#Im a survivor how to

I walked down the hall sobbing and saw my new NICU mommy friend whose baby occupied the incubator next to ours.

The first time we left him at the hospital to go home I was a wreck. We would vacillate between being terrified and inconsolable and strong and confident that we would get through it. Every day a new struggle presented itself and my husband and I had to pray that Wilder would survive.

#Im a survivor how to

I learned about intubation, weak lungs, heart complications, feeding tubes and how to read an oxygen machine. On the spectrum of sick versus critically sick, 31 weeks in the womb was considered fortunate. In the NICU, every day a baby was in the womb was considered vital. They did not make false promises that he would be okay, but they were confident that his breathing difficulties and appearance were consistent with that of a baby born at 31 weeks. They immediately calmed me down, dried my tears, made me laugh and reassured me that although he was sick, he was in very good hands. His NICU staff, a dream team of the most incredible nurses, were like earthly angels. I was hysterical, sure that I would lose him. It was so much more terrifying than I could have imagined. He had tubes coming out of his mouth and nose and was hooked up to heart and oxygen monitors. He weighed four pounds and was 17 inches tall-around the size of a pineapple. The first time I held him I could not believe how small he was. From the second Wilder was whisked away into the NICU and placed into an incubator for 49 days, we were in survival mode.

Thus began our harrowing journey of having a preemie. I looked at my husband and we burst into tears. I heard a suction noise and the smallest, tiniest cry. A couple minutes later that felt like an eternity, I screamed вЂњWill someone (expletive) tell me my baby is okay, please?' and a doctor shouted at me to stay calm. вЂњI don't know,вЂњ he said grimly, and I could see his eyes were plagued with fear. вЂњIs he ok?' I said to my husband, sheer panic in my voice. I stared at my husband's face, frantic for some sign he was okay and all I heard was a deafening silence. When the doctor whispered вЂњHappy Birthday,' I knew our baby was out of my body but I wasn't sure of his condition. You could feel the collective nervousness in the room, even from the doctors, who were trying to stay as calm as possible. I had been in this exact room two years prior delivering Dash, but this time was very different. There is nothing more anxiety-inducing than the sterile white walls of an operating room in the middle of the night. Also, a baby I delivered at 29 weeks is currently at Harvard.' I let out some combination of a laugh and wail, took a deep breath, and said, вЂњOK.

My doctor took my hand and said firmly, вЂњThis is what I can tell you for certain: We have an incredible NICU here. вЂњBut I'm barely 31 weeks,' I cried, looking at my husband's face as his eyes also welled up with tears. I remember so vividly the look of concern on his face as he sat on the edge of my hospital bed and said my situation had taken a serious turn-I was losing too much blood and we needed to deliver. Despite several miscarriages and complicated pregnancies, I was still completely unprepared and shocked when my OB told us I would have to deliver our son prematurely.