Matt McConnell’s Story

Wren Frances McConnell 

15.4.22-23.4.22

This is for Wren Frances McConnell, my second Daughter and one who will be forever 8 days old. Number two. That’s the nickname I used for our second child Wren before she was born. Being our second child, I missed a lot of appointments. I missed a lot of the scans, and honestly it didn’t worry me as I'm not good in a hospital setting anyway. Maternity wards scared the shit out of me. I didn’t enjoy looking at the monitor and not knowing what I was looking at. Lucky my wife, Madeline (or Maddy) is a midwife and we were at our local hospital and I knew a bunch of the midwives. I felt comfortable.

It was a relatively uneventful 2nd pregnancy; we fell pregnant naturally. Our first daughter Edie was conceived with an ovulation induction but at first attempt. We were ready to make our family larger and it all seamed to fall into place nicely. We were mid-way through building a new house and everything seemed to fit nicely. Fast forward to Good Friday 2022, the day our lives would change in a way that I never thought possible. In the morning I heard the fire engines sirens nearby collecting donations for the Good Friday Appeal, not carrying cash I ‘borrowed coins from my daughters money box like a good dad ready to donate. Just after mid-day my wife felt a few pains in the stomach so we went up to the hospital ‘just to get checked out. 

Being 38 weeks pregnant we knew it wouldn’t be long until we would meet our 'Number 2'. After being monitored at the hospital our little bundle of joy was not playing the game so a decision was made for an induction which commenced at around 7PM. This decision was made rather than monitoring all night only to induce the following day. Things were a bit tense in the labour ward as our baby was still not behaving as is expected but no one was overly worried as the experienced team were all on hand, things had progressed quickly and at 1120PM it wasn’t going to be long until we met our baby. That’s when things changed. Cord Prolapse is something that I had only heard of due to Maddy being a midwife- I knew that it scared her, so it scared me. 'I Can See Cord' the doctor told the others in the room, and this started off a chain reaction of events that I don’t think I could ever forget. 

Getting to theatre was one of the worst moments of my life. Being in a regional area its simply not possible to have an operating theatre that is open 24 hours a day. Resources come in from all areas of the hospital in an emergency. This was made glaringly obvious by the lights being off and none of the people we needed to birth our baby being there. So, we waited, in the hallway with doctors doing their absolute best to keep my wife comfortable and to look after the cord until the team required got to theatre. I realised at this time that being able to 'deliver a baby quickly' may have only been possible during work hours and not close to mid night on a public holiday. 

This is where my journey and the journey of my wife start to differ. Being the non-birthing partner or the dad, we see different things and feel different things to our partner during birth. I didn’t feel physical pain of birth and what was happening to Maddy’s body, but I do have and always will have an emotional pain attached to everything associated to this birth. As she was wheeled down to theatre, I remember being calm. I remember being told in a birthing class that in an emergency a baby can be delivered in minutes so that’s all I was hoping for. But I also remember feeling useless. I know that in this moment I couldn’t help and that my baby’s life was in the balance. I also feared for my wife, not knowing what was happening to her and if she was going to be OK. 

The theatre team was onsite quickly so I said goodbye to my wife and then sat in the corridor on a chair and waited. I hoped for the best. I couldn’t do anything else. It felt like an eternity waiting in the corridor looking at a clock positioned in front of me. Time froze. I was frozen, I couldn’t help and I was stuck in a corridor listening to the DR's try to birth our baby before the anesthiest had arrived. 

It was maybe 12:30 when I was told by a midwife that we had a baby girl. Wren Frances McConnell was born just before midnight Good Friday. I was the first one to say her name and introduce her to the world. We met in the corridor but I don’t remember much apart from being told that she was alive. I couldn’t believe it, they had done it. I thought that she was OK. It wasn’t what I expected our first meeting to be like, tubes and monitors all a bit scary but to know that she had survived was such a relief. 

Around 3 AM Maddy was brought back down to maternity after her GA Caesarean to meet our daughter. I had told her we had a baby girl and I honestly thought that she was OK. Reality hit when we were told moments later by a paediatrician that he believed that she wouldn’t make it as they believed she had suffered catastrophic brain damage due to lack of oxygen caused by the cord prolapse. In the next sentence we were asked if we wanted to withdraw care and palliate in our hospital as the chances were that there was little they could do to help. We were shattered. Our dreams were shattered. It couldn’t believe this had just happened. Not to mention Maddy was still drugged up and should have been recovering from her GA Caesar. 

But, luckily enough for us we were then given a choice, a choice that would give Wren a chance. (A choice that we didn’t realise until later gave that would give us a chance to meet our precious girl). The Royal Children’s Hospital were willing to take her and see if active cooling would maybe prevent the brain damage predicted. We said yes and a short time later PIPER arrived, loaded her up and off she went to Melbourne to the best kids hospital in the world. We were giving her every chance to show us that she could make it. Six hours after Wren was born we said our first goodbye, but we knew she was in incredible hands. 

