Katie & Harper

Reflecting back on our NICU journey, it all started when the doctor called a Code Pink on July 15, 2017. As I was being rushed into the OR for an emergency c section at 40 weeks after just a few short hours of labor, I remember telling myself to stay calm and to breathe for my baby. The baby’s heart rate had dropped to a very low level which we later learned was from aspirating meconium into her lungs causing her to be unable to breathe. There were no baby cries or really any normal events to follow in the operating room that one would expect after the delivery of their baby.

Once Harper was born she was whisked away as they made attempts to resuscitate and stabilize her. As I laid on the surgery table still being operated on, I frantically yelled out “is she ok?”, “why isn’t she crying?!” over and over again. Even through the chaotic delivery, it wasn’t until the doctor leaned over and told us that “Harper was having difficulty breathing and to say a prayer” did it really sink in that things were not ok.

I felt so helpless in those moments, the only thing that made me feel hopeful was praying. Once Harper was intubated and stable enough, the staff informed us she would be transported to UH Rainbow Hospital to the NICU. After my surgery I got to briefly see Harper before she was transported. I remember being so afraid to touch her through the little window of the transport isolette. She looked so sick and had so many wires and tubes coming out of her body...I had no idea what to expect or what she’d look like, but it was really hard to see her like that.

I have a picture of that moment when I saw her for the first time and when I look at it, I see pure pain, confusion and intense worry in my eyes. The next 14 days were some of the bravest days of my life although I didn’t realize it at the time. There were early moments it wasn’t fully clear if Harper would get to go home from the NICU. There were moments that the best case scenario was that she suffered brain damage from lack of oxygen and being unable to breathe for so long. I remember only caring that we would get to leave the hospital with her one day regardless of when that was or of her condition. I was confident I could give her the best life possible no matter what.

On day 1 after seeing Harper for the first time in the NICU intubated and sedated showing little outward signs of life I panicked and broke down in her room. The neonatologist pulled us into a conference room to discuss her prognosis. After she was done talking I remember asking “will we get to take her home one day?”. What I was really asking was, “is my daughter going to die?”, but saying that out loud was too painful.

Her noncommittal answer shook me to my core. After several days of being sedated and on a cooling blanket to hopefully reverse any brain damage from birth and/or prevent further damage, I finally got to hold my daughter for the first time.

The moment parents describe when they see their child for the first time or hold their child in their arms for the first time couldn’t have been further from what I experienced. It was literally the middle of night when Harper could come off the cooling blanket and was finally able to be held. Me and my husband were like two kids on Christmas that night waiting to have that first moment with her. It took 2 nurses and a respiratory therapist to safely put her in my arms. The tubes, wires and constant beeping of IVs and pulse ox monitor made me so fearful to move or breathe the wrong way that I would hurt or damage her further. I wanted so badly to love and cherish that moment, but it was a really hard moment.

The days to follow were filled with lots of tests, medications, PRAYERS from family, friends and complete strangers, and many many rounds and conversations with the amazing medical professional at Rainbow to get Harper healthy.

After about 7 days, Harper started to take a rapid turn towards healthy, starting to breathe on her own for the first time, drinking from a bottle and miraculously, negative results came back showing no signs of brain damage! She grew stronger and stronger each day with only minor setbacks. We left the NICU after 14 days with absolutely zero health complications. She truly is a miracle and such a little warrior!

The months and honestly years to follow is where I was really able to recognize the pain and trauma associated with Harper’s birth and NICU time to understand how it impacted me. I really didn’t talk to anyone except my husband about the events that took place during Harper’s birth or details about our NICU stay because it brought up too many hard emotions. It was so hard to look back at photos from her birth and the littlest things would put me into full panic as if I was living those scary moments all over again in the present even over a year after her birth...that’s when I was officially diagnosed with PTSD. Although that didn’t come as a surprise, it was helpful to understand what I was experiencing was not just typical motherhood worrying or anxiety and could begin to understand how to heal. It definitely made the pregnancy and birth of my second daughter full of anxiety as if I was waiting for something bad to happen again. That experience can leave you stuck in a place of fear and constant worry for your child’s life even when no real danger exists. It can leave you with many unanswered questions like “why did this happen” or “what did I do to cause this to happen” and then as if that’s not enough, you can feel tremendous guilt for not just being able to be grateful you have a healthy baby and move on...even though I am so grateful that it’s actually painful. The guilt created more questions like “why were we so lucky when so many others are not?”

My experience just like many others was totally unexpected and not “normal” in any way...the shock of it all can leave you in a very fearful state long after it’s over. Through all the pain and unanswered questions, I can now see bravery in myself. Bravery was a part of each step we took in the NICU, each test we endured with her, each conversation with doctors, remaining hopeful through prayer, each pumping session next to her isolette...every day we spent in the Butterfly Pod we were brave. Being able to recognize the lingering pain, anxiety, and fear in myself and work towards healing from the trauma took tremendous bravery I didn’t even know I had, even if it took me years.

We left the NICU with a perfectly healthy, free spirited, wild and vibrant little girl who loves life to the fullest! I also left with a kind of bravery that is hard to imagine unless you’ve experienced a child in the NICU. It’s taken me time, but I do now take pride in being a NICU mama. I take pride in being a part of Project NICU and the community of people who make it their mission to be brave for other parents and families who find themselves in the NICU and support their journey even after they leave. I would certainly be remiss if I did not admire the bravery of my husband during that time. Being a nurse himself at the exact hospital I was delivering our daughter, he stood by her during those first moments of her life and watched his coworkers as they resuscitated Harper. He left with the transport team as they took her to the NICU and never left her side. What he witnessed as a father in those moments alone with the medical professionals as they tried to stabilize her were horrific. He did this from a place of pure bravery that runs deep in his blood. After a short time off of work after we got to take our daughter home, he had to return to work. He had to walk past the maternity floor where we almost lost our daughter a few short weeks prior and go do his job and be brave for his patients and their families. Those moments stick with you, but his bravery is real and he continues to make that walk each day he goes to work.

Any amount of time in the NICU takes bravery, but the real heroes will always be the medical professionals that choose to show up every single day and make miracles happen...especially the angels who care for our babies in the NICU!

I am forever indebted to the unforgettable staff that saved Harper’s life. I now see that bravery is simply engrained in motherhood and fatherhood no matter what the journey looked like to get there. Harper is our little miracle child and daily reminder that we are brave!

To all the NICU parents past, present and future, this too shall pass. Even if it’s hard to see in the moments it feels like your world is falling apart, you will make it through and walk away with a kind of bravery that is unshakeable.