11 Weeks, Part 2

One of the first things you learn in Journalism (other than the fact that you shouldn’t have an original, funny email address while you’re in college-your professor doesn’t appreciate that-your email should be your name-I was doomed from day 1) is that no one wants to read about the process; they only want to hear about the result.  It’s true.  No one wants to hear about the endless debates, stonewalling, points, counterpoints about a bill on the house floor-we only care about whether or not the bill passed, and most of the time we don’t care about the why or the how. (Frankly, most of the time we don’t know about the bill, either, but that’s a whole other issue.)

At this point in our NICU stay, we were in the process-month 2.  Every day was the same; every week was the same-we established a schedule.  I was there most days, all day long, two nights a week the hubby came to the NICU directly from the city…there were a lot of variables, and I’ll spare you the details of our thoroughly mapped out schedule, but most of the time I was just there all day long.

To answer your question, yes…it was VERY boring.  Lily was asleep most of the time, and there’s only so much you can stare at a 4 pound lump of gorgeousness.  I brought magazines and books.  The doctors and nurses often commented on what I was reading or asked me questions about the material.  Then my mom got me an iPad, which quickly turned into my own, personal solitaire playing device.  There was no cell or wifi access in the NICU, so I was pretty much cut off from humanity, which was actually a really liberating experience.

This is also when we realized that 6 weeks was a shot in the dark-the hubby and I never really thought that Lily would come home after 6 weeks, but we both held out a secret hope that it might happen.  We both felt like deflated balloons as week 6 came and went and Lily was still being held captive in her plastic cage.

The one thing that made the monotonous hell slightly bearable was Cathy.  Who was Cathy?  To explain that, I need to backtrack (slightly).  There are many nurses in the NICU and most, almost all, of the nurses are truly top notch-I’m not exaggerating. Irish Brogue who Lily dealt a left hook was our nurse at the beginning, and she was amazing.  As Lily grew bigger and stronger, and as schedules permitted, we were passed from one pair of excellent hands to another pair of excellent hands-the nurses cared for me just as they cared for my daughter.  But Cathy was different.  I am not a crier-at least, I am not a crier in public.  It is extremely difficult for me to let down my guard enough to cry in front of my best friends, let alone complete strangers-I know that seems antithetical to what I’m doing here, writing out all my thoughts and emotions.  It’s not that I don’t express myself and it’s certainly not that I don’t have feelings, I just don’t like it when people see me cry.  On Cathy’s first day, I walked up to the isolette, and I just started crying.  I barely said 2 words beside “hi” and “I’m mom” and then I started bawling.  Clearly, I knew that Cathy’s energy was unlike any other NICU nurse-I was comfortable around her; I could let go; I could start to deal with the reality of everything.

Cathy understood that as Lily got older, she needed more love, and not just adjusted medications.  She had me bring in books and clothes and toys and Lily’s infant seat-normal baby things that I’d been stock-piling at my house, staring at and wondering if Lily would ever use-Cathy found a way to create a mini-nursery in Lily’s corner.  This is also when I got to breast feed Lily, and cried in front of Cathy again-tears of joy, though.

I told you…the process was boring.