I’m going to be totally honest with you all here. I really struggled to write my last blog post. It took so much longer than the rest have and after re reading it many times I decided there was nothing I could take out or change. As I read it back even now, it sounds very boring and far too ‘wordy’ for what I wanted my blogs to be. So I just hit ‘publish’ and that was that.
After thinking it over for the last week I came to the conclusion that I was trying to paint a very detailed picture of just how gruelling those first few days were for me, trying to establish a milk supply for Mr A.
I didn’t want to leave out even the smallest detail in case someone who was reading it was going through the same thing. It was tough, it was boring and laborious, just like writing that blog post was, but in the end it was worth it.
So looking at it like that it was a perfect reflection of the situation I was in!
This post promises to be much shorter, mainly because this specific part of our NICU journey is a bit blurry to me.
Now that Mr A was doing so well with the breastfeeding it was time to have his feeding tube removed. Something I think Mr A had been trying to tell the nurses for the last few days as he was constantly pulling it out. Having his tube remove meant we were moving on to the next step in our journey through NICU.
This was a big moment, another milestone reached and we were ready to move in to one of the NICU rooms. We were so lucky to have this great facility available to us as a buffer between the two extremes of NICU and home.
We were left to ourselves with the reassurance of any helped we needed just a phone call or a short walk away.
This was a massive step for us, one step closer to home sweet home. This didn’t stop it being a tough time. Although the surroundings were nicer there were still the feelings of fear and uncertainty for me looking after him all by myself. Gone were the noisy bright machines that were tracking everything his tiny body did. It was down to me now to keep an eye on him and attend to his every need, day and night. No pressure then?!?!?
The nurses obviously thought I was capable of this so why didn’t I, his own mother, feel that I was? During those few long days and nights I watched him intently, every little murmur and squeak he made filled me with fear. What was wrong with him? Is his breathing ok? Should I call the nurses to check on him? Looking back now they were just baby noises that babies make and in a totally different situation I would have thought they were cute. But I worried so much about every little detail regarding Mr A. This worry and lack of sleep is probably why my memories of this time are so blurry. The side effects of sleep deprivation were already creeping up on me.
Then came the day we’d all been waiting for. We were taking Mr A home. The bags were packed and Mr A was wrapped up safe and snug in his car seat. We were going home. Hooray!!
This was a massive deal for us and our families, many hadn’t even had a chance to meet Mr A yet, they were all so excited. It felt like a fresh start for us both, leaving all the trials of NICU behind us and moving forward together as a family.
Little did I know that having a poorly child and a traumatic birth creates a lot more invisible baggage than I could have ever imagined. Heavy baggage that I’ve carried around with me for the past 11 month since his birth and some I suspect I will carry for the rest of my life.