Saturday was a blur, I travelled to Melbourne with my father Keith in the afternoon and my wife was transferred via ambulance to a hospital next to the Kids in Melbourne so that she could be close. We had to make a choice for me to leave Maddy so that I could be alongside Wren, the hospital was working towards transferring Maddy to ‘The Womens’ next door to the Kids in Melbourne so we could all be close. Coming off a GA Ceaser it was incredible that she could make it to Melbourne, but it sucked that we had to be apart- but we had to make the choice get to Melbourne as quick as possible to see our little girl and be at her bedside. 

Unfortunately, this meant leaving our 2.5-year-old with her Aunt and Uncle and her cousins for an unknown time. She started growing up very quickly in the next week. She went from sleeping in a cot and never being apart from her mum and dad to sleeping in a makeshift bedroom on a mattress without her parents. We know it must have been hard for her as it was us but immediately, we were so lucky to have amazing support from all of our family which helped us do what we needed to do. Be with Wren. 

Friday morning, I was 'borrowing' money from my daughter to donate to the Good Friday appeal and Saturday afternoon I donated it in person at the hospital that the fundraising was for. How quickly life can change, in the blink of an eye it was my daughter that needed help from this amazing hospital. 

I made it to her room on Butterfly, there she was. Beautiful and perfect, and alive! Any worries that I had were put to bed, the nurses and doctors were just amazing, and they already felt like family. The next few days were spent at the hospital waiting for the 72 hours of active cooling to finish so Wren could be warmed up again and we could get our first cuddle and also that an MRI could be undertaken to see the extent of the damage. Our days were spent talking with doctors, laughing with nurses, relaxing and just generally enjoying our time together. We read book after book, listened to music, introduced her to our family over phone calls but also told our friends and family that the outlook wasn’t looking good but we had hope, as without hope we would have been broken. We were lucky that Wren had brains monitoring- it was to see if she was having seizures, but we noticed that when we were reading books you could see brain activity changing. Each time we touched her or read a book you could see the brains monitoring changing. Our baby girl knew we were there, she knew that she was loved. We gave her milk on a cotton bud, it was these little things that we were able to do that made our time so enjoyable. 

A nurse at the hospital was a family friend, she read to Wren during the nights when we were getting sleep, the other nurses did the same thing. We felt so comfortable that she was in the best place being looked after some of the best people I have ever met in my life. 

Thursday afternoon we were called in to have a meeting with the head DR. All it took was one word to know that our little girl wasn’t going to make it. Catastrophic, the damage done through birth was Catastrophic and there was nothing we could do that could make this better. We knew what it meant, and we didn’t need to know anything else. Out little girl was going to die. It’s hard to explain, but by luck our parents had arrived on Thursday and were downstairs with our daughter Edie. The Doctors called them up and gave them the news, moments later we went to see them as well. Six fully grown adults crying like we hadn’t cried before in our lives. It was devastating and I hope that I never have them feelings again in my life. But from the darkness come a ray of light. Edie. Our 2.5-year-old wonder girl, we took her in to meet her little sister for the first time. She didn’t see tubes and monitors- all she could see was her sister 'Baby Wren' and immediately amongst the darkness and anguish there was laughter and again there was hope. Our parents then entered the room and we spent some time together as a big family (our mums met Wren at hospital after her birth as we needed their support but she hadn’t met her Pop and her Pa yet) With Edie in the room there wasn’t a space to be sad, there wasn’t a space to cry. The bond that Edie had with Wren was immediate, she was proudly telling us about her Baby Wren- she was just proud to be her sister. 

We did have a decision to make. We as parents had to make the decision when we were going to withdraw support. We couldn’t let her live on a ventilator forever. Sunday made sense. Three more nights to do what we needed to do. Time for family to visit, time to ensure that Heartfelt could be there as well. We knew that we needed at least few days to bath her in love and give her family a chance to say hello and goodbye. Due to COVID restrictions visitors needed exemptions especially into the NICU. Friday Wren got 30 minutes with her three Aunts and three Uncles and the day was over before it started. The staff were amazing in getting our siblings the time they got with Wren. Originally we were advised that only our direct siblings were going to be given exemptions to visit without their partners but the staff went to bat for us and they were all allowed to visit. Bloody COVID. 

Saturday was upon us. Happy Day 7 Baby Girl. Wren was a week old already and it was our last full day together as a family. It was scary but I tried not think about the time we had left, we tried to just be in the moment with Wren as much as we could. We had an amazing man from Pastoral Care give Wren a naming ceremony and a blessing (I am not one bit religious, but it was something that I will forever treasure) then at 3PM we loaded up a pram and we were off downstairs to meet the grandparents and spend some time outdoors. 'Fresh air' I captioned a snapchat I sent to friends and family who didn’t have the chance to come along and meet our little girl. It was perfect. All of the grandparents had a cuddle. (My dad has told me that it is one of the most incredible moments of his entire life when he was holding Wren for the first and last time- he will forever treasure it). Edie pushed the pram through the corridors and once outside we felt like we could have been anywhere in the world. Again, we laughed and joked and surrounded Wren with as much love as she could have ever felt. Little did we know that it was only hours until we would have our last cuddle and share her last breaths. I feel so much for our parents. I know the love that they show towards all of their grandchildren and to have this taken away from them is unimaginable. They said their goodbye and we were back up to Wren’s room. 

