The 50 minute drive to the hospital can be the longest and loneliest drive ever or simply needed time to put yourself back together again. In my case, listening to music is usually my therapy and a chance to sort through my thoughts. Once at the hospital, I’m almost in auto mode. Check in at the front desk to get your sticker with the capital letters “NICU” for everyone to see. Then up the elevator to check in with the receptionist there. Tell them your last name and recite the band number. You know your baby has been in the NICU for a while when you know every receptionist and you don’t have to look at your band anymore to recall the correct number. Then there is the scrubbing up to your elbows for three minutes. Every time I catch myself starring at the instruction sheet even though I could do it properly in my sleep by now. This is the moment when I always get anxious, while scrubbing right before I walk over to see Wyatt. I never know what I’ll be walking into that day. Is he having a good day? Has anything changed? Which doctor is here today? Who’s his nurse? It’s the same routine and anxiety every day.
Tonight when I got to the hospital, the nurse was already done with his evening hands on assessment and the RT was telling me about how much he enjoyed his bath time. While I’m glad to hear that he was doing well, I also feel guilty for not being able to be there all the time for all these moments. He weighed in at 8lbs 7oz, a little less than a couple days ago which is probably due to all the work he had to do lately burning more calories than he’s taking in. His feedings are up to 73cc every three hours and most importantly, his head circumference is increasing at a normal rate of about 0.5cm a week. Breathing wise the RT is letting him rest for now and put him on pressure support instead of auto mode like previously. If he continues to do well, they’ll switch him back to auto mode tomorrow to make him work a bit more. We’ll see how the night goes. .. After talking to the nurse for a while, I finally got some quiet time with Wyatt by myself. He was swaddled up in his crib, getting his tube-feeding and trying to go to sleep. I turned on his musical sea horse and put my hand on his chest with my finger touching his cheek. He calmed down instantly, his face relaxed and he closed his eyes. There was no need for words. He knew I was there and that’s all that mattered. Feeling his chest rise and fall with each breath was also calming to me. I put my head on the side of his crib and closed my eyes. For a moment there I could pretend to be somewhere else. I could imagine being in my bed at home with Wyatt sleeping right next to me. Just feeling and hearing him breathe was comforting. That moment was priceless, I wish I could have held onto it forever. Unfortunately, it was interrupted by an alarm indicating that his tube-feeding was done. That alarm brought me right back to reality. But for the short time that this moment of peace lasted, it gave me some strength back. I looked at Wyatt and I told him that it’s ok. I told him that he’s strong, that I am proud of him and that I love him. I told him that he needs to keep fighting. But I also told him that it’s ok if he can’t quite figure this breathing thing out on his own. Ventilator or not, we’ll make it work and we will bring him home.
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