Jemima was born in March 1991 only 27 weeks from
conception, instead of the usual 39 weeks. At birth
she weighed 1.053kg, i.e. two ounces more than the
weight of a (
She spent the first six weeks of her life in the
intensive care ward of Princess Mary Hospital (now closed) in Newcastle, UK,
struggling to hold on to life. Her world was in an incubator, wired up to
technology that makes the internet seem like pen and ink. Machines with visual
displays and audible outputs monitored her breathing, her pulse, and the
percentage of oxygen in her blood. Alarms would sound from time to time. Her
lungs were so poorly-formed that when she cried it
sounded like a sigh. At birth she was medicated with a
revolutionary new drug (surform) to help her
premature lungs mature more quickly. However, she became apnoeic (stopped
breathing) on several occasions, and was intubated
for a period of time to facilitate her regular
breathing.
Her 'billyrubin' level
departed too far from acceptable, and she was given UV
treatment to prevent jaundice, bright purple lamps illuminating her incubator.
She failed to gain weight for periods of time. She was
'fed' intravenously at least once: a risky procedure with a high possibility of
infection, leading to potentially fatal complications. She survived. To aid her
stamina, she was given blood transfusions on two
occasions, which thankfully put some colour back into her cheeks.
Other children born at that time were less
fortunate. The mortality rate was high. Some died still in hospital, empty
parents in attendance, accompanied by a Roman Catholic priest performing last
rites around a forlorn incubator. Others died after being
taken home, from infections and complications, or they simply stopped
breathing. In the presence of such fragility, life, hanging on every click of a
breathing monitor click, alert to the blood-oxygen alarm, feels very precious.
After six weeks, Jemima was
transported by ambulance to the special care nursery of
My father died shortly after Jemima's first
birthday.
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