Having an infant in NICU is tough stuff.
I spend roughly 3 hours there every day, rocking Sol, reading to him, telling him about the dogs that he’ll get to live with, his room, his grandparents, the great grandparents that he reminds me of, all the plans I have for him. I try to push out of my mind the fact that some of those plans might never come to fruition – it all depends on the damage that’s been done to his brain and how his brain decides to rewire itself. This situation is tough for any new parent, but for someone who likes to plan every minute of her life, its excrutiating.
At night, I ache to go back over there. I worry that he’s lonely or that something will happen because I don’t go. I itch to hold him in my arms again, to smell his sweet smell (according to Mike, he smells like sugar cookies.) In reality, if he were at home, he’d probably spend the same amount of time sleeping, and I might handle him the same amount of time that I do when I visit him at NICU. I realize that he’s getting amazing care, that there’s a nurse always watching him, that if something does go horribly wrong someone would call me, and that more likely than not, when we call the nurse in the morning for an update, every thing will be status quo.
The last couple of days have shown us great progress. He’s getting more active every day. While he isn’t fully awake yet or opening his eyes, he’s starting to fuss, cry, punch, kick, and wiggle like crazy. He had a head ultrasound today, which our doctor believes will show us just how much his brain swelling has gone done. He’s due to start speech and physical therapy early next week, the former to make sure he can still swallow without a problem and the latter to show us what activities we can do in the instance that any side of his body was weakened by the stroke. An EEG next week will show us if his brain is more active, and an MRI will confirm what areas of his brain sustained the most damage. Regardless of what those show, there’s a chance he’ll come back further than even the doctors believe he can – I’ve read stories of similar miracles and know it can happen. What I’d love is just to see his eyes. Maybe tomorrow, we’ll get something just a little more. I will continue to have hope.