Nicu Photography
Royal Women's Hospital
Seconds after our darling girl Frankie was born.
Photography has always been about people for me, and some of the most meaningful work I've ever done happened as a volunteer photographer in the Neonatal Intensive Care Unit (NICU) at Melbourne's Royal Women's Hospital.
My connection to the NICU began long before I ever picked up a camera in the ward.
When I was 15, I had cancer. Ever since, I've carried a quiet hope that one day I'd be able to give something back, particularly to children and families navigating difficult seasons of life.
Years later, during my pregnancy with our daughter Frankie, I was diagnosed with a rare condition called Vasa Previa and spent five weeks on hospital bed rest at Melbourne's Royal Women's Hospital.
Vasa Previa affects around one in 2,500 pregnancies and occurs when a baby's blood vessels lie across or near the cervix without the protection of the umbilical cord or placenta. If labour begins naturally, those vessels can rupture, creating a life-threatening emergency for the baby.
Because of this, Frankie was delivered by planned caesarean section five weeks early and spent her first two weeks in the NICU.
This was the moment our darling girl was born.
The care we received during that time was extraordinary.
Sean and I were held so gently by the nurses, doctors, and support staff who surrounded us. Their compassion left a lasting impression on me, and I knew almost immediately that if I ever had the opportunity, this was where I wanted to give back.
At the time, I had already spent years working as a lifestyle newborn photographer and had photographed hundreds of families through my business, Pixie Rouge. I knew how important photographs become as the years pass, particularly during life's most significant moments.
It took nearly ten months of emails, proposals, meetings, and very gentle persistence before the hospital finally approved the idea.
Then one evening I received the call:
"We love your idea. It's all going ahead."
From that point on, every third Wednesday, I volunteered my time photographing babies and families free of charge, capturing moments that might otherwise have gone undocumented during one of the most challenging periods of their lives.
Our darling Frankie, 3 days old, 5 weeks prem.
I would wander the NICU corridors, gently introducing myself to families and offering something simple but meaningful: professional photography, completely free of charge.
Most parents couldn't believe it. They assumed there was a catch. They thought I was a contractor. They thought there would be a bill at the end.
When I explained that the sessions were entirely free and that I'd simply email the photographs a few weeks later, many mums cried.
Sometimes I cried too.
The babies occasionally joined in.
Because I know what it's like.
When your baby is in NICU, organising photographs is often the last thing on your mind. You're focused on survival. On feeding schedules. On hospital rounds. On getting through the next hour.
Yet the photographs we have of Frankie's first days remain some of our most treasured possessions.
During my years volunteering, I was invited into some of the most intimate chapters of a family's story. I photographed first cuddles, tiny milestones, growing strength, hopeful homecomings, and moments of extraordinary love.
I also witnessed heartbreak.
Some families invited me back after our first session so I could quietly document the final hours they would spend with their baby. Those moments were tender, sacred, and unforgettable.
Giving Frankie her first bath in the nicu ward.
Every story mattered.
Those experiences changed me deeply and reinforced my belief that every baby's journey, no matter how short, deserves to be seen, remembered, and honoured.
This work remains some of the most meaningful photography I have ever been privileged to create.
It wasn't about creating perfect photographs.
It was about preserving connection.
It was about giving families something lasting.
It was about honouring those raw, real, beautiful first moments.
And it was about giving back to a place that once cared for my own family when we needed it most.
This volunteer work was undertaken in Australia prior to COVID and remains one of the greatest privileges of my photographic career.
One of the unexpected outcomes of the project was receiving an invitation to Government House Victoria for a community reception hosted by the Governor. It felt slightly surreal walking through those grand doors because, in my mind, I was just a photographer wandering around a NICU with a camera and a big heart. It was a lovely acknowledgement of the volunteer work, but the real privilege was always the families who trusted me to capture some of the most important moments of their lives.
