Imagine discovering you’re pregnant after purposefully trying and trying (and trying) to conceive. Imagine the moment you finally realize that you are going to have a baby. It’s probably one of the best moments in your life, top 5 easily. Now imagine that pregnancy being threatened, imagine stone-faced genetic counselors telling you to terminate the pregnancy. Imagine yourself falling apart, sick from fear. Imagine being forced to lie down on a cold table in a cold OR while doctors operated at the speed of light on you to save you. To save your baby. Imagine finding out your baby did not enter this world kicking and screaming, but blue. Unresponsive. In respiratory distress. Maybe you don’t have to imagine this; maybe this is your story. The details and circumstances may vary, but this is your life. Visiting your baby (babies) in a pod, caring for them through small windows – one hand through each window. Placing your hand ever so gently (while applying the right amount of pressure) on their forehead because it makes them feel secure. Can you imagine yourself doing this for months? Years? Or… Can you believe that this was once your life and you – and your darling child came out on the other side?! #ButGod
My first NICU was private and about as comfortable as one would expect a NICU to be. Each baby had his or her own room/pod with sliding glass doors and that chair we’ve all kangaroo’d our little ones in. My second NICU was a level III NICU. It was wide open. I was surrounded by some of God’s most tiniest miracles. The baby behind my daughter was full term and on a ventilator. He was vented immediately following his birth. The baby on my right was a micro preemie. The room was filled with isolettes, each one housing a miracle. Isa was on the far end. I remember the first time I saw her in person. Up until that moment I had only seen her in pictures. Everyone saw my baby before I did. My husband, of course; my sister, my mom, a few friends, cousins… Everyone. I was placed on bed rest and was given anti-seizure medication – in addition to the medication I was already on due to my cesarean section. Even if I wanted to, I was in no position to see my baby. I could barely even move my legs, let alone stand on my own. I told myself that I was semi-prepared; I was the last to see my son Caleb, and when I finally did, a whirlwind of emotions took over. I figured it would be pretty much the same. It was not. It was different. It even felt different. I remember being draped over her isolette. Rain drop sized tears falling from my eyes. The nurse caring for her that day just watched me as I cried. She must be used to this reaction. She went and got me chair, as I was about to faint. She asked if I wanted her to call transportation back so I can be wheeled back to my room. I declined. I was tired. I was in pain. I felt weak. I was a complete mess. But I managed to sit there with my daughter.
I won’t pretend to know your story or how you felt, but if you are in need of support, comfort, or just a friend who gets it, I am here and I get it. If you’re currently in the NICU message me to find out how to get a care package! All my care packages are put together with love, care, and lots of prayers! I will avail myself as much as the Lord allows! None of us asked for this, but for some reason God saw fit to grace us with this experience. Now I just wanna grace all of you with love, support, and goodies! 💜