The birth of our preemie was nothing like my previous birth experiences.
My hospital room was dark and quiet. The sounds of a baby crying echoed throughout the unit, reminding me of what I was missing. Less than two years earlier, I had delivered my second baby and was staying in the executive suite across the hall with my husband. Our stay had been filled with visitors, gifts, quality family time and midnight nursing sessions.
Things were completely different this time; my empty arms ached for those late-night newborn snuggles and the sounds of a content baby had been replaced with the quiet, steady rhythm of a whirring pump. A tear rolled down my cheek as I gently touched my swollen, empty belly. I needed to see him again. As I prepared to head back up to the NICU, my body seemed to protest each movement, reminding me that the labour and delivery had been especially rough this time around.
When I stepped out of the room, a young couple breezed down the hallway toward me with their newborn in a car seat. They were glowing with pride and I couldn’t help but feel a pang of jealousy as they walked by.
Up in the NICU, I slowly pulled back the cover on the isolette and took in my baby’s small frame. Weighing in at just under 2 pounds and at only 13 inches long, he was the tiniest person I had ever seen. With the nurse’s help, I pulled up a chair next to him, gently placed my hands on his head and feet and whispered, “Mommy’s here.”
Five days later, I was discharged. As we drove away from the hospital, I kept glancing at the empty backseat behind me, knowing it would be the first of many nights when I’d have to leave without my baby.
We never expected something like this to happen to us, but then again, no one ever does. Through all of it, our hope and our faith in God were what drove us, what spurred us on even in our darkest moments.
Our son spent a challenging 123 days in the NICU before he came home. On that day, my heart swelled with pride as we walked out of the unit, together—our little miracle, our little fighter was finally coming home. That moment made every prayer, every tear, every minute spent in the hospital worth it. There was a sense of relief, of victory and an unspeakable joy in knowing that our family would, at last, be complete.
I share my story to help raise awareness about prematurity. Thank you for being part of the conversation.
Blessings,
Elise