Today is NICU Awareness Day, and this is a day that I hold very close to my heart because the NICU is a place that changed my life forever. It is not simply a hospital unit that I remember from years ago. It is a part of my story, and it is a huge part of my boys' story. My sons were born at just 23 weeks, weighing a little over two pounds each. They came into this world far too early and far too quickly, and nothing about those first moments was what I had imagined motherhood would be. There was fear, confusion, uncertainty and an overwhelming amount of love all happening at the same time.
That morning began with a phone call from my aunt telling me that my cousin was in early labor. ( My amazing cousin, carried the boys for me) when all of this was happening, I was sick about how she was doing, if she was safe and going to be okay. She had felt the feet of one of the babies, and suddenly everything became very real. What followed was an emergency C section and a life flight to Tacoma. My boys entered the world fighting before any of us had even had time to process what was happening. A few hours after meeting them, we were already sitting down with social workers and trying to figure out how we were going to make everything work. We needed to stay close to the hospital because my babies were going to be there for a long time, so we were given a room at the family housing facility for families who needed to remain near their children while they were hospitalized.
At that point, I had no idea how much the NICU and the people inside it would become a
part of our lives.
The NICU quickly became our world. We got to know the nurses who cared for my boys, and those nurses became so much more than people who were doing their jobs. They became part of our family. They were there when we were scared, when we cried, when we celebrated small victories and when we received news that made our hearts sink. They cared for my babies when I could not do everything for them myself, and I will always be grateful for the love and compassion they showed us. Some of those nurses are still in our lives today, and I think that says so much about the kind of bond that is created when people walk through something so life changing together.
We also met other families who were experiencing the same kind of uncertainty and fear that we were experiencing. We became connected through something none of us had ever expected to go through. We watched parents sit beside their babies, just as I sat beside mine, hoping and praying for good news. We watched babies grow stronger, and we watched families celebrate milestones that might seem small to someone outside the NICU but felt enormous to the parents living through them.
Sadly, we also watched some families lose their babies.
That is something I will never forget. There are things you see in the NICU that stay with you for the rest of your life. I remember seeing families go through unimaginable heartbreak, and it made me even more aware of how precious every single moment with my boys was. I also remember seeing babies whose parents were not able to visit them, and that was something I struggled to understand because I could barely bring myself to leave my own children.
For the few months that my boys were in the hospital, I never wanted to be away from them for more than a few hours. I felt like I needed to be there for every moment because I was terrified that something would happen while I was gone. I wanted my boys to know that their mother was there, even though they were too tiny to understand what that meant. I wanted to hear every update, see every change and be there for every milestone.
The nurses and doctors eventually told me that I needed to leave the hospital for a little while and do something for myself. They encouraged me to go see a movie because they knew that I needed a break. I remember feeling guilty about leaving, but I finally listened and went. I tried to sit through the movie, but the anxiety was so intense that I could not do it. My heart and mind were back at the hospital with my babies. I ended up leaving the movie and going back to the hospital.
When we arrived, it was after 9:00 PM, and the doors were locked. I found my way inside and stayed with my boys for the rest of the night. That was how much I needed to be near them. I could not simply go home and sleep peacefully knowing that my babies were fighting for their lives somewhere else.
The sounds of the NICU are something I will never forget. I remember the alarms and the constant beeping of the monitors. I remember the nurses coming in to check on the babies and carefully changing diapers. I remember the leads being placed back on after baths and the incredible amount of care that went into every single thing they did. Nothing was simple because these babies were so tiny and fragile. Then there were the milestones that gave us hope.
When my boys were moved from the NICU to the second floor, it felt like they had graduated. It meant that they were getting stronger, and for the first time, we could really start thinking about bringing them home. Every step forward made us believe that maybe we were finally getting closer to the day we had been waiting for. Then we would encounter another hurdle. The car seat test.
You could be so close to taking your baby home, only to find out that they did not pass the car seat test and you had to wait longer. It was another reminder that you could not control the timeline. You could not simply decide that it was time to go home. Your baby had to be ready, and sometimes that meant waiting another day or another week.
There is a very particular kind of sadness that comes with having a premature baby. You are incredibly grateful that your child is alive and fighting, but there is also a feeling that something has been taken away from you. You feel robbed of the experience you thought you were going to have when your baby was born. You imagine leaving the hospital with your newborn wrapped in a blanket, bringing your baby home and beginning your life together. Instead, your baby is in an incubator.
You spend your days in a hospital room. You spend your nights listening to alarms and watching monitors. You learn the names of nurses, doctors and social workers. You learn what every sound means. You learn to celebrate things that other people might never understand, such as a baby gaining a few ounces or making it through another night without a major setback.
You also learn how quickly your emotions can change. One moment you are celebrating because your baby is doing well, and the next moment you are terrified because an alarm is going off. You learn that hope and fear can exist in the exact same moment.
Spending the holidays in the hospital was especially bittersweet. I was incredibly thankful that my boys were alive, but I was also sad because this was not how I had imagined spending their first holidays. I wanted to be home. I wanted to have my babies with me. I wanted the pictures, the traditions and the feeling that comes with bringing your newborn children home. Instead, we spent those moments in the hospital.
Looking back now, I realize that the NICU gave me something I did not know I needed. It taught me to appreciate every milestone and never take the ordinary moments for granted. It taught me that a tiny improvement can be something worth celebrating. It taught me that parents can survive things they never believed they could survive because there is nothing stronger than the love a parent has for their child.
When I look at my boys today, I do not just see the teenagers they have become. I still see those tiny babies who came into this world at 23 weeks and weighed a little over two pounds. I remember how small they were, how fragile they looked and how much strength they had from the very beginning.My boys have been fighters since their very first breaths.
They started their lives facing challenges that no child should have to face, and they fought their way through them. As their mother, I fought alongside them in every way that I could. There were nights when I was terrified, days when I was exhausted and moments when I did not know what the future was going to look like. However, I never stopped believing in them.
NICU parents understand that there are no small victories. Every ounce gained matters. Every successful test matters. Every good report matters. Every day that passes is another day closer to bringing your baby home. The day you finally leave the hospital with your baby is something that is almost impossible to put into words because you have waited, worried and prayed for that moment for so long.
NICU Awareness Day is about remembering all of those babies who are still fighting. It is about celebrating the babies who made it home and recognizing the parents who spent countless hours sitting beside incubators, holding tiny hands and hoping for the next good report. It is also about remembering the babies who did not get the chance to grow up and the families who continue to carry their memories.
It is about recognizing the nurses, doctors, social workers and countless other people who become part of a family's life during one of the most frightening experiences they will ever endure. These people often become unforgettable parts of our stories because they were there when we needed them the most.
For me, the NICU will always hold both heartbreak and hope. It is where I experienced some of the most terrifying moments of my life, but it is also where I witnessed the incredible strength of two tiny babies who refused to give up.
My boys are teenagers now, and sometimes I look at them and cannot believe how far they have come. I think about those two little babies who were fighting for every breath, and then I look at the young men standing in front of me. Those tiny boys who weighed a little over two pounds are now my greatest blessings.
The NICU taught me that sometimes you do not know how strong you are until you have no other choice but to be strong. It taught me that sometimes you have to take life one moment at a time, one breath at a time and one milestone at a time.
Most of all, it taught me that miracles do not always look the way we imagine them. Sometimes they are two tiny babies lying in incubators, fighting from the moment they take their first breaths.
My boys are my miracles, and I will forever be grateful that I was given the privilege of watching them fight their way into this world and grow into the amazing young men they are today.
