As a Boston newborn photographer, I’ve heard a lot of client stories about NICU stays, and one common theme among all these new parents is how lucky they feel to live in Boston and have access to some of the world’s best hospitals. One might think that hearing all of these positive stories would have prepared me a little better for my own NICU experience, but no parent expects their 39 weeker to end up needing special care. So how’d we find ourselves in this situation?
About 18 hours after Cooper was born, my nurse me asked if I wanted her to take him to the nursery for two hours so I could sleep. I hadn’t slept at all the night before because I could feel my contractions despite my epidural, and somehow I wasn’t able to sleep at all in the hours after he was born either. Though I didn’t really want him to leave my room, I also desperately need to catch some z’s, so I agreed. Shortly after she wheeled him out, I passed out, only to wake up later to an unfamiliar masked man hovering over my bed. It was 2 AM and I was having trouble processing what he was saying, but I certainly heard the words “neonatologist,” “choking,” and “Cooper’s been moved for observation.” After a minute or so, I was able to piece together what this stranger was telling me. Cooper threw up a lot of colostrum and mucus while in the nursery, choked on it, and stopped breathing very briefly. The nurse promptly called the level 2 nursery, where he was taken for observation. The neonatologist told me not to panic, and that it was likely related to his fast delivery (since I only pushed for 15-20 minutes, he was full of mucus).
Fast forward to Sunday night. Cooper had been doing great, and aside from the initial incident and that one feeding spell in the wee hours on Saturday, everything was good. The nurses had finagled a way for me to board an extra night at the hospital so that I could nurse him through the night, and then we were going to go home together Monday morning. Perfect. Until it wasn’t. I was taking a little post-dinner nap around 7 pm when I again woke up to someone hovering over my bed. This time it was the night-shift nurse, coming to tell me that Cooper had just had a sleep spell, which, unlike a feeding spell, is potentially more serious and warrants a 5-day stay. I felt like I had been punched in the gut and couldn’t wrap my head around the fact that my full-term baby would be staying in the NICU for almost a week. During a pandemic. My worst fear was coming true.
The next few days were looooong, but they also weren’t entirely terrible. We’d start each day by calling the hospital to find out how Cooper did overnight. These calls were undoubtedly the worst part of the whole experience. Adam and I would hold our breath (no pun intended) waiting to hear if he had another spell overnight, and on 3 different occasions they told me he had had one. Each time I’d feel my stomach sink, convinced he’d never come home. After all, a single spell would re-set the clock for another 5 days. I’d pick myself up though, go spend an hour or two with Greyson, and then get to the hospital by 9 or 10 each morning. I was allowed to stay the entire day, which was great because I was nursing and didn’t want to lose the momentum we had going. As a bonus, I could order as many meals as my hungry, nursing, post-partum heart desired, so that was a little silver lining ;).