Ash’s story
I sat in my London City office, late in my twenty-third week of pregnancy, with a dull ache in my back. The pains were light—moderate at most. But as the day wore on, I noticed they were coming at regular intervals. Not just regular—they were coming in waves. By nightfall, the discomfort had wrapped around from my back to my front. Contractions.
Twelve hours later, now in hospital, I was still being told I likely wasn’t in labour and that things might “settle down.” But at 3 p.m., everything changed. A doctor came to examine me and then quietly sat down at the foot of my bed.
“Ashley,” she said gently, “has anyone spoken to you about the risks of having a baby born this early?”
“No,” I replied. “The midwife said someone from NICU would talk to us, but only if they really thought I was in labour.”
“I think it’s time they speak with you. It’s been a while now that you’ve been contracting. While they haven’t picked up in pace, they’re not slowing down either. In case you deliver in the next 48 hours, you need to understand what that might mean.”
I looked her straight in the eyes. “Doctor, do you think I will deliver this baby in the next 48 hours?”
She paused, then answered gently, “Ashley, you are going to deliver this baby in the next 48 hours.”
I wailed, “It’s too soon! It’s too early. It’s too early!” and beat against my husband’s chest with closed fists.
Nine hours later, my son was in my arms. He was the size of a Barbie doll and weighed just 662 grams. He was too tiny, too fragile, too ventilated to cry. The room was crowded with people. The only sounds were those of the machines. No one knew if that moment would be the only time I ever held my son.
Our story, after 89 days in neonatal care and six weeks in paediatric care—mostly in intensive care—has a happy, though complicated, ending. Our son is now six years old: full of life, love, and complex additional needs.
We were so focused on his survival that I didn’t even realise I had experienced birth trauma—not until years later. Which might sound wild, but it’s true.
Extreme prematurity is birth trauma. Seeing your baby—still looking like a foetus—not knowing whether they will live or die, wondering what lifelong challenges they might face... it is acute, overwhelming trauma.
In an instant, every hope and dream you had for your baby, your birth, and your family shatters. Rebuilding those expectations takes time. It takes support from professionals, the patience of those around you, and, in my case, a whole lot of prayer.
Ash Ruddy is the author of Twenty-four + One, a bestselling book that chronicles her son’s extreme prematurity and intensive care journey.
Available on Amazon and Audible. https://mybook.to/twentyfourplusonebook
