In September 2024, our lives changed in the most unexpected and beautiful way. After months of preparing ourselves emotionally and physically for an IVF journey, we had decided to pause and begin in the New Year. We thought we had a plan. Life, however, had a different one. Instead of medical appointments and procedures, we were met with two pink lines and the incredible news that we were expecting naturally. Our rainbow baby had found his way to us. The moment felt nothing short of miraculous—a reminder that hope often arrives when we least expect it.
From the very beginning, my pregnancy carried both joy and unexpected challenges. Repeated hospital admissions for painful gallstones added layers of stress and uncertainty. Each visit brought fresh worries, but also strengthened our resolve to do everything possible to protect our baby. After many conversations with my midwife and obstetrician, we agreed that inducing labor at 39 weeks and one day would be the safest option. While fear lingered in the back of my mind, I trusted the medical team and held onto the belief that we were making the best decision for our son.
On Saturday, May 31, 2025, our precious boy, Malachi, entered the world weighing 2.82 kilograms. But instead of the joyful cries we had imagined, the room fell into a terrifying silence. Malachi wasn’t breathing. There had been no warning signs during labor, no indication that anything was wrong. In a single, heartbreaking moment, our world seemed to stop. Time blurred as doctors and nurses moved swiftly, their urgency etched into our memories forever.
Malachi was rushed to the Special Care Baby Unit, where he waited for the Life Flight helicopter to transport him to Wellington’s Neonatal Intensive Care Unit. There, he began therapeutic cooling treatment—an intervention designed to protect his brain after oxygen deprivation. The next 72 hours were some of the longest of our lives. Watching our tiny son lie still, connected to machines, while doctors slowly warmed him back to normal temperature was agonizing. During this fragile time, Malachi experienced two seizures and needed a second chest drain for a pneumothorax. Each setback felt like another wave crashing over us, testing our strength and faith.
The uncertainty was unbearable. Every hour stretched endlessly, filled with questions no parent ever wants to ask. Would he recover? Would there be lasting damage? An MRI was ordered to assess any potential brain injury. The results showed changes in the motor function area on the left side of his brain. While doctors could not give us definitive answers, they reassured us that Malachi was now considered at low risk for developing a severe form of cerebral palsy. It was a strange mix of relief and lingering fear—gratitude for the good news, paired with the knowledge that our journey was far from over.
After 15 long days in the NICU, we finally carried Malachi out of the hospital and into our home. That moment was filled with overwhelming joy, but also quiet anxiety. We were no longer surrounded by monitors and medical professionals. We were now responsible for a baby who had already fought so hard for his life. We waited anxiously for his three-month neurodevelopmental assessments. When the results came back clear, showing no signs of cerebral palsy, it felt as though a massive weight had been lifted from our hearts. Tears of relief flowed freely. Still, we continued with monthly therapy visits, a six-month assessment, and plans for a follow-up MRI at 18 months. Each appointment became another milestone—not just for Malachi, but for our healing as a family.
Today, at five and a half months old, Malachi is a completely different baby from the fragile newborn we met in the NICU. He is thriving. He is meeting his milestones. He is curious, bright, and full of life. His smile can light up an entire room, and his laugh is a daily reminder of how far he has come. Every giggle feels like a victory. Every small achievement feels like a miracle.
Our journey would have been impossible without the incredible support of the NICU staff, Ronald McDonald House Charities, and The Little Miracles Trust. These organizations became our lifeline during the darkest and most uncertain days. They offered not only practical help, but also compassion, understanding, and hope when we needed it most.
While Malachi was in the NICU, staying at Ronald McDonald House was a blessing beyond words. Being close to our son gave us the priceless gift of time—time to be by his side, time to hold his tiny hand, and time to be present in moments that truly mattered. The warmth, kindness, and generosity of the staff and other families created a sense of community that carried us through. It wasn’t just a place to sleep. It was a sanctuary. A place where we could rest, breathe, and find strength in shared experiences.
For families like ours, the impact of these organizations cannot be overstated. They are more than buildings or services. They are a source of comfort in chaos, a reminder that no family has to face the unimaginable alone. They provide hope when hope feels fragile, and strength when strength feels impossible.
Looking back, it is hard to believe how much our lives have changed in such a short time. From the shock and fear of those early NICU days to the joyful, laughter-filled moments we now share at home, we are constantly reminded of how precious life truly is. Malachi’s journey has taught us about resilience, gratitude, and the extraordinary power of community.
We are committed to giving back and supporting organizations like Ronald McDonald House Charities and The Little Miracles Trust, so that other families can receive the same care, love, and support that carried us through our darkest days. Malachi’s story is still being written, and we are filled with hope and excitement for everything his future holds.
Through every challenge, we know one thing for certain: love, support, and compassion can turn even the most frightening journeys into stories of strength and miracles. And for that, we will be forever grateful. 💙