Some stories arrive quietly. Others announce themselves with urgency, fear, and an overwhelming rush of emotion. Clare’s story belongs to the second kind—a journey that began earlier than expected and unfolded inside hospital walls, but one that ultimately became a powerful testament to resilience, love, and gratitude.
Clare Louise entered the world in August 2012, a tiny warrior born at just 31 weeks—nine weeks ahead of schedule. She was small, fragile, and impossibly strong. From the very first moment, her life would challenge every expectation her family once held, reshaping their understanding of hope and redefining what it truly means to be grateful.
When Pregnancy Takes an Unexpected Turn
Motherhood had always been a dream, and the first chapter of that dream had begun with Clare’s older brother in 2010. Though his arrival at 37 weeks required an emergency C-section, he was healthy, and relief quickly replaced fear. So when pregnancy came again in 2012, optimism filled the household. Surely, the second time would be smoother.
But life rarely follows a script.
At 27 weeks, unexplained bleeding led to admission at Wellington Hospital. The fear was immediate, but every scan and monitor seemed reassuring. Clare’s heartbeat was strong. Her movements were lively. She seemed, in every measurable way, okay. That contrast—between medical concern and a baby that appeared to be thriving—created a strange emotional limbo.
One week later, another diagnosis followed: gestational diabetes. Hospitalization became necessary again, this time to stabilize blood sugar levels and manage the ongoing complications. Doctors were calm, careful, and honest. Premature delivery was now a real possibility.
After eight days under observation, the longing for home became overwhelming. Discharge brought temporary relief—but only hours later, at 4 a.m., everything changed. A massive bleed signaled the beginning of a crisis. There was no hesitation, no confusion—only urgency. Within moments, the family was rushing back to the hospital, knowing deep down that this time, things were different.
A Dramatic Arrival Too Soon
By 31 weeks, Clare was ready—or perhaps forced—to make her entrance into the world. When her waters broke, exhaustion and fear collided. An emergency C-section followed, and doctors soon discovered that a previous surgical scar had ruptured, likely triggering the early birth.
Clare arrived weighing 1,980 grams—remarkably strong for her gestational age—but strength alone wasn’t enough. Her lungs were underdeveloped, and she needed CPAP oxygen support within hours of birth. Feeding was impossible at first. Weight dropped alarmingly, from nearly two kilograms to just 980 grams. Every gram lost felt like a punch to the heart.
The Neonatal Intensive Care Unit became home.
Machines beeped. Nurses whispered. Time slowed into an endless cycle of rounds, measurements, and quiet prayers. Each day brought small wins and new worries. Yet Clare, despite her size, continued to fight.
Weeks passed. Then something shifted.
At six weeks old, Clare began to turn a corner. Her progress was subtle but steady. During morning rounds in Pod 2 of the NICU, a familiar phrase emerged. The head Neonates Fellow would glance at her chart, smile, and say, “She just needs to fatten up.” Those words—simple, almost casual—became a lifeline. They meant survival. They meant hope.
The NICU: A Place of Miracles and Heartbreak
The NICU is a world few are prepared for. It is a place of extraordinary care and devastating loss, often existing side by side. Families form quiet bonds in shared hallways, united by fear and hope. Some leave with their babies in their arms. Others leave with memories instead.
It is impossible to witness that reality and remain unchanged.
To every parent who has lost a child in the NICU—no words are enough. Their strength is beyond measure, their grief unimaginable. And to the doctors, nurses, and specialists who show up every day to fight for lives barely begun: their work is nothing short of heroic.
Throughout Clare’s journey, support came not only from medical expertise but also from compassion. The Little Miracles Trust became a lifeline during the darkest moments. From practical help—like arranging a breast pump—to emotional support when fear became overwhelming, their presence mattered more than words can express.
One night stands out clearly. Clare was struggling to breathe. Panic took over. Running to the parents’ room, tears fell freely. There, kindness waited. A staff member offered tissues, a calm voice, and something even more powerful—presence. In moments like that, humanity makes all the difference.
Finally Home: A New Chapter Begins
After 54 days in Wellington NICU and another five weeks in the Hutt SCBU, the long-awaited moment arrived. Clare was discharged on New Year’s Eve 2020. Driving home that night felt surreal. Joy, disbelief, exhaustion, and gratitude collided in one overwhelming moment.
Home life with a premature baby was far from simple. Clare’s lungs needed time. Oxygen support continued. Every cough caused concern. Every milestone felt monumental. But she was home—and that changed everything.
Slowly, life found a new rhythm.
Three Years Later: Proof of Perseverance
Today, Clare is three years old and thriving. She has met every milestone for her corrected age. She laughs easily, plays with boundless energy, and fills rooms with a personality far larger than her early beginnings might suggest.
Challenges still exist, but they are faced with confidence born from experience. Clare’s journey taught her family patience, perspective, and a profound appreciation for the ordinary moments once taken for granted.
A Message of Hope
To parents currently living the NICU life: you are stronger than you believe. The days are long. The uncertainty is heavy. But hope is real, and miracles do happen—sometimes quietly, one breath, one gram, one day at a time.
To the medical teams who dedicate their lives to saving the smallest among us: thank you. Your skill saves lives. Your compassion saves families.
And to Clare—our miracle—you changed everything. Your strength rewrote our story, and your smile reminds us daily of what truly matters.
With endless love and gratitude.