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On the 16th of November 2015, I was 25 weeks pregnant when I noticed some spotting and decided to go to Ipswich Hospital. At first, they told me to go home, but something didn’t feel right—I insisted on getting an ultrasound. That decision changed everything.

The scan revealed I was already 7cm dilated. Before I could even process what was happening, I was being rushed into an ambulance, on my way to the Mater Hospital. Surrounded by nurses and doctors, all poking and prodding, I felt completely overwhelmed and lost.

Then came the question no parent ever wants to hear: my partner and I were asked if we wanted to continue with the pregnancy. We were told our baby girl had only a 15% chance of survival—and even if she did survive, she could have severe disabilities. We were devastated, but deep in our hearts, we knew—this little girl was ours, and we wanted to fight for her.

Chloe was born the next day at just 25 weeks. We didn’t even get to hold her—she was taken straight to the NICU, where she spent nearly six long, emotional months. In January, she had surgery to close her PDA. We lost her four times and stood by helplessly as she endured eight blood transfusions.

When she finally came home, she was still on oxygen, and remained on it until she was 11 months old.

Those months were some of the hardest of our lives. The fear, the uncertainty, the endless prayers. But through it all, we never stopped believing in her strength—or in our love for her.

The turning point—perhaps the most emotionally impactful moment—was when my partner and I were asked if we wanted to keep the baby, knowing she had only a 15% chance of survival and might face serious disabilities.

In that moment of heartbreak, fear, and uncertainty, I made a powerful, unwavering decision: I chose hope. I chose my daughter. That moment defined everything that followed. Despite the odds, despite the pain—I held onto the belief that her life was worth fighting for. That choice wasn't just a decision; it was an act of courage, and it changed the course of her life.

I felt fear, confusion, and heartbreak—like I was failing to protect my baby. There were moments of helplessness and exhaustion, where I questioned if I was strong enough. But through that failure came fierce love, determination, and eventually, hope, gratitude, and resilience.

This experience taught me that even when I felt like a failure—helpless, lost, and unable to protect my baby—I was actually stronger than I knew. I learned that love can carry you through what logic says you can’t survive, and that it’s okay to fall apart as long as you keep getting back up. It showed me that life is unpredictable, people won’t always understand, but resilience grows in the hardest places.

This story still matters to me because it shaped who I am. It was the hardest, most painful chapter of my life, but also the most powerful. It reminds me of the strength I found when I felt like a failure, the love that carried us through, and the miracle that is my daughter. It’s a part of me—a reminder of what we survived, what truly matters, and why I’ll never take a single moment for granted.

I hope others feel the raw truth of what it means to face fear, heartbreak, and uncertainty—and still choose love. I hope they learn that even when you feel like you're failing, you can still be incredibly strong. And I hope they reflect on the fragility of life, the power of persistence, and the importance of trusting your instincts, even when no one else does. Most of all, I want them to know that hope can survive even in the darkest moments.