The NICU

 Leading up to the birth, I had this unsettling feeling that something was going to go wrong. I couldn’t pinpoint exactly what it was—just a nagging feeling. Honestly, I thought it might be me. Maybe I wouldn’t make it through, or there would be complications I couldn't foresee. My mom thought it was morbid that my husband and I had discussed what would happen if something went wrong—if we had to make the impossible choice of who to save, or, even worse, if my baby and I had to be separated. Thankfully it didn't come to him having to choose between us, but I’m so glad we had that conversation. When our son was born and wasn’t breathing properly, and our hearts sank, we didn’t have to have that conversation amidst the chaos. I was out of it, and he knew exactly what to do. Without a second thought, he went with the baby.

Once our son was in the nursery, they put him on oxygen and did X-rays to figure out what was going on. He had fluid in his lungs—a lot of it. The pediatrician updated me a few times, and eventually, told us that they couldn’t do more. He needed to be transferred to a bigger hospital. I would have to stay behind. The moment I regained feeling in my legs, they wheeled me over to his bedside. It’s hard to describe the pain of seeing this little one, who had been safe inside me just hours before, lying there, struggling to breathe and unable to be held by either of us.

They transported him by ambulance to the NICU, and my husband followed behind to be with him. Meanwhile, I was left in the hospital, with no baby, and no husband. I’m incredibly grateful to the NICU, though, as they called me multiple times to keep me updated on my son’s condition. They didn’t want me lying there, clueless about what was going on, even though my husband was keeping me informed.

When the doctor arrived the next morning, I wasted no time getting out of there. By the afternoon, I was finally able to hold my baby. They’d given him something to dry up the fluid in his lungs, and he was extubated and put on a CPAP. It was a moment of relief, even though he had wires and tubes everywhere.

We stayed at the NICU from Tuesday to Saturday. Slowly, they removed all of his tubes. I felt helpless every time he cried, knowing I couldn’t comfort him the way I wanted to. I couldn’t feed him, change his diaper, or do anything to soothe him, and that was hard, especially with all the hormones and pain I was dealing with myself. There were so many tears, and I still tear up just thinking about those days.

But eventually, we got to take our baby home, and I couldn’t have been more ready to leave that hospital. During all the chaos, I found myself praying constantly, asking God to heal the little one He gave me. But you know what? I didn’t give Him the credit—not then. Not until my son was 7 weeks old when I was sitting with him, listening to worship music. The song "Too Good To Not Believe" by Brandon Lake came on, and something about it hit me differently that day. If you know the song, you know the part where he sings about the miracles he’s seen—cancer disappearing, metal plates dissolving. I got goosebumps and started tearing up. All I could think was, “A baby boy being able to breathe.”

It’s easy to thank the doctors and nurses, thinking the medicine saved him—and don’t get me wrong, I’m so thankful for the care he received. But who created the doctors? The nurses? Who gave the brilliant minds the ability to create the medicine and machines that saved him? Who guided us to that NICU—the very one I would Immediately go back to, heaven forbid I ever need to? God. He’s always there, and it’s easy to pray for help but harder to give Him the credit. It can look like a coincidence—praying, then seeing the outcome I hoped for. But think about the miracle of it all: A hundred years ago, my baby would have been lost, because there wouldn’t have been the technology or the knowledge to save him. But today, we have a God who works all things for our good, even if we have to face fear and struggle first. There may be pain through the night, but in the morning, there is joy.

**I want to extend my deepest gratitude to the doctor, nurse practitioners, and all the nurses at the Catawba NICU. Thank you for caring for my baby and for putting up with two overwhelmed, emotional parents. You made us feel a little less afraid and reassured us that our son was in the best hands possible.

To all the moms who have to go through a similar experience, I know you feel alone and helpless but you're not. Not only do you have God right there with you always, but you have every mom who has ever been through the NICU that knows exactly how you feel. Not only are we dealing with the scariest thing for a mom we are also doing it while our bodies are healing and every feeling is turned up to a 110. Find your people and let them pray for you and support you. (and if you don't have those people reach out to me on Instagram and I will be those people while you are going through this time.)

For his anger is but for a moment, and his favor is for a lifetime. Weeping may tarry for the night, but joy comes with the morning. Psalm 30:5 ESV