I'm hiding behind the curtain in "Room 4" in the Nicu, doing my absolute best to block out everyone and everything else, and failing miserably. My ears perk up as I hear Rowan and Zoe being thrown out among the nurses talking, quietly updating each other. These curtains, they are so thin.
Some days I walk into the Nicu ready to face any challenges that may arise, but today, I'm tired and fighting myself. Fighting my emotions. I hear the mom next to me, nursing her baby, singing in a very off key, tone-deaf like tune. She pats her baby's back and talks in a 'soothing' tone, and I hear baby noises. She just arrived yesterday with her baby. The room to my right is empty, but probably not for long. It seems to be a revolving door.
I listen to the chaos that ensues around me. Nurses tending to crying babies, teaching new Nicu parents the rules- how to scrub in, how to touch the baby through the incubator 'holes,' feedings, talking, loudness. Normally, I can block it all out and focus on the precious life in front of me. I watch her chest go up and down. I watch the monitor above the incubator- proof that she is indeed breathing. I haven't been able to hold her today. She had her eyes dilated and numbed for her eye exam. I've learned that too much stress- even something as simple as holding her- can be too much for her little system. Instead, I settle for watching her breathe and sleep, and I dream of the day when I can pick her up without any tubes, without any leads, without any fear of her having an apnea and bradycardia episode.
I rejoice in the little things daily, and so far that has carried me through. Every little step forward with her weight, or with her feedings, or her breathing, I celebrate. But today, I'm tired. Tired of the waiting. Tired of being on this journey. Just plain tired. Perhaps it's the fact that there is no end in sight- it toys with my emotions, wrings them out like a twisted wash cloth, and leaves me reeling. Everything within me wants to scream, I've had enough!...But, what about this little 3 pound 13 ounce miracle of a life in front of me? What if she were to say, 'I've had enough! I don't want to do this anymore!' I can't even finish that thought.
This tiny, little 34 week baby, who should still be safe in my belly, fights for each day. Most of the time she rests, despite the flurry of activity that surrounds her on a regular basis. She doesn't worry about the other babies or compare her progress to theirs. She doesn't get frustrated when other babies get to go home before her. She just rests and trusts the physician and nurses will take care of her and meet her needs.
And suddenly, I can't believe that I'm still learning the same lesson. Wasn't I supposed to be learning this when I was on bed rest? And here I am now, months later with a baby in the Nicu, still learning the same exact thing. When will I be like my child and rest when there is chaos surrounding me; rest when there is uncertainty and no end in sight? When will I learn to not compare myself or my circumstances to anyone else? When will I learn to be content in the journey and trust the Great Physician to take care of me and meet my needs? My spirit finally settles within me, and I can see more clearly. My preemie infant has reminded me of the great lesson I am to be learning - not by speaking it to me - but by demonstrating it through her very existence; to rest and trust in the One who holds the journey in His hands. And now I am certain of one thing alone...there will be many more lessons learned, behind the curtain in Room 4.
