The NICU; A new normal

When I think back on our time in the NICU, I am filled with immense gratitude and almost a sense of happiness which, I know, is odd.

And I know this isn’t everyone’s experience but for us the NICU became our haven; a safe place for my husband and I. Everyone behind those double doors understood how important and fragile our situation was. I didn’t have to explain how critical things were at times; they just knew. And if I wanted to sit in silence, or cry, or even have a laugh, that was ok.

Everyday, for 115 days, I would wake early, make my husband call the NICU for an update (even though we’d only rang them a few hours before). I needed to know what I was walking into; I needed to be prepared. The drive to hospital felt like I was on autopilot, as did the walk from the car to the NICU itself. It’s weird how quickly we adapt to a new normal. My life was this now, my life was in that hospital, in that NICU, every bit of my focus, mind and energy resided in that little incubator my daughter called home. It became a 7 days a week, 12+ hours a day ‘job’. And that was totally normal and strangely became ok. We certainly adapt to these situations in times of distress and hardship to help us survive, to help us get through terrible ordeals as the alternative is unbearable, totally unthinkable.

Looking back I know I was 100% institutionalised. Like someone in prison I imagine. I was certainly “on the inside”. I had a routine and I found comfort in doing the same things everyday, over and over again.

But I also found a purpose in those rooms. I couldn’t be the Mum I’d once imagined. You know, the one who gets to hold her baby straight after they are born, the one who gets to feed their baby first, the one who doesn’t have to leave them with someone else (a stranger really) for months on end before you can take them home from the hospital. Yes, like many of you, I didn’t get to be THAT Mum either.

So I needed to find other ways to be her advocate; to protect her. I became obsessed, even addicted, to her numbers, her progress and her care. I knew everything about my daughter. Every single one of her stats, her inflammatory markers, her CO2 levels, her haemoglobin levels etc. I wanted (needed) to know every tiny detail. As I said, I was addicted and I knew it. I think it objectified the situation for me; made me rationalise the process so I could deal with it. At the time I didn’t realise that, but in hindsight it was how I coped. I felt useful for her; like she needed me, it made me feel like I was her Mum! It was the biggest learning curve of my life and I’m sure many of us feel we leave that NICU with qualifications in neonatology.

I suppose the purpose of this post is to just say, however you deal with it, however you get by, whatever you need to do to feel like you are their Mummy or their Daddy – just do it! It isn’t anyone else’s journey but yours and that baby who needs you. If you’re sitting in the NICU reading this or maybe you’re already at home with your bub; know that whatever you are doing is enough, however you get by is Ok! It’s a damn hard job to be a Premmie Parent but it’s also such a privilege!

With love to all our premmie families, forever changed!

Alyssa 

For my darling girls, all three of you.