The room was reverentially silent like a place of worship, a description that wasn’t entirely inaccurate. The quiet punctuated only by the symphony of beeps, blips, buzzers and bells. Complicated machinery that kept tiny hearts beating and impossibly small lungs inflating. It was overwhelming, to be there among the sterile, shiny, invasive equipment, all designed to keep the blood of the most fragile, tiny people pumping around their bodies.
Her own heart thumped with the same level of anxiety she'd felt on that day.
The air of the NICU carried a particular weight, which was little to do with the overly warm, oppressive temperature, entirely necessary, of course. But more the expectation and prayers of everyone present exhaled into the small space. It was as if she could taste the sorrow, could breathe in the hope and longing. The mental negotiating of deals that would never be done, and yet, everyone tried hard.
‘Take me instead, let it be me, give him a chance!’
‘Let her live, I’m begging you! I just want her to have the opportunity to grow and live and breathe and succeed and be happy! Oh for her to be happy! Please, please!’
‘I will never ask for anything again, not ever! I just want to see her first nativity, first day at school, her wedding day. I want to see it all, please, please, please, please…’
‘Not him, not him, not him, not my most precious boy! Save him!’
Those who sat patiently by the side of the plastic incubators could barely meet each other’s eye. Ruby understood. Remembering how she had stared at those tiny babies, praying with every fibre of her being, hoping it was not her baby who succumbed. Horrendously and unthinkably navigating the thought that, if one had to go, then please, please let it be another person who was handed that small, wrapped bundle. Watching helplessly, as machines were unplugged, voices lowered, and prayers whispered sensitively into the ether. Wanting the wail of distress to come from another mother, meaning it was not her turn, anything but that!
Oh what a truly sorrowful and most desperate state of affairs.
Ruby had prayed constantly, prayed day and night for a miracle. The doctor had been kind, yet blunt,
‘I would say that her chances are slim. I’m so sorry, Ruby, but I think you need to accept that she is very, very poorly and only getting weaker. If it wasn’t for the interventions that are helping to keep her here, then…’
‘Is it better we let her go, is she in pain?’ Marvin had asked, and she’d wanted to leap at him, claws out, chest heaving, a rage of anger and distress ready to spew from her.
‘Don’t you dare say that! Don’t you dare, Marvin! We will fight for her; we will fight with her!’ she’d screamed.
He’d stared at her, eyes wide, his face so desperately sad, ‘But what if she doesn’t have any fight left Ruby? What if she’stired and just wants to rest. What if she wants to go home?’ he whispered.
‘Get away from me!’ she had responded, standing up straight, resisting the urge to fall to the floor and beat her fists as she wept. ‘Get away from me!’
That exchange had proved the beginning of the end. The two youngsters worlds apart and without the history or depth of foundation to find a way forward. Strangers really who were forever bound by this life changing thing.
The last days had understandably been the worst. Indelibly etched in her thoughts and still with the power to shake her from sleep in the early hours.
There appeared to be little physical change in her daughter’s condition, but there was a conversation when a nurse had come into Ruby’s room, opened a window and the warm air had rushed out into the world along with the last remaining vestiges of hope.
The nurse’s words had echoed, as if delivered under water. And Ruby, submerged in a sea of sadness and fatigue had done her best to decipher them.
Three years had passed, and she was still trying to make sense of it all. The nurse, whose face she could picture, but name she couldn’t recall, stood by the side of her bed.
‘The thing is, Ruby, this might be your last chance.’
‘I don't, don't want to, don't want to hold her or say goodbye. I, I can't!’ The thought of her baby slipping away in her arms, the idea of watching her take her last breath, how could any mother agree to that? It was a feeling deeper than fear.
‘I know you say that now,’ the nurse had carried on, speaking quietly, yet undeterred, ‘and I’m not in any way trying to coerce or encourage you into a decision, but I can give you the benefit of my experience and tell you that, sadly, I've been here many, many times before. More times than I would care to count, andevery single person who has taken the chance to hold their little one and say goodbye has found comfort in it.’
‘I can’t do it.’ She’d shaken her head resolutely, wishing that Marvin were there, wishing she hadn’t sent him away. Wishing so many things…
‘I can’t imagine what you are going through, dear. But I do think the comfort it brings, holding her, might not be immediate, but might help you find peace in the future. I know this because those people, the mums and dads, they write, and they tell me. They say they have no regrets, and that it helped.’
‘I’m not those people.’ Ruby might be young, but she knew her mind, knew what action she needed to take, to get through this, to survive.
‘True, everyone’s different.’ The nurse’s tone was kindly, ‘It’s your decision, Ruby.’
She nodded, unable to admit that it felt almost impossible to make the decision with every fibre of her being in pain. Her skin inflamed, her limbs cumbersome, her brain foggy, heart breaking and her thoughts wild.
‘I think if I don't see her at the end, don't touch her, then I can picture her in that little plastic cot, but still here. It'll be easier to handle, easier to forget the end. Easier to forget it all.’
‘But maybe holding her, saying goodbye might make it easier to remember her?’ the woman gave a half smile.
