Day at the NICU

Sunday morning Tyler and I woke up in a panic. We had fallen in love with Prae. We had been out of baby mode for several months, sold every baby thing we owned. We’d even marveled at how neat it would be since we are such an active family. Even with her disabilities Prae could have come with us to swim lessons and hiking. A baby? I learned over the last few days that I have baby phobia. There are many factors forming this emotion: our previous NICU experience, Wyatt who is no longer with us and my Lexi who was a baby nightmare. I’ve started seeing a therapist who does EMDR, a form of therapy to help process trauma. I’ve learned that there are many layers built around trauma in the past few years that I need to process through. I was never scared of babies before but I certainly am now. Does this mean I run from it? Or does this mean I heal from it? After making some phone calls we learn that the home study agency is fine with us adopting both children but the international agency is not. Thailand won’t accept four children being in the home. We would have to say goodbye to Prae. My mind races up and down from good to bad and left and right. This is ironically everything we’ve wanted for two years. We had planned on more babies up until just a few months ago. We had researched raising a biracial family during our Ethiopia phase of adoption. Little Melvin is African American and Hispanic. We’ve researched every childhood disability on the planet in our search for waiting children and Prae. I have learned enormous amounts on childhood attachment and that seems applicable with a premie. I can see the path, where everything we’ve done over the past six months has led us here. I just wish my head and heart could catch up! I examine myself and realize that it takes a long time for me to adjust. Adoption took months to take hold in my soul. The idea of an older child took weeks to grow on me. Handicap children took weeks of research for me to understand and get used to. I’m just built that way. Everything takes me just a little bit of time to get used to certain ideas. Then I’m fine. Somehow I know in a week an infant won’t scare me so much, but right now it’s only been 48 hours.

I also come to realize that I will never be to type of person to experience love at first sight. I’m addicted to research which means that there’s always another path or another option. If I don’t like one answer I find another. I do this with our children we sponsor through Compassion International.  There are little symbols in the pictures of the children needing sponsoring. Some represent living in an area that’s high with HIV/AIDS. Other’s mean ‘orphan’, ‘living in an area with human trafficking’, and ‘has waited over six months for a sponsor”. We just added a new child to our sponsorship list and I wasn’t satisfied until I found one who met all of those criteria. With our adoption process, part of the reason I like the waiting children was because I had control over it. I could see their face first, read their profile for several days, and get the feel of it. I confessed to Tyler I was scared of my reaction if we got a random referral in an email of our child, randomly selected to be ours. I don’t have enough control over that kind of a situation. I was terrified to realize that I have no control over this situation. All morning I try to tell myself to trust God but I find that I don’t like it and that it’s much harder to do than it is to just sing it during worship. My prayers this morning were loaded with, “Do your Will, just help me to like it.”

Our church is next door to the hospital so I convince Tyler to take me there. He kindly waited with the kids while I went into the NICU. The nurses were thrilled again to see us. One came over to verify that we were going to change his name, right? Because Melvin, well, you know. I look at Melvin and pray over him. I try and speak to a doctor who was making rounds but I soon realize that the nurses are with these babies all day and night. They are the most informative. I make friends with his assigned nurse and she tells me how well he is doing. I think about the research I’ve done on the increased risk of problems with premature babies. Then I think about all of my willingness to adopt a special needs child and my advocacy for them. Where is that passion now? It’s disappeared into the fear of the unknown. I don’t have a medical record to read and evaluate. I don’t know what will happen. Again, I have no control, just pure faith and trust. I get to kangaroo hold him again and I talk to him and ask him what his name is. All I can think of is Milo. Such a ridiculous name and yet it’s the only one I can think of. I sing and tell him that Jesus loves him, just in case no one else ever does. I spend most of that time crying out to God for peace with His will. As I'm praying I think about how mighty God is, how sovereign He is, and how I'm so thankful that He will allow me to approach Him with requests. I think about what a sinful person I am and I realize that I don't deserve to be rocking this baby boy. A wounded child in a third world country, sure. I owe it to God for all that I've done. But for God to give me a beautiful baby boy? I am Humbled in His prescence as I think about this.  

As I’m rocking I notice the baby in the space next to Melvin. Each NICU nurse is assigned two babies and her little station is between the two of them. I had assumed the other day that this baby was on his way home. I couldn’t see oxygen being given through his nose and he was larger. He was also in a crib and not in an incubator. It was very decorated and when I had mentioned it earlier the nurses had said, “Yeah, he’s been here a long time.” But as I rocked I read his tag for the first time. It said: Jayden. Born January 19, 2012. 1lb. 5oz. That was six months ago and he’s still here. He was one ounce bigger than Wyatt.

“How old was that baby when he was born?” I ask.

“28 weeks, but he was tinier than normal.”

“Will he live?”

“We don’t know.”

Jayden has been here three months past his full term gestational age. This whole situation hits me like a ton of bricks. That was Wyatt. That would have been Wyatt. When I ask the nurse what she thinks about the babies’ personalities (because Melvin is so cuddly and calm), she says that sometimes how much trauma they go through can make them angry and unloving, then she nods to Jayden, “Like that one”. I don’t know what’s going on with that baby but I know it’s not good. Moments later more nurses and a doctor come in and surround Jayden. They are talking about some sort of procedure. I hear the doctor explain, “You need to have forceps with you since he’s got a trach. His trachea is actually sewn to his skin…” The voice becomes inaudible but my mind does a cartwheel. That’s why there’s no oxygen mask on him. He’s got tubes underneath his blankets that I simply couldn’t see. Then I hear a nurse mention that it’s time for his morphine. Morphine? What has this baby gone through? As the staff walks away and the quiet of my corner returns I come to an instant realization. That could have been Wyatt. For two years I have wondered why no one tried to do a tracheotomy when they were not able to intubate him. I even mentioned it to Tyler a few days ago. They should’ve is what I said. Now I thank God that they didn’t. I never ever thought I would be thinking this or saying this. Thank you, God, for taking Wyatt. Thank you Jesus that I did not spend six or more months visiting my son in a NICU. Thank you Yahweh for not letting us live every moment not knowing if he was going to die. Thank you El-Shaddai for not letting us learn what it is like to watch your baby suffer. Or worse, having him live through all that but being severely disabled. I am reminded of my prayer to God during the time we were trying to save Wyatt. “Please save my baby. But…you know the things I can’t handle…” I’ve been so ashamed of that prayer since that I only ever told Tyler. How bad is it to only want your son if he’s healthy? Many people had told us these things; that it might have been bad for him being born that early. But the pain is so overwhelming you don’t really care. Now I had a picture, right in front of me, of what it would have been like. And I am glad my son is heaven. I have closure.

As I rock baby Melvin, try to think of a better name than Milo, and wonder why I’m here since we don’t have any money, I know that this, too, is perfectly timed. God is hear right now, speaking to me. He is giving me peace. I realize that all of this, the phone call and baby Melvin, might have all been simply to serve that purpose. We may not get the money we need this week but I am happy that my son is with God.