When Kirsten and Simon Borgas fell pregnant soon after the birth of their first daughter, Pixie, they knew things would be a little frenzied. They could not have imagined just to what extent that would be true and the journey they would be embarking on.
Kirsten would enjoy a relatively problem free pregnancy with Pixie who was born at term. Her second pregnancy however, felt different from the very beginning.
“It started with debilitating restless legs and intense skin itching — symptoms that made day-to-day life uncomfortable and, in hindsight, were early warning signs,” Kirsten recalls.
Around 24 weeks, Kirsten would experience significant bleeding and was admitted to hospital. The bleeding eventually stopped, and all the scans looked fine.
“I was booked for an interim ultrasound later that week, but by Sunday, I was again in pain and had a small amount of bleeding. I took myself into the local hospital to be checked. I was told it was likely Braxton Hicks contractions and was sent home, told everything was fine.”
During a second visit to her obstetrician just a few days later, despite the pain having intensified, she would again be reassured everything appeared normal and that her cervix was long and closed.
Little did Kirsten know that her body had been trying to heal from the earlier bleeding, and now, in the only way it knew how, it was preparing to end the pregnancy.
Less than an hour from her visit to her obstetrician, Kirsten would experience a contraction that left her clammy and in distress.
“The contractions came irregularly, then suddenly, a wave of pain like I had never experienced before hit. I was frozen. Thankfully, my husband Simon raced me toward the hospital, usually 30 minutes away, but time wasn’t on our side,” Kirsten recalls.
Tully Borgas was born that day at 2:25pm at 26 weeks weighing just 700g.
She was immediately whisked away by the neonatal team and, for a moment, unresponsive.
“I didn’t get to see her until later — as I was being wheeled to surgery, we passed in the hallway. She was in the Royal Flying Doctor Service (RFDS) trolley on her way to the hospital, fighting for her life.”
Kirsten remained in hospital overnight for observation and was discharged the next morning.
“At 9am, we packed up our life — including our 13-month-old Pixie — and relocated to Perth, where we would stay for the next 15 weeks,” Kirsten said.
The NICU doesn’t just grow babies.
It grows parents, too.
In total, Tully would spend 104 days in hospital with 78 of those in the Neonatal Intensive Care Unit (NICU).
Kirsten and Simon reflect on the early days in the NICU as being a blur of machines, wires, alarms, and acronyms – thrown into a world they hadn’t prepared for — one filled with constant vigilance and a steep medical learning curve.
Tully faced many of the classic complications of extreme prematurity: respiratory distress syndrome requiring weeks of CPAP support, ongoing gastric intolerance, a patent ductus arteriosus (a heart issue that resolved without surgery), anaemia of prematurity, and concerns about her vision due to retinopathy of prematurity (ROP). She also required multiple blood transfusions, countless heel pricks, and ongoing investigations to monitor the aftermath of a small brain bleed picked up in her early scans.
It was Tully’s brain bleeds, which were stage 3 and 4, that were the biggest cause for concern.
“Originally, we were called in during the middle of the night to hear the ‘loss of quality of life’ speech. The doctors were unsure of what her prognosis would be. Later in Tully’s journey we could see signs of improvement in the scans and clinician were hopeful that with the right support and the interaction of our other daughter she would be ‘better than they hoped’,” she recalls.
Kirsten and Simon were required to quickly adapt to this new rhythm — one that didn’t revolve around a traditional newborn, but around feeding tubes, oxygen saturation levels, and medical rounds.
“We learned how to do her “cares” through the port holes of her humidicrib, gave breast milk lollipops to help her develop her suck reflex, and celebrated tiny victories like a poo, a 10g weight gain, or a day without a bradycardia event. It was relentless and consuming, yet somehow, we settled into it.”
Over the course of a 15-week period, the Borgas’ lived out of temporary accommodation — spending over $20,000 and 6 to 10 hours a day at the hospital, all while raising their 13-month-old daughter Pixie, who became a toddler during that time.
“It was exhausting, emotionally overwhelming, and at times incredibly isolating. But it was also filled with love and fierce advocacy.”
Tully’s discharge came just after her original due date, at 41 weeks gestation. She was 2.7kg, fully breastfed, and no longer required any oxygen or monitoring. Kirsten recalls the prospect of heading home as a family of four.
“It was the most surreal moment of my life. Packing my bags for the last time, spending my first night alone with her during mother crafting, and then walking out of those hospital doors with our baby girl in our arms.”
Today, Tully is thriving. All residual health issues have now resolved, and she continues to be monitored closely.
“She’s strong, hilarious and adored by her big sister. We use her corrected age for developmental milestones, but every day she proves just how far she’s come.”
Despite the happy ending, Kirsten acknowledges there are still shadows.
“There are moments of trauma, grief for a pregnancy and postnatal period that didn’t go to plan, and deep fatigue from living in survival mode for so long. But there’s also immense pride. Tully’s strength, and our resilience as a family, have shown me what it truly means to endure, adapt, and love fiercely.”
Although it can be a pandora’s box of emotions, reflecting on Tully’s journey has also provided the family a great source of solace and strength.
“Tully taught us how to fight. The NICU taught us how to be patient and present in a way we’d never known. Every single gram gained, every breath unassisted, every feed taken orally — it all meant something. Those tiny milestones became our world,” Kirsten explains.
“I’ve learned that you can be incredibly grateful and still carry trauma. You can celebrate progress and still mourn what was lost. That duality lives in every NICU parent, and it deserves to be acknowledged.
“If there’s one thing I want others to know, it’s this: you don’t have to be “fine” just because your baby survived. The experience rewires you. But it also builds a kind of strength that lives deep in your bones — one that only comes from watching your child fight so hard just to live.
“Tully’s story has made me a better mother, a more conscious advocate, and a voice for the families walking this path behind us. I’ll always carry the NICU with me — not as a scar, but as a part of who we are.”
