The sights and sounds of the city were overwhelming as we walked out of the hospital and towards the car park. Suddenly Michael and I were doing normal things again that felt very strange. We were together without anybody else, making decisions and behaving like everyone else and it felt really strange.
We had to put Cameron into his car seat and fold the pram, things we hadn't done for months. It felt strange feeling elated but nervous all at the same time. Things felt strange because nothing was normal - not even Cameron. This wasn't the child we had put into his car seat that fateful day our lives changed for ever. He wasn't able to control his muscles, fight us or help us. Instead we were putting a limp baby into his car seat and adjusting straps to fit his new size. He didn't smile or gurgle at us, he just lay there.
Normally when somebody takes their child home from hospital they go home to the comfort of familiar surroundings. They can crash onto their familiar couch and sleep in their own bed, dressing in clean clothes, showering in their shower and making a cuppa with their kettle in their favourite cup. Then after they've indulged in their creature comforts they check the mail and phone messages and breathe a huge sigh of relief. Everything is alright now because they are home.
Unfortunately our home no longer existed and all our creature comforts were boxed and packed in a warehouse. We had less than we had in hospital and it all existed within our car.
But we had a plan and we had each other and that was all that mattered. And that was the lesson we took away from the experience - you don't need your possessions to be content, all you need is each other and life. Although I must admit there was a moment of familiarity and calm as I sank into my car seat.
We pulled off with Cameron asleep in the back and we drove to Michael's parents home where we started the next stage of our life.