Please, read Part 1 before this post.
When I was wheeled in to see him the first time after they had taken him from labor and delivery he was stable. Full of wires and tubes, he was perfect, the most magnificent baby boy I had ever laid eyes on. Then he cried. And I wept. There he was, my little boy, the most perfect little boy, crying. And I couldn't reach out to touch him. I couldn't cradle him, stroke him, hold him close. All I could do was watch him writhe and cry. The nurse kindly took my hand toward him and he wrapped his tiny fingers around mine. He didn't stop crying.
The postpartum room I was moved into was on the 3rd floor, way in the back where they were doing construction. Hugo was on the 6th floor. It was perhaps a third of the size of the antepartum room. There was a hospital bed and a chair that pulled out for Nolan to sleep on. No other furniture could fit. The bathroom was tiny and cramped. There was no tub, but a shower with a chair. The room was dark and unwelcoming. I suppose it would not have been such a let down had I not seen the wondrous rooms on the 6th floor. The rooms that were only a few steps away from my precious little boy. At least the congratulations envelope from the library and the green package trussed in colored twine were on the tray.
The nurse told me I'd have to go to the bathroom and then proceeded to give me instructions while she ran the sink water. When she turned around and saw me inactive she said with a little incredulity, "Well, I guess I'll give you some privacy?" I looked back at her and said, "I couldn't hear you." I didn't even realize she was talking while running the water. Everything was hazy, unclear. I felt so alone in that dark, little room without my baby. I was lead to the bed. I could hear babies crying in other rooms. The nurse wheeled a pump to me. "Here is your pump." I looked at it. "What do I do with it?" "No one has talked to you?" There wasn't kindness in her voice. More annoyed that it was her responsibility. Was this not in her job description? Had someone forgotten me? "Hold them here. press the button, and lean forward. 15-20 minutes. You might not get anything. Are you going to try?" "If it's going to help him I'll do anything. I should do it now, shouldn't I?"
Tuesday is a blur. The day nurse was much more helpful and kind. I wanted to see our boy. I wanted to know how he was doing and everything about his situation I could know. It was amazing to look at him and know that only a few short hours ago he was in me. That's what had been in there all along! He is mine. I have never felt such love before. The list of things to do, places to be, and people to talk to was never so long. We flew from place to place and person to person exhausted by the end. Nolan was able to be with Hugo when I wasn't, learning a little about likes and dislikes, he was able to help change a diaper and take a temperature. He told me he mostly watched. Every plan stopped when Nolan called me. They were moving him out of intensive unit and during the transition we were allowed to hold him. That was the happiest moment of my day. Hugo slept pretty peacefully in my arms but he fussed a little for Daddy and Daddy got nervous. Hugo calmed down and I took him back again. Then into the incubator and to the new location.
Wednesday morning in the incubator the nurse asked if we wanted to help take his temperature and change his diaper. I didn't feel ready. Nolan wanted so badly to help. Before he tried to take the temperature the nurse switched around a lot of his wires. Hugo was fussy and unhappy to be disturbed. Seared into my brain is the image of Nolan with his arms in the incubator, thermometer in hand, desperately watching his son flail and cry, not knowing what to do. He stood for a while, then overwhelmed asked the nurse to take over. He came over to me, broke down, and sobbed. How helpless we both were to help our helpless little boy.
The day passed too quickly with the dreaded hospital discharge looming. We both hated that room. But the reality was that leaving it meant being farther away from Hugo. We postponed it as long as we could but it had to come. We gathered up our things. We had quite a few. We thought I'd be there longer. We had hoped I'd be there longer. I felt horrible walking to the car without a baby. What kind of monster leaves her child behind? He wasn't going to be up a few floors. Now he's a drive away. That first evening at home was one of the lowest days of my life. I don't think I've ever cried so much. I could pull it together for small distractions but would eventually sob uncontrollably. I couldn't wait to go back to the hospital the next day. Even though I couldn't do anything I just want to be in the same room with him.
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