Angels and Superheroes...

You have a plan for your life. A way you think it is going to be. We all have them. We are asked from a young age, "what do you want to be when you grow up?" 

I bet no one ever answered "a preemie mom!" 

Luckily, somewhere, a little boy or girl says that they want to be a doctor, a nurse, a surgeon, a physical therapist... 

And when the time comes for them to be that, they make the choice to work with babies. Not full term chunky babies. Not toddlers with colds. No, these special men and women decide to work with Gods smallest miracles. The children that come too early, fight too hard, leave too soon.... 

They are, in my eyes, essentially Angels. 

I had been in the medical field for years when my daughter was born. She was fifteen weeks early. She weighed in at a whopping one pound eleven ounces. At this time, I was slightly jaded to the medical professionals in hospitals. I had seen the worst of them, and eventually that's all you seem to see. Things changed a lot in those ninety-nine days. 

I learned a lot about these people. I saw many things that you would never sit and think about. 

I learned that they have to BE hope... Even when there isn't any... 

The first few hours after her birth are very hazy. I remember the fear and confusion. I remember faces and questions. I can still see the delivery room when I close my eyes. And in all the horror of that day, all the hustle and bustle, all the nurses and doctors in and out, the NICU team faces are the only ones I could see through the fog. 

Everyone else was there to save me... Not my top priority. I did not care what those people were doing. My only concern was the well being of my daughter, and those NICU people had the same objective. To me it was like a light was shining on them above all else. 

When she was born I was listening for hope. All I heard were the familiar words that I knew too well and feared too much. Brady, CPR, no breath sounds, not pinking up, sats are too low.... At that point I hated myself for knowing what that meant. I just wanted to close my ears and not hear that. I wanted the sounds of a baby crying to fill the room. 

Then like a beacon of hope, I hear a voice. A woman, probably a nurse, possibly a mother also. "Look at her still kicking... She is a fighter... For such a low heart rate she sure is a kicker." God spoke to me in that minute. Her words were his way of telling me that we were right where we should be. And were we ever. 

For the rest of our stay, no matter what was happening, or how bad it got, or how scared I got, someone in that NICU would do something to create hope. Maybe a story of a baby from the past that came out just fine. Maybe a statistic that leaned in our favor. Maybe a call to tell you that we had poop. Whatever it was, it was hope. THEY were hope. 

I learned that they aren't just caregivers of preemies, but of their families also. 

Twelve hours... Sitting in waiting room style chairs... With beeping in every direction... Chinese screens made of sheets falling on you... The hustle and the bustle of the NICU can be overwhelming. Yet these people somehow hold it together for themselves, the preemies, AND the families. They calm familes, reassure them, teach them, laugh with them, and send them home for rest when  they need it. They become your ally. You are fighting this war side by side with these men and women. And in a battle, you need people like them with you.  

They are still human. Just maybe super human!!!

Sick babies are sad. Dying babies are heart breaking. Yet, these wonderful souls sign up to care for our babies, knowing that they will lose too many, and the ones they don't lose, they will celebrate and send them home and possibly never see them again. In 99 days I saw the strongest nurses cry, the best doctors hang their heads in uncertainty, and yet they keep fighting. And keep coming back. Fighting the good fight. Like a superhero. 

I will never be able to repay the doctors and nurses that I came into contact with. I can never tell them enough how grateful I am to have met them. I can never tell them thank you enough for photos when I was gone, spiky Mohawks when I came back, lessons on bathing babies with too many tubes and wires to count. I am forever in the debt of the doctors who treated me like a human, like a mom, and listened to my opinions before making decisions. I will always owe the nurses for the hugs they gave, the advice they shared, the friendship they offered, the tissues they made readily available, the sympathy in the hard times, the celebrations for the good, and the love they showed my precious miracle. 

I am still in contact with some of them. I hope that never stops. I want to give them the only reward I can. I want them to get to watch Gracie grow and thrive and know that every step she takes on Earth was made possible with their help. 

You call them doctors and nurses.. But to a preemie parent... They are Angels and superheroes!!!