NICU Mama 💕

Whenever I hear the word "only," I consider it a swear word. Your NICU stay's length and complexity do not determine your eligibility to be a NICU mother. NICU mommyhood begins the moment your child enters those NICU doors. NICU stands for Neonatal Intensive Care Unit, which means that once your baby enters the world, it must go to a wing of a hospital designated for critically ill patients in order to receive care and medical attention. Additionally, this validates the trauma you have experienced. In the case of healing, it makes sense. It makes sense if it hurts to think back on your birth. Seeing your child in intensive care can be heartbreaking, no matter how prepared you are. Your trauma and your journey are valid for Moms who have "shorter" or "uneventful" stays in NICUs. The sisterhood is not exclusive to those who have had a complex or long NICU journey. There will be differences between our journeys and visits, but one thing we should remember and recognize is the strength and courage within each other and that we should stand shoulder to shoulder with one another to help each other heal. 
I never imagined my baby would have any difficulties during each of my pregnancies. My Mommy friends shared many stories about their experiences in NICU, and my heart broke for them. In spite of this, I would wave it off in my head, thinking, "No, not my baby." I believe that it is a common sense delusion. 

All hands were on deck once we got up to labor and delivery. The nurses set me up with the IV and had me sign all the paperwork, followed by the anesthesiologist going over how he would administer the spinal block. I was out of recovery and in the postnatal ward with Alex and our newest little member of the family, Roman. Sadly, this time around, we couldn’t have more than one person come to visit because of the covid restrictions. Also, due to those restrictions, we could not have our other two kids visit and meet Roman. However, this did give me the ability to focus on recovering and bonding with Roman.

Upon discharge, Roman was required to go through the car seat test. The car seat test is necessary for preemies or babies with respiratory problems. Unfortunately, with Roman, he was born at 36 weeks, just shy of the 37-week mark. The test usually takes between 90 and 120 minutes, and for the duration of this time, Roman would be buckled into his car seat and hooked up to a pulse oximeter. After two hours of anxiety, the nurse returned and told us that Roman had not passed. The cause of the failed test was because Roman’s oxygen desaturation would dip to the low eighties, hover there, and eventually go back up. Our pediatrician wanted to be safe and have Roman retake the test in twenty-four hours. If he didn’t pass the second test, we’d have to admit him into the NICU to be monitored so that he could retake the test in 48 hours. Once again, we anxiously waited to hear back about his second test. We remained hopeful and blamed the first failed test on the possibility that he wasn’t positioned correctly. After three hours, the nurse told us that Roman did not pass the test and that she had submitted his admission to the NICU. I was livid because Alex and I weren’t even able to discuss Roman’s results, nor were we even given the ability to explore other options other than the NICU. We had to take a moment to process all this, and once we both did, we told the nurse we wanted to see Roman and talk with the doctor about his test results and why he had to be admitted to the NICU. The neonatal doctor explained that they wanted to monitor Roman and then conduct another test in 48 hours. According to the doctor, Roman’s oxygen levels continued to dip down to the low eighties and would hover there for a little while. He struggled to get enough oxygen simply because his lungs weren’t fully developed. The doctor assured us this test was better than the other one, but they were still concerned. While they believed Roman would be just fine being in his car seat for a twenty-minute ride home, they wanted to be cautious and have him stay. I was heartbroken and so disappointed that I couldn’t experience my last pregnancy on a good note. After I went through what seemed like the five stages of grief, I was able to accept and respect the doctor’s advice. I knew they weren’t maliciously trying to hold our baby back and that they genuinely had his health as a priority. Alex and I decided to have me discharged from the hospital, but we’d come back throughout Roman’s NICU stay.

The hospital still had its covid policies, which made each NICU visit tedious. Before entering the NICU, we had to wash our hands for three minutes, take off all jewelry, and sign in. Some nurses were just flat-out rude about mask-wearing and lacked empathy. We were able to catch a breath when Roman’s evening nurse, Gunther, was on shift. He didn’t give us grief about not wearing our masks, so we continued without them while in the room with Roman. He also ensured we were involved in Roman’s care, such as changing, feeding, and checking his vitals and temperature. Realizing I didn’t have extra clothes for Roman, Gunther went and found a newborn outfit and gave it to us. When we weren’t home sleeping, we were at the hospital with Roman. The other two kids were still with my in-laws, so we made the best of it and had our usual date night by going out to eat and then went back to be with Roman and played a game of monopoly before going back home for the night. The hardest thing I’ve ever had to experience was having to leave my baby behind. Each time we had to leave for the night, I held my sweet baby Roman and cried.

