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Instead of you against my chest,
they took you away, I tried my best.
The lights above hurt my eyes.
No one could hear my inner cries.
Their last words filled my ears.
“Quick or else we will lose her here.”
Was I alive, I couldn’t tell?
Was that an angel to bid my farewell?
In HDU strange smells and sounds.
Doctors coming, going, doing their rounds.
Many days without you near.
Filling me with doubt and fear.
Then finally your tiny face, a touch of your hand.
In a plastic box, this is not what I had planned.
On the ward instead of love and care,
Cruel words, compassion was nowhere.
Physical scars slowly healed,
but emotionally I had no shield.
PTSD became my chalice.
Filling my days and nights with malice.
Supporting families really matters.
A difficult birth can leave mothers dreams in tatters.
Emma Jane x