A NICU Nurse’s Letter to Parents..
Dear NICU Mama,
I know this is not what you imagined when you looked down and saw those two pink lines a few months ago. Amidst the excitement and anticipation, no one dreams of leaving their brand new baby at the hospital, hooked up to monitors, IVs, and breathing machines. No one imagines having a team of nurses and respiratory therapists working together just so you can hold your baby for the first time. No one can prepare you for the anxiety that comes with every monitor or ventilator alarm, or how your heart drops every time the phone rings, and it’s the hospital calling, and you aren’t sure what type of update you’re going to receive about the one you love most in this world.
There will be good days, and there will be bad days. I know it may seem like you can’t do anything for them right now, that they might break if you touch them. But I promise you, they know when you’re there. They know your touch from mine, they know your scent, and most importantly, how much you love them. I know it may seem scary to do what would seem like a simple diaper change or to check their temperature, but I’m right here to help you. You’ve got this. You’re doing a great job, mama.
I see how much courage it took for you to step into a world you never expected, nor wanted, to be in. To watch your entire heart in human form fight battles you never imagined they would have to face, while holding back your own tears and fears. You’re stronger than you know.
I know you blame yourself. I know you’re thinking, "It was my job to protect them and keep them safe inside of me. This is all my fault." I promise you, none of this is your fault. You did everything you could to keep that baby safe inside of you. Sometimes, these things just happen. It’s unfair, and it’s so incredibly hard. I’m so deeply sorry this is part of your story now. But I want you to know, it’s okay to be angry. It’s okay to grieve the birth experience you didn’t get. It’s okay not to love this. It is hard, it sucks, and it’s something you couldn’t have prepared for. There was nothing you could have done to prevent this from happening.
It is okay to need a break from the hospital, from the alarms, the doctors, the nurses—all of it. It is okay to cry and vent to me. You are my patient, too. I am here to listen and to support you in any way I can. It’s okay to call every hour of the night for updates. You’re not bothering me. I’ll be here to hold your hand on the bad days, to dry your tears, and to validate your feelings.
For those of you who, unfortunately, experience the unimaginable, know that your baby was not just another patient to me. I know people may think this is just a job for us, that the tough days don’t affect us. But although we may not cry in front of you, I promise we’re crying in our break room or on our drive home. Our hearts break for you, and I promise we remember their names. I promise we cared deeply for your little one and fought as hard as we could to prevent this from happening.
I’m here to celebrate the little wins, like your first ounce of milk when you pump, the first time your baby latches, their first poop, the first time they don’t need any oxygen, or the day they come off respiratory support. I’ll be there, crying with you and cheering for you when your little one gets discharged home.
We often tell families what to expect in their baby’s NICU journey, but what we don’t tell you is the hopelessness that comes with watching your baby fight an uphill battle, all while feeling like you can’t meet all of your baby’s needs. But when in doubt, mama, remember: you are doing everything you need to for your little one right now, and I am so proud of you.
From your NICU nurse,
Kelcie
