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Elizabeth's Story

© John McManamy

"It was like well, I'll schedule the breakdown for later. I don't have time now ..."

Her daughter, Melissa, was born after 26 weeks of gestation. She weighed one and a half pounds exactly, and she was told her baby wouldn't live the night. This was only the beginning, as Elizabeth describes it:

Naturally I was devastated, but to make it worse, I went through it all alone. I had my immediate family in the UK, but Melissa's father, whom I'm now actually married to, lived in America. So essentially, all this little baby had was me. During the eleven and a half weeks (seven in intensive care) that she was in hospital, I lived in a blank period. There was no normality of life in this at all. I functioned day to day pretty much as a robot.

I too was sick. The pregnancy had had complications: I had undergone a C-section, and I was suffering from severe infections, but all that seemed to matter to me was my daughter's welfare. I neglected myself terribly, never giving myself a chance to heal either physically or emotionally.

I spent every day at the hospital by my daughter's side. I'd arrive home exhausted, and my body kept protesting at the lack of rest. Even when I was away from the hospital, my mind was always there, always on my daughter's fight for life. I dreaded the telephone ringing, in case it was bad news, and if I was anywhere else other than by her side, I felt this immense guilt, because I felt that I should be there.

I shut everybody out that tried to help me. Nobody could possibly understand what I was going through. People would tell me, "She'll be all right," and I wanted to scream, "How do you know? You can't have any idea."

(Melissa had actually clinically "died" at birth, though I never discovered this until much later. It took them ten minutes to resuscitate her, and she went on to have kidney failure and numerous other problems.)

I dared not breakdown. I was all this child had and I knew that if I succumbed once, it would be all over. During the whole of this period and for months afterwards, I did not shed a tear. I simply never allowed myself time to grieve. It was like well, I'll schedule the breakdown for later, I don't have time now. Only later did I realize that being strong carries a price.

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