Around 5PM, we had just got back to the room. Maddy and I noticed that Wren looked tired. It was in that moment that we knew that if we had one last night it would be entirely for us and not for our darling daughter. We didn’t want her last night to be in pain (we had been assured that not for one moment was she in any pain) or for our benefit only. I told the nurse our plans, that we planned to withdraw care that evening. The nurses then kicked into gear, and it became arts and craft hour. Handprints, footprints, clay casting of her feet. I took it upon myself to re-paint her little nails hot pink as they had been pink since she was 2 days old. (I did a horrible job and I will never be forgiven by Maddy for doing this)

It was time. Time for one last cuddle. Time to say goodbye. 

We were proud that Wren had made it this far and I was proud that I was her dad and that Maddy and I had given her as much love as humanly possible in her short life. Doctors had prepared us that she would most likely not breath once we removed the ventilator- so after talking and singing and reading the last few books we knew it was time. We thought we were unable to get Heartfelt as such short notice, but the nurses had our cameras and were going to take some final images. We said our goodbyes, I remember we told Wren it was OK to let go and we were so proud of her and loved her so much and always would. We held her tight, and the ventilator tubes were removed. Our beautiful Baby Wren was moments from passing away. But Wren had a slightly different plan. She decided that her passing was on her terms, and she started to breath on her own, beautiful little breaths that I can hear like it was yesterday. There she was, living and living all on her own to give us that little bit more time that we needed. 

In this moment I wasn’t scared of death, as these last minutes were beautiful. Unbeknown to us, Heartfelt also did get the message and one of the most amazing photographers arrived and managed to capture the last moments of Wrens life as she lay skin to skin on Maddy’s chest. The 15 minutes where Wren was living and breathing on her own are my best memories. We were robbed of her first breaths but treasure that we were able to share her last. This does not go close to making up for the life that Wren now misses out on, but I take comfort knowing that she was surrounded by love her entire life. She was always perfect and will always be perfect. Maddy and I knew when she had passed so the doctor who was in the room confirmed this with us. We then cleaned her, dressed her in some beautiful clothes that she was to be buried in and I had one of the best cuddles I have ever had in my life, a cuddle I wish I could have had forever. The feeling was surreal, we knew what the plan was for after Wren passed but it felt like we were packing up after staying in a hotel for a few days. Our bags were packed and off we went down to the carpark. With the assistance of the nurses and doctors we left the hospital, but we took Wren with us. With an approval from the hospital Maddy was able to carry Wren out in her arms. 

As we live 3 hours from Melbourne we made the decision to drive her home in our own car and as a family as we didn’t wish for her to be picked up by a funeral home and driven back alone. The doctors gave us a letter that we could hand to authorities if we were pulled over for some reason- something we definitely hadn’t thought about but something that would have assisted greatly if we were pulled over for any reason. 

Maddy’s dad drove us home. We travelled in a little convoy all of the way home. I was in the back of the car with Edie one side of me and Wren in her car seat the other side. I held both my daughters’ hands on the drive home. I treasure this trip as much as anything, sitting holding Wren’s hand until we arrived home to flowers and balloons welcoming us. We put Edie to bed and sat with Wren on the couch like we were a normal family for this short time. At around 3AM in the morning, we had been home for an hour when the funeral director arrived to pick up our little girl. In that moment we knew that it wasn’t just a bad dream. We had become parents who had lost a child and nothing we could ever do could change it. 

I realised quickly after Wren passed away that what I saw and felt was substantially different to my wife. We share the overwhelming love for our daughter but how we deal with our grief is completely different- and there is nothing wrong with that at all. 

That is why telling Wren’s story through my eyes is so important. 

I feel that I have changed a lot over the past 2.5 years. Things that used to worry me seem so insignificant now. Things that I never knew existed are now at the forefront of my life. I know that there is so much power in sharing our stories of our children so whenever I get the chance I will always share Wren with the world. I have found a way to survive, and I know the coping mechanisms that I use are unique to me and my journey. I live a happy life and I understand that what I have been through can’t be fixed. That’s because nothing is broken. I have learnt to love the little things in life and to strive to be a better person whilst always being mindful of my mental health.

I will always be Wren’s Dad as much as I am a Dad to Edie and now Noah and any other children we may be lucky enough to have. My Love for Wren is as strong now as it was when she was born, and nothing will ever change that. By sharing Wren with you, I do hope that I may be able to show you that you are not alone in this. There are many dads just like you and I, we cross paths each day, living a life we never imagined but all finding ways to survive.

Love From Dad