Stories from the NICU - Part Three
The good, the bad, and the miraculous from our stay in the NICU.
If I know one thing for sure it is that there are not nearly enough women talking about the trauma of their pregnancy, birth, and postnatal experiences. I have two theories as to why this is:
My first theory is that mothers feel unrightfully ashamed. I am speaking from personal experience here but as soon as we figured out something was wrong with our son the racing thoughts began…“Is this my fault?” “Could I have done something to prevent this?” “Did I not eat healthy enough or work out enough?” During an already incredibly emotional time, the feeling of shame makes us keep everything bottled up, afraid that if we share what we are going through someone will confirm our worst fears - this is all our fault.
My second theory is that the comparison culture around pregnancy, birth, and the postnatal time is overwhelming. We are inundated with “perfect” TikTok birth stories (or extremely horrible ones) and Pinterest-worthy ‘mommy and me’ photos. But even worse than the unrealistic portrayals on social media is the comparison we face in our real life circles.
Which brings us here, to Part Three of my NICU series in an attempt to combat both of those things as I’ve certainly felt them creep into my life. If you aren’t caught up, you might want to go check out Part One and Two before reading any more.
Once Emerson was transported to the new hospital and settled in, Adam and I went straight there to meet his new care team. Unfortunately, when we got there we were told that his sugar levels dropped dramatically during the transport and he was doing a little worse than anticipated. We were devastated. Why were things continually getting worse when everyone told us he should be improving? Shouldn’t we be home already? How long is this going to be our reality?
We met Emerson’s new care team and finally got to hold him. Holding him, while such a joy, was really hard. He was connected to machines and the IV in his hand meant he came with a lot of really complicated wires. Everything scared me - holding him, not holding him, feeding him, not feeding him, being beside him while he was in pain, not being with him for each test.
On top of all of that, he was having sugar checks every three hours. This meant that they either had to prick his heel or squeeze a previous prick until they got fresh blood. His little heels were already so diced up from previous testing and every third hour brought a feeling of deep dread. I hated watching them test him. I hated hearing him scream in pain. I hated the overwhelming anticipation of his test results.
To be fully transparent here, these were the darkest days for me. Because I had been so separated from Emerson and the experience I thought I’d have (and the ones I needed), I was really struggling to feel like Emerson was mine. I felt like his care team got to dictate everything about his care including when we could hold him, for how long, when he ate, when he slept, when he was changed and, worst of all, when we could visit. I hated asking permission to hold the baby that I carried for 9 months and delivered a little over one day earlier.
At this point, Adam and I were allowed to stay one night in this new hospital but, of course, we had to leave Emerson in the NICU. I remember this time so clearly. As we drug out our goodbyes as long as possible and walked towards the exit, I turned to the new NICU staff and with a cracking voice and uncontrollable tears asked that they call us if anything changed. The fear of something happening to him while we were gone clung to my every thought. I was so terrified.
When we walked into our hospital room, I collapsed onto the hospital bed and wept harder than I ever had before. This cry came from somewhere so deep it hurt my chest. One lingering question remained in my mind that I cried out to Adam, “Did I make God mad?” There’s that shame I talked about earlier, rearing its ugly head. I felt like, no matter what, this was my fault. Something this painful had to have a cause. Someone had to be at fault. That was the only way this made sense.
Except, it really wasn’t that simple. Even his healthcare team seemed perplexed as to why his levels weren’t getting better and why he wasn’t already home. By all accounts, Emerson should’ve already been released to go home with us. Knowing that only only made it harder. I needed this to make sense, to fit into a pretty little box that I could organize and control. But it didn’t. It still doesn’t. I’m no closer today to understanding how or why this happened than I was during those days.
That night came and went as I slept painfully alone on the hospital bed. As soon as we were allowed, we were back in the NICU. And facing more discouraging news. As I rounded the corner, I saw a new device in Emerson’s NICU bassinet - a bilirubin blanket. The nurse saw my face and immediately stood up to greet me. “Before you begin to worry, let me explain. His jaundice levels rose overnight and we have him on the bilirubin blanket…and he didn’t pass a single test all night.”
The look on my face must’ve told her everything she needed to know because she continued, “Don’t worry! He’s just taking a little longer and the blanket should treat his bilirubin levels. He’s okay. This is just another minor setback.”
I was over minor setbacks at this point. I desperately needed Emerson’s little body to make some progress. I needed to see the light at the end of the tunnel, even if it was just a small glimpse. I needed hope.
I was with him all day for each moment that I could be with him. I held him, and all of his wires and machines, with him. I memorized each tiny feature of his face. I counted my blessings. I felt desperate. I only handed him to Adam to run to the bathroom or shove a granola bar in my mouth. I was completely on autopilot. And the worst was yet to come, because that night we had to go home.
How do you go home to a house prepared for a baby with no baby and without knowing when or if your baby will be home? How do you prepare a mom, especially a first time mom, to sleep in her bed beside an empty bassinet? To walk through a nursery filled with baby clothes and books and toys but no baby?
Another night where I cried myself to sleep. I remember holding my belly because it felt so empty but I could remember carrying Emerson just a few days prior. It was the only connection I felt I had to him. I am crying again as I write this. It is so hard to remember and even more difficult to describe. I felt like I was missing a part of myself.
As dark as these moments were, I know exactly where God was during this time: He was in my husband. My husband held me each night, rubbing my hair, and whispering words of truth into my ear. He brought the granola bars. He filled my water. He embraced every dark question and thought I had without cringing. He made sure I took my medicine and my blood pressure. He physically held me up during a time when, unbeknownst to me, my body was failing as quickly as my mind. He literally gave me the shoes off his feet because my feet were so swollen I couldn’t wear any of mine. That is why next week’s episode will be dedicated to him.
I look back now and see God so clearly moving through Adam during these days. He is the stuff of love stories and fairy tales and dreams come true and even better. The only thing better than the fact that I get to spend forever with him is that Emerson has him for a dad. And I cannot wait to share the story of his resilience with you.