Bittersweet

A week goes by, the small hospital room has become our home. We would only leave for an hour to go to our real house to eat a fast meal, grab clean clothes then we'd rush back to the hospital again. We knew all the the hospitals hidden tricks. How the vending machine on the maternity floor didn't work, not to use the elevator on the right because it has a history of shutting down, all the good parking spots open up after 7 p.m, when getting ice place the cup over the hole or else ice gets everywhere and the secret button on the door of the emergency room that opened it without having to wait for someone to let you in. The people in the cafeteria knew our faces and our orders by heart, all the food in the NICU parents lounge had "The Hills" written on it, and the waiting room was our living room. 

At first we were strong, thinking "we could do this, Nikolai was off antibiotics, his feeding tube was removed, he didn't have thyroid problems, his bilirubin count was good so he wasn't jaundice. According to his cardiologist his PDA will close up by itself and it was nothing to be concerned about. He was gaining weight, sleeping good and was responsive. The only thing keeping us here is the oxygen. The doctors couldn't pin-point why his O2 levels were so low. But that shouldn't take to long. Nikolai is strong, a fighter, we will be out of here in no time" 

Then it became harder to be so positive. My 20th birthday was in a couple days, my birthday wish was that I could take my baby home and have the ultimate present. But then I had to come to grips that it would most likely not happen. I'd have to wait, spend my birthday in the windowless, stale air, plain cream walls of the hospital. The only thing that made me feel better were those beautiful blue eyes. But then I'd start tearing up. Every time I held my precious little mini me, I had to position the cords just right so that they didn't get a false reading. He was a week old and still hadn't seen the sun. His little lungs hadn't breathed in fresh outside air. His life was the hospital. One day Nathan and I went to Target to get some things. We walk in the front door and see a couple with their newborn in a car seat. The baby couldn't have been more than a couple weeks old. I instantly broke into tears, Nathan put his head down, clenched his fist, and tears filled his eyes. He blinked repeatedly to make them disappear and walked away quickly while my mother in-law hugged me. I hated that family with a passion. They were able to 'show off' their newborn, flaunt the little being they had made together, show the world his cuteness. I hated them. My baby was almost two weeks old and hadn't left the hospital, not once. Why did they deserve to be so carefree and happy? Why did that baby deserve to be born "healthy"? Why did my little Nikolai deserve to start his life like this? Jealously took over me.

Our spirits started to slowly fall. We never lost faith in Nikolai, we just stopped having the mindset that tomorrow will be the day he could go home. There would be days we wouldn't talk because we didn't know what to say anymore. It is hard to comfort someone when you are in just as much pain. I would sob in the bathroom for hours, Nathan would sit in Nikolai's room and draw him pictures to hung up around the room. But when we were all in the same room together, it was as if we were at home. Carefree and happy. Nikolai was the light at the end of our dark tunnel. Looking at his wrinkled little face reminded us of hope. He IS strong, we CAN do this, he WILL go home, he just needed us to be patient. He has always done things on his time. Even in the womb, I guess he was preparing us even then.