The parents of a baby named Robyn, who was born very tiny at just 11 ounces (328 grams), have finally brought her home after 18 months in the hospital.
Robyn was born five months early in March 2023 at Grange Hospital in Cwmbran, Torfaen, and she still needs special care all the time. Her parents, Chantelle (34) and Daniel (38) from Malpas, Newport, are raising money for her treatment. Chantelle said, “It’s like a dream come true to have Robyn home.”
Robyn was born at just 23 weeks and 2 days and was so tiny that she could fit in the palm of a hand. To keep her organs warm while she grew, she was kept in a sandwich bag.
After six months in the hospital, she spent another seven months in the pediatric intensive care unit at Noah’s Ark Children’s Hospital in Cardiff. She then returned to Grange Hospital until she was finally discharged in September.
Chantelle, who works part-time as an accountant, said, “It’s just so nice to do normal family things… and just all be together under one roof.”
Daniel, a self-employed bricklayer, mentioned that it’s much less chaotic at home now. He has had to cut back on work to focus on taking care of his daughter.
Robyn gets oxygen and nutrition through tubes in her nose and mouth, and her vital signs are watched all the time. She takes 30 doses of medication each day.
Her mom, Chantelle, explained, “She can’t cough, so we have to suction her mouth and nose throughout the day when she needs it.”
Daniel described Robyn as doing well and enjoying the “peace” of being at home. He added that they do a lot of physical therapy and play with her to help her senses.
Chantelle said it was tough to bond with Robyn in the busy hospital ward, with doctors and nurses always coming in and out.
“All you can do is sit next to her and watch,” she explained, “keeping an eye on the numbers on the screen and hoping she will be okay.”
“When Robyn was born, we weren’t sure if she would survive.
“As time went on, she grew bigger and stronger, but she still faced many problems. It became clear that her brain damage would have a big impact on her.”
‘We know nothing is impossible’
“We didn’t learn about her brain damage until about six months after she was born,” Daniel said.
“You have all these plans for how life will be, and then everything changes,” he added.
“But we try to stay positive.
“We know that nothing is impossible for Robyn because she has been told so many times that she wouldn’t be able to do things or even survive, but she keeps proving everyone wrong.
“She’s full of surprises, and I believe she will create her own story.”
My wife started to distance herself from my daughter and me. One day, she left an envelope and disappeared
When my wife started pulling away from me and our daughter, I couldn’t understand why. My heartbreaking story is about how someone can love you so much that they try to protect you by all means. Read on to see how we traversed secrets, innocent lies, and heartache to unite as a family.
There’s something deeply unsettling about not knowing the whole story, especially when it involves the people you love the most. Okay, let me backtrack a bit, my name is Kevin, and Levine and I have been married for 15 lovely years.
We share one amazing child, Emily, who is still quite young and attending school. My wife and daughter mean the world to me, and I believe we have a great family. However, around six months ago, Levine started withdrawing and avoiding me and our daughter.
For months, I watched as my formerly loving and caring wife grew increasingly distant by the day. What started as small changes in her demeanor escalated into full-blown avoidance. Her smiles are fewer and her nights spent awake longer.
I even sometimes caught glimpses of her crying in the bathroom more than once. But every time I approached her about it, she brushed off my concerns with a shaky “I’m fine.” Yet, she wasn’t. And deep down, I knew it.
This unspoken “thing” hung over me and our daughter heavily, causing our family relationships to start cracking.
“Levine, please talk to me,” I pleaded one evening, finding her again at the window, staring into the backyard. Her back was to me, her shoulders tense.
“I just need some air, Kevin. That’s all,” she murmured, her voice hardly above a whisper.
I stepped closer, my concern deepening. “It’s been months of ‘just needing air.’ You’re scaring me, baby. You’re scaring Emily.”
She turned then, her eyes wet with unshed tears. “I can’t, not yet…” her voice trailed off as she turned back to the window, leaving me standing helplessly behind her.
I returned home yesterday from picking Emily up at school to find the house eerily silent. The morning Levine left was like any other, except she didn’t say goodbye. My stay-at-home wife wasn’t anywhere when we arrived.
However, on the kitchen table amidst the usual clutter of mail and Emily’s school books that she had come with, I found THIS DREADFUL ENVELOPE. My name scrawled across it in Levine’s familiar handwriting.
My heart sank to my stomach as I tore it open with trembling hands. Inside, her letter lay, written in the same shaky hand that had addressed the envelope. As I opened it, tears streamed down my face as I found out what she had been going through all along:
“My dearest husband,
If you’re reading this, then I am already gone. I couldn’t bear to tell you in person, for fear I would never be able to leave. I have been diagnosed with stage 3 cancer, and the doctors are not hopeful. It is my deepest fear to become a burden to you and our beautiful Emily.
I want to protect you both from the pain of watching me deteriorate. I love you both more than life itself, and it’s because I love you that I need to do this. Please understand that this is the hardest choice I’ve ever made, but it’s made out of love. I am at Clear Life Center, a quiet hospice two states away. Please forgive me.
With all my love, always,
Levine.”
Tears blurred my vision as I tried to compose myself. My lovely, beautiful wife had chosen solitude over the anguish she believed her illness would cause us. If I thought I loved her before, at that moment I realized I loved her MORE THAN EVER.
Without a second thought, I packed a bag. I told Emily, “My baby, mommy’s not feeling too well, and we are going on a little trip to see her, okay?” My brave little girl with a worried face asked, “Is she going to be okay, Daddy?”
Not wanting to lie to her, I replied, “She’s going to feel much better when she sees us, I promise.” We drove straight to the facility my wife mentioned, desperate to be with her, regardless of her wishes to shield us.
When we arrived and I found her, the reality of her condition hit hard. Levine was frail, a shadow of the vibrant woman I had fallen in love with. Yet, when she saw us, her eyes lit up with a mix of joy and sorrow, and she instantly looked better, than I had envisioned!
“Kevin, Emily,” she murmured, reaching out weakly.
“Mom, why didn’t you tell us? We could have helped…” Emily sobbed, clutching her mother’s hand. “I thought… I thought it would be easier this way,” Levine whispered, tears streaming down her face.
“We needed to be here, with you. No matter what,” I said, gripping her hand.
We spent those last weeks of her illness by her side, achieving her life goals before her death. Whenever she was strong enough, we went out for walks, well, she was in a wheelchair. She got to tell Emily all the things she wished her to know before her passing.
“I’ll always love you, my sweet baby girl. And I want you to know that I will be with you in spirit for all the days of your life,” Levine told Emily as they embraced, shedding more tears.
We talked, laughed, and sometimes sat in silence, savoring the precious moments we had left. Emily read her favorite books aloud, and I held her mother’s hand every night until she fell asleep.
My darling wife passed away holding my hand. Emily curled up beside her, a peaceful expression on her face. Her last days were not filled with the pain and suffering she had feared but with love and the warmth of her family.
In the wake of her passing, I’ve come to realize the profound strength it took for her to make the decision she did. Levine’s act, initially so incomprehensible to me, was one of selfless love. The kind that sees beyond immediate pain to the eventual peace it can bring to those left behind.
Now, as Emily and I adjust to a world without Levine, we do so with a deep understanding of her last gift to us. Not just the envelope that explained her absence, but the enduring presence of her love.
A love that, like the subtle fragrance of her favorite flowers, lingers around us, invisible yet palpable. It remained a gentle reminder that even in their absence, love remains.
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