Leaving My Heart in the NICU

home insemination Kit

My partner and I had just finished packing our bags and were holding hands by the hospital bed when the pediatrician returned from the discharge exam—without our newborn daughter. The serious look on her face sent a chill down my spine. I squeezed my partner’s hand, bracing for the news.

“Your baby started seizing during our examination. We’ve had to admit her to the Neonatal Intensive Care Unit,” she said.

We stood frozen, speechless. My mind raced, and my heart pounded. This couldn’t be real. We had already dressed our little girl in her cute Going Home outfit, eager to start our new life as parents.

The doctor continued, “I’m so sorry. I know this is shocking. We’re running every test possible to determine what’s happening. Have you noticed anything unusual?”

I thought back to the past few days. Our daughter had made quite the entrance—born three-and-a-half weeks early, with the umbilical cord wrapped around her neck and no signs of breathing. Thankfully, the medical team was quick to resuscitate her. After that scare, she seemed fine. She was eating, sleeping, and weighed a healthy seven pounds, nine ounces. But then I remembered something: “She was jerking. Her arm was jerking. I mentioned it to the nurse yesterday, and she said it was nothing.”

“Hmm,” the doctor mused. “That could have been another seizure. We need to figure out why this is happening. I’ll return to your daughter now, and someone will be with you shortly to discuss next steps.”

So, instead of heading home with our baby, my partner and I spent that afternoon navigating the strict NICU protocols, following our baby around as doctors conducted a series of tests, including MRIs and CT scans. We waited, helpless, behind closed doors, peering through Plexiglas windows.

Reality hit hard. Our newborn was having seizures, and no one could tell us why. Would she be okay? We tried to hold on to hope as we squeezed each other tightly.

The overnight facility next to the NICU was full, so we had to leave the hospital to find some rest. Leaving without our daughter felt like leaving a part of my heart behind.

We checked into a nearby hotel, feeling an overwhelming sense of loneliness and despair. I wrapped myself in the hotel bed, a cold ache settling in where my baby should have been. She was no longer inside me, and now she wasn’t in my arms either.

After several tests, doctors determined our daughter had suffered a stroke, possibly in utero or shortly after birth. They suspected this might explain her early arrival and the seizures. But they still didn’t know the cause of the stroke. More testing was needed, and our little girl had to remain in the NICU.

The next day, as I sat in that nursery, I took in the medical equipment surrounding me: the warming beds, feeding tubes, IVs, and monitors. Tears filled my eyes as I glanced at the other babies. I felt two powerful emotions:

Terror

Our daughter had experienced a stroke, and we were clueless about the future. The doctors were conducting an EKG, running blood tests, and administering phototherapy and antibiotics. This was not the joyful homecoming I had envisioned.

Guilt

Despite her stroke, my baby looked healthier than many other infants in the NICU, who were smaller and more in need of help. How long would they stay? What were their futures like? How were their parents managing?

These feelings propelled us through those exhausting days, as we returned to the hotel for rest and hygiene breaks, only to head back to the hospital every three hours to nurse and hold our baby. This wasn’t the typical new-parent exhaustion; we couldn’t just walk down the hall to care for our newborn. Each trip was a silent drive in the dark, filled with anxiety and hope.

Those days felt like an eternity.

On the third day, we finally received good news: our daughter was stable. There were no new symptoms or seizures, and the doctors believed the stroke was caused by a blood clot. We could finally breathe a little easier as the doctors recommended discharge. The weight of terror and guilt began to lift.

It was a bright, sunny morning when we finally placed our daughter in her car seat and left the hospital. The click of the safety buckle sparked a wave of relief and excitement. We had navigated our first major parenting crisis and emerged stronger. The future was still uncertain, but we were finally bringing our baby home. We were ready to become a family, and that felt like a victory.

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In summary, bringing my baby home was a journey filled with unexpected twists, fear, and ultimately, relief. We faced challenges we hadn’t anticipated but found strength in each other, and in our love for our daughter.