(How is it still) Monday…

Mark and Robyn waved the helicopter off from the carpark while I listened from my bed. Whenever I hear helicopter now I think of that moment and I think of him.

I was taken to a new room. As I was wheeled around the hospital, alone and empty armed, I thought back to the same moment when I had Robyn; cradling her as the nurse pushed me around the hospital, I was so proud. But here I was, not pregnant anymore, and without my baby.

(Mark hadn’t abandoned me, he’d gone to the car to see what supplies we had for Robyn – her nappy was bursting at the seams and she hadn’t eaten)

We knew we needed help (see above!). Right now we were in a foreign country, on our own, me in hospital with no idea if anything was wrong with me (and having just given birth), a toddler, and a premature baby in a nearby city. Mark is one of the most prepared and capable in a crisis people I know, but this situation was pushing it. My friend Aron loves to tell people how Mark heroically rescued him from a deserted train station during ‘the Beast from the East’ with snow chains on his car. We only wished we were in a similar ‘crisis’ now.

At this point Mark had told our close family what had happened. His brother Jon offered to come out to us from London, and had already looked at flights. I was really worried about Mark trying to handle all of this on his own so pushed for taking Jon up on his offer. And just like that, by lunch time, Jon was with us. Joining us on this insane rollercoaster and keeping the three of us as on track as he could. I really don’t know what the next seven days would have been like without him.

We were told we had to go and register the baby’s birth in the local town hall that day, we have weeks to do that in the UK so this took us by surprise. There were forms to fill in (in French, obvs) so one of the nurses helped us. Baby's name? He didn’t have one. A boys name was an ongoing discussion, Mark liked what I considered to be some wild boys names. I always thought he was joking when he was making suggestions – Michelangelo for example. Michelangelo Cook. Errr no, we didn’t have an Italian bone in our bodies! (No offence to any Michelangelo Cooks out there) The only name we could ever agree on was Marty. Yes, Back to the Future inspired, Marty was named. A middle name would have to wait. After a very broken conversation, I’m pretty sure there are multiple errors on that form. For example my job title sounds like I am Chief of the Government. I’ll take that promotion.

A combination of Mark and Jon sorted out lots of errands and questions that day. Finding the right town hall and registering the birth, sorting out health care insurance. They seem like fairly easy jobs but throw in a town you don’t know, a language you can barely speak, a very active toddler and a wife and baby in hospital, and you’ve got a pretty stressful day.

I found it all pretty frustrating because physically I felt fine, I just felt useless trapped in this room. We still didn’t know why any of it happened at this point but there were markers of infection in my blood test results so I was put on an antibiotic drip. Other than the drip I had no issues. I didn’t have any of the concerns I had with Robyn – I went to the toilet nerve and prayer free, I wasn't scared to sneeze or shuffling around like a pensioner.

I had still just given birth though, even though a baby was nowhere to be seen, and I needed to remember that. I had the usual considerations. Breastfeeding - I was planning on feeding Marty so was given a pump. It felt pointless to me at the time, even punishing, the thought of me feeding him seemed a million miles away. But every 3 hours – pump.

We had updates from Nantes that Marty had arrived and was settled on their neonatal ward; he was doing ok but we were firmly in an hour by hour situation. One of the doctors was sending Mark pictures direct which was lovely. The plan was to find me a room on the maternity ward in Nantes so I could be transferred there, we were playing the waiting game. We weren’t sure if Mark should travel to Nantes to see Marty that day but by the time he sorted all the admin faff it was fairly late, and it didn’t seem fair to leave Robyn with Uncle Jon already. She was a lockdown baby so was often pretty firmly glued to her mummy or daddy. Instead we booked a house in Nantes to check in to the following day. We both soon felt guilty about not getting to him sooner but we did what we thought was right at the time.

Mark and Jon took Robyn back to the campsite early evening, to try and give her a fairly normal end to her crazy day. Mark took her on the bouncy castle and sent me a video, she bloody loved it. I sat in the window of my room watching the video; I cannot tell you how surreal the whole situation felt. Looking back now I do feel like that day was the start of a new life for us.

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