Cried the entire first two minutes of THIS IS US.
Seriously. The FIRST two minutes.
I cried through other parts too but the first two minutes did me in.
For those who aren't caught up. Spoiler alert.
Kate started singing "You are my sunshine" to her baby in the NICU.
The baby who was born at 28 weeks and who is 2.5 lbs.
The baby who is living in a isolette with a tube down it's throat to breathe, attached to a ventilator.
Rewind to my entire first 6 months of oldest's life.
(Except I was puking in a bucket after my c-section. TMI? Sorry.)
Rewind to my entire first 6 months of oldest's life.
(Except I was puking in a bucket after my c-section. TMI? Sorry.)
Right down to singing you are my sunshine.
It was my go to song to oldest.
But it was the second verse that always did me in
The other night, dear
As I lay sleeping
I dreamed I held you in my arms
When I awoke, dear
I was mistaken ...
As I lay sleeping
I dreamed I held you in my arms
When I awoke, dear
I was mistaken ...
I would sing it to him and cry because verse two was clearly about Zachary.
His twin.
My first born.
The baby that I lost.
And as Kate's baby was getting stuck for blood tests and she was there by his bedside cheering him on
well, the tears continued to flow.
This was pretty accurate on the beginning life of a preemie.
Except she got to hold her baby at 6 days old and I had to wait 28 days.
How I got through that and waited 28 days back in the day WITH NO ATIVAN is truly a miracle.
Which only shows how my life and anxiety and need for meds has changed in 15 years.
The whole life of a preemie is truly a nightmare.
You don't know how you get through it at the time because your life is an out of body experience.
You just move and do and pray to the higher power a lot.
You eat chicken nuggets from the hospital cafeteria and your dinner is a bag of chips.
The only bonus is the pregnancy weight falls off easier because you although you're eating chips for dinner your stress is so high you dont eat many chips.
And you drink a lot of caffeine.
And you want to vomit because you're kids face is covered in tubes.
And you want to truly believe they will be okay but you just wish someone had the magic eight ball to tell you that he will be.
Oldest was 3 days old and his name card on his isollette was STERN, BABY B.
One day the ultrasound tech came in to do a scan by his bedside.
"Oh how wonderful", she says to me. "You had twins. Where is the other baby?"
I stopped in my tracks and my mouth could not move.
The floodgates were trying so hard to stay closed.
I looked over at super nurse who was giving her the "stop talking now" cue but it was too late.
"You are so blessed" tech continued to tell me.
Super nurse put a comforting hand on my shoulder and guided me into the lobby for a "break".
I was covered in tears as I tried desperately to find my composure (which was non existent 3 days after having two premature children and losing one of them)
What seemed to be an hour super nurse called me back into the NICU to help with oldests "care" (temperature, changing a diaper). The "BABY B" sign was removed and in its place was his new sign "Stern, Oldest" (Okay, maybe it didn't really say Oldest but you get the gist)
I'm pretty sure never again were twins labeled baby a and b or if they do continue that-
it shouldn't be allowed.
And that
is just one of 7,628 stories I have about spending 6 months in the Neonatal Intensive Care Unit at two major Boston hospitals.
I have some doozies
yet mostly they are filled with stories of amazingly compassionate people that I, DH and Oldest met along the way.
Super nurse was only one of a my super team and I am completely, dare I say the word I hate most, "blessed" to have met them along our path.
So to Kate
and to Toby
and to baby Jack
and any of you who may have to walk the nicu walk
or HAVE walked the walk
remember you may have not wanted to visit Holland
but it's beautiful.
Which only shows how my life and anxiety and need for meds has changed in 15 years.
The whole life of a preemie is truly a nightmare.
You don't know how you get through it at the time because your life is an out of body experience.
You just move and do and pray to the higher power a lot.
You eat chicken nuggets from the hospital cafeteria and your dinner is a bag of chips.
The only bonus is the pregnancy weight falls off easier because you although you're eating chips for dinner your stress is so high you dont eat many chips.
And you drink a lot of caffeine.
And you want to vomit because you're kids face is covered in tubes.
And you want to truly believe they will be okay but you just wish someone had the magic eight ball to tell you that he will be.
Oldest was 3 days old and his name card on his isollette was STERN, BABY B.
One day the ultrasound tech came in to do a scan by his bedside.
"Oh how wonderful", she says to me. "You had twins. Where is the other baby?"
I stopped in my tracks and my mouth could not move.
The floodgates were trying so hard to stay closed.
I looked over at super nurse who was giving her the "stop talking now" cue but it was too late.
"You are so blessed" tech continued to tell me.
Super nurse put a comforting hand on my shoulder and guided me into the lobby for a "break".
I was covered in tears as I tried desperately to find my composure (which was non existent 3 days after having two premature children and losing one of them)
What seemed to be an hour super nurse called me back into the NICU to help with oldests "care" (temperature, changing a diaper). The "BABY B" sign was removed and in its place was his new sign "Stern, Oldest" (Okay, maybe it didn't really say Oldest but you get the gist)
I'm pretty sure never again were twins labeled baby a and b or if they do continue that-
it shouldn't be allowed.
And that
is just one of 7,628 stories I have about spending 6 months in the Neonatal Intensive Care Unit at two major Boston hospitals.
I have some doozies
yet mostly they are filled with stories of amazingly compassionate people that I, DH and Oldest met along the way.
Super nurse was only one of a my super team and I am completely, dare I say the word I hate most, "blessed" to have met them along our path.
So to Kate
and to Toby
and to baby Jack
and any of you who may have to walk the nicu walk
or HAVE walked the walk
remember you may have not wanted to visit Holland
but it's beautiful.
Welcome to Holland
BY EMILY PERL KINGSLEY
BY EMILY PERL KINGSLEY
I am often asked to describe the experience of raising a child with a disability – to try to help people who have not shared that unique experience to understand it, to imagine how it would feel. It’s like this…
When you’re going to have a baby, it’s like planning a fabulous vacation trip – to Italy. You buy a bunch of guidebooks and make wonderful plans. The Coliseum. The Michelangelo David. The gondolas in Venice. You may learn some handy phrases in Italian. It’s all very exciting.
After months of eager anticipation, the day finally arrives. You pack your bags and off you go. Several hours later, the plane lands. The stewardess comes in and says, “Welcome to Holland.” “Holland?!?” you say. “What do you mean Holland?? I signed up for Italy! I’m supposed to be in Italy. All my life I’ve dreamed of going to Italy.”
But there’s been a change in the flight plan. They’ve landed in Holland and there you must stay. The important thing is they haven’t taken you to a horrible, disgusting, filthy place full of pestilence, famine and disease. It’s just a different place.
So you must go out and buy new guidebooks. And you must learn a whole new language. And you will meet a whole new group of people you never would have met. It’s just a different place. It’s slower-paced than Italy, less flashy than Italy. But after you’ve been there for a while and you catch your breath, you look around…and you begin to notice Holland has windmills…and Holland has tulips. Holland even has Rembrandts.
But everyone you know is busy coming and going from Italy…and they’re all bragging about what a wonderful time they had there. And for the rest of your life, you will say, “Yes, that’s where I was supposed to go. That’s what I had planned.”
And the pain of that will never, ever, ever, ever go away…because the loss of that dream is a very, very significant loss.
But…if you spend your life mourning the fact that you didn’t get to go to Italy, you may never be free to enjoy the very special, the very lovely things…about Holland.
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