November

November is prematurity awareness month.  Each November, I share the March of Dimes pictures that flood my newsfeed on my FB page...I post statistics on premature birth that are presented on the website...I share some of the few pictures that I have of Luke - the "least scary" ones because I realize that some people are sensitive - all in a valiant attempt at spreading awareness.  The truth is, though, that sometimes it's the heartfelt personal stories that speak louder than all of the pictures and numbers (although for me, those pictures trigger a giant lump in my throat every.single.time).  I have shared the basic highlights of Luke's story...how and why he arrived early, his birth story, and some details of his NICU stay.  There are so many memories surrounding that experience, though, I may never share them all.  No one will ever know our complete story, because it's encompassed by deep emotions that I can never, ever put into words no matter how passionately I write.

Last week, I took a trip to Texas to visit my sister and her family.  On the way there, my flight connected in Orlando before heading to Austin.  As I was standing in the Indianapolis airport waiting to board the flight, a woman walked up and stood in the staging area.  She looked so much like Nurse Dian, one of Luke's primary nurses.  This lady had short, spiky hair, and I saw the way she smiled at a little boy playing with a ball...it reminded me so much of Dian.  So, of course, I spent the entire flight reminiscing.

When I got to Texas, I had a great visit with my sister and her family.  When I refer to "sister", most who know me well immediately think of Shelbey, my younger sister that I grew up with.  Very few of my friends know about Audria, the sister I am referring to now, because I didn't even know about her until I was 14...and I didn't really get to know her well until I was in college.  She and I are still getting to know each other now, filling in the missing pieces of our childhoods spent living apart.  So naturally, we talked during our visit...a lot.  I told her about seeing the passenger on the plane who looked like Nurse Dian, and then I told her a story that I haven't been able to share with nearly anyone else because mostly, I've been ashamed.

I've mentioned before that the NICU experience is the most intense roller coaster ride that you could possibly imagine...think "steep uphill climbs, sharp turns, upside-down loopty-loop's, abrupt stops, unexpected reverses mixed in with an instantaneous plummet that makes the pit of your stomach drop."  Yeah, it's like that.  Throughout it all, though, the end of the ride is the worst.  At the beginning, you don't really know what to expect (and that sucks, too...it really, really sucks), but by the end, the final obstacle is in sight and you just want it to be there already...you want to be home and you are emotionally drained.

May 15:  Well, today you had an ultrasound of your "male parts" and your head.  

Both are great -- you do have a little fluid in your private area, 

but it's nothing to be concerned about.  

It looks like you're up in weight to 2205g, 

which is 4lbs 14oz.  You have a hernia on your belly button.  

The nurse said it should go away by the time you're 2.  

Your friend Maddox went home yesterday.  I know you're getting close!

I remember sitting at Luke's bedside that day.  My Mom and Dad had come down to visit Luke, and I sat there for a long time with each of them, trying so hard to hold it together and to be strong, and happy, and thankful that my boy was undoubtedly doing so well.  But, I couldn't.  I saw babies come and go all of the time.  I was always, always so happy for their families.  But, when babies started leaving that had arrived when Luke did, it was hard.  Why wasn't my baby getting to leave, too?  Why was he taking so much longer to learn to eat and breathe at the same time?  Why won't these Brady's just stop...shouldn't they be over by now?  Why are some babies leaving weighing even less than Luke?  And the worst...why am I crying because babies are going home to their families?  What the hell is wrong with me?!

I couldn't be seen like this.

I practically ran to the lactation room, hooked up to the pump (one of the jobs that actually made me, strangely, feel like I was doing something for my baby), and then in solitude, I sobbed.  And I mean I ugly sobbed.  For the previous two months, I let go of many tears.  I drove to see Luke every single day, some days staying until the early hours of the next, and each day while I made that long drive back home, I cried.  Maybe it was just a bad day, maybe I experienced an unexpected but minor setback, maybe it was a good day and I cried happy tears, or maybe it was a hard day for another family and my tears were for them.  It's amazing that I have any tears left, really.  I've never cried so much in my life, and I'm a pretty emotional person.  But on that day, for the first time since Luke was born, I was crying because I felt sorry for myself.  And then I cried even harder once I realized how selfish I was being.    

I have read over and over that no one truly understands what it's like to be a NICU parent until they are right in the thick of living it.  And that is so true.  It's hard.  The entire thing.  It triggers emotions and thoughts that you never in your wildest dreams thought existed in your being.  But on that particular day, a day when I just had to fall apart for myself, Nurse Dian got it.  She never spoke a word, but buzzed around, doing her typical routine.  She smiled when I needed it, and she let me sit in peace and quiet.  After I got back from my meltdown, this was hanging in Luke's pod:

{My Scanner only grabbed 3/4, but the far right says "We Love you, Luke".}

So many families have been in our shoes, are riding the NICU roller coaster as you are reading this, or may someday have a premature baby.  I share bits and pieces of our ride, not to just give some insight, but also in hopes that my words can be a sense of comfort, or calm, or even just understanding for someone else.  More than that, though, I hope my words are a realization.  Look, I'm just a woman, who was in perfectly good health, who took for granted that she would have a healthy, full term pregnancy.  I may be you, or you, or you, and you don't even know it, yet.  I hope that the words "premature birth" are unspoken words someday, but today, they are spoken.

 

Those words were our reality.

If you are pregnant, are planning on becoming pregnant, or know someone that you'd like to share pregnancy information with, you can click here for steps that you can take to have the healthiest pregnancy possible.