Why I Didn't Ask 'Why Me?' When My Daughter Was in the NICU

My daughter has cerebral palsy. I remember her birth like it was yesterday.

I was standing in a room full of isolettes. My baby was in one of them with wires and tubes attached to her frail, little body.

Determined to document what the medical staff said, I kept a journal for her first 121 days. This is how her journey began:

Monday:
She arrived after 10 hours of labor
No Cesarean section (natural birth)
850 grams (less than 2 pounds)

Tuesday:
Was told that her first week will determine her health. (We signed a document to give consent for our daughter to be a participant in a study.)

Wednesday:
Bowels working
Respiration started at 60, and now it’s at 16 (we believe that she was chosen for the study, as she is breathing well).

Thursday:
Intravenous feeding (yellow, liquid cereal with protein).
She was crying — mouth open — but there was no sound.
I wish I could do something. I wish I could hold her.
I put my hand through the opening of the isolette and touched her ever so gently.
I went back to my room and cried.

Friday:
Told about bleeding in her head, but it’s not critical. We have to wait and see if it gets worse.
If so, it could cause a lot of brain damage.
She’s not well. Her skin is milky.

Though the last five days had been very emotional, I put my hand in the isolette and assured my baby that things would work out. I told her that she was strong. Somehow, I knew that she would be coming home with me. There was no doubt in my mind, so when a staff member walked up to me with sympathy in her eyes, I was confused. She said, “I know what you are thinking — why me?”

I was confused and felt disturbed by her question because I hadn’t thought “why me?” This lady clearly wanted to console me, but the only person I wanted to console was my daughter. This tiny baby didn’t know what the world had in store for her, but I could tell that she was up for the fight, and I would be by her side every step of the way. I think the staff member was taken aback when I asked, “Why not me?” I looked at my baby girl and said, “You made it. You’re here. Now, we begin.”

When I gave birth in the 1980s, we did not have the technology we have today. We can learn from platforms like The Mighty; we can share how we got to this point and figure out how we will get to the next point. Just take it one day at a time.