I remember the day I went into the hospital, I was prepared to be sent home like every other time. I wish I had taken one more picture of my belly before laying down in that bed. I had no idea I wouldn't be allowed to move the next three days. I remember before the doctors started an IV I asked if I could get up and walk around for a minute. I didn't really understand what was wrong with me.
I remember calling my mom and bawling as I told her I was probably going to have a c-section and begging her to fly down as soon as she could. I remember crying as the nurses dug around my veins trying to put an IV in both my hands failing to numb one and then finally putting it in my wrist. I remember watching my husband walk in, still in his work uniform and the scared look on his face as I repeated "I'm sorry" over and over again. All the conversations we had about viability and promising the likelihood of an early delivery happening to us was slim, turned into lies.
I don't remember much of my labor. I do remember as I was getting ready to push the nurse told me not to, I was supposed to wait but I didn't have a choice.
I remember kicking the doctor in the stomach who was there to catch him.
I remember dozens of people walk in as I was pushing, waiting to evaluate what was wrong with my child.
I remember him crying and how happy I was to hear that wonderful sound. I relaxed and for a moment, for the first time since being told I was having him early, I felt at peace.
I don't remember him being held up by my face so I could see him though.
The first 24 hours after his birth went by slowly. I was torn between resting and wishing I was allowed to get up and go see him. I was refusing pain meds, I didn't hurt. I didn't understand why they wouldn't let me out of bed.
The first time I was allowed to go see him I was insanely nervous. I didn't know what I was going to see. I didn't know how small he was or if the steroids had been given enough time. As I was wheeled out of my room, and down a maze of hallways we passed two nurseries. I remember smiling at the sleeping babies and wishing my son was in there, chubby and healthy, just waiting to be brought back to me. I remember how lost I was going through the hallways. I had never been in the hospital, I didn't know where anything was, I didn't know what the inside of a NICU looked like.
As we rounded the final corner we approached a large set of double doors with a corded phone on the wall. I remember my mom who had been already telling me I had to let them know who I was. The doors stayed locked and shut at all times. We were buzzed through and I saw the hand washing station for the first time. It was automated and hands free. I was amazed at the setup. We passed through another set of double doors.
It was a large room divided into sections by walls and curtains. It was dark yet warm and monitors could be heard beeping. I knew my son was in that room somewhere but I didn't know where. I wanted to run to him. We turned another corner and there was a raised glass table with a blue light shining on it. The smallest baby I had ever seen was laying on the table on its belly, completely naked except for a diaper, hat, foam block out glasses and tons of wires attached to him.
I remember the nurse smiling at me and saying "so you must be mommy," it was the first time someone had used that term in reference to me. It seemed alien to me, I certainly didn't feel like a "mommy." I stood up and met my son. I remember feeling an overwhelming urge to cry and tried my hardest not to. The smallest baby I had ever seen was my son. Sleeping, unaware I was there next to him. I just stood there for a minute, I had a hard time believing that was my son. The nurse said something I will never forget. She looked at him and noticing my hesitation, she said "you can touch him."
I never thought I would need permission to touch my own child but those words were the sweetest words I'd ever heard. After being told no at everything the past few days it was amazing to be granted permission for something, especially an act so important.
I remember regretting sitting back down in the wheel chair and having to go back to my room for meds and rest. I never wanted to leave his side. The trip to and from the NICU would become routine in no time. We started parking in the same spot. The receptionist knew us by name and was excited when we finally left. Caiden's doctor knew what time to expect us and would stop by every day to give us an update personally.
I remember his doctor better than I remember the nurses. Dr. Craig Anderson. He is an amazing man. He was there whenever we needed him, he encouraged me to pump and breastfeed, he made it possible for Caiden to go home ahead of schedule. He was excited to see him again when we went back a month later to pick up my extra milk. I can't wait to see him again someday and say thank you. I never got the chance to say goodbye and thank him for all he did for us. Caiden may have done well on his own but I believe that man saved his life.
I may not have the best memory, but I remember what's important. I'm glad Caiden won't have any memory of his time in the NICU. I'm glad he'll grow up knowing he did something amazing as a baby. He survived. And each year on his birthday we will celebrate his life, not mourn the time we lost. Each year we will celebrate how far he's come. Each year we will move one step closer to normality and one step further from premature.
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