I don’t remember giving birth to my baby – I feel robbed of those first few weeks

LAURA Ward, 34, a primary school teaching assistant, lives in Wigan, Greater Manchester, with her husband John, 38, an industrial cleaner, and their children William, four, and Hope, 15 months. 

“Opening my eyes, I stared groggily at the tubes and wires snaking in and out of my arms.

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When I heard the machines beeping around me, I realised I was in hospital, but I had no idea why.

Feeling a warm hand in mine, I saw my partner John sitting next to me.

‘You’ve been in a coma for seven weeks,’ he told me. I stared at him in horror, unable to speak because of a tube in my mouth. Then, to my amazement, he placed a tiny bundle in a pink blanket on the bed. 

‘This is our daughter,’ he said. ‘She’s seven weeks old.’

I gazed at the baby in shock. I had no memory of being pregnant, let alone giving birth.

In July 2021, I was 30 weeks pregnant with my second baby and working as a teaching assistant, when I tested positive for Covid.

I’d developed a cough and body aches, and within 24 hours of my positive test, I was so breathless that I was admitted to hospital.

Alone on the Covid ward, I felt panicked, worrying about whether the virus would harm my unborn baby.

My last memory is video-calling John and our two-year-old son William to say I was feeling a bit better.

Apparently, I then began to experience such serious breathing difficulties, doctors told me they needed to perform an emergency C-section. 

Our baby girl was born nine weeks premature on August 13, weighing 3lb 7oz. She was whisked to the NICU, while I was put in a coma on life support.

As John explained everything to me once I’d come round fully, my memory of being pregnant started to come back to me and I felt upset and robbed of the first weeks of my baby’s life. 

Our daughter had been discharged from hospital at five weeks old.

John was caring for her, William and his two children Josh, 16, and Lexi, 11, from a previous relationship, with help from family and friends. 

It was bittersweet holding her for the first time, as I was still weak and I couldn’t cuddle properly or feed her.

But a week later, with the tubes finally out of my mouth, I could whisper a few words and John and I could choose a name for our baby – Hope felt perfect.

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My recovery was frustratingly slow, and I needed hours of physio to regain my strength.

I was desperate to get home to my children and felt very low at times, stuck in hospital.

I had to relearn how to feed myself, brush my teeth and walk, because of the muscle wastage.

The first time I saw William again was on his third birthday in October 2021.

Children hadn’t been allowed in the ICU, so he wasn’t able to visit, but an exception was made that day and we had birthday cake on my hospital bed.

Cuddling him spurred me on to get well and be able to go home so I could be a proper mother to him and Hope.

In early December, I took my first wobbly steps and it felt like a huge achievement.

Then on December 13, I was finally allowed home, four and a half months after I’d first been admitted.

Walking out of the hospital, I felt so grateful I’d survived and was going home to my family.

On Christmas Eve, John stunned me by asking me to marry him, and of course I said yes. It was the perfect end to the hardest year.

In July, we married in front of friends and family, and William and Hope were christened at the same ceremony.

It was such an emotional day as everyone there knew what we’d been through.

It’s coming up to a year since I was discharged from hospital and I’m not yet able to return to work.

I have days when I’m exhausted and have brain fog, where I lose my train of thought, or forget what somebody’s just said. 

When I look at my children now, I’m so grateful to be alive.

When Hope is older, I’ll tell her about the dramatic way she came into the world, and how precious she is.”