OK. Zoey was born super early. She was super tiny. She only had one hand. I grieved but quickly realized that she needed me. I had to be there for her. She was my reason and I was going to be her rock. So I “put my big girl panties on”. I pushed through the pain after my surgery. I got over the pain meds as quickly as possible. I don’t always have the best reaction to pain medicine and I wasn’t going to let that keep me from Zoey. I was going to be there for her. And the first thing was to go see her. I HAD to see her. I had already missed all those amazing first moments that mothers have. All those pictures that are beautiful, and sappy, and awe inducing, I had missed that. I was passed out during it. Someone else was the first to hold my baby. Someone else was the first to feed her, to diaper her, to soothe her. Well I’ll be damned if I missed another of her “firsts”.
With all of that mama bear mentality, we set out to the NICU. Nick had found a wheelchair for me. I think it was alternately designed as a torture device and he found every bump on the way to see her. Not really but it felt that way. And there was a handle that the person pushing the cart had to hold. If you let that handle go the wheelchair made an immediate stop. You can imagine how I know that. And just to paint you a picture, everyone looks horrible after surgery (sorry we do). I was in a light blue floral moomoo. I still had IVs hooked up and multiple bruises all over. I am a horrible patient for IVs and blew them. My husband looked like her hadn’t slept in days. He had several days of beard going. We looked like a super hot mess. But we were on the way to see Zoey.
Seeing Zoey was easier said then done. First, the NICU was on lock down. We had to call the desk inside and identify ourselves. This actually made me feel better about my Zoey’s safety. They weren’t letting just anyone in there near the babies. The second obstacle was the intense hand washing. I didn’t know that you could wash your hands the wrong way. Every time we entered the area we were directed to a 3 large sinks that had medical grade cleaning supplies with sponges and scrub brushes. Every time we entered. We became experts at hand washing. But seriously, do you know how hard it is to wash your hands with an IV in and not able to lean over the sink. I was worn out by the time I got my hands washed. We next had to go sign in at the desk. I didn’t know where Zoey was by Nick had visited so he knew where to go. And I’m so glad that I wasn’t walking when I actually entered the NICU.
The NICU was like walking into a foreign world. The lights were dimmed like a movie theater right before the previews. This was in direct contrast to the brightly lit hallway we had just left. Machines lined both sides of this large room. Lights and beeps filled your senses. Then you see the isoletes every few feet in front of the machines. It honestly takes a few seconds to realize that these boxes are holding the tiniest fighters. Each isolete held a different journey, a different crisis, and a different hope. And it was crushing in a way realizing that these machines were what were keeping Zoey alive. And I realized that was what was happening. All of these were helping her fight. So I would embrace them.
It was during our little pause to get adjusted to the intensity of a first NICU visit a nurse noticed us. I realized she was standing by an isolate that had no distinguishing features about it. Some of the isoletes had little signs made to personalize the babies first homes. This one had none. She recognized Nick and greeted him. We started walking over to the isolate. I realized then that I was finally going to meet my baby. She was the one in the isolete.