Malachy was born at 38 weeks with no concerns leading up to his birth. But moments after his arrival, everything changed. He was brought over to the resuscitaire, and we noticed something strange—he was half blue. There was literally a line straight down the middle of his body: one side blue, one side pink.
The delivery room quickly filled with doctors and nurses. Despite their efforts, they couldn’t get his oxygen levels to rise. I still remember someone telling my husband to take lots and lots of photos. That moment filled me with dread.
Malachy was rushed to the Neonatal Intensive Care Unit (NICU), and a few hours later, a consultant came to speak with us.
“We don’t know what’s wrong,” he said. “But your baby can’t breathe on his own. We’ve had to sedate and intubate him. You have a very sick little boy.”
Those words nearly broke me.
Seven hours later, I finally got to see Malachy. I was terrified—afraid of what I might see or feel. But the moment I laid eyes on him, I saw the bravest, most beautiful little boy I’d ever met.
That same day, he was extubated, but he remained on tube feeds and IV antibiotics. After a few days, he was discharged from NICU and brought down to my ward—but within an hour, his breathing deteriorated. He was rushed back to the NICU, placed in an incubator again, and restarted on antibiotics and tube feeds.
I was devastated. I cried silent tears—heartbroken and afraid.
After several days of tests and treatment, Malachy was finally well enough to go home. But instead of feeling relief, I was terrified. I didn’t want anyone near him; we were so protective. NICU had become our bubble—it was all we knew, and somehow, it had become a comfort.
Leaving that world was bittersweet and deeply disorienting.
I had heard of TinyLife before, but I thought it was only for premature babies. I felt so alone and desperate for connection—someone who could help me make sense of the “crazy” thoughts in my head. So I searched online, and to my surprise, I discovered that TinyLife also supports families with babies born too sick or too small—not just too soon.
That’s when I reached out. Jill from TinyLife got in touch, and I shared my fears about not belonging. She immediately squashed those worries and welcomed us with open arms.
Malachy and I joined Jill’s baby massage class. He was the biggest baby there, and I remember feeling embarrassed—but then we sat down and shared our stories. I realised that even though Malachy wasn’t premature, our feelings were the same. The fear, the trauma, the exhaustion—we all understood each other.
I looked forward to those classes every week. We talked, laughed, and supported each other. It was a safe space where nothing felt too silly or too much. Jill always reassured me that we belonged, and she meant it.
Throughout Malachy’s first year, we had multiple hospital stays for his breathing. The TinyLife WhatsApp group became a lifeline. Just knowing the other parents were there—ready to listen or answer questions—meant everything.
Some of the mums even said, “Yes, my baby was premature—but Malachy was much sicker.” That stayed with me. It reminded me that we did need support—just the same as anyone else.
Malachy is now 20 months old—and he’s thriving. You’d never know how sick he once was.
But I’ll never forget those first days. I’ll never forget the doctor’s words: “You have a very sick little boy.” They haunted me then. But thanks to TinyLife, I wasn’t alone.
TinyLife saved my sanity, and they continue to be a support to us today.
— Thank you, TinyLife.
