My 1st Letter to My Warrior Princess

Flicking through my phone earlier as I tried to settle Siena, I found the 1st blog I ever wrote (but didn’t publish). It’s always seemed too raw to share before. Eventually, I feel ready.
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Tonight, I’ve sat by your side until 4am. I don’t think you even know I’m there.

The nurses keep telling me that you do, that you can smell my scent and that it will comfort you. So I’ve sat until 4 am and even now I can’t sleep.

I thought sitting beside you would make me feel worth something. I thought it would make me feel as though I’ve actually contributed to your wellbeing. Truth is, I don’t know how I feel.

I’m numb.

You’ll be Seven days old today (or is that now 32 weeks corrected? I don’t even know how old you are. I can’t even work out your age. That’s how fucking useless I am). Seven days old and still tiny. In the last six days, you’ve overcome more than most people do in a lifetime. You’re over the worst of it and for that I should feel grateful. With luck, your chest drain will come out today. I’m praying for this step forward.

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I’ve prayed a lot recently, I’m not quite sure how hypocritical that makes me feel. I mean, I’ve always believed in God but is it selfish of me to need him so much now when I’ve never paid him much attention before? You were blessed at only a day old – my decision was to get you baptised, the reverent talked me out of being so rash. I wonder if he would have stuck by that decision when your lung collapsed. Would a blessing have been enough had you not survived? Would God have accepted you? I can’t bear to think about it. And yet, I can’t stop thinking about it.

In case I ever forget to tell you, you broke our heart last week. There was a moment when you couldn’t be stabilised, you were very close to death and there was nothing we could do.
I’ve never seen your Daddy cry before. Well, not the way he sobbed for you last week. I saw the fear in his eyes, I felt it in his touch. We were all so lucky. If North Tees hadn’t accepted you (no other hospital in the North East did), this could be a completely different story. I can’t bear to think about it. And yet, I can’t stop thinking about it.

This week has been surreal. I really can’t tell you what I’m feeling. My body is honestly numb.

I’ve washed my hands and sanitised them so many times that my knuckles are cracked and bleeding. It hurts so much. The pain makes me feel something. It makes me feel as though I’m doing something for you. My pain is to help you, to protect you and for that, it’s worth it. It also reminds me that the pain I’m feeling is only a fraction of the pain you’re in. I want to take your pain away, I want to inflict it on myself and make you feel all better. If only there was something I could do.

But there’s nothing I can do. I’m physically useless.

The nurses keep telling me that you can sense me. That my touch makes your sats improve. But what use is that if I can only hold you for half an hour each day? I can’t even keep the windows in your isolette open for too long. I’ve been there to attend to your cares most opportunities. The only times I’ve missed have been when I’ve been with your brother instead.

He misses me so much, I’ve watched his heart break this week too. He doesn’t understand what has happened but he feels it. He knows we’re all hurting. I hurt for him, I hurt for you.

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I’m hurting because I genuinely don’t know what to do with myself, I just want to do something worthwhile.

I’ve been expressing – the Doctor says that breast milk is better than any medicine. So, like clockwork, I’ve collected milk for you. Once again, the pain makes me feel better. It makes me feel as though it must be worth it.

It’s close to 5 am now and I want to be up for your cares at 8 so I’m going to try and sleep. I don’t even know why I’ve written this, you don’t even know who I am. It’s made me feel better though, maybe I’ll sleep now that I’ve processed some of my thoughts.

Sweet dreams baby girl, my warrior princess. Let’s take on the world together later. Let’s make today one to remember.

Holding Siena in my arms, nearly a full year on from this, I wish I could say it was hard to remember feeling that way. My warrior princess has been quite the fighter. She’s stronger and more determined than ever but those feelings won’t disappear anytime soon. I’m coming to terms with the turmoil we experienced last year. It’s my time to be determined – I’m determined to move on from the past and make Siena’s 2nd year completely drama free.

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One thought on “My 1st Letter to My Warrior Princess

  1. I relate so much to this. To the shattering feelings of helplessness; uselessness. The cracked knuckles & forgetting how to sleep. Being desperately exhausted, but desperately needing to be by her side. Mine is 7 today. Thank you for sharing this. ❤

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