The Kindness I Experienced During My Son's NICU Stay

I will never forget the first time I went to the NICU to visit my son. I had only been there once before. I got to follow the doctors, nurses, and nurse practitioner from the operating room into the unit to see what Jude weighed (2 pounds, 8.2 ounces) before being sent back to my wife, leaving him behind for all sorts of tests and procedures. That was all a blur, so my visit that evening was a big deal for me.

As my wife’s nurse led me into the restricted area, I was stopped at the door by one of the NICU nurses. She said something along the lines of, “Dad needs to learn the rules.” I quickly figured out that entering the Neonatal Intensive Care Unit is no trivial event.

I was redirected to a side room where she instructed me to remove my wedding ring, scrub my hands and arms to my elbows with a special prepackaged sponge (for two whole minutes!), then dry off and apply surgical grade sanitizer to the scrubbed skin before I could enter the room to see my son. It would become a regular ritual for me, but that day it was kind of overwhelming.

Of course, the whole day had been pretty overwhelming. My wife had been admitted three days prior when an ultrasound revealed some troubling information about the pregnancy. By the time we got her to the hospital, her amniotic fluid level was dangerously low. Our son’s frequent movements were no longer cushioned by the fluid, so they often placed him on the umbilical cord, causing his heart rate to plummet over and over again. That trend continued for those three days, and each time it happened the nurse would come in to reposition my wife to correct the problem. By day three, repositioning no longer did the trick, so her doctor decided to give up on trying to keep our baby in the womb for a few more weeks.

I was at home when I got the text that told me things were getting worse. I had gone there with my little brother (who had come to town to visit that weekend) to get a few items and let the dog out. She texted me because they had put an oxygen mask on her, making a phone call impossible. I knew that meant the situation was serious, so we rushed back.

By the time I got to her, there were no less than four people in the room working. They informed us that the doctor was coming (it was her off day) to deliver the baby. Before I could even process that bit of information, they brought me a mask, cap, shoe covers, and a very stylish white jumpsuit to put on over my clothes. Within 30 minutes, we were in surgery. It was January 23; 10 weeks earlier than our due date of March 29.

Everything was happening so fast that I didn’t even have typical responses to things. I am usually pretty squeamish, but when the nurse anesthetist told me, “Look! The baby is coming!” I peeked over the curtain to see my son being pulled from what I can only describe as the largest incision in the history of surgery. But I did not feel the least bit nauseous. It all happened so fast that I didn’t even have time to think about how unsettling it might have otherwise felt. They allowed me to go see our son and gave me an update on what they knew at the time, we took him to see my wife just long enough to snap our first family picture, and then it was off to the NICU.

The next few hours were less dramatic. My wife’s anesthesia mostly wore off after a while and we sat in her room waiting for updates on our son’s condition. Knowing that he probably had Down syndrome (a diagnosis that was confirmed a few days later), we were so relieved to learn his echocardiogram had shown no heart defects (a common issue for people with DS). I don’t know how many times we were updated, but none of the news we received that day was particularly bad. It was a somewhat calming end to the rollercoaster the rest of the day had been. Even so, not getting to see our baby for hours was pretty stressful in its own way. I hadn’t seen him since about 4 p.m., and it wasn’t until close to 9 p.m. that I finally got the OK to head over to the NICU.

After getting scrubbed in, I walked through the doorway into the main room of the unit. As I approached his isolette, I felt a combination of excitement and concern. The isolette was much bigger and more intimidating than I had anticipated. I remember feeling sad while thinking little babies shouldn’t have to be found in such circumstances. The stress I was already feeling was now being joined by that sadness.

Just as I was starting to get overwhelmed again, I was greeted by a kind face. My son’s nurse that first night was Monique. She could probably sense by the look on my face and my overall demeanor that I was not in the best place emotionally. I don’t remember a lot of the details about that day. I don’t remember who all was in the room for the delivery. I don’t remember what I was wearing. I don’t remember how long I was in the NICU for that first visit. I do remember the kindness I was shown by our NICU nurse.

She took the time to explain to me what the various lines, wires, and tubes connected to my son meant. She showed me how to handle him through the arm holes on the sides of the isolette. She explained to me what preemie babies like and don’t like when it comes to how they are touched. She was reassuring, helpful, and encouraging. I doubt she remembers much about that day, but I will always be thankful for her presence there.

Her kindness was by no means unique. Each time we entered the NICU (at least twice each day for 44 days), we were greeted by competent and caring nurses who encouraged us during some of the most difficult days of our lives. It was never easy leaving, but the love these ladies showed our son made it much more bearable. When the time came for him to be discharged, I remember experiencing a strange mixture of excitement and sadness. We could not wait to take him home, but we realized just how thankful we had become for that place and the people in it.

We do not miss leaving him there, but to this day we do miss going to the NICU. Those people will always mean so much to us. St. Tammany Parish Hospital NICU, we will never forget all you did for our son and for us. Thank you all.

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Thinkstock photo by Ondrooo.