The NICU Visit

     Finally getting around to getting these thoughts written down!

    Ok. So where to start? Well, here's an interesting note about it. It was a more emotional experience for me than for Brad. It just did something different for me--good things for both of us, but completely different. 

    Driving to Women and Babies the feelings got real. We both felt nervous, scared, shaky, and just kind of burdened. I asked Brad before we went in, "Why are we doing this?" not because I was questioning doing it, but because I was sensing that it could bring up some dark stuff and I wanted to be able to speak the truth to myself about why it was necessary. The answer to that question came to me later in the visit quite clearly. 

    Once we got there, the chaplain came and met us in a family room. I don't know if it's right of me to use names when I haven't gotten specific permission, so I will just keep names out of this. The chaplain facilitated our entire visit. When Leo was born, she walked through several phases of our time at Women and Babies with us. She came into my hospital room the day after he was born to talk to us. She was with us in the NICU when he was being warmed. She was with us in the NICU family room when we couldn't handle being with Leo because his seizures were out of control. And she came to be with us after we found out he was being transferred to CHOP. 

    So, this time, we got to sit in a room and talk to her about the past almost two years. We talked for about an hour and covered so many topics. We showed her pictures of Leo, talked about what life looks like for us now. We were reflecting on how far we've come from the last time we were in that building. It was pretty scattered because we just kind of talked about our emotions as they came up. It was amazing to talk with someone who saw our darkest moments and share with her some of the joys that have since come from those moments. Brad said that talking to her was deeply encouraging. Because she shared those moments with us, talking to her verified the reality of the gravity of what happened. He was able to look back at when we were there realizing that we were on the other side of it, and very happy with where we were on the other side of it. 

    Now, I have to see if I can communicate this part as I want to. Our chaplain was very intentional at asking us about the emotions we were feeling in the moment. I really appreciated that she treated the whole visit as a full body experience. Meaning, she was very aware that deep emotions were connected to what we had experienced here and that might affect our bodies physically. I mean, if looking at something as insignificant as a light switch in a hallway triggered something I would have felt full freedom to break down. Slow steps and deep breaths was how she approached it. And we were very grateful. 

    Ok. So we walk down the halls and it started. No, we didn't break down, but the feeling of.....deja vu (?) started. It's weird. Even after almost two years, we walked into the first hallway and I felt like I had just seen it yesterday. I remembered this sight being familiar. And the smells. The smells take you back, too. We walked into the NICU family room first--where you can store food and fill your water and have a break from the alarms and beeping. I opened the fridge. I remembered putting snacks in it, snacks that had been dropped off at our house by the bag-full. 

    And then my favorite part. The NICU charge nurse walked in. She still works there and she had worked there when Leo was born. She took care of him many shifts during his time in that NICU. We had arranged to come in on the day that she was there so this wasn't a surprise. What was a surprise was that I instantly started crying when I saw her. We didn't say anything. With tears in her eyes she opened her arms, asking if she could hug me. I grabbed her and sobbed so hard for about a minute straight (I know that doesn't sound like a long time, but it's a long time to embrace someone, not speak, and cry). Once my words came, I forget exactly what I said. Something like, "I don't know if you remember, but you were there when I had to leave the hospital for the first time-"

"Oh, I remember," she said emphatically. 

    This may sound cheesy to you, but I'm being very genuine when I say that I felt this weight off of me after hugging her. I felt a peace that I hadn't felt before. As I talked to our chaplain I began to understand why I had wanted to come back. This was the place and these were the people who knew our story, our pain. Hugging our nurse, I didn't have to explain anything to her. She witnessed my trauma. She witnessed some of the worst moments of my life. She understood our story in a way that no one else did. This isn't to say that I don't want to tell people who weren't there about my experience. This blog attests to the contrary. But what a gift to be with someone who knows your pain. That was what I had been seeking. 

Brad said, "They hugged and cried and said nothing but it communicated everything. She mourned all of that with Charis. The year and a half that we've been through, she mourned that with us. You could tell that she was bearing our burden with us, even after he left her care. To watch that was to see another angle of how God allows these things for our good and he blesses other people by letting them enter into it."  

    From there, we moved into the NICU. For those of you who haven't experienced it, you have to wash your hands upon entering and place your phone in a ziploc bag. Germs. This was pre-covid practice, too. As we were washing our hands a doctor walked into the NICU. Brad and I both did a doubletake, looked at each other, and nodded. That was the doctor who saved Leo's life. He was in charge of the team that rushed into the delivery room. While Leo was on the table not breathing, this man bagged him and was controlling Leo's breathing for him. He admitted Leo to the NICU as well and explained the cooling mat to Brad. Needless to say, the chaplain was able to ask him to stop by for a second. Now that was unplanned. It wasn't a super emotional conversation. But getting to look at a doctor and say the words, "You save our son's life. Thank you." I mean, wow. What a powerful thing. Brad said that it felt right. 

    Walking to Leo's pod, we saw the front desk, the fridge where I would put my milk (from pumping). Those were the things that I remembered. At the bed, the nurse with us was able to tell us all the machines that had been around Leo when he was there. She remembered it all (she also still reads the updates on here:). The most significant thing at that part, I think, was Brad was remembering what it was like the night when Leo was born and admitted. He had me in one room who was in shock and didn't understand the severity of what was going on, and his son in here who was fighting for his life. 

    Our chaplain just continued to ask about how we were feeling, what we were remembering, and encouraging us to talk through the experiences as they came to mind. She listened intently to it all. The beeping, of course, brings up stress. Every NICU parent knows what I'm talking about. We didn't stay in the NICU terribly long, maybe 10 minutes. My biggest specific memories were, "I remember pumping there." 

    This whole visit further clarified the truth that God has been teaching us that He's willing to choose better things than we would choose for ourselves. Leo has been the biggest part of me (Brad) learning that God chooses better things for us than we would choose for ourselves. Also the things that were so crushing about the news of Leo's livlihood in those very days are the very things that we've embraced joyfully and have found great depth of meaning in life because of. 

We didn't take any pictures of this visit to the NICU. However; I figured a picture of us the first time we were there (below) and a picture of us now (above) would show a bit of a journey.