As I head back to work after three glorious months, it feels different knowing this is my last baby.
We’ve developed daily rituals that’ll never be the same, but nighttime routines remain ours. Each night before bed as I break open the wheat germ oil gently working it over your scars, I can’t help but marvel at how well they’ve healed. I think about how I’m going to tell you about them…how incredibly proud I am to be your Mom.
Sweet baby Audra Rose (calling her Rosie) came into this world completely perfect with stunning blue eyes and a full head of hair. I couldn’t have dreamed up a more picturesque delivery experience. As my husband handed Rosie to my oldest, hours after my delivery, I gave him my motherly reassurance, ‘See, I told you this was going to be great…she’s perfect!’ His eyes and constant pleas to stay longer were well understood—he didn’t want to let her go.
My husband and I were working on our sales pitch to the hospital staff. Day 3, I was ready to show-off how well I’m walking post-surgery, how great feeds and BMs were going. We were ready for baby to be home, my victory beer and our beds.
There was just one thing missing. Why wouldn’t they bring our baby back to us from the nursery?
‘We are waiting for the pediatrician to look at your daughter. We don’t like what we are seeing and he’s waiting for X-rays to come back.’
Shit.
We looked that doctor in the eye and said, ‘We’ve been through a lot medically with our other daughter being diagnosed with a rare genetic condition only 150 people in the world are known to have. Her condition is de novo, so likely unrelated. Whatever it is, we can handle it. How serious is this?’
The pediatrician gave us incredible sympathy while flipping over our dealt card. ‘I’m going to give it to you straight. This is a major genetic defect. 1 in 4500 kids experience this. It isn’t an emergency but it’s urgent. Your daughter must have surgery very soon. We are transferring you to Children’s Hospital immediately.’
It all rushed back to me as tears poured down my face. I remember the wires. All the wires. Watching my brand-new baby Eloise be taken from my arms. You don’t ride with baby to the hospital. Separated and unable to hold just days into life. Here we were, facing this yet again, but from a place of experience.
No parent should have to go through this once, let alone twice.
When I saw her prepped for transfer, I didn’t cry this time. I just soaked in the moments of holding her, reassuring her it was all going to be okay, but this isn’t fair and you don’t deserve this.
We had hours to decide. Do we fly to Boston, the #1 place in the world for this surgery? Do we take her to our favorite children’s hospital outside of Buffalo, CHOP (Children’s Hospital of Philadelphia)? Wait, how do we even do this? Can we transfer a new baby to a major hospital when this is considered a ‘common’ surgery our local children’s hospital can handle?
Many close to us had an opinion, but what I remember most was the clarity in the decision that came when I heard from my brother, ‘I’m so sorry you’re going through this again, but you and Eric are coming at this from a place of experience. You will know what’s best for your daughter and your family. Let me know how I can help.”
His steady reassurance gave hope in that moment. We learned as much as we could, quickly, about her condition to make an educated decision. Weighing all options as we tried to pray about it, we chose to stay local. Our biggest fear was the timing of all this going into New Year’s Day. We were terrified of getting the newest staff with a hospital full of people that didn’t want to be there.
…
The sound of relief that cried out of my mouth could be heard down the hall as they called from the surgical room to tell us it went as well as they could have hoped. For some reason, as I thanked our surgeon in her recovery room, I wanted to hug his mom. I made sure to lock eyes with him saying, ‘YOU did a great job today. Thank you, thank you!’
We had the best surgical team.
In the hours ahead, watching her lay medicated and still, we rang in the new year listening to beep…beep, IV occlusion alarms and hoped this would be the hardest day of her life, one she will thankfully never remember.
NICU life is existence. You pray for time to be here already, but instead it’s measured in slow drips of milliliters pumped every 2-3 hours for your baby who really needs it.
It’s walking in each day hoping for that damn chest tube to finally come out so she can ween off Morphine.
It’s hours of staring at respiratory rates praying to God it can stay under 80 so we can keep the breathing tubes out of her nose.
Its daily heel pricks for blood as she cries out in pain for yet another test.
Every 12 hours you get a new nurse. Whoever walks through that door has their own tone for the day, and what I eventually learned, the decision to let me hold my baby or not. Our surgical team gave the A-OK for us to hold Rosie, but ultimately it was up to the nurses’ comfort moving her from the bassinet to our arms. Of course we asked (okay, insisted) we have nurses who were comfortable moving her, but it didn’t always happen. It was a whole thing. I get it, safety first, but holding her was everything. All our nurses were fantastic, but this was tough.
One evening, I walked in for my overnight shift in the middle of a lovely snowstorm where I’d be bunkered with my NICU babe for days and asked if it’d be okay if I held her today. I didn’t have to brace for the awkward ‘not today’ response as this nurse delightfully said, ‘Of course you will! Babies heal in their mother’s arms.’
Gah I can’t recall her name, but her face and words are embedded. As we spoke about challenges of pumping, caring for such a fragile babe, diaper changes, etc., each response from this nurse was,
‘Of course you can!’
‘Sure. See you got this.’
‘See, you know!’
THIS I know well. She’s definitely got it. It’s my #1. On this day, I needed it more than ever.
It’s my favorite thing working with any leader or co-worker, it’s one of the best parts of my relationship with my husband, it’s a tried and true way to build trust as a parent, it’s engrained in all my very best friendships…
giving people benefit of the doubt.
She gets it.
I called my husband immediately. God just knew this is what we needed today. I LOVE this nurse.
Weeks later as we anxiously bottled our babe towards daily ML goals to get her home, my husband and I were taking our daily walk down the NICU hall and I saw her…that amazing nurse! I couldn’t stop my obnoxious grin as my husband and I said at the exact same time watching her with a new nurse…‘OF COURSE she’s the trainer!’
Having worked in learning and development (L+D) for many years, my heart was full.
How blessed they are.
How blessed we are.
As you can see, Rosie is doing incredibly well, growing stronger and healthier every day. Everything she has faced seems very overcome-able.
The best part of maternity leave was seeing how excited the kids were to hold Rosie each day. They’d Purell their day away hoisting the Boppy pillow around their waist ‘all ready’ to hold baby sister. We’d reassure their beautiful, nervous energy, guiding their hands and arms that they could hold her safely. And as they propped her face into view, I could see it there too…even that sweet baby gives them the benefit of the doubt.
‘Don’t you just love her? See, you got this!’
Voice With Heart 