Seth was 8 days old, not even 4 lbs, snuggled in in an isolette with a PICC line at the NICU. My parents took the big kids to church so Jason and I could visit Seth in peace (keeping a 5 and 2 yr old quiet in a hospital room is impossible). We stopped by Target on the way to the hospital to pick up something for his first Easter, but Target was closed. So we drove to Barnes & Nobles and bought him "Tiny Bear's Bible" seemingly appropriate for our tiny bear.
The hospital was very quiet as I learned it always is on Sundays. We walked in to the Special Care Nursery, washed our hands for the designated 30 sec., read our security code from my still attached hospital band to the check in lady, and walked into our sweet Seth's room. The room was always dark and peaceful minimizing stimulation. His preemie brain was still developing as he still should have been in the darkness of me for 7 more weeks at this point.
He was sleeping on his tummy with his NG tube protruding out of his small nose. Oxygen, heart rate and respiration monitors flashed "All is well" numbers above him which always was a relief. He'd been given stable reports and we knew if anything odd had happened at night, we would have been called, but still, I always held my breath a little waiting to walk in and see he stats.
I was still getting used to the fact he was born and even that he was mine. He seemed a little foreign to me. I wasn't ready for him to be here just as he wasn't ready to come out. I didn't have the time I needed or wanted to get to know his kicks, his flips, his hiccups inside me. I was scared he might need special help that I didn't know how to give. Special needs parents are heroes as are their children - I was afraid of not being hero enough to give him all he might need. I felt guilty of doing something to cause this. Did I do too much or not enough? Did I eat too much salt? How stupid could I be to think my blurry vision the day before I went to my dr. appointment was just allergies? Would going in any sooner changed anything? All of that moot, because it was what it was, but the feelings and thoughts were there, overwhelming at times and I kept them to myself convinced if I cracked even a little I'd never get "it" back together...
Along with this fear was an over-powering love. I touched him, held him, stared at him in wonder of his precious life. A life I thought I lost 7 months earlier and now a life that could have quickly been lost to my sickness. He was small and perfect and mine. The fact that he needed more than I could give at the time was strange, but the love I felt was matched with the peace I had knowing he was in God's hands.
While the nurses and doctors did a wonderful job making me feel part of his care, the reality was that I was only there a few hours a day - most of it spent sitting in a rocker looking at him - holding him every chance I could - and every three hours watching someone else change him, feed him via tube and take his temp. Gradually, this changed, but just a week into his life, there were necessary, but emotionally hard measures we had to take to help get him get strong enough to come home.
I'm pretty sure every Easter will be marked with thoughts of Seth's time at the hospital, as this experience is another reminder of God's goodness in my life. As I watch him grow, I am so overwhelmed with gratefulness for his life and excited for all God has in store for him.
The hospital was very quiet as I learned it always is on Sundays. We walked in to the Special Care Nursery, washed our hands for the designated 30 sec., read our security code from my still attached hospital band to the check in lady, and walked into our sweet Seth's room. The room was always dark and peaceful minimizing stimulation. His preemie brain was still developing as he still should have been in the darkness of me for 7 more weeks at this point.
He was sleeping on his tummy with his NG tube protruding out of his small nose. Oxygen, heart rate and respiration monitors flashed "All is well" numbers above him which always was a relief. He'd been given stable reports and we knew if anything odd had happened at night, we would have been called, but still, I always held my breath a little waiting to walk in and see he stats.
I was still getting used to the fact he was born and even that he was mine. He seemed a little foreign to me. I wasn't ready for him to be here just as he wasn't ready to come out. I didn't have the time I needed or wanted to get to know his kicks, his flips, his hiccups inside me. I was scared he might need special help that I didn't know how to give. Special needs parents are heroes as are their children - I was afraid of not being hero enough to give him all he might need. I felt guilty of doing something to cause this. Did I do too much or not enough? Did I eat too much salt? How stupid could I be to think my blurry vision the day before I went to my dr. appointment was just allergies? Would going in any sooner changed anything? All of that moot, because it was what it was, but the feelings and thoughts were there, overwhelming at times and I kept them to myself convinced if I cracked even a little I'd never get "it" back together...
Along with this fear was an over-powering love. I touched him, held him, stared at him in wonder of his precious life. A life I thought I lost 7 months earlier and now a life that could have quickly been lost to my sickness. He was small and perfect and mine. The fact that he needed more than I could give at the time was strange, but the love I felt was matched with the peace I had knowing he was in God's hands.
While the nurses and doctors did a wonderful job making me feel part of his care, the reality was that I was only there a few hours a day - most of it spent sitting in a rocker looking at him - holding him every chance I could - and every three hours watching someone else change him, feed him via tube and take his temp. Gradually, this changed, but just a week into his life, there were necessary, but emotionally hard measures we had to take to help get him get strong enough to come home.
I'm pretty sure every Easter will be marked with thoughts of Seth's time at the hospital, as this experience is another reminder of God's goodness in my life. As I watch him grow, I am so overwhelmed with gratefulness for his life and excited for all God has in store for him.
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