Life in the NICU

Dear New Mom,

Your second daughter will be born in the elevator. Yes. Go ahead and ponder that for a moment. After a 35-hour labor with your first daughter, you will think that this second birth will be much the same. Instead it’s going to be short.

Kendall in the NICU

Very short.

Barely enough time to drive to the hospital.

Barely enough time to have the emergency room staff get you on the gurney.

Barely enough time to have them strip you down as they wheel you through the waiting room.

Barely enough time for the elevator doors to open.

And she’s out. It’s an exhilarating moment. The natural birth you wanted with your first but couldn’t have because of all the craziness that went with such a long labor.

But take that moment while you can. Bond with that baby instead of checking into the hospital. Insist on someone examining her.

Because she ends up in the NICU an hour later and you won’t get that chance.

What happened? She is full term. More than full term, she is stubborn and a day late. “It was the fast labor,” they say. With only a couple pushes, her body didn’t get a chance to expel the amniotic fluid from her lungs.

So an hour into this world, her breathing becomes labored and off she goes to another floor, your husband with her.

You don’t go. You’re still bleeding and they are ramming shots of pitocin into your thighs. You hardly got to hold her. Where’s the bonding time you insisted on in your birthing plan? This was NOT part of your birthing plan. You did everything right, you did exercises so she wasn’t posterior. You took all those antibiotics against the Group B strep. You did everything right.

You are a wreck.

A few hours later they take you down to see her.

You start wailing. Inconsolable even though your husband and everyone around you is trying to keep you quiet.

There she lies, in an incubator, with tape and tubes stuck to her at all sorts of angles.

You can’t hold her. You can barely even touch her.

This is not what is supposed to happen.

You go home the next day. Without your baby. And with a pump.

The next week is a crazy mess of dealing with postpartum pains and emotions, the hour drive to and from the hospital, the chaos of the NICU, and a multitude of tests to figure out what exactly is going on with your daughter. The doctors have horrible bedside manners. They tell you she needs a spinal, but don’t quite explain why. “Her bloodwork is off.” They perform the spinal but she is so dehydrated it doesn’t work. So they wait and do it again.

You learn to ignore the tubes. You work around them as you finally get to hold her and nurse her. You nap and pump in the parents’ lounge. You miss your older daughter, who is at home with grandma.

You get to know the doctors and nurses and perhaps begin to understand their rough exterior. Babies come and go. There is one set of twins born at 26 weeks. The boy is finally going home. The girl is not.

One baby doesn’t make it. The priest comes in with the family.

You leave the room to give them some space.

And you’re thankful. Your baby is ultimately healthy. She just has pneumonia. She will go home after seven days.

You are thankful.

~ Nikki

Nikki is the founder of Dear New Mom, a freelance writer, editor, and aspiring young adult author.