A camping trip turned to unimaginable horror when Jamie and her family were trapped by a raging fire. Would they make it?
As a whooshing sound filled the room, the tension in my body ebbed away.
‘That’s your baby’s heartbeat,’ the midwife smiled, pointing at the ultrasound screen.
My husband Jacob and I glanced at each other, relief etched on our faces.
I was 13 weeks pregnant and had a little boy, Uriel, or Uri for short, who was weeks away from turning two.
A few months earlier, I’d miscarried at 11 weeks, leaving us devastated.
So hearing our unborn baby’s strong, healthy heartbeat was a big deal for us.
A week later, we were driving to our family’s rural property for a camping trip.
Uri was flicking through his picture dictionary of wild animals on the journey.
‘Look at me, Mummy!’ my curly-haired toddler said proudly, because he’d just learnt how to turn the pages by himself.
We arrived before sundown, set up camp and cooked meat and vegetables on the grill.
Noticing a sign warning that the risk of wildfires was high, we were very careful to not allow any sparks to escape.
After dinner, we settled into our tent.
Uri happily snuggled up to me as we watched shooting stars through the gap in the tarpaulin, before we all fell asleep.
Suddenly, I felt Jacob trying to wake me.
Opening my eyes, it was still dark, but I could sense Jacob was frightened.
‘The hills are on fire,’ he said, waking Uri too.
He’d got up at midnight and noticed that the sky was a blaze of orange.
Because the area was so remote, we didn’t have a phone signal.
The fires had taken hold so quickly that we’d had no chance to act.
‘Let’s get out of here,’ I said.
'Flames were all around us'
We jumped into the truck and drove towards the river through the sagebrush and foliage.
Only, in the dark and treacherous terrain, we crashed into a large rock and our vehicle broke down.
‘We need to run,’ Jacob said, fear in his eyes as
we jumped out, Uri
in my arms.
We slid down into the gully and ran for our lives, but the flames were catching up and blocking us from the river.
Suddenly, Jacob saw a large rock and we huddled under it.
Jacob had carried a five-gallon jug of water from the truck, and he dumped it over us.
Flames were all around us and as they licked my skin,
I winced in agony.
The pain was excruciating, but all I could think about was protecting my boy and my bump.
We were all slowly burning.
Time passed in an agonising blur, only then
I began to feel a sense
of peace.
I had a strong faith and believed we would soon be with God.
I didn’t know how much time had passed but, eventually, the wind blew the fire away from us.
The three of us suffered burns – mainly on our arms and hands – but we were alive.
We prayed and comforted our son, then headed for the river.
‘It will be easier for a boat or helicopter to find us from there,’ Jacob said.
We made it there before sunrise and Jacob waded into the river.
The fire had already jumped to the other side.
When a boat didn’t come, we decided to reach the dam on foot.
Uri slept in our arms as we went as fast as we could through the treacherous terrain.
Sometimes, he would open
his eyes and glance around, but they seemed to glaze over more each time.
He’s slipping away, we need to get him to hospital, I thought.
After walking for miles, we were completely exhausted and the terrain blocked us from continuing.
Looking at Uri, I gasped.
‘He’s not breathing,’ I cried.
We laid him down in the reeds by the shore.
Then my heart leapt as I saw his little chest slowly move up and down.
‘He’s breathing,’ I said, ‘but barely.’
Cuddling him close, we whispered to him.
‘We love you, bubba boy, we’ll see you again,’ we said.
Then we fell asleep, the three of us huddled together.
When we woke up, we knew Uri was gone.
'I need to know if my baby is OK'
‘He’s in heaven now,’ Jacob said, as we cradled him and clung to each other.
After losing Uri, Jacob and I started fading fast and I didn’t know how long we could hold on.
Our bodies were in bad shape, and at night, we were exposed to the cold.
I felt myself miscarrying, but went into denial, not wanting to believe it.
Then, incredibly, two days later, two men on a boat came and rescued us, carrying me on
a stretcher.
They gently carried Uri’s body, too.
The men rushed us to shore, where an ambulance was waiting.
It was a blur, and all I remembered was being told I had a life-threatening infection and the urgency of the medics as they battled to save my life.
‘I’m pregnant, I need to know if my baby is OK,’ I repeated.
‘You’ll get an ultrasound soon,’ they soothed.
Then everything went black.
When I woke up, I heard my sister’s voice.
I was intubated and couldn’t see anybody, but I knew she was there, which was a comfort.
‘You’ve lost your baby and urgently need a procedure,’ the doctor said, explaining I was in a burns hospital.
