradle their newborns, I found myself staring at my son through a barrier of plastic. He was born prematurely at 27 weeks, whisked away to an incubator – a lifeline that would shelter him for the next 10 weeks. This is our story, and why I’m supporting Walk for Wards as they raise funds for Buscot Ward, the very place that gave us hope when we needed it most.
Welcoming a newborn into the world is supposed to be a moment of unparalleled joy – a dream nurtured over months. But when my son Conor arrived prematurely, that dream was abruptly transformed into a nightmare. Instead of holding him close, I watched helplessly as he was enclosed in an incubator, his tiny body obscured by wires and tubes. That incubator, a substitute for the warmth of my arms, became his world.
The first sight of him through that plastic shattered my heart. Instead of the peaceful moments I had imagined, I was confronted with a dizzying array of machines that were keeping him alive. The hum of monitors, the relentless beeps, and the sight of my fragile son tethered to life-saving equipment was overwhelming. It felt as if my role as a mother had been reduced to a bystander, powerless and full of despair.
For 92 days, we lived in the Neonatal Intensive Care Unit (NICU) at Royal Berkshire Hospital, where Conor battled unimaginable odds. He underwent surgeries, fought infections, and endured procedures no newborn should ever face. Each day was a rollercoaster of emotions – moments of fear, despair, and anxiety, but also of hope, resilience, and small victories.
In those 10 weeks, Conor’s incubator was more than just a piece of medical equipment; it was his protector, his shelter. It was the difference between life and death. But it also created a physical and emotional distance that was agonising. I had to ask permission to hold my own baby, a moment that should have been natural and instinctive. Instead, it was dictated by protocols and procedures – heartbreaking reminders of how fragile his life was.
The experience left scars – on both of us. I was diagnosed with PTSD and severe anxiety, my mind haunted by the incessant beeps and alarms that once dictated our lives. Even now, every day sounds can trigger flashbacks to those early days. But amidst the pain, there were also moments of light. We found joy in the small victories, shared laughter with the nurses who became like family, and created memories that still bring warmth to our hearts.
Conor’s journey was a testament to the incredible power of modern medicine, but also to the importance of the human connection. The doctors and nurses on Buscot Ward were more than just medical professionals – they were our lifeline, our support system, and our friends. They walked with us through the darkest times, celebrated with us during the good days, and offered comfort during the setbacks. They were there for every step of our journey, and their care and compassion made all the difference.
Now, I’m supporting the Royal Berks Charity Walk for Wards event which is raising funds for Buscot Ward and the life-saving incubators that gave Conor a fighting chance. These incubators are more than just machines; they are lifelines for the tiniest and most vulnerable among us.
By supporting Walk for Wards, you’re not just helping to fund equipment—you’re giving families like mine a chance at hope, healing, and a future together. Please join me in supporting this incredible event. Let’s ensure that every baby, no matter how small or fragile, has the best possible start in life.
You can help raise vital funds to help us support more new parents by taking part in Walk for Wards on Sunday 29th September at Mapledurham Estate.