Part 2: 160 Days, and Then Home

Trigger warning: This episode discusses premature birth, NICU and neonatal medical procedures.

Missed Part 1? Start with S5:E11 — Luce's IVF journey, multiple losses, and the night her membranes ruptured at 22 weeks.

Gabe was born at 10:35am on a Wednesday morning, weighing 598 grams. He was 30 centimetres long. He came out flat and silent, and a team of eight people swooped in immediately. Luce didn't know he was a boy for five full minutes.

By quarter past twelve, she was in a wheelchair going upstairs to meet him.

What followed was 160 days in hospital — first at Mercy Hospital for Women in Melbourne, then a transfer to the Royal Children's Hospital for specialist ventilation and heart surgery, and then back to Mercy, and finally, finally, home.

Luce is a critical care nurse. She understood the ventilator settings. She could read the infusion charts. She knew what the numbers meant. And she will tell you, plainly, that none of that made it easier. It just changed how she processed the information.

In Part 2, she takes us through all of it — the five brutal first weeks, the patent ductus arteriosus that needed three rounds of Panadol before surgery was the only option left, the jet ventilator that finally stabilised his lungs, the retinopathy checks she couldn't watch, the first skin-to-skin cuddle, the first bath, the first time the whole family came in together. And the day, 160 days after he was born, that she drove him home.

Gabe is now a few months old in corrected age. He came home on oxygen. He is nearly off it. He has big cheeks and tape on his face and Luce is planning his autumn photo shoot.

She calls him her screaming one. You can hear him in the background near the end of the episode.

He made it.

In this episode:

The birth at 24 weeks — what happened in the room, and the five minutes before Luce knew she'd had a boy
Gabe's first hours — intubated, on a ventilator, wrapped in bubble wrap, and brought over to meet his mum
The first five weeks — infection, ventilation challenges, blood transfusions, and constant up and down
Patent ductus arteriosus — what it is, why it mattered, and the bedside heart surgery that changed everything
Transfer to the Royal Children's Hospital for a jet ventilator — and the 2am crisis she'd told them not to call her about unless it was dire
The milestones that matter in NICU — extubation, CPAP, high flow, low flow, open cot, first bath, first clothes
Retinopathy of prematurity — the eye checks Luce couldn't watch, and why early monitoring matters
Pumping, sleep, driving an hour each way, and learning to leave the hospital to protect her own mental health
How she managed mental health through IVF and NICU — including low-dose antidepressants and a counsellor she plans to return to
The Gabe Gazette — how sharing publicly became both a coping mechanism and a gift for him to read one day
Home at 160 days, on overnight oxygen, nearly off it, with a pediatrician and respiratory specialist and the autumn light waiting

"While you're alone — you're not alone."

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Key Takeaways

Having medical knowledge changes how you receive information in a NICU setting — it doesn't make it easier emotionally
Setting boundaries with hospital staff about when to call is okay — and sometimes essential for your mental health
Getting out of the hospital — fresh air, dinners, watching the grand final with your dad — is not abandoning your baby. It's survival
Proactive mental health support through IVF and NICU isn't optional — address it before you're in crisis, not after
The NICU community — other parents, nurses, peer support workers — is one of the most unexpected sources of strength
The Little Miracles Foundation offers peer support specifically for NICU families in Australia
Sharing your journey publicly, on your own terms, can be cathartic and protective — it keeps people informed without you having to repeat yourself
If your friend has a baby in NICU, don't ask what you can do. Just do something — bring food, do laundry, show up