My name is Hannah. I’m 27 years old, and this is the story of my little warrior, Logan — a boy who fought for his life before he had even learned how to breathe.
For most of my adult life, my body felt like it was working against me. I suffered from severe periods that left me bedridden, unable to function, visiting doctors once or twice a week just to cope. At 22, I finally had surgery and was diagnosed with
endometriosis, along with a platelet bleeding disorder. After surgery, I was told what so many endometriosis patients hear — that my chances of having a baby could be low, possibly for years. I quietly accepted that motherhood might never be mine.
Then, in April 2020, everything changed. I found out I was pregnant.
Hope arrived when I least expected it.
On August 29th, 2020, at 2:45 p.m., my world shifted forever. Earlier that day, my midwife told me I likely had a
urinary tract infection. An hour later, my waters broke. At just 24 weeks and 6 days, my baby was coming — whether we were ready or not.
Logan, whom we lovingly called “Bean,” was born at the Te Awamutu birthing unit, weighing just 736 grams. When I first saw him, I struggled to process what I was seeing. I often describe him as looking like a newborn bird with no feathers. His skin was translucent. His ribs looked like toothpicks. He was impossibly small — fragile in a way words cannot capture.
Without the quick thinking and extraordinary care of the midwives Nicky, Maggie, and Paris, my baby would not have survived. I watched, helpless, as they worked tirelessly to keep him alive for
45 minutes before the NICU team could arrive. Those minutes felt like hours. I wouldn’t wish that kind of fear on anyone.
Logan was taken away in an incubator in a different ambulance than mine. Hours passed before I could see him again. Days passed before I could hold him. For
14 days, all I could do was sit beside his incubator, hold his tiny hand, and pray my baby wouldn’t be taken from me.
We spent 126 days in Hamilton NICU
, an hour away from our home, our family, and everything familiar. Logan faced challenge after challenge. Because my early labor was misidentified as a UTI, I wasn’t given the
steroids that help premature babies’ lungs develop before birth. Without them, Logan’s lungs struggled from the very beginning, leading to chronic lung disease.
At just seven days old, Logan developed a severe infection following surgery needed to place life-saving lines. At
1:30 a.m., we received a phone call no parent should ever get — Logan was having seizures, and he wasn’t doing well. For two nights, we slept in a small room just down the hallway from him, close enough that if anything happened, we’d be there.
The following morning, doctors sat us down and told us to prepare for the worst. They didn’t think Logan would survive. All we could do was pray.
And Logan kept fighting.
He developed PDA, which closed on its own. He had a grade 2 brain bleed, which disappeared two months into his NICU stay. He underwent hernia surgery. He cycled through ventilators, CPAP, nasal prongs, high-flow oxygen, and low-flow oxygen. He was given powerful medications like
dopamine and fentanyl — treatments no baby should ever need, yet ones that kept him alive.
There were moments I didn’t think I was strong enough to keep going. But somehow, we did. And with the unwavering care of the
Hamilton NICU doctors and nurses, we took our baby home on December 14th, 2020 — the day after his corrected due date.
Today, Logan is a happy, thriving 15-month-old
(11 months corrected). He smiles constantly. He crawls everywhere. He claps, points to his head and tummy, brushes his own hair, and fills our home with laughter. He says words like
Mumma, Dadda, Chance (his brother), Nan, Gdad, car, hat, and duck. He loves cars and absolutely adores the water.
This is only half of our story — because every NICU parent knows the parts that words can’t explain. The fear. The trauma. The strength you never knew you had.
We are unbelievably lucky to still have our boy. And we are forever grateful to the NICU team who saved Logan’s life, and to the family who held us up when we could barely stand.
Logan is here because he refused to give up.
And every single day with him is a miracle.