The one about our time in the NICU

Our newest baby girl, Annie Kate (yes, most of the time I use both of her names as her first name, but just Annie is fine, too!) was born on November 18. However, we didn’t get to bring her home until 10 days later.

Today, I want to talk about Annie’s time in the NICU and how those 9 long days changed me as a person. That might sound dramatic, but I believe it is true.

Annie had to stay in the NICU for a couple of reasons. Because she was only 35 weeks, 4 days gestation, she was very, very sleepy. She basically wasn’t ready to be in the world yet, so she had a hard time wanting to be awake. Since I had the IV magnesium prior to her delivery, that meant that she also had the magnesium in her system, too. The magnesium has a relaxing effect on the body, which added to the issue of her sleepiness. They said she was “magged out.”

The problem with all of her sleepiness was that she wasn’t motivated to eat. Annie simply didn’t have the energy or motivation to nurse or take a bottle. They placed an NG tube in her nose which allowed her to be fed formula and breastmilk.

We had no idea how long it would take for her to “want” to eat on her own, and the doctors and nurses didn’t know, either. It was just a waiting game. We were reassured that this was very normal for babies of this age, but there was just no way to tell how long we might have to wait. This was the toughest part because I work well with timelines, timeframes, calendars, and schedules. Everything felt so open-ended and unknown, which made me very anxious.

The good news was that Annie didn’t have any issue breathing on her own. She had a nasal cannula giving her an oxygen boost for a few hours after she was born, but it was removed by the end of her first day, and she never had to use it again. Annie was never in any danger nor was there a threat to her life. For that, we were super grateful. Thank goodness we had done steroid shots for her lung development the week before she was born in anticipation of her 37 week induction.

The first few days after Annie was born, I was still admitted in the hospital. I spent my days sitting beside her bed in the NICU, holding her, rocking her, and attempting to feed her every 3 hours. After the feeding attempts, I would pump milk for her to be fed through her NG tube. I did this for 12 hours a day. It felt like we weren’t making any progress for several days. She was so content to be asleep all day, everyday. When she would attempt to nurse, she would try for 3-5 minutes and then give up in exhaustion. I felt very defeated and like this was going to go on forever.

By Thursday of that week, it was time for me to be discharged as a patient. This was the day I was dreading — leaving the hospital without Annie. In my mind, I was thinking she would be released when she was 36 weeks, which would have been Thursday, but she hadn’t made enough progress to go home. That day, I wanted to spend as much time with Annie as possible, so I planned to be at the hospital until after 9 p.m. Luke picked me up, older kids in tow, and I have to say that walking out of those doors without my baby or my husband was one of the most difficult things I have done. Hot tears burned down my cheeks. I am sure the people who saw me leaving assumed someone I loved had just died. In a way, it felt like a death — a death of the way I had hoped things would go.

Not a flattering photo of either of us, but I wanted to remember the emotion of this moment.

I really was grieving, even though I didn’t notice it at the time.

I didn’t want my pregnancy to end that way. I didn’t want her to come early. I wanted to spend one last intentional night together as a family of 6 before we brought her into the world. I didn’t want to be confined to a bed during labor, delivery, and the first 24 hours after she was born. I wanted to hear that first cry. I wanted to hold her longer than 3 minutes before she was taken away to the NICU. I didn’t want to touch her through portholes in an isolette or hold her with cords and wires attached. I wanted our older kids to get to hold her and not just see her through a window.

At our hospital, when you are moved from Labor & Delivery to Mother-Baby, they play a lullaby over the speakers to signify that a baby has been born. When I was moved to Mother-Baby, the lullaby played, but my baby was not with me. My heart was crushed in that moment. When we arrived in my recovery room, the nurse removed the bassinet where Annie should have been sleeping. The room felt quiet and empty. Those little things felt like really big things and added to my grief.

I spent the next 5 days at the hospital with Annie. I would arrive for her 8:00 a.m. feeding and stay until her 8:00 p.m. feeding. Sometimes I would leave to go home for an hour…sometimes I would eat a meal… but most of the time I just wanted to be there to hold her. This was a tough time for our family. The older kids definitely didn’t like the disruption to our normal routine. Luke carried a lot of extra stress and responsibility, and he didn’t get to spend as much time with Annie as he would have liked.