All my energy was being used to recover from my c-section and savor each moment we had during the day to be with Roman. So, while I had my people praying for Roman, I pulled back a lot from keeping in touch with those friends who knew about his situation. I was experiencing a lot of shame when asking for prayer for Roman because all the prayer entailed was for him to pass this car seat test. I felt Roman’s situation was minuscule compared to the other babies I saw in the NICU with their little IVs and feeding tubes isolated in their incubators. So, I decided not to burden my friends anymore with our problems and to contain my anxiety, worry, and depression in a box. I had already convinced myself that Roman would fail the third test because, in my mind, it was easier to live disappointed than to experience fresh disappointment. This was my coping mechanism to protect myself. And on top of that, I shut down from my partner, ignored my other two children, and hid in my bedroom, crying my eyes out while binge-watching Hulu.

Finally, the day had arrived, and Alex and I were waiting anxiously to hear back from the doctor. I occupied myself with praying repeatedly and putting my worship music on repeat. That afternoon we received the call, and the doctor was delighted to share that Roman had passed! His oxygen levels were still dipping, but they’d immediately jump back up to the mid-’90s. After that, his oxygen levels would drop and hover in the low eighties. Since Roman passed his test and regained his average newborn weight, he was cleared to go home.

There were a lot of varying emotions throughout this experience. I remember calling up my best friend, crying, and explaining to her that I was under the belief that God was punishing me for wishing throughout my pregnancy that Roman would come early. I tried to savor each week of pregnancy, but it was highly challenging. I had morning sickness and fatigue up until delivery, despite those symptoms subsiding around thirty weeks for my other two pregnancies. My friend reminded me that I was not that powerful and that my attitude or feelings about him wanting to come early did not cause him to go early. His body just needed time to adjust, and I wasn’t being punished for having a “bad attitude” at times throughout my pregnancy. Those two were not connected. An incredible number of other influences were the reasoning behind all that was happening. She gently reminded me that Roman doesn’t need his mother to blame herself for things out of her control. Instead, he needs his mother to see how life takes turns and that sometimes she’s powerless. It was a great reminder that I needed to love and encourage his growth and development and that I couldn’t use my energy to blame myself.

Our natural tendency is to compare our circumstances to those of others when we are experiencing pain and suffering. In psychology, this is referred to as the “comparative suffering phenomenon.”. I was comparing Roman’s situation with all those other babies we’d walk past in the NICU that had a feeding tube and were on oxygen because their little lungs weren’t developed enough to sustain breathing. As a little baby underwent surgery, his parents watched the procedure from beside him. Having never experienced anxiety or worry like theirs, I couldn’t imagine how they felt. I dismissed my pain and told myself to just be grateful because they were going through much more with their little one than I was. By minimizing our pain and experiences, this perspective is very damaging. We become disconnected at a time when we need to be connected. Every person suffers and feels pain differently, but we can only experience our own emotions in our own lives. We must give ourselves permission to be in that emotional space that connects us with each other. Despite not being able to understand someone else’s situation, you certainly understand how it feels because you have experienced deep sadness, hopelessness, or heartbreak yourself. In telling ourselves that our pain (or that of someone else) isn’t valid because someone else “has it worse,” we diminish our pain.

Having been able to experience those feelings allowed me to let go of the shame surrounding this story. Regardless of Roman’s NICU stay’s length or complexity, my journey and trauma are valid. Regardless of how I felt about it, it was still my story and experience.
Regardless of whether or not you are facing a specific hardship right now, I encourage you to honor those hardships. Don’t be afraid to connect with the pain because it has a purpose. Your pain and feelings don’t need to be validated by proving you have it worse. All those feelings deserve a chance to be processed, explored, and expressed. One of the most valuable lessons I’ve learned during my NICU stay is to connect to my pain so that I can empathize with others’ struggles. It is easier for me to appreciate another’s feelings when I value my own emotions. This is a genuine connection. This is the birthplace of empathy.