*The following may be sensitive material to anyone who has had their own NICU experience. Read at your own discretion.*
While it's an amazing feeling to have a NICU graduate, the experience is not over once those glass doors close behind you for the last time. I honestly thought that I would feel total relief and comfort when I scooped up my son, buckled him in his car seat, and headed home, but that wasn't the case. Aside from what I would describe as "new parent anxiety" after bringing an infant home for the first time, I felt something more. I was panicked and scared to live a life where my baby wasn't hooked up to machines and monitors and without nurses on call, but when it was quiet, I suffered. I still struggle every single day.
It started the day we had brought Flynn home from the hospital. Shortly after we arrived home, it was time for him to eat. I prepped the bottle, but he wouldn't take it no matter how warm it was or how we held him. I called the nurses at the NICU and begged them to let me come back and pick up some of the bottles that they have there. They agreed and off I went, leaving my baby behind...again. My friends took the drive with me and I hoped the whole way there that I wouldn't have to walk into the hospital and take that daunting elevator ride. Luckily, I didn't because I have the greatest friends, but the anxiety was overwhelming. I got the bottles and headed back home to feed my baby and hold him close. I vowed to never leave him again. I needed to be near him after being away from him for so long.
That night, he fell asleep and I watched him for as long as my eyes would stay open. Every time I drifted off, I could hear the machines beeping in my head. I swear there were alarms going off and buzzing and voices swirling around me, but it was all a dream. Or a nightmare. So, I didn't sleep. I stayed awake and waited to wake Flynn up to feed him, change him, and rock him. I didn't mind. Holding him and looking into his hopeful eyes kept the noises out of my head. I would stay awake all day, just to get some peace from the awful visions I was experiencing. Staring at my beautiful boy was just a bonus. This went on for awhile. It's amazing how little sleep I was able to survive on.
When I was finally able to sleep, or I was so exhausted that my body just gave up, the nightmares began. I dreamt of my baby far away from me: sometimes he was up in the sky, sometimes in a far field, sometimes on a mountain peak. He was always locked in an incubator and I didn't have the key. He needed me, but I couldn't get to him. I would wake up sweating and crying. It wasn't worth trying to sleep. Sleeping was a last resort. I had to protect my Flynn. The nightmares felt so real and I couldn't bring myself to take my eyes off of him.
These experiences still continue every single day. I hear the machines beeping in the quiet. I have intense flashbacks. I have awful nightmares almost every night. Unfortunately, this is the reality for quite a number of parents who have had children in the NICU. It is not uncommon to be emotionally disturbed after such a trauma. As much as I try to move on, it feels impossible. The struggle is very lonely because no one knows what to say and everyday life doesn't stop simply because times are difficult. It's a constant feeling of needing a break, but also being so attached to your baby that you could never have the strength to leave. It feels like you constantly need to be talking about it, but have no audience. I feel the need to brush it to the side instead of being a burden.
I get emotional when people say, "Oh, Flynn's not a preemie anymore. Get over it." He is not defined by his birth status, but he is still a preemie. It is a part of who he is and it will affect him going forward. We will overcome every setback and jump over every hurdle, but it won't be an easy journey. His NICU experience, he won't remember, but we do. We will have to answer his questions with appropriate answers and comfort him when he gets scared or sad. We have to be his strength when he needs it. It's not something to "get over." It's a demon to defeat. I speak for myself and say that having my baby stay in the NICU has traumatized me. I will never get over it, but I will be less sensitive about it in the future. Maybe.
I, personally, do not feel that I have reached the point where I am ready to talk to a professional. I thought I was there, but just couldn't. Honestly, writing it all down helps me. Maybe someday, I will get there and I will be able to make that step, but right now is not the time. I have too much anxiety over everything and the thought of adding something else to my plate makes me physically ill.
After reading multiple articles that I have come across, I do encourage anyone who reads this and identifies to reach out to someone. Do not keep it all inside, get it out there. If you need to talk to a professional, find someone who feels right to you. That's a great step to take! You are not alone and you are loved.
