It was a very scary time.
They were excited to meet me.
They loved me.
But, they were terrified.
I was born by emergency caesarean. I was rushed from the room, silent and covered in plastic. Dad was torn between staying with Mum and coming to me.
Mum didn't see me for about nine hours.
I was born before they were ready. I wasn't steroid ready, so my lungs were under-developed and I struggled (a lot) at first. I had pneumonia in those firsts days. I nearly died on my second night.
The first week was very difficult. I crashed a few times and constantly set off my alarms.
No one could touch me.
I needed constant support with my breathing, so I was covered in tubes and breathing masks. They didn't even really know what I really looked like.
We were about to start an incredible journey together.
For Mum, expressing milk was almost impossible, but because I couldn't handle anything else, she persevered.
There were countless tests and scans and checks. I was constantly monitored and still have the scars from the endless needles. My alarms continued to go off. My oxygen saturation levels regularly dropped... Once, they dropped to 17%!
On my 8th day, I had my first cuddle with Mum.
On my 22nd day, Dad held me for the first time.
The Aunts had their first cuddle at three months, after Dad gave me a bath.
Mum and Dad were living apart. Dad had to work. Mum stayed in Sydney.
I needed to go under the 'blue' lights a few times.
When I had my immunisations at two and four months, I stopped breathing. I went straight back to CPAP and oxygen prongs.
I was transferred to Westmead, for possible surgery on my bowels. Fortunately, this wasn't needed and I was returned to The RPA Hospital.
There were bad, bad, bad days.
And, slowly and very sporadically, there were good days.
One big problem was my weight. I couldn't seem to grow. I couldn't handle the milk. I couldn't handle the increase in feeds. I couldn't handle the added calories.
I was sick... often. I vomited up most of what I drank.
But finally... I was allowed to breast feed, and that was the start of things improving.
Always love.
Hamish has joined me on every hospital journey. Every one!
Now, I throw him off my bed at night. I'm bigger than Hamish, now.
But, he still gets packed in my hospital bag.
The brain damage day was bad! I was 30 days old.
Mum and Dad were told in a cold room... Careless words were spoken by people who were surprised Mum and Dad didn't already know the results of my brain scan. Hearts were broken and dreams were shattered.
And, we started chasing silver linings and rainbows. We started therapies. We had professionals come to visit my bedside and suggest preferred lying positions and exercises.
We were shown how to best support my neck. We were shown how to flex my ankles and how to massage my back.
There were so many tests and procedures, swallow tests, lumber punctures, scans, blood tests, blood transfusions and needles.
We have no idea how many there were.
Finally, they ambulanced me to Wollongong.
Suddenly, Mum was in charge of almost all of my care. She could cuddle me all day, without asking. My family could all cuddle me. I have always loved physical contact.
There were some bad days, but I started to really grow.
It was as though I knew there were higher expectations of me.
There were more and more good days. Alarms went off, but they usually weren't mine.
And then, finally, after four months... 122 days....
They said I could go home!