I had been home for 5 minutes when the phone rang. It was Preston Maternity Unit where I had spent all night with my wife while our unborn baby’s movements had been monitored. “You’re wife is being rushed for an emergency C section, get back here as quick as you can.”

I raced back to the hospital. Not having been told what to do or where to go I headed back to the delivery room to find a scene of chaos. I had been told everything was fine only an hour earlier, that’s why I popped home. What’s happened? Is my wife ok? Is my baby ok?

After sitting alone in the room going insane with worry, a whole host of people came in; a consultant and several midwives. The consultant told me that my wife was fine but my daughter was struggling to breath and was being taken to neonatal. “My daughter, so we’ve had a girl?” You have certain pre conceptions in life of how things are meant to happen this was not how I ever expected to find out if my baby was a boy or girl.

It is hard to put into words the overpowering emotions, thoughts and feeling that now came over me. The consultant started trying to explain what had happened but I was just numb, like it was all a bad dream or something. I was told I couldn’t even see my daughter at that point.

Having been left alone for a minute a midwife came in, grabbed my arm and said “come on, I can take you to see her if we are quick.” After running through loads of corridors we came round a corner to see an incubator accompanied by what seemed like half the hospital’s medical staff in theatre gowns. In the incubator was my little girl. It was like looking at a puppy through a shop window if that makes sense? I could just look at her through the glass, couldn’t give her a cuddle or give her her first feed like I did when my son was born, just look at her. Her name tag said Baby Proudfoot, “her name is Millie, change that tag to Mille Proudfoot.”

So, on the morning of my daughter’s birth, a time that’s always portrayed in TV land as a straightforward and happy time, I was alone with no wife or baby.

I had to do the ring around to tell friends and family what was going on. I can remember people saying congratulation. Congratulations? Had they listened to a word I said? The hardest call to make was to our 8 year old son. He had wanted a brother of sister so much. “Will she die?” What a question! How do I answer that to a child that trusts in everything I say when I honestly have no idea.

The midwife came to take me through to neonatal to see Millie. There was a board on the wall with photo’s on it of children going home from the ward. That was something I just didn’t want to see right then and couldn’t look at it for the first 2 to 3 days.

The second time I saw Millie she was in an incubator. A surgeon had a phone to his ear and with the other hand he was putting drip lines in Millie’s umbilical cord. It was like watching a mechanic with his head under a bonnet. This wasn’t my daughter?

I spent the whole day going between my wife and Millie in different wards. I needed my wife so much but she was really suffering from the operation and was in no state to share my fears and concerns.

About 11pm the midwives finally persuaded me to go home and get some rest. I was given the number for neonatal and told I could ring at anytime. Our son, Josh, was stopping with his grandparents so I was in the house alone. Don’t think I have ever or will ever cry like I did that night when I got home.

Sunlight woke me at about 6am and I realised I had to make the call. I had to ring neonatal to see how Millie was. It was the hardest phone call I have ever made, kind of like a strange game of Russian Roulette?

Millie had been stable through the night, thank god!

Funny how your expectations and wants change with circumstances. During the first few days when Millie was on a ventilator, all I wanted was for her to breath. If she would just breath for herself I would take whatever else came.

Millie showed us in that first 2 weeks what a strong and determined girl she is. She made progress everyday and after 3 days she was breathing for herself.

Now, at last, I could focus on pushing my brand new little baby girl down the street in her pram like all proud dads want to.

After 2 weeks Alison and Millie came home. Everything was normal, as it should be. We had had it rough but everything was now ok. Happily ever after isn’t it?

During the time Millie spent in neonatal lots of test had been carried out to establish what had gone/was wrong. One of these test had been a MRI brain scan. All the consultants involved with the birth and treatment of Millie called a meeting with us to discuss their findings. Friday 13 June 2008.

For the second time in under a month, the life was kicked out of me. The MRI scan had confirmed damage to Millie’s brain.

Maybe it’s just the way I think but I had certain preconceptions of what would happen in circumstances like this. I thought we would be told what this might mean to us, to Millie and her future. I thought we would be taken through what happens next, what, when & where the support would come from. I expected to be given an armful of booklets. We got nothing. It was just like “your daughter has brain damage, ok thanks, bye.”

For a year it seemed like we were passengers on a runaway train. People came to see Millie; we took Millie to a constant stream of never ending appointments. At the end of all this, nobody could still give an indication of the future. All the while Millie started to miss key development milestones.

The first 12 months were difficult for both Alison and me. There were times I was in some very dark places BUT, Millie had never ever given up. She had fought from the first minute and she was always happy, always smiling despite everything so I had to follow her lead.

Despite all the health care professionals involved with Millie, it was purely by word of mouth that we were made aware of Legacy Rainbow House. Alison was due back to work and we had to try and get some sort of normality back in our lives. Our son had gone to nursery and we had planned to send Millie but the choice of nursery suddenly became all that more important.

I was blown away by what I saw on my first visit to The Legacy, but more importantly I was taken aback by the passion for what they did there, displayed in abundance during my first meeting with Hayley. Hayley is a mirror for the genuine enthusiasm, caring and passion shown by all the staff.  Without question, this was the place for Millie.

Millie has been attending The Legacy Rainbow House since June 2009 and has been having Conductive Education since January 2010.

Millie has made fantastic progress since starting there, not just physically but she has also been encouraged to let her personality develop to.

It took me some time to realise what Rainbow House means to me as a parent. It has helped me come to terms with my daughters disability, made me realise I am not on my own or the first/last person who will ever have to deal with such circumstance. I feel part of an extended family in a way. Most important of all though, it has given me Hope! Hope for the future, Hope for Millie’s future. When you see kids at 16 being taught how to walk you know you always have hope.

I am and always will be indebted to The Legacy Rainbow House and the fantastic team there for all the love, care, time and effort they have already given and continue to give my special little girl, Millie.