I never imagined the lead-up to Hendrix’s birth would unfold the way it did. In January 2025, I was induced in Grimsby (Lincolnshire) and, after 12 hours of labour, everything suddenly spiralled. I needed an emergency C-section and, while I was still trying to process what was happening, Hendrix arrived and immediately went into respiratory distress. He let out one shallow cry before doctors rushed him away. I barely saw him before he was taken to the neonatal intensive care unit (NICU).
I was also seriously unwell with sepsis following surgery. Even as doctors treated me, all I could think about was my baby. Nobody could tell me what was happening, and those hours of waiting felt endless.
When a doctor finally came to my bedside, the news was devastating. Hendrix had a left-sided congenital diaphragmatic hernia (CDH), a rare condition where the diaphragm doesn’t form properly. His bowel and spleen had moved into his chest, crushing his lung and pushing his heart aside. He couldn’t breathe on his own and urgently needed specialist surgery.
Separated from our newborn when we needed him most
Within hours, Hendrix had been assigned a bed at Jessop Wing NICU in Sheffield, around 50 miles from our home in Scunthorpe. The Embrace transport team brought him to my bedside in an incubator, surrounded by machines keeping him alive. I was too unwell to travel, so my partner, Ash, went with him. Not being with my newborn was heartbreaking in a way I cannot describe.
I joined them the next day, transferred by ambulance. I was still in a wheelchair when I was reunited with Hendrix. Four days later I was discharged and moved into a temporary parent room on the NICU. Being so far from home and so unsure of what lay ahead was incredibly frightening.
At just five days old, Hendrix had major surgery at Sheffield Children’s Hospital. Because there were no beds free afterwards, he returned to Jessop Wing to recover. We clung to every update from his doctors. We finally held him for the first time at eight days old, even though he was still on oxygen and wired to so many machines.
On day ten he was moved to the Neonatal Surgical Unit at Sheffield Children’s Hospital.
A ‘Home from Home’ when nothing felt normal
That’s when we were told a room had been arranged for us at Magnolia House, a ‘Home from Home’ run by The Sick Children’s Trust.
Walking into Magnolia House brought instant relief. We stayed for two weeks, and I don’t know how we would have coped without it. The house is linked to the ward by a corridor, meaning we could reach Hendrix’s bedside in minutes, day or night. Some nights I’d go down in my pyjamas just to sit with him or speak to his nurses. Being that close gave me back a sense of being his mum when everything else felt out of my control.
Being so far from home, the alternatives would have been sleeping in chairs or paying for a hotel. Leaving him was never an option. Magnolia House gave us somewhere safe to rest, to wash clothes, to make a cup of tea, and to cry in private when everything became too much. It also gave us a sense of normality in the middle of a nightmare.
We found comfort in the other parents staying there too. They understood our fear without us needing to explain. Our three-year-old daughter, Harlow, visited and loved the play area, and having her with us in such a homely space helped us feel like a family again.
Staying so close meant I could fully take part in Hendrix’s recovery, especially feeding. He was tube-fed and had to slowly build up to bottles. From Magnolia House I could be at every feed, day or night. Giving him his first bottle at 13 days old is still one of the happiest moments of my life.
Looking forward with gratitude and hope
Today, Hendrix is doing amazingly well. His recovery has been one of the quickest Sheffield has seen. His consultants always comment on how strong and happy he is – you’d never know what he went through. He has started nursery and is racing towards his first birthday in January. He still gets knocked by colds more easily than most babies, but nothing stops him.
And now, as we prepare to celebrate Christmas, everything feels especially precious. Every first Christmas is special, but this one feels like a milestone we once weren’t sure we’d reach. When he was born the hospital still had Christmas decorations up. Looking back, it’s surreal to see how far he’s come.
The Sick Children’s Trust gave us the chance to stay by our baby’s side during the hardest days of our lives. Their support gave us stability, comfort and hope. We’re forever grateful.
Abby Millis, Hendrix’s mum
