At first, everything felt perfect.

My pregnancy with Coco had been smooth, healthy, and filled with hope. I remember believing we had time—time to prepare, time to plan, time to imagine a calm birth in Ballarat, just as we had envisioned.

But at 29 weeks and 5 days, everything changed in an instant.

My membranes ruptured unexpectedly.

Just like that, the birth plan disappeared.

I was rushed by ambulance to Mercy Hospital in Heidelberg, and in that moment, our journey shifted from anticipation to survival.

A Sudden Fight for Two Lives

The following days felt suspended in fear.

I was monitored constantly, surrounded by the steady beeping of machines tracking Coco’s heartbeat. Nurses and doctors checked on us with quiet urgency, and I was given IV steroids to help mature her lungs in case she arrived early—which now felt inevitable.

Each passing hour carried uncertainty.

At 31 weeks exactly, the situation escalated.

My blood tests showed signs of infection risk. The doctors made a decision that changed everything:

Coco had to be delivered immediately.

There was no more waiting.

No more hoping.

Just action.

The Moment Everything Changed

I was wheeled into the operating theatre terrified—not just of surgery, but of what would happen next.

Would she cry?

Would she breathe?

Would she survive?

When Coco was born, she weighed just 1537 grams.

So small. So fragile. And yet—she was here.

But I didn’t get to hold her.

She was immediately taken to the NICU, where machines and medical teams became her first environment in the world.

And I stayed behind, recovering, my heart already separated from hers by hospital walls.

The First Days of Separation

Those first two days were unbearable.

I could hear her cry from another room and not reach her.

Not comfort her.

Not hold her.

But she was not alone.

The NICU team at Mercy Hospital surrounded her with expert care and constant attention, supporting every breath she took.

And even from a distance, we were told something that gave us strength:

She was doing well.

Still, it felt like the longest days of my life.

The First Time I Held My Baby

On day three, everything shifted.

I finally met Coco.

She was surrounded by wires, monitors, and tubes—so small it was almost impossible to comprehend how much she had already endured.

But when I held her hand, I felt it.

Strength.

Quiet, steady, unmistakable strength.

She was my daughter.

And she was fighting.

A Transfer Closer to Home—and New Hope

After one week, Coco was transferred to the Special Care Nursery at Barwon Health in Geelong.

It wasn’t easy saying goodbye to Mercy NICU, but being closer to home meant something priceless:

We could finally be with her more consistently.

And slowly, progress began to build.

She moved from ventilation back to CPAP support.

Her PDA resolved naturally.

Her ROP improved without intervention.

One challenge after another… and one victory after another.

Coco was showing us who she was:

A survivor.

The Reality of NICU Life Doesn’t End at Discharge

Feeding became one of the hardest parts of her journey.

Desaturations happened during feeds. Monitoring continued. Concerns remained.

At times, we were told to prepare for the possibility of bringing her home on oxygen.

That reality felt overwhelming—but we accepted it if it meant she could come home.

And then something incredible happened.

Coco came off oxygen completely.

No machines.

No tubes.

Just her.

After 63 days in NICU, we finally brought her home.

A New Set of Challenges Begins at Home

But NICU discharge is never the end.

It is only the beginning of a different kind of struggle.

At home, feeding issues continued—coughing, vomiting, congestion that wouldn’t resolve.

We searched for answers.

Eventually, a VFSS scan confirmed aspiration with laryngeal penetration.

The conclusion was heartbreaking but necessary:

It was no longer safe for Coco to feed orally.

She was admitted for a feeding tube.

Learning a New Normal

The NG tube became part of our daily life.

Appointments continued.

More investigations were planned.

We were told to prepare for possible surgeries—PEG placement and fundoplication—to help manage her feeding and reflux.

It is a long road, still unfolding.

But Coco continues to be monitored by an incredible medical team who walk this journey with us step by step.

A Baby Who Refuses to Be Defined by Her Struggles

And yet—through everything—Coco remains joyful.

She smiles.

She plays.

She rolls both ways at 10 months old (7.5 months corrected).

She meets milestones in her own time, in her own way, proving again and again that her story is not defined by medical charts or hospital stays.

She is defined by her spirit.

A Miracle Still in Progress

Looking back, it is hard to believe how far she has come.

From a sudden premature rupture… to NICU life… to feeding tubes and ongoing investigations… Coco has already lived through more than most people experience in a lifetime.

And still, she moves forward.

Still, she grows.

Still, she thrives in the spaces she is given.

Her first birthday is approaching soon.

And while the journey is not over, one thing is certain:

Coco is not just surviving.

She is becoming.