Friday

You might want to get comfy for this one.

I have never seen Mark so heartbroken as those last couple of days in the hospital. We joked that I’d always wanted him to cry for me but this was definitely not what I had in mind. I was thinking more as I walked down the aisle or something. I never wanted to see him go through this.

After spending all night in the hospital he told me how much he’d enjoyed holding Marty for most of the night, how he’d been secretly excited about having a boy, and had been feeling way less nervous about having Marty than he was first time round with Robyn. He said he felt an immediate connection with Marty (cue guilty feeling from me). He is pretty open about the fact that he didn’t feel like he bonded with Robyn straight away. To be fair to him she had colic and did a lot of crying for her first 4 weeks on this earth (a stark contrast to her personality now!). The things we used to do to try and settle her – music (inc Jackson 5, Rockin Robin), swaying, various holding positions (like origami with arms and legs), car rides, massage. We tried a hot water bottle in her cot – don’t panic, just to warm it up before we delicately and slowly placed her down, all eyes on her, praying she would stay asleep. We even used to put her pyjamas in the oven warmer for gods sake!! We’d do it all again mind. No question.

Mark used to take her on walks in the middle of the night in the sling to let me rest a bit. I did try to rest but also followed them on Find My Friends (crazy new mum – one I thought I’d never be) and asked him not to take her too far away from home. So he spent hours looping the local streets with her, looking at all the Christmas lights. Mark and Robyn now? They adore each other. Mark loves nothing more than spending time with her and she loves being with him. And it’s not just playing with daddy, she’s more than happy for him to put her to bed, comfort her in the night, all of it. Her face lights up when she sees him. I find I need a bit of a break from being mum – some time with my friends, a 10 minute drive to get a coffee or just sitting on the toilet for a while. Mark doesn’t; he would happily spend every waking moment with his children. His love, loyalty and dedication to his family is unwavering, he would do anything for any of us. I know he would have swapped places with Marty in a heartbeat if he could. Sat on the edge of the bed looking at the two of them together, I didn’t want either of them going anywhere.

Today we really experienced how gradually and thoughtfully all of the doctors and nurses were guiding us along this path, and we unfortunately had no choice but to follow them down it. We were asked into the doctors office… again. This time to tell us that the two weeks we thought we had was now a matter of days. And again, there was nothing they could do. News like that instantly sucks the breath from your chest - I can feel it now.

I don’t actually know if anything that dramatic had changed medically for Marty since the day before, or if they were easing us into the situation as gently as they could. They might have been trying but it didn’t actually feel very gentle, weeks for Marty were now days. We were told though, that not only was the bleed on his brain continuing, but one of the ventricles into his brain was beginning to swell. This could be painful for him and could eventually burst. It just sounded awful for him.

One thing we were always clear about with the doctors is that we never wanted Marty to be in any pain. They reassured us that they were managing any discomfort for him and gave us signs to look out for of him hurting – if he flinched or moved more, or if his face looked uncomfortable. When we were holding him we would call the nurses in if ever we were the slightest bit worried, just to check. We knew they were beginning to increase his levels of morphine and that gave me mixed feelings; of course we didn’t want him to be in any pain but we also didn’t want him to have to be pumped full of morphine.

I really hope he was always kept comfortable. I’m confident they were all always doing their best for him, and we tried to as well. The doctor told us how powerful it was for Marty to be held by us and even if we were upset or crying while doing it, he would feel better, he would feel comforted. We tried to never talk too negatively in front of him, I don’t know if he could hear properly, or of course even understand. But all we wanted him to feel was love - that felt like all we could do for him; hold him and show him a lifetime of love.

Something I’m not sure even people close to us realise is that we had to make a decision about how we ‘said our goodbyes’ or ‘removed support’. This has got to be one of the hardest decisions for a parent to have to make. How and when do you want to say goodbye to your child? The obvious answer, never please. Although we very soon did need to consider the ‘when’, we avoided this for now. We both knew inside that it wasn’t going to be far away – as the days passed and the pain relief increased. But for me, of the ‘how?’ options I was given, all pain free options for Marty, I knew straight away what I ‘wanted’ to happen. I wanted to hold my son with no tubes attached to him. As his mum, I wanted to hold him against my skin, with no inference, I wanted to see his face, his whole beautiful face, and hold him. We both agreed that when the time came, we knew how we wanted (without wanting to at all) say goodbye.

