8th April ... "if he's going to go please let him go peacefully"

8th April:

This is going to be a hard one to write for me; this took my anxiety to the limit.

What started out as a routine visit on the morning of the 8th soon turned into a living nightmare.

I was sitting alone at my Uncle’s house. I was away from Frances as we lived at different addresses. I was just sitting there thinking about Oliver and just general things. I though I would try and relax and have a beer. No later than I had finished the first can and actualy felt some sort of relaxation, Frances called.

At 8pm on a Wednesday evening Frances had got a phone call from the hospital.

The call specifically asked us for both of us to attend to hospital. As soon as she hung up, she called me right away. As I layed on my bed about to have another can of beer, I answered the call from Frances. Instantly from the tone of her voice I knew something was wrong, "Ethan how soon can you get to mine?". She explained the doctors and nurses were very concerned and we needed to get there right away.

I said to Frances I could get to her house in 15 minutes. As I got off the phone with her, all the while completely panicked, I called my mum’s partner who picked me up.

The drive to Fran’s house seemed so long and I was in floods of tears.

I just had this overwhelming sence of dread. I remember crying and telling my mum’s partner "if he is going to go, please just let him go peacefully".

I couldn't find that positive place I needed to be in; how do you stay positive in these situations? 

What didn't help was the covid restrictions... allow me to explain. Due to the doctors saying we could both go in to see him, I knew this was going to be bad. For a hospital to bend the rules of ‘1 parent visits only’ and to have us both there with him at the same time, something had to be significantly awry.

Once I was at Fran’s, I wasn’t even out of the car and she came out the front door and headed straight to her car. From one car to the next, we made our way to the hospital.

Standing at the doors of the nicu, I just wanted the world to swallow me up. I just had to find this strength that I just didn't have to go in there and be hopeful and positive. I managed to find a glimmer or positivity; purely because I knew I needed to, but this was short lived. 

It was at this point; I knew I was right when I felt something not right that morning. Always trust your instinct and keep pushing.

Walking in panicked and scrubbed up I saw around  5 nurses around his incubator. Fran and I both got to see Oliver together for the first time.

Within a few seconds of us being there, we were promptly escorted to the side room to be spoken to.

Sitting down with a nurse and a senior nurse, we were given some news that just broke us as parents.

"Oliver is very unwell and he is having a bleed from his stomach. He also has a perforated bowel and there is substance leaking from his belly area up to his lungs.

Other symptoms also show that he is fighting a blood infection"

Barely given time to comprehend the massive amount of news we had just received, the doctor's continued to explain the enormity of the situation. We were given the news no parent ever wants to hear.

We were given the ultimatum that he needed to be transferred to Brighton hospital to have life-saving surgery. We were also told that he might not even make the trip, and furthermore, if he made the trip there was the possibility that they medical professionals there might not even be able to operate.

We were both allowed into the room to spend time with him before he left.

Distraught and feeling vulnerable, the next few hours I was just on auto-pilot. We both sat with him, we both cried and we called family and friends. I myself felt like the whole world was crashing down on me. I couldn't protect my son and I  couldn’t support my partner; I felt like a complete failure.

As we sat there watching him, he opened his other eye and looked at Frances. But our short lived joy was dispersed by just how ill our son looked.

Seeing my son in this state was just the worst moment of my life. 

I still think about this day, and even now 11 months later, this day is still completely clear in my mind. 

After a few hours of getting him ready and setting up all the machines for travel, he was ready to be transported to Brighton.

Words can't describe how these picture makes me feel.

Each machine was as important as the next; all just trying to keep my son alive. 

We followed the ambulance down to Brighton and met Oliver there.

We were again taken to a side room filled with nurses and the surgeon. They were completely honest and explained to us that the odds were stacked against our little boy. 

Those words will haunt me to this day; I can't undo or forget what was said that night.

The nurse went on to say “he is very ill, but we will do what we can”. We spoke through various outcomes that surgery could result in. This included blood loss during surgery and the possibility of a collapsed lung. The most worrying part of all was the underlying possibility that they might not even be able to operate on the bowel at all.

We then got the final blow; if they couldn't operate, they would seal up the surgery wound and we would have to have the discussion on how to comfort him until he passed.

I just didn't know what or how I was thinking after hearing this. It was nearly 12am on the 9th April and I was trying to take in all this information. It had only been a few short hours from the initial call to come down to the hospital and we had already been told there was a very high chance our son was going to die.

Trying summon up any semblance of hope and positivity, I said to Frances “we have made it to Brighton and he is still alive, the odds were against him even arriving here alive”. 

Due to the circumstances, Brighton allowed us to both stay in the hospital over night, especially considering it being the early hours of the morning. While Oliver was being prepared for his surgery only one parent was allowed to be with him. Frances went down and stayed with him until his surgery at 4:30 am.

We were asked if we wanted to get Oliver blessed and even though neither of us are religious, we still agreed. It is silly to think about it now, but my thoughts at the time were “well, if some kind of higher power does exist, I want him to have all the help he can get”. 

At 4:30 Oliver finally went down for his bowel surgery. This was another small positive step purely because the surgeon had agreed to do the surgery.

While waiting in the parents room, Frances and I tried to get some sleep. It was all in vain and we mostly just layed awake; we were upset and distraught we just held each other.

Next .... "its nearly 9am Frances, why havent we heard anything"