Surviving the NyICU

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“Fate is a cruel mistress.” That is a quote that has a higher meaning to me then I ever thought it would. My life changed drastically with the experience and knowledge gained from my daughter being born prematurely. She was two pounds and six ounces at birth and two months early, and what I learned about her and even myself through it has changed my life forever. The NyICU – the ICU ward for premature and ill new borns – is a surprisingly cruel way to learn how strong you really are. My first steps through the NyICU doors after regaining the ability to walk after my C-section, I looked around and witness the scariest thing in my life. There were tiny babies in incubators, monitors attached to the walls by their heads that showed their heart rate and blood oxygen levels. I slowly walked to the incubator that enclosed my tiny little miracle child. I sat next to her and remembered how she nearly lost her life. I opened the door of the incubator and reached in. I touched her tiny foot and measured it against my hand. It was barely the size of my pinky finger. She just layed there, as as the nurses rushed busily around me, I started feeling like I would never be a good enough mom for my little Mira. The nurses staring eyes made me feel it even more so, and their gazes screamed out at me, “It’s your fault she’s in here.” I brushed her fingers with mine, and when she wrapped her tiny little fingers around one of mine, I knew that leaving her would be the biggest regret of my life. It would take all the strength I had to keep going. As the first month passed, I starting getting used to the surroundings, but every time a monitor went off, my head snapped up like a rabbit hearing a coyote snarling. Terrible thoughts that she wouldn’t be there when I got back rattled around in my head, but the most unbearable thing was trying to go to sleep in my room. Her empty crib screamed at me everytime I walked through the doors. My doctor put me on a sleep aid and an anti-depressant because I would nearly fall over when I was sitting down from all the nightmares I had. The third week of living this hellish nightmare, I walked into the NyICU and took my place in the rocking chair beside her, this time however the nurse wrapped her up in seven warmed blankets and handed the tiny mass of blankets to me. I was so terrified because of the feeding tube in her nose, the IV in her right arm, and the wires that hooked up to the monitors telling me that she was alright. But that was the most amazing experience I have ever had, especially when her black eyes looked up at me and she smiled. A month old and she smiled at me! I definitely made my decision – she was my daughter and no one would ever take her away from me. So, I began learning everything I possibly could about preemies, and what the process she would go through before she could go home was. I learned all the medical lingo and checked up on her twice a day to let the nurses know that I was coming, and when I got home and asked if there was any changes. Even though I cried every night, I didn’t let it get the best of me, and kept my strength at the forefront of my mind. I found myself bonding with two of the nurses – Karen, who was my best friend then. She always had encouraging words for me, and once even told me that I was one of the best parents to ever come into the NyICU. The other was April, who at the start of the second month told me that Mira was so cute she wanted to take my daughter home in her purse just for a night and then bring her back the next day, we both laughed about it more than anything because it was a very small purse and Mira would have fit in it with room to spare! They had also started her on bottles and with a lot of trial and error, she drank from nothing but the bottle and starting pulling the feeding tube out of her nose. I was afraid she would drown in the thick formula, but somehow she managed to drink it all, and let out a huge burp before falling asleep in my arms. My supprt system grew, and I finally realized that I could do it. I felt that even though it was hard, I knew that I could be a good mom – maybe not a great one though – to my little miracle daughter. As I filled out the paperwork and waited for my sister to come get us, so that I could take my daughter home, I didn’t feel so alone. I didn’t feel so defenseless and unsure. I knew that I was strong, and I knew that the coming of this little angelic monster in my arms – because lets face it: “Like Mother, Like Daughter.” – that I would never again doubt that I can overcome any trials that will come. I survived the NyICU, so I could survive anything else that came my way. Now that she’s 7 years old, I’ve lived through two surgeres, got married and had another baby, plus a lot of bumps and bruises, being strong for her and myself is easy. At times it gets difficult, but with support, I know that I’m not weak. I’m strong. I would never wish the hardship of having a premature baby on anyone, nor wish them to go through it the way I did. I wasn’t prepared to have her early, and I definitely wasn’t prepared for all of the emotions I would feel: anger at myself, fear for my baby, pride in her determination to go home, and unimaginable joy in not giving up the way I wanted to and could have. The strength I learned I had from my unwanted experience in the NyICU has changed my life and showed me how strong I really am. I will never forget those times, because they showed me that I am strong, and that I can – and will – be there for my little girl forever.