More gentle guiding came in the form of a list of different things the hospital could do for us: they could arrange for Marty to be baptised, they could take photos for us, take his hand and foot prints. It was a yes please to all of them from us.

It was around this time that a nurse called Mari started to care for Marty, she was instantly our favourite and thankfully was with us most of the weekend. All of the nurses were very gentle but she seemed particularly so. She cared for Marty like he was her own. She smiled at him and spoke to him as she checked on him. She was kind to all three of us, and also very beautiful…If we were in a different situation I’d probably be jealous of Marks admiration for her! She really did look after us all, checking we had everything we needed, that we’d eaten, nothing was too much of an ask.

From today, our family started to arrive; Marks brother was bringing his mum and dad over on the ferry and we expected them to be in Nantes by the afternoon. My mum and dad were actually flying in from Norway, they’d not long arrived on their holiday when they had the first call from Mark and had just been going through the motions out there ever since. The earliest they could get to us was Saturday. We needed a bit of time together before people arrived, to talk through what we’d been told and some of the things we needed to consider – including whether or not we wanted Robyn to meet her baby brother. Jon had been so good to us, we wanted him to be the first person to meet Marty, we asked him to sit with him for an hour or so that afternoon. I think we saw that first meeting as a bit of a privilege but he must have been pretty nervous bless him! I met him at the ward entrance, he’d brought Marty a rabbit soft toy and told me he was going to tell Marty all about three of his cousins.

While he was there we took Robyn to the park and whenever she was at a distance we talked and took some decisions. Again, what a surreal situation; watching one child play on the swings and talking about the unthinkable for the other. One of the more pleasant decisions we took that day was what Marty’s middle name would be. I had been googling French boys names, scrolling and scrolling, really hoping I’d find one we both loved. I did, Matthieu. It means ‘gift from god’ or ‘gift of the lord’. Marty Matthieu Cook. I love it.

Late that evening Mari arranged for a Priest to come to the hospital to discuss baptising Marty. We spoke to him for a little while about what had happened, again his English was pretty good. Because of the news we’d had we decided to ask him if he would be willing to baptise Marty there and then, just in case, you know. He agreed. Marty was lying on Marks chest and I was sat next to them, there was a mix of French and English prayers, Mari was in the room as a witness and agreed to be Marty’s godmother. The emotions in the room were pretty high from everyone, Mari said she’d never been present at a baptism like that before, let alone be a godmother, and the Priest later told us that Marty was the youngest baby he had ever baptised. It was also a bit awkward at times as we clumsily tried to get our way through some French prayers using our new best friend google translate. We went to visit the Priest the following week to say thank you, he was lovely to us again and said he’d been praying for Marty. He asked if he could take a photo of us with Robyn so he didn’t forget about us.

Friday was now my turn to spend the full night with Marty. I wanted our time together to be how I had imagined it would be, as much as I could create it that way anyway. When we stayed in the hospital we held Marty while lying on a bed; I reclined back with the blankets over us, the room dark with just lights from the monitors and the corridor, frequent beeping which we’d become immune to by now.  I settled in with Marty's head on my chest, I listened to London Grammar, as I always do when I’m lying with Robyn at night, and as I imagined I would do for Marty as I fed him or settled him throughout the early hours.  I wanted to make sure I always remembered the tiny weight of his head in the middle of my chest, my one hand supporting his little body. I can still feel it now, and hope I always can. I spoke to him a bit, but I mostly just lay cuddling him, dosing off now and again, it was nice. I heard Mari come in a few times to check on us but she encouraged me to keep my eyes closed, “its ok”. I tried really hard to forget what was really happening and just enjoy being with him. I sang to him too – Twinkle twinkle my little star…

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