The End of The Start

I started this blog 13 years ago. Jack, my baby at that time, will turn 15 this fall. I am such a different person now than I was when I started posting. The world is a different place- I’m shocked that Blogger even still exists! I started writing when I didn’t know what else to do for my broken heart or where to put the fear I felt around losing pregnancy after pregnancy. I’ve seen so many miracles since that time, and despite all the heart ache, I’ve been blessed with two daughters. I’ve been blessed with friends around the world- we found our way to each other through this shared experience. It’s time to retire the blog (she says with immense relief.) Our family is finally complete and it’s the end of this start. I will never say “don’t give up” to those in similar struggles because, genuinely, sometimes the brave thing is knowing when to stop. In my case, I am immensely thankful that we persisted through all the loss and had a rainbow ending. Many people never see that day. This special girl was meant to be. 

In my last post I said I would write about our NICU journey with Ivy, and it has felt impossible to sit down and write that experience out. Part of the difficulty is the transition from 2 to 3 children (even harder than I anticipated.) I usually don’t have two hands to type because sweet Ivy is a baby who will not nap unless held. I think the difficulty I didn’t anticipate was the pain present when reflecting on her first month of life. I thought maybe I would be tough about it as a NICU nurse because I could “see the big picture” but, nope, that terror and trauma was waiting for this mama just the same. And I had it much easier than most families I’ve cared for in the hospital. 

I journaled A LOT during the NICU stay. Each day I wrote symptoms and differential diagnoses- about meds and treatments and the absolute ache of leaving my baby each night in the care of a stranger. I would cry myself to sleep just thinking SHE might be crying, in a different city, away from her mama, the only world she’s ever known. What allowed me to finally write this post was deciding I don’t need to recount all of that here. 

I had awful complications with my c-section incision and had to go to a wound care clinic for weeks. It felt laughable to try to take care of myself when my baby was not home. But I tried. I ended up being sent to the ER for a sepsis work up from the incision issues and did multiple rounds of antibiotics. Between those issues and trying to recover from so much blood loss, I lost my breastmilk. I tried everything to keep my supply up. I was able to provide enough for all of her feeds in the NICU but did not continue to produce in that second month. I mourned that ability in a way I can’t even write. I love breastfeeding and even now, with a 9 month old, it stings if I think about it. I always made so much extra with the other two I couldn’t imagine ever facing a supply issue. My body was maxed out with infection, surgical recovery, and insufficient oxygen in the tissues. I wish they had just given me the blood transfusion when my hemoglobin hit 7. What matters is I delivered her safely, despite the severe polyhydramnios and the abruption. Despite the long weeks in the hospital trying to understand why she struggled to breathe. It humbled me and reminded me what is truly important. I did my best. I have no doubt my experience has increased my empathy for what parents go through during a NICU stay and will make me a better nurse when I go back to work one day.

When I look at this picture I can still feel that pain we were both experiencing. Lots of desperate prayers were said during this time.

I have never desired so badly to take someone’s pain and discomfort from them. Watching her fight the equipment, arch and cry was awful. Having to wait to breastfeed until she could breathe despite her rooting around and crying felt unbearable. I just wanted her to feel peace.

It felt like a biological need to be there at her bedside until I had no choice but to leave. The hospital never had any extra space for me to room in, so we had to drive back home each day. I have a new appreciation for Primary Childrens’ private rooms and couches to sleep on. We were at a different hospital though. Kevin’s paid leave ran out before Ivy was discharged. My angel mother stayed weeks extra to help take care of the other kids while I was going back and forth. They needed help through this transition and having to deal with mom and dad always being gone. I could not have done it alone. Whenever I was about at rock bottom, someone would show up or send a text- my dad, my mother-in-law, a coworker. I was carried through a difficult experience by those who love us. It was not the blissful newborn period we had imagined. It was not the one we wanted- but it was the one I had. I vowed to enjoy it as much as I possibly could. Moments when she could relax I could see just how beautiful she is. Her eyes contain entire galaxies.

Thank you to the nurses who went the extra mile- a note like this was sometimes the difference between going back to sleep after getting up to pump, or tossing through the night with anxiety.

Mom THANK YOU for keeping me grounded in the way you would talk to Ivy and tell her little stories. It reminded me that this was temporary and gave me faith that she would recover and come home. 

My experience as a NICU nurse was a mixed bag. I was not afraid of the equipment or monitors. I was used to all the alarms and beeps. I was not afraid to touch or move my baby. I could perform all her cares when I was bedside. I think I would have been more overwhelmed without that knowledge. But this stay was unexpected and it was a struggle to diagnose what was happening (for several weeks.) I have seen many babies suddenly deteriorate and I was terrified. Ivy was not high acuity within the NICU or on a ventilator- but any traumatic things I’ve witnessed at work were right in front of my eyes during her stay. I was hyper-vigilant and freshly postpartum, not the best combination. 

Despite the medical ups and downs, they felt she was stable enough to go home after 24 days. I really pushed for it. The medical team wasn’t in a hurry to discharge her but I was in a huge hurry to take her home. It took months for her retractions to disappear, but despite her respiratory effort, her oxygen never dipped too low at home.

GOING HOME!

Ivy is now 9 months old and is doing great! She is a joy and everything I ever wished for. Her medical follow ups have all gone smoothly. I love her silly personality and refuse to be upset that she almost always wants to be in my arms!

Thank you to all you wonderful people who have read my babbling posts for years. Maybe I started this as a form of self-therapy, but somehow felt bold enough to post it on the internet. I never expected this blog to be more than a single post, or to last more than a decade. It’s taught me the beauty of humans supporting each other.