Riding the Rollercoaster

For the past month at least I’ve been trying to find a way to write about my experience of having children in the Neo-Natal Intensive Care Unit. And despite the repeated efforts (and believe me, there have been many) the words have struggled to come. I don’t know how to properly describe the intense fear and lack of control; the bells that ring in different tones every minute to indicate when a baby has stopped breathing, or has an irregular heartbeat, or no pulse; the completely deficient privacy and intimacy; the multiple names and faces of doctors and nurses you struggle to memorize and only really remember based on how they treat your babies; the endless discussions about oxygen levels, anemia, drops or gains in weight, sleeping patterns, feeding patterns, diaper patterns; the stipulations and expectations and let-downs and meltdowns when things don’t progress the way you’d hoped; the hands rubbed raw by endless washing and sanitizing every time you touch your own child; the knowledge that a cough or sore throat could separate you from them for days; the minutes spent holding them and kissing them far surpassed by the hours spent simply staring with your hands behind your back. 

Maybe that sums it up. But not really; I’ve heard it time and time again by others who’ve survived the NICU rollercoaster: no one will ever understand your experience except those who have gone through it themselves. And I’m okay with that; I wouldn’t wish it on any new parents. But I do wish our girls were out of the hospital. Because as it is, like any new mom I’m severely sleep deprived… nights are spent sitting in bed reading or watching Netflix, trying to shut off my spinning brain that pulses with maternal hormones insisting that instead of sleeping I should be holding and feeding my children. And so I oblige with my eyes, but my arms remain empty. 

And on top of these struggles, there have been a lot of unnecessary things that have made us angry too which I’ve had a hard time articulating; I’m sure a large part of it is just postpartum emotion (at least on my part) but I did have a few moments where I worried I’d strangle a doctor who was sticking a needle in one of my howling daughters. Or where I cried and kicked things because I walked in and heard the nurses talking about Facebook one day when they were supposed to be transferring my daughters into a crib (honestly, when you’ve been waiting 6 weeks for that moment having to wait even a minute longer seems impossible). But it’s not all irrational; my husband nearly snapped one night as he watched a nurse hold our smallest daughter carelessly, flinging her around without supporting her head. And then there are the infuriating people who express impatience at not having seen the babies yet, regardless of the fact that they haven’t even reached full-term gestational age; worse are those who demand or expect a relationship with our girls despite not having one with us. 

But all complaints aside, we’ve gained so much through this too. We’ve learned patience, which for me was a huge struggle. We’ve learned how to celebrate the little victories, like every time we manage to feed the babies through a bottle or breast rather than their nasal tube. We’ve learned how to use our time well; I’ve finished 17 books and my husband has finished 5, along with online course upgrades while we’ve been in the hospital. We’ve learned how to have a sense of humor about fairly un-funny things.  We’ve learned how to sleep in chairs, under bright lights, in shifts. We’ve learned how to change explosive diapers. And we’ve learned how to be strong with each other, to lean on each other, and to protect ourselves and our children from what we find to be undesirable, which has been a great lesson. 

And thankfully, most of the bad in this will all be over soon. Very soon actually; at the rate our daughters are progressing they could be home in 3 weeks, and given that we’ve been in the hospital now since June 24^th, that’s hardly any time at all. And even though I feel so angry and sad sometimes, I do believe that everything happens for a reason, and that this is simply a challenge given to us to make us stronger and to show us that as a family we can handle anything. Everything aside, there is real joy in that. 

In spite of what have felt like innumerable trials, our daughters really are healthy and our spirits haven’t been crushed; on the contrary, happiness seems to ooze through the cracks and bubble up determinedly every time one of our girls reaches a milestone, or graces us with open eyes and a rare smile. And I have to say that in those moments, I feel like the luckiest person in the world.

...Despite all the bullshit, that is something to be thankful for.