The first few days...

The rest of that day is a blur to me. People came and went. My parents came to see the baby. I slept for much of the day. I awoke that afternoon and was greeted by my new best friend, the breast pump. Because Josh was not able to nurse, I was forced to pump my milk. It went well and when I was through I had a big doser full of breast milk to take down to the NICU with me.

When I went down to see Josh that evening with Matt, the neonatalogist, Dr. H, greeted us with the news that they were putting Josh on a CPAP machine and taking him off the ventilator. The CPAP machine would blow air into Josh’s nose and give him a certain amount of oxygen. Each day the “push” would be turned lower, as would the oxygen. Dr. H was a ray of light from which we drew strength. When I presented the tube of breast milk he instructed the nurse to start the feeding tube right away. Against all odds, we felt hope.

The NICU is shaped like an oval, with beds on the inner and outer rings. There are counters in the middle and on along the outer walls. Machines are everywhere. Even in a NICU of this kind, the highest rated one around, it is a scary place to be. We were there for hours at a time, and we got used to the humming and beeping of the machines. As much as we tried not to, we looked around. Most of the isolets were covered by blankets that kept the babies warm and dark. They tried to make it as much like the womb as possible. There were parents never left their baby’s side and those whose parents live hours away. We tried to smile at people, but it really was not a happy place.

When Josh was one day old, I was able to hold him for the first time. I had ten wires pulling and beeping at me, a nurse standing guard and I had to hold him on my plastic gown. It was an impersonal event. It was great to feel him in my arms though. He felt like nothing. His entire torso fit inside the O made by my thumbs and pointer fingers. His head fit in the palm of my hand. But his heart was bigger and stronger than the heart of a lion and I knew that first day that I was a goner, I loved him more than life itself.

Love was a scary thing to have in the NICU. I found that most Moms went about their routine of holding the baby, talking to or bathing the baby and then putting them back in, wires and all, into their isolets. There was love, but it was just a guarded love. No one really knows what will happen. Those babies were all miracles and not one of them came with a guarantee. I would sit by Josh’s side for hours. By the second day I was walking down those enormous hallways to see him, my heart so glad to move my legs to see my son. But I did not feel close to him. I could not sing to him. I could not even hum. There was so much emotion that I had to hold back because of the fear. If I really stepped back, looked from another person’s eyes, I would see myself crumbling.

We were beyond lucky to have had Andrea as our nurse on our second day. When we would enter the NICU each day, we would get mini reports on what Josh ate and how he was doing from the nurse on duty. I walked into the NICU carrying my trusty breast milk and was greeted by this beautiful, young nurse. Her smile was real. I felt like I knew her at once, like she was family. When we spoke, I found out that she grew up only 10 miles or so from where I did in Ohio. We were given such a gift in Andrea. Even though I was still at the hospital, leaving Josh was hard, even to go up one floor. When he was with Andrea, I felt totally at peace, like I was leaving him with a friend. She became his primary nurse and was with him almost every day.

Matt and I visited the NICU together that nght.. We marveled at the parents sitting around us, we wondered what their stories were. We watched in horror as a baby next to us was hit on the back with a rubber mallet to clear its lungs of mucus. Matt cried. I tried to wish us anywhere but where we were, to still be pregnant, to have all of it a bad dream. Some babies would stop breathing and alarms would sound. The nurse would come over, open the isolet and rub the baby. Josh stopped breathing sometimes as well. His central nervous system was not developed, so when he would fall asleep, he really fell asleep. He would have to be shaken to remember to breathe. They were kind enough not to inform us of that until much later in our stay.

Andrea let us give him baths. She loved for the babies to have new beds and clean pajamas. Since Josh had a fabulous preemie wardrobe courtesy of my friends, he was always styling in his isolet. His hat and outfit always matched, his blankets were always color coordinated. When I tucked him in the night I left the hospital and handed him off to Andrea, I actually felt fine. I dreaded feeling like I would not be able to do it, but I was okay. I had cried harder at the thought of leaving the room I had occupied for two weeks and the nurses I had grown to love. I was safe there. I had Josh just downstairs and now I was leaving? My nurse came to me and told me that they would board me there. I could stay in my room and everything would be as it was, but I would have to get my prescriptions filled. I could stay for free.

For a moment, my heart leapt out of my chest. I could stay. I could make it work. And then I thought of my four-year-old at home, my husband, my parents who had done so much. Much like the cartoon of an angel and a devil on your shoulders, I sat thinking it over. I could feel myself freaking out inside. I knew that I had the ability to completely flip out. What if I just refused to go? I could not leave, could I? My job was to pull it together. I packed my things and made my way home.

There was a bizarre disconnect when I actually arrived home. My parents had so graciously done the entire nursery for us. It was gorgeous. I was in awe of how much they did. I walked in and my Mom was so scared that I would break down, but I could not do that to them. I did not want anyone to know what was happening inside. No one needed the situation to be harder than it already was. That night as I lay on the couch, pumping for a baby that I could not see, hands on a womb that no longer contained that baby, it just felt as though he had never existed at all.

When you have another child, you cannot lock yourself in the NICU. You have to go home. You have to take them to school and pack their lunch and get gas in your car. Life outside was normal, even if I felt like an inmate on my first day out. Now four days post partum I was up and pumping, packing, taking my son to school and then driving 20 minutes to the NICU where I bring my milk and sit next to my other son and watch the monitors. They tell you not to watch them, but you have to. You are glued to them. Your eyes watch for any signs of problems. Had I known my biggest problem would come in the form of my new neonatalogist, I would have been watching for her.