#30DaysofBrave- Day 13- Ashton

After a healthy pregnancy where my baby measured consistently ahead on ultrasounds, I never thought I’d be a NICU mom. The NICU was for teeny, tiny sick babies. Or so I thought before July 21, 2020. Hazel was born at 37+5 and clocked in at a whopping 9 lbs, 5 oz. I wondered if the newborn outfit we brought to bring her home in would even fit.

I got about 30 minutes to hold my baby and feel like I was her mom before she was whisked away for the first time. Her low blood sugar is what earned her a NICU admittance at 2 AM, but it isn’t what kept us there for 22 long days. We have her PDA that was “freakin huge” as described by her doctor during rounds to thank for that. The details medical wise are not what sticks out to me about those days, though.

It is the specific type of trauma that comes from leaving your brand new baby with strangers, walking to your car and driving away. It is the deep, guttural cries that shake your shoulders when you see your baby connected to all the monitors and tubes for the first time. It is the wounded animal, barbaric agony you feel when you touch your postpartum belly that once was your baby’s safe home.  It is the frustration you feel when the medical staff won’t listen to what you think is best for your baby.  It is the overwhelming sense of gratitude for the night nurse who dresses your baby and calls her by name. It is the resilience you find to reach inside yourself and find the strongest pieces of your soul to advocate for your child.  It is those things, those moments in each day that feels like a lifetime, that stick out.

Every day in the NICU feels like the hardest and most exhausting day of your life, only to go home and do it all over again tomorrow. Covid truly compounded the exhaustion and the emotions. We were together as a family of 3 exactly one time before we got to come home. Instead of having both parents at her bedside, Hazel had two parents running in circles around each other to split their time.

The happy ending is that she got to come home, but the scars are permanent. I am constantly terrified that any spot of baby acne, any hiccup, any weird noise is a sign of danger. I’m not sure how to move on from it.