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The week before Zoey was born, Sarah and I had finished painting the nursery and found a new crib for $20 at a garage sale. This was the middle of May and Zoey wasn’t expected until mid-September. On May 25th, Zoey had arrived and we were in a panic every moment of every day.
I was still in my first 90 days with a new job and Sarah hadn’t been at her job for a year to have FMLA kick in yet. My insurance started in on day one of my new job and they were working with me after what had happened. Sarah was not as lucky. She was in the middle of an audit in her office and Zoey’s birth was treated as more of an annoyance than the high-stress situation that it was.
Every day was a crash course in what being a NICU parent would involve. We hadn’t seen our baby except for her pink skin underneath a layer of plastic, a tube taped to her face helping her breathe, and a pink hat with a little flower on it. At one pound five ounces, there was a long list of possible complications we could be facing in the days and weeks ahead.
Coffee was my best friend those days and has been ever since. I had five days off before returning to work and they are a blur I have trouble remembering now. Sleep was a rare occurrence during those days. Sarah was constantly asking herself what she had done wrong to have our baby in the NICU. I was trying to keep up with the medical orders and translating them to Sarah in a way that she could understand them. We were constantly meeting new staff, many of whom we only saw in passing after that first week; doctors, nurse practitioners, nurses, case workers, support groups, and the cleaning crew. We were handed thick books about what to expect from preemie care that we wouldn’t have time to read. Every day there was a new paper to sign authorizing certain care, blood transfusions, sharing medical documents with different providers, pictures, a visitor list and others I can’t remember.
Zoey had trouble gaining weight during that first week. She was on a TPN IV drip and was able to have swabs of breast milk to help build up her stomach bacteria. The plastic walls of the isolette would build up a foggy dew from the humidity she needed for her skin. The isolette had to artificially recreate what the placenta would be doing for her if she was still inside Sarah’s body. Her umbilical cord was used for the IV line and a machine pumped air into her lungs because she didn’t know how to breathe yet.
Meals passed by and I forgot to eat until I went home at the end of the day where I was too tired to cook food. Those who were paying attention brought us food and made sure we had more than a snack those days.
That first Saturday was the busiest with visitors and family coming to see the tiny baby. Sarah and I acted more like a host than parents, running through the rules of the NICU, keeping only three people in the room at a time, making sure jewelry was removed and hands were washed. There were those that quickly learned these rules were not an option. Videos were recorded via cell phones that we didn’t know about and posted online, iPads were dropped against the isolette by people trying to take pictures but didn’t know how to use them, and their comments made me feel like the operator of a fairground freak show. Looking back, it would have been better to have people wait to see her. Family demanded to be added to the visitor list and we both learned quickly how to say “no.”
We both needed time alone with our daughter. Friends and family had stopped by, peaked through the plastic window, took their souvenirs, and promised prayers. Once that was finished, we protected our time and tried to make the most of it. I would read to Zoey while Sarah used the breast pump. We took turns changing the diaper and helping with care time. If one of us left, we would check both of our houses and make sure everything was settled for us not being there for several hours, pets were fed and alarms set for our late-night return.
Sarah was able to hold Zoey first, her one-pound body picked up and placed on Sarah’s chest. A pile of blankets was placed on top of Zoey to keep her temperature constant. Her tiny hands lying on Sarah’s breasts were no bigger than a nickel. Zoey’s eyes weren’t open yet, but we watched her moving them trying to see the world. A few days later it was my turn to hold Zoey. Her delicate pink skin was still covered in plastic and heated blankets were added during the care to keep her body temperature up, a man’s body isn’t able to transfer body heat as well as a woman’s. Zoey’s long skinny fingers weaved their way through my chest hair as she explored a world she couldn’t see. Her tiny ribs were visible as she was carried over and I was scared to move while holding her. the only thing in view for me to see, as she lay on my chest, was the pink hat with a flower on it covering her small lemon sized head.
At the end of that first week, Sarah and I had taken what we had learned and made several decisions for the next few months. Other people’s needs were no longer a priority and we were constantly reminded to take care of ourselves. Communication was key to making sure our lives outside of the NICU stayed in one piece, it was easy to forget what was once our top priorities in our lives before Zoey was born. I had a breakdown on the seventh day. Once Sarah knew that Zoey was doing well and could finally relax, the stress I had been carrying finally bubbled to the top and overflowed into crying fits and moments of despair. That feeling never went away until 52 days later.
On a Saturday night, after seeing Zoey for her weigh in and watching her inch closer to the three-pound mark, I slept for 12 hours. It was the longest undisturbed sleep I had in two months and after that, I felt like I could be myself again.
Photo: Provided by author