(I started this on Ground Hog Day. Work has been busy, so I haven't had time to finish it until now. So, for the sake of arguments, pretend today is still Ground Hog Day.)
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With it being Ground Hog Day, it reminded me of something Marc said during our 75 day NICU stay. He said every day was basically reliving the same day over and over. Have you ever seen the movie Ground Hog Day with Bill Murray? Sort of like that. No weekends, no holidays, no vacation, basically the same day over and over. Here is what that day consisted of.
I'd be laying in a bed awake before the alarm would even go off. Maybe because it was a strange bed. Perhaps it was because it was an uncomfortable, little twin bed. It could have been that I was in a strange room with different sounds than I was used to. Or the fact that I wasn't laying in bed next to my husband. Quite possibly, there could have been a loud ambulance, helicopter, fire truck, police car, or all of the above that had already woke me up. Then there was also the blatantly obvious: my children were in the hospital so small and fragile.
We would get up and take turns showering in our tiny little room, and head downstairs. After eating breakfast, we would do our daily chore that was required of us to stay at the Ronald McDonald house, then off to the hospital.
Once arriving at the hospital, we would scrub our hands and arms and wait for someone to let us into the NICU. It almost made you feel like a grade school kid asking permission to go use the restroom. We would just stand at the doors until we had the okay, and they opened the doors.
We'd make our way back to our girls. After saying a quick hello to them, through the incubator plastic of course, I'd talk with the nurse about how their night went, then read through their charts. Most days we were there early enough to talk with the doctors as they rounded on the girls. In the first few days, some of the terms were unknown, but there is a quick learning curve in the NICU.
Then we would get our girls ready for their next feedings, after we were given permission. We would wash up (again) and take their temperatures, and change their tiny little diapers. Most days (thank God) the girls were doing well enough that we were able to hold them skin to skin for their two hour feedings. The nurse would help us get them out of their incubators, being so cautious with IV's, vent tubes, and wires to the leads on the monitors. The placement of the girls on our chests was important, as well. If their airway was kinked or condensation from the vent was swallowed, they would desat and have an apnea or brady. Then there was also the random desatting at times. Some days, their little bodies couldn't handle being held the full two hours, so we would have to return them to their beds, and simply place a hand on them through the incubator.
Once Marleigh and Natalie were back in their beds, we would talk to them, or read to them or sing to them for about an hour. Then we'd take their temp, change their diapers and get them ready for the next feeding. When that feeding would start, we'd head out to grab a quick lunch. After lunch, we'd usually take an hour or two to work or get caught up on phone calls, text messages and emails.
We returned to the NICU to spend more time with our girls. We'd do the temp, diaper routine again before their next feeding. Then we would sit next to their incubator and read or talk to them. We'd spend a few hours with them. We would help the nurses change their bedding. Once Marleigh was older, I would change her clothes. This was my favorite part of the day. I actually felt like I was somewhat caring for my baby.
Next, was my least favorite part of the day. We would read our last book, "I'll See You in the Morning" and leave for the night. As a mother, you have that inherent instinct to take care of and nurture your child. When your child is in the NICU, you have to entrust a stranger with the care of the person you love most in the world. I know that they are all well trained, but the first few days, before we really got to know the nurses or doctors, it was extremely tough to leave the girls.
We would then run and grab a quick bite, and head back to Ronnie Mac. There was a kitchen at the Ronald McDonald house, but we never wanted time to cook a meal, eat, and clean it up. Once there, we would go back to our little 10 X 12 room. There was no food or drink allowed in the room. They didn't have TV's in the bedrooms. That comfort of going to the fridge, grabbing a snack, and plopping down on the couch to watch TV was non-existent. We'd return a few more phone calls or emails and try to sleep.
Generally, just as I was about to nod off, my alarm would go off and I would have to get up to pump. (I pumped every 3 hours, 24 hours a day. Basically 4 hours of every day were spent pumping.) When I was done pumping, then I would fumble around to find the keys to the breastmilk freezer that was in the basement of the house, and trek down 2 flights of stairs, and stash away my precious commodity. Then get back upstairs and wash up all the pump stuff so that in a little over 2 hours, I could pump again. Usually, at least once, I would call over to the hospital to check on the girls. The nights when they had to be reintubated, were ecspecially rough. I really didn't sleep much on those nights.
And that was it. Day in and day out. There were some variations, but that was our routine. I guarantee, though, that there was a lot more stress that what it seems. Always a different lab being drawn on the girls, a blood transfusion, not tolerating a feeding, etc.
I spent basically 24 hours a day, for 75 days with Marc. There was never really any alone time. No time for relaxing. The miraculous thing is that even spending every waking second with Marc, and all the stress, we NEVER once had a disagreement or argument. Trust me, spending that much time with ANY person, no matter how much you love them, under different circumstances would for sure result in disagreements or annoyances.
At the time, we couldn't see anything other than one thing: our girls needed us. They were our sole focus. It's like God had put blinders on us for that time. We had no choice. We did what we had to for our children. We were lucky. 75 days may sound like a long time, but Marleigh came home 3 weeks ahead of her due date. Many other babies are there 100 days or more.
Three years later, I do not miss our 75 days of Ground Hog Day. Not one bit. But those 75 days have made me grateful for so many things. Grateful to have a God that's strength and comfort can help us through the worst life has to offer. Grateful to have had such amazing NICU "family" in the doctors and nurses. Grateful to have such an incredible husband by my side. Grateful for family and friends that reached out and supported us emotionally, spiritually and financially. Grateful to be home. Grateful for all 3 of my children.
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