The second or third day of Harrison’s life {it’s all a little bit of a blur at this point}, we attended a “class” designed for parents of NICU patients, called “Life in the NICU”. They tell you about your blue bracelets. The ones that get you back to see your baby at any hour of the day or as Adam jokes, will also get you into any amusement park in America. They tell you about guest policies… no one under 16 unless it is a sibling, who is potty-trained. And that everyone must have a flu shot to get behind the doors. They speak about how to do your little loves’ laundry. About the CARES schedule and how parents are welcome to participate in the process of diaper changing, temperature taking, bathing and such, every four hours. About the cafeteria vouchers available for nursing moms. About the unlimited supply of milk storage bottles and Medela Steam Clean bags you are entitled to as long as you are in the care of the hospital. About the “snack” lounge and ice machine {which I am almost certain I will bankrupt before our stay ends}. About all of the ins and outs of your NICU stay.
But among all the info they shared with us that day, the thing that sticks most in my mind was the other couple we met. Without breaking every HIPAA policy known to man, I want to talk a little about this couple. They are first-time parents. Who are not from Nebraska. They had their wee little one at 29 weeks after the mom was hit with severe preeclampsia and further complications. Their babe was 2 lbs at birth. The dad was told several times during his wife’s labor that she likely wouldn’t survive. And this is their first baby. And every time I see them, I think that their life in the NICU has to be very different than ours. Every day brings another question mark. And uncertainty. And I imagine their situation to be completely overwhelming.
When I was sent to labor and delivery to have Harrison almost two weeks ago, I was not scared. I think my husband and our families were scared. But thankfully they all hid it very well from me. I was not scared. Because I felt confident that I was going to be okay. And that our little baby, though coming earlier than we had anticipated, would also, be okay. Because the doctor’s gave us a 97% chance that if we delivered on that Tuesday, that we would have a positive outcome. But if we waited, those odds decreased drastically. And so, on that day, between my faith in God and the medical staff of incredible docs, residents and nurses, I felt confident that we were going to deliver a healthy, beautiful baby. And we did.
When I had Barrett, I was terrified. I’ve talked about it over and over, but I was a first-time mom. And they whisked my first baby away. And they started asking so many questions. And running so many tests. Throwing out words like syndactyly, sacral dimple, spina bifida, and t. fistula. I was crippled with anxiety. And I was wrought with feelings that I had done it wrong. That I was at fault.
And when I met that other mother. The one I spoke about above. I felt sadness for her. Not pity. But sadness that I could imagine how she might be feeling. Even though our experiences were vastly different, I knew the thoughts that she probably had tumbling about in her head. And I hurt, for her. Because I am sure that their life in the NICU is, at times, miserable. Or scary. Even though it’s also wonderful because they are all here.
But now. At this point… I’m not sure if it’s due to past experience or because I’m completely delusional, but I am beyond thankful that Harrison is in the NICU. We have been in the position of bringing home a 36 week, near-term, 4 pound 5 ounce baby who is slow to feed and slow to gain and who made us view germs as the plague. We also brought home a second 36 week, near-term, 4 pound 9 ounce baby who was slow to feed and slow to gain. And while I think any infant presents an adjustment, I can tell you that, especially with Barrett, the feeding needs of a slow-to-grow boy, completely rocked my world. And so with Harrison, I view the assistance we are getting during his time in the NICU as an absolute blessing. Obviously at 32 weeks, we have no other choice than for him to be there. To grow. To focus on maximizing his brain development. And to thrive. So while it can be viewed as difficult to split time between our boys at home and our boy in the NICU, for me, it is a relief to know that we will get him somewhat on the right track before he heads home. And I am getting the opportunity to ask every single question I can think of right now. And that. That. Is hugely fantastic.
Each day, at some point, I spend time with just Mr. Harrison and some days, Adam gets to go for an extended period as well {he was back to work this week to save some time for when HEB comes home}. I don’t spend my whole day there, partially because I can’t drive yet {a product of a c section} and so I am a little bit at the whim of others {thank you!}. And partially because I am trying to fit in pumping, spending time at home and recuperating. But the time I spend there is sweet and special. I always talk to him a lot… About his brothers and about our family. I give him skin-to-skin time with mama. He can’t yet nurse but we will soon be able to start non-nutritive feeding sessions {which essentially is just foreplay to the real feeds, for lack of any better explanation}. So otherwise he spends the bulk of his day in his isolette or as we have named it, his superhero chamber, which would have likely never been the case with a firstborn. But the nurses and docs assure us that sleep and feeding are essential at this point to grow his little brain and his little body. I fill his fridge with mama’s milk and the dieticians fortify it with formula. The doctor who is doing rounds calls once a day with an update of his “condition”. And every day, it’s much of the same… He needs to snuggle and grow.
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