My sister was agreeing, and everyone was trying to get my consent.
I had a tube down my throat and couldn’t make them understand, so I just nodded, in a daze, then slipped into unconsciousness again.
After that, Jacob and I began our long road to recovery, which was both physical and emotional.
I was grieving Uri and our unborn baby, who we’d named River, while undergoing skin graft surgeries for extensive burns, bandage changes and learning how to use my damaged hands.
Jacob’s injuries were horrendous, too.
A few weeks later, doctors told me they’d been able to treat the infection in my womb, but there was a chance some remained.
I had to have another skin graft operation, where they said they would check.
When I woke up, there was devastating news.
My whole uterus had gone. The infection had spread.
‘There was a 99 per cent chance you would have died if we’d left it in,’ the doctor said.
After losing both Uri and River, I was told I couldn’t carry any more children.
I reeled in shock, anger and heartbreak.
Jacob was distraught, too.
It seemed so cruel.
'I don't think I can bear it'
‘If you can transplant my uterus into Jamie, I’m happy for you to do that,’ my sister said to the doctors.
I was moved by her selfless offer, but doctors advised that surrogacy was the better option.
The glimmer of hope was that my ovaries were fine, so I could still have my own biological children via surrogate.
Jacob and I wanted to do it as soon as possible, but knew we needed time to recover from the fire and our loss.
We spent six weeks in hospital and three months being cared for by family and friends.
The six-month anniversary of losing Uri – also River’s due date – hit me very hard.
I cried myself to sleep that night, waking up thinking the fire had never happened and I still had my toddler and a newborn.
Then the crushing realisation came and left me distraught. Another six months passed, then five embryos were created using my eggs and Jacob’s sperm.
A family friend agreed to be our surrogate, and one of the embryos was implanted in her womb.
Only, after two weeks, we got the news that it hadn’t worked.
It happened three more times, each failed attempt more painful than the last.
On our fourth try, we used another surrogate who’d contacted us after seeing our story on social media.
When she sent us a photo of her positive pregnancy test, Jacob and I were cautiously optimistic.
We realised the procedure had taken place on Uri’s birthday, a happy coincidence.
Only, after several blood tests, we were dealt a hammer blow – it wasn’t a viable pregnancy.
‘I don’t think I can bear it,’ I cried to Jacob.
When our surrogate went to a doctor at the fertility clinic, he told her the pregnancy sac was still in the uterus and our surrogate would miscarry naturally.
Hearing it was still there gave us hope, and a few weeks later, our surrogate FaceTimed us at her ultrasound.
‘There’s a heartbeat,’ the sonographer said.
It felt like a miracle.
‘Our baby’s alive,’ I said, hugging Jacob and crying tears of joy.
We had been told it wasn’t viable because the pregnancy hormones in the surrogate’s blood weren’t rising as quickly as they should.
On top of that, the first ultrasound had been done by
a technician inexperienced in carrying out early scans, who couldn’t find the sac.
It was only when an experienced doctor at the fertility clinic had done another scan that it was located.
The pregnancy was stressful, as our baby was measuring small.
But by 36 weeks, everything seemed fine.
At 41 weeks, we found out we were having a girl.
That evening, our surrogate was induced.
Jacob and I had our own hospital room, and I checked in every 30 minutes or so.
‘I’ll let you know when it’s getting close,’ the nurse promised.
Only, when the nurse came to get me, I ran down the hallway and was seconds too late.
‘Your baby is here!’ the midwife said.
But I didn’t mind and moments later, our little girl, who we named Shiloh, was placed on
my chest.
She latched on to my breast easily and wanted to nurse straightaway.
I’d taken hormones to allow me to breastfeed.
As she gazed at me with her dove grey eyes, I fell hopelessly in love.
I was so happy that my precious baby had made it into the world safe and alive.
Now, Shiloh is a year old and so full of personality.
She loves to wave at people and gives high-fives and kisses.
We tell her all about her big brother Uri and she will grow up hearing about him, but not be in his shadow.
We would love more children and have one more embryo in the freezer.
We are asking for donations towards our surrogacy journey and are so grateful for all the money raised that has brought us this far.
I will always miss Uri.
Every morning I wake and feel the void where my son should be, yearn to hear his laugh and see his smile.
Now, we’re just delighting in Shiloh, raising funds for our next baby and figuring out our next steps.
We lost so much in the fire, but it’s taught us how much we can overcome and to appreciate every day.
Jamie Hyland, 31