Baby Bear #16

Dear Baby Bear.

I should be working but I can’t. For about a week now, your birth and the following couple of weeks have been playing in my head over and over and I have no idea why.

I was rocking you the other night and the light in the living room was creeping into your bedroom and I had a flashback of sorts to rocking you after a nighttime feeding and the light from the hallway was creeping in underneath the curtain across the floor and ending between your crib and the crib next to yours. I closed my eyes and was thinking about how there were so many nights that I didn’t want to get up and walk over to the NICU-I was sore, I was tired, my hands were raw from washing and scrubbing them with the brushes, and I knew that feeding you would be painful physically and emotionally. I got up anyway, every three hours I was walking or being pushed in a wheelchair to see you.

The nurses knew me, they would always buzz me in before I even pushed the button, and I’d walk to the scrub room and scrub up. Sometimes you were already crying from hunger sometimes I’d have to wake you up. I would feed you and then rock you, when the nurses would ask me if I was ready to put you back I told them no…they eventually stopped asking and just let me be.

I would rock you in the ridiculously large leather recliner they provided for that room and sing and cry…usually for an hour to an hour and a half. I would finally put you back, and go back to my room, crying. I’d wake up in an hour and a half and do it all again. I can still remember the somewhat peaceful nights. The lights flashing in the room, the beeping noises, the oxygen machines, and the occasional alarm from either you or one of the other babies in the room. My heart would stop every time. I was terrified for you and the others.

I would spend my days in the room, sleeping, watching TV, or chatting with Grammy and Papa who came up every day to see you. Anytime the phone rang my heart sank into the deepest pit of my stomach. My heart would always pound so hard I thought it would fly out of my chest. It was never anything…not usually. Just calling to tell me you awoke early. One time however, one of the NICU doctors called. Your dad and I were both there as it was your dad’s day off of school. She wanted to speak to us.

We were approaching the one week mark of your stay. She told us that we could take you home but that you would have to be on 100% oxygen and at that point you were only on 23% in the hospital. She stated that there were conflicting studies on infants being on 100% oxygen but none of them had any healthy long-term side effects. She told us that she had been watching us. She’d been watching us struggle, sob, lose hope and gain it back. She told us that she understood that we wanted to take you home and that this was an opportunity to do so. We told her we would think about it.

We went back to the room and I sobbed. I wanted to take you home but I did not want to risk causing any ill health effects long-term. Your dad knelt down and I sat on the bed. He took both of my hands in one of his and he cried into my lap.  Then he offered up the most sincere prayer of gratitude to our Heavenly Father I have ever heard and begged Him to help us and then he was done. He got up, kissed my forehead and told me to go to bed. That night he pushed the sofa up against my bed so that we could kind of sleep next to one another. We held hands all night.

The next morning we both decided that, as hard as it was for us to admit, you needed to stay. I knew that Heavenly Father was going to take care of you. One more week passed and almost to the day, the nurses told me that you were going home. You’ve never seen me move that fast, I promise. I stuffed all of my belongings into my hospital bag and had it waiting next to the door when your dad got back from school. I ordered him to get it all in the car and get back upstairs so we could leave-I’ve never seen your dad move so fast.

That’s all for now, Baby Bear. I love you.

Love,

Your ever adoring Mother.