This isn’t only my story it’s also my sons; but I am thankful for his journey.

At just 18 weeks into my pregnancy I was so happy to discover I was pregnant with a boy.  This quickly turned to fear as the doctors in the room then said they had to get a consult.

After five doctors came in looking at the scans and not saying anything my partner and I were told to sit in a small consulting room while they bought a neonatal specialist to talk to us.

At this point I already had tears I knew there was something wrong with my baby but what I wasn’t sure. The specialist came down and gave a handful of suggestions as to what it could be and then asked us if we would like to have an amniocentesis done which would cross out Down Syndrome. The risk of this test alone was miscarriage but we had to know what was wrong and rule out what it wasn’t.

After this test still – no wiser I started having weekly scans. I also had an MRI of my baby which is when they discovered he had a Congenital Diaphragmatic Hernia (CDH) which is where the muscle of the diaphragm doesn’t develop properbelinda-parsonsly and causes the child’s organs to push up into their chest cavity inhibiting the growth of their lungs and moving their heart out of place.

This suddenly was a scary pregnancy and we were offered to terminate many times throughout due to the survival rate being only 20% however I wanted to fight for my baby and I knew he had fight in him too.

After a dramatic entrance into the world my son was born and quickly rushed away for incubation.

Once he was incubated and had someone breathing for him I was allowed a brief hold for three short seconds before they took him from me to place him on a ventilator to ensure he was getting oxygen.

That first night I was kept in a room away from my baby and he crashed through the night. I was so scared and alone and didn’t really tell anyone much as I just couldn’t stand to protect their hearts too. My focus was on him. I stayed by his bed every day and night till I wasn’t allowed then I’d be right back again when I could.

At day three he had corrective surgery and his organs were shifted down where they should be and his diaphragm patched. I was told 8 weeks before I could take him home and especially after he got an infection we assumed it would be longer but like I said he was and is a fighter.

After four weeks I got to take my lil man home. For the first time since he was born I felt like a real mum and that I had been given the most amazing gift.

My son is now four and a half and just reminds me every day to keep going and that it’s all just worth it.

Life is going to be hard and take you for all your worth but getting up and fighting is what makes it great.

If he can do it – so can we!