Sitting in the NICU for 12 hours a day was very lonely. However, it afforded me a lot of time to be alone with my thoughts, which is truly a luxury these days. I wasn’t distracted by TV, laundry, dishes, other children, the dog, or any kind of To Do list. While many times, my mind seemed to be racing, I also noticed that I kept returning back to the same thoughts.

What I thought was important… really wasn’t that important.

I am a self-professed People Pleaser. Because of this, I often get very wrapped up in bending over backwards to overextend myself for others. I commit myself to a lot of “jobs” (without pay) and responsibilities (that I sign myself up for), and while I really love volunteering and helping, I realize now how many times I have been pulled away from my family for these obligations. When you’re staring at your sweet newborn in a NICU bed for several hours a day, you realize how much time you wish you had with her and with all your children. You start to recount where all of your precious moments have gone over the last several years, and you realize that maybe you haven’t given your family as much of you as they deserve. I am not saying I want to quit everything or stop volunteering altogether, but maybe I really can take a step back for a little while.

Comparison is the thief of joy. It is also the thief of healing.

When Annie Kate was taken to the NICU, I felt the same fear and worry that probably all parents feel when their babies go to the NICU. However, I instantly felt guilty, even foolish, for feeling that way because she was actually pretty healthy and didn’t need very much intervention. When I would visit her, I saw a lot of other babies with a lot of serious medical needs. I watched other parents sit at their babies’ bedsides, and I felt bad that Annie would likely be going home much before the other children. While I was there, a baby was released to go home after spending 89 days in the NICU. 89 days! A little voice told me, “See, you have no reason to be sad! These parents spent 89 days without their baby at home. Suck it up, Buttercup!”

However, not allowing yourself to feel your emotions can be very detrimental to the healing process. It stunts you, holds you hostage, and forces you to put a lid on a boiling pot. Eventually, it will all spill over the sides in a big mess. It is very healthy to express your thoughts, feelings, concerns, worries, fears, and emotions. Just because someone else might “have it worse” doesn’t mean that you aren’t entitled to feel upset. It isn’t being dramatic or attention-seeking if you are truly allowing yourself to process your feelings.

It isn’t a competition to see who has the saddest story, or who has gone through the most trauma. Everyone can be heard. Everyone can be supported. Everyone can cry or break down if they need to. Recognizing and honoring how you feel is very healthy and crucial to moving forward from any kind of hard experience.

Human life is so precious.

This may seem like an odd thought, and something that should be obvious, but many days I feel really discouraged by what I see on the news and in the world around me. Murder, violence, child abuse, drugs…the list goes on and on. Does anyone actually care about other human beings anymore?

But spending over a week in the NICU and seeing the way the doctors, nurses, therapists, chaplains, and volunteers all work together to help these little babies get better and have a chance at a long, healthy life was so special to witness. Each child is spoken to, held, rocked, read to, checked on, cuddled and prayed over multiple times a day, regardless of whether his or her parents are there or not. If a child’s life was not important, these efforts would not be made.

Being in the presence of the NICU staff was a true honor, and it restored my faith in humanity.

On day 9 of our stay, they were finally able to remove the NG tube and see how little Annie Kate could do on her own, exclusively nursing. As it turned out, she did great and even gained 3 ounces in one day! We pushed the staff a little to let us try a “homeward bound,” which is where you stay the night in a recovery room and feed the baby through the night like you would at home. No one really checks on you, and you have to call and report the feedings and wet/dirty diapers as they happen. It’s a nice way to see how things might be at home without losing the security of the nurses. Thankfully, the doctor agreed to let us give it a try!

Annie and I were taken to our room for the night, and it just so happened to be the same recovery room I was in before. It was one of those “full circle” moments.

This time, however, the bassinet got to stay in the room.

We had a great night together. She fed every 3 hours like clockwork. It was probably the most restful night at the hospital I have ever had! I had a good feeling that she would be released to go home the next morning, and thankfully I was right.