Tag: Wonder

The night was calm. We were 31 Weeks, 6 days into pregnancy.

I told you Wednesday night I would feel more comfortable if you went ahead and packed a bag before we went to sleep. I packed a bag earlier in the day.

You didn’t panic, but you didn’t hesitate. You trusted my instinct.

Around 8pm I lay in bed trying to calm my contractions which were starting to feel slightly different. While I rested there, I watched you pull clothes out of the closet and stuff them into your backpack.

You looked at me, chuckled, and said you didn’t know how much bigger my belly could get.

I looked back at you and said I didn’t know how to describe it, but I just felt different. I said maybe we should just lay here on the bed together, because this could be the very last night that it is just you and me. I told you that tomorrow our world could be different. You smiled at me with excitement and you said “I can’t believe it, babe.” You chuckled with palpable joy for what was to come.

A short hour later, as we lay there looking at each other and talking about this and that, I let out a sudden gasp. “My water just broke.”

You asked what was next and I simply said, “we go.” You kept chuckling and smiling. You calmly collected our bags. I got dressed appropriately for birth, should it happen on our long drive. We had known there was a possibility of early delivery. We had known we would need a NICU for some of the challenges our babe was sure to have.. so we promptly began the drive to Jacksonville.

On the way, you asked me how I was doing over and over, although I don’t think you quite remember how often. My contractions were tolerable. We would joke about how crazy it all was. You kept chuckling with disbelief. How quickly life was changing in those moments. We exchanged I love yous over and over.

We arrived and made the journey by wheelchair to labor and delivery. We joked with each other and with the nurses. It didn’t feel like it was midnight.

We endured 10 hours of little V’s dropping heart rate during my contractions. You remained calm and kept me calm when 5 or 6 people would rush in to try and locate our little girl’s dipping heart beat. You held my hand while I cried out in pain as they flipped me from left side, to right side, to all fours while I contracted. When they were gone, we would talk about what we both wanted to happen next, what we were comfortable with, and what we were not.

After a bad heart rate decel around 9am, we were both ready to get her out and know she was safe. The doctors came in shortly after with that same decision. It was time for the OR. They wheeled me back. They got you prepped.

You held my hand, encouraging me that I was doing so well and at 9:48am our little girl entered the world.

I looked at you and asked “Why isn’t she crying?”

I don’t know if the doctor heard me ask, or if you asked them, but someone told us she wasn’t in the room. They let you leave to go check on her and you brought back her very first picture. Quiet tears began to roll down my cheeks. I remember you looking at me, wiping them. “That’s our baby girl,” you said.

I have no way of knowing how much time had passed, but the doctors who were still in the OR offered to have you go back and see her again. The doctors in the other room turned you away because they were “working on her.”

You came back to the OR where I was impatiently waiting for information. Neither one of us knew what was happening, but we knew that we seemed to be waiting for a long time.

We would find out later that they attempted a number of interventions because she was not breathing well. Her heart rate dipped to the 40s. They initiated chest compressions. They needed to intubate, but she was a challenge. Two doctors tried to intubate her and failed. A third was successful. Her anatomy was just not ideal for easy intubation.

They wheeled Violet back into the OR and we saw her for the first time together. It was one of the most magical moments of my life, and also one of the most terrifying. She was covered with tubes and wires. I remember feeling relief and fear all at once. I can’t say what you felt in those moments, but knowing you, it was likely pure elation.

I don’t remember getting from the OR table back to my recovery room, but I remember you went to be with our baby girl in the NICU for a short time. Then, you came back and sat with me. It was hard while we waited.

Little by little we started to learn about her condition and her needs. We learned that she would have to be transferred to another NICU, one capable of surgery. We learned she was born without a nasal airway and that it would need to be surgically repaired.

A few long hours later, they wheeled her down to us in her transport. She was ready for the drive to the new hospital. You followed in the truck. You navigated the early stages of our NICU journey alone, enduring a bombardment of doctors and lists of her anomalies, as I lay in recovery at the hospital where she was born.

You FaceTimed me. You traveled back and forth between my hospital and hers many times, torn about where you wanted to be. You wanted your family together, but we simply couldn’t.

You were there for our girl in those early moments. The hospital I was in wouldn’t let anyone visit after 9pm and the NICU at Violet’s hospital didn’t let you fall asleep at the bedside. You wanted to be able to get some rest and then go back into the NICU overnight. And you did, only leaving if you absolutely couldn’t keep your eyes open. You slept a hour here…an hour there… in the truck parked outside the NICU.

You did everything you could to let Violet and I both know that you were there. I was so grateful. So, so grateful for the dad you already were.

The journey in the NICU proved to be a long and grueling one. You showed up for V every day. Every. Single. Day.

You handled me, my winding hormones, and my intense emotions with care and understanding. Every. Single. Day.

You made sure that I drank water and ate enough food. Every. Single. Day.

You made a career shift that allowed you to work fully remote and after only taking a week off, you continued to work Every. Single. Day. Right there at Violet’s bedside. The hospital staff first knew you as “laptop guy” because every day that you walked in, you had your laptop in hand. On the weekends they would routinely ask, “No laptop today?” which became welcome chatter in the mornings.

You held my hand surgery after surgery. You reminded me to trust my instinct when advocating for our daughter. You encouraged me and you held me up when I felt like I was failing. You consoled me when I sobbed and wished that this was not the road that Violet had to walk. When I wished, with everything in my being, that I could take away her pain. You told me that for whatever reason, these were the cards that Violet was dealt and all we could do was the best we could to support her, love her, and help her get through. You reminded me that our paths were supposed to cross with all of the people we interacted with every day. You told me they were meant to make an impact on our lives and us on theirs and that as hard as all of it was, we were supposed to be living these moments. That the experiences we would have in the NICU would give us perspective and enrich our lives. And you were absolutely right.

I would never know what a truly amazing NICU dad looked like until you became one. Until I watched you, for 123 days, show up. Not just physically. You showed up emotionally, too. You were honest with me and I was honest with you. I had always figured we could weather anything, but experiencing this journey with you has shown me just how true it is. Walking through life with you, no matter how challenging the path in front of us, is simply one of the biggest blessings of my life.

I am so thankful to have such an amazing partner. Violet is beyond lucky to have a father like you.

I am out of words to describe my gratitude and words could never even touch the gravity of my appreciation, admiration, and love for you.

Cheers to the best NICU dad (and now post-NICU dad, who never realized he would double as a home nurse) there ever was, to the best partner in life there ever was.

There could never be another. (like that one country song that you know…….)

Thank you for continuing to give me the greatest gifts that life has to offer. I love you! xoxo.