Sienna, 25 weeks

Miracle mum Melissa shares Sienna's story:

Our NICU Journey with Sienna Grace

I could only carry our baby daughter, Sienna Grace, so far into my pregnancy. From that moment on, I had to rely entirely on our medical teams, modern-day equipment, and a world I never knew existed — the Neonatal Intensive Care Unit.

We spent 122 days in the NICU and Special Care Unit at the Mercy Hospital for Women, three hours away from my hometown and family. There were moments when I truly didn’t know how we would make it through. It felt surreal after having my first baby eleven years earlier — a full-term 41+2 weeker with no restrictions on cuddles or bonding. This time, everything was different.

Some moments felt frozen in time. Minutes stretched like hours as we watched Sienna’s monitors, knowing her condition could change in an instant. The nights were long, the days uncertain. The NICU can be such a frightening and isolating place — the start to life no parent ever imagines, surrounded by machines instead of being in our arms.

I held my daughter for the first time nine days after she was born. Later, there were stretches where I couldn’t hold her for more than two weeks because of her fragile health. Cuddle time in the NICU is not like cuddle time at home. You rely on nurses to find a chair, watch every tube and wire, and try not to move too much. Holding a baby under 900 grams is terrifying. Every beep makes your heart race. Every nurse’s glance can make you hold your breath. Yet, those fleeting moments — her tiny arms fluttering against my chest like butterfly wings — are moments I will never forget.

The nurses and doctors did everything they could to keep us informed and supported. The Miracle Babies Foundation was also there, offering emotional help and practical support. Their Milk Express Pack was such a thoughtful gesture that made me feel understood during a time when I barely had time to process what was happening.

The early postpartum days were especially hard. Your hormones are everywhere, and the tears don’t stop — tears of fear, sadness, longing for the pregnancy that ended too soon, and tears for the unknown that lies ahead. Unless you’ve been through NICU, it’s impossible to understand the depth of emotion that comes with it.

Most days, we simply sat beside Sienna’s humidity crib — praying for miracles, expressing milk, trying to eat enough to keep going. Reading or relaxing was impossible; our minds were too full and our hearts too heavy.

That’s why seeing Bree, our Miracle Babies engagement worker, meant the world. Her calm smile and gentle presence reminded me we weren’t alone. She had walked this path before and understood the pain of being apart from family, missing milestones, and feeling pulled in every direction. She made it okay to cry and to admit the fear. In an environment stripped of sunlight and normal rhythm, Bree was a breath of humanity.

Every entry through those secure NICU doors filled me with anxiety. The alarms, flashing monitors, and the sight of doctors rushing to a bedside never stopped being overwhelming. You learn to monitor everything — where you’ve been, what you’ve touched — terrified you could unknowingly bring in a virus. Even silence could feel heavy, filled with waiting and hope.

At 21 weeks, I underwent a cervical cerclage to help prevent premature birth. But at just 24 weeks, I was airlifted from my local hospital to Melbourne by the PIPER team. Sienna stayed safely inside for ten more days before an emergency caesarean became necessary due to a rare infection — chorioamnionitis — that had spread through my placenta. The doctors acted quickly, fearing both of us could become septic. It was the most frightening experience of my life. We had already been warned about the risks and survival rates for babies born so early.

Sienna Grace was born at 25 weeks and 3 days, weighing just 836 grams.

Her early days were a fight for life. She required significant respiratory support — from standard to high-frequency ventilation — and often 100% oxygen. She endured infections, meningitis, anaemia, collapsed lungs, jaundice, kidney injury, retinopathy of prematurity, a small brain haemorrhage, and more. Throughout it all, her tiny body kept fighting.

By the time we left, Sienna was the longest-staying baby on the ward — a bittersweet title. Watching other families come and go was incredibly hard, but our nurses reminded me, gently, that our time would come too. That moment — when I finally dared to believe she might come home — is one I will never forget.

We lost a baby girl at 17 weeks before Sienna, and had multiple miscarriages. That made this journey even more fragile and precious. When we were finally discharged under the Hospital in the Home program, it hardly seemed real. Sienna still had appointments for her eyes, ears, lungs, and development, but she was home — safe, loved, and thriving.

This week, Sienna Grace turned 7 months old (16 weeks corrected). She is full of smiles, calm, curious, and happy. Our family is looking forward to attending our first NurtureGroup with Miracle Babies to connect with others who have shared similar paths.

We will forever be grateful — for modern medicine, compassionate care, and every person who played a part in our journey. The teams at Mercy Hospital for Women, the blood donors through Lifeblood, the support of Ronald McDonald House — each gesture, each act of care, helped our daughter grow and thrive. And we will never forget the babies who didn’t make it home either. Their strength and their families’ love remain in our hearts.

Sienna is our miracle — and every day with her is a reminder of hope, resilience, and gratitude.