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Every night I visit Zoey after work. I try to make it into the NICU before her care time and spend a few minutes reading to her, updating my Instagram account on her progress, and tucking her in before heading home. About a month into Zoey’s stay something happened that had me worried about myself and her.
While sitting in her room waiting for the nurse to come in I overheard a conversation at the desk just around the corner. Nurses tend to chat and let loose about things they have noticed or their opinions about certain things, especially at night when parents and visitors aren’t normally around.
“Great, that creepy dad is back and I have to go into the room with him.” I don’t know who said it or if it was referring to me. I have no idea if any other parents were there that night. What I do know is that I stop in at an odd time and my NICU beard was growing fairly long already. A minute later, a nurse I didn’t recognize, walked in and we checked Zoey’s vital signs, changed her diaper, and made sure her equipment was good. There wasn’t much conversation made and answers to my questions were kept short. This didn’t give me much confidence into thinking it wasn’t me they were talking about at the desk. I immediately rejected the thought of saying anything to anyone not wanting to risk a staff members hesitation to take Zoey as a patient or receiving less care because of it. Remember, I did work here at one time and I know what it’s like being on the other side of things. We tend to think of hospital staff as the rule-abiding robots that only care about doing their job, but above everything they are just people like you and me.
That comment stayed with me for a long time and changed how I was keeping up with Zoey’s care. I asked fewer questions and was reluctant to press the call light button when I saw something that I was concerned about.
A week and a half later I was visiting Zoey before work and giving her some TLC with skin to skin kangaroo care. This involves taking her out of the isolette and holding her on my chest for a few hours. By now she was gaining a few ounces a day and doing well. Her only job had been eating a sleeping.
After two hours, I started to notice a bubbling noise coming from her CPAP mask and she was becoming fussy. I pressed the call light and waited. A few minutes went by without anybody coming into the room. I started to wonder what was going on since Zoey had two nurses scheduled with her that day. The bubbling stopped and I wondered if the issue had taken care of itself. Suddenly Zoey started to squirm around and was pressing her hands against the mask. She pushed herself away from my chest and started coughing nonstop for almost a minute while I sat in the chair looking at the curtain to see if anybody was going to come in. Her heart rate went above 200 BPM and her O2 levels were dropping. In a panic, I pulled the call light button from the wall hoping that somebody would come into the room. Zoey’s nurse appeared and asked if I needed anything. I told her about the bubbling sound from the CPAP and how she had been coughing. The nurse said that her numbers were good and that I could keep holding her. I finally told her that Zoey needed to go back in the isolette.
I stood up from the chair with a series of cords and tubes dangling from my daughter and Zoey was again fussing with the mask. I mentioned the bubbling sound again and the nurse looked at Zoey’s face to see several milliliters of water resting inside.
“Don’t put her down,” the nurse said. Now the panic I had was worn on her face. “I have to take the mask off and get the water out or it is all going into her lungs.” My fear had been real and now I was fighting with myself not to come unhinged. I had waited ten minutes for somebody to come into the room only to learn that Zoey had a serious problem with her mask, something I could not see with my child resting on my chest.
The nurse unhooked the mask and a small gush of water splashed on my arm. I sat Zoey in the isolette and we hurried to arrange the cords and tubes to get her inside with the lid down. The CPAP was cleared out and the mask placed back on. Ten minutes later, Zoey was swaddled inside and looking around the room calm and content.
I never learned why nobody came into the room. I heard stories from nurses about helicopter parents that hit the call light all the time. We were also told to never hesitate to press the call light if we had a concern or question. After that day, they might have created the paranoid papa that won’t wait to find help if there is something wrong.
Nurses and doctors come and go these days. Sometimes we see the same people for days at a time then a new face arrives and we feel like we are starting over at day one. What they might forget is that while today may seem like a temporary assignment being the parent is a 24-7 job, not one we applied for or wanted. The only thing we want in the end isn’t a paycheck, but a chance to bring our little girl home.