While it's an amazing feeling to have a NICU graduate, the experience is not over once those glass doors close behind you for the last time. I honestly thought that I would feel total relief and comfort when I scooped up my son, buckled him in his car seat, and headed home, but that wasn't the case. Aside from what I would describe as "new parent anxiety" after bringing an infant home for the first time, I felt something more. I was panicked and scared to live a life where my baby wasn't hooked up to machines and monitors and without nurses on call, but when it was quiet, I suffered. I still struggle every single day.
It started the day we had brought Flynn home from the hospital. Shortly after we arrived home, it was time for him to eat. I prepped the bottle, but he wouldn't take it no matter how warm it was or how we held him. I called the nurses at the NICU and begged them to let me come back and pick up some of the bottles that they have there. They agreed and off I went, leaving my baby behind...again. My friends took the drive with me and I hoped the whole way there that I wouldn't have to walk into the hospital and take that daunting elevator ride. Luckily, I didn't because I have the greatest friends, but the anxiety was overwhelming. I got the bottles and headed back home to feed my baby and hold him close. I vowed to never leave him again. I needed to be near him after being away from him for so long.
That night, he fell asleep and I watched him for as long as my eyes would stay open. Every time I drifted off, I could hear the machines beeping in my head. I swear there were alarms going off and buzzing and voices swirling around me, but it was all a dream. Or a nightmare. So, I didn't sleep. I stayed awake and waited to wake Flynn up to feed him, change him, and rock him. I didn't mind. Holding him and looking into his hopeful eyes kept the noises out of my head. I would stay awake all day, just to get some peace from the awful visions I was experiencing. Staring at my beautiful boy was just a bonus. This went on for awhile. It's amazing how little sleep I was able to survive on.
When I was finally able to sleep, or I was so exhausted that my body just gave up, the nightmares began. I dreamt of my baby far away from me: sometimes he was up in the sky, sometimes in a far field, sometimes on a mountain peak. He was always locked in an incubator and I didn't have the key. He needed me, but I couldn't get to him. I would wake up sweating and crying. It wasn't worth trying to sleep. Sleeping was a last resort. I had to protect my Flynn. The nightmares felt so real and I couldn't bring myself to take my eyes off of him.
These experiences still continue every single day. I hear the machines beeping in the quiet. I have intense flashbacks. I have awful nightmares almost every night. Unfortunately, this is the reality for quite a number of parents who have had children in the NICU. It is not uncommon to be emotionally disturbed after such a trauma. As much as I try to move on, it feels impossible. The struggle is very lonely because no one knows what to say and everyday life doesn't stop simply because times are difficult. It's a constant feeling of needing a break, but also being so attached to your baby that you could never have the strength to leave. It feels like you constantly need to be talking about it, but have no audience. I feel the need to brush it to the side instead of being a burden.
I get emotional when people say, "Oh, Flynn's not a preemie anymore. Get over it." He is not defined by his birth status, but he is still a preemie. It is a part of who he is and it will affect him going forward. We will overcome every setback and jump over every hurdle, but it won't be an easy journey. His NICU experience, he won't remember, but we do. We will have to answer his questions with appropriate answers and comfort him when he gets scared or sad. We have to be his strength when he needs it. It's not something to "get over." It's a demon to defeat. I speak for myself and say that having my baby stay in the NICU has traumatized me. I will never get over it, but I will be less sensitive about it in the future. Maybe.
I, personally, do not feel that I have reached the point where I am ready to talk to a professional. I thought I was there, but just couldn't. Honestly, writing it all down helps me. Maybe someday, I will get there and I will be able to make that step, but right now is not the time. I have too much anxiety over everything and the thought of adding something else to my plate makes me physically ill.
After reading multiple articles that I have come across, I do encourage anyone who reads this and identifies to reach out to someone. Do not keep it all inside, get it out there. If you need to talk to a professional, find someone who feels right to you. That's a great step to take! You are not alone and you are loved.
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