PTSD and the NICU...
I haven't ever posted a lot about our final moments with Chandler and Paisley. In fact, in looking back at my blog posts from late 2014 and early 2015, I realize I ended the story with their birth. Perhaps because that is where I wish the story ended...they were born and all lived happily ever after.
But we know that isn't what happened. And that can't be changed.
The rest of that story was and is too painful for me to write about. It is also something I've held very close, and only shared with a very limited number of people. Honestly, even today, the few recent times I've recounted parts of those short hours we had with our babies, I can't make it through without my voice quivering and tears falling. Sure, I can talk about Chandler and Paisley now without crying, but I can't talk about those moments, those sacred, awful moments.
What I will share is this. There was a room in the NICU. A room where we last held our babies alive. A room where we handed our sweet babies to Jesus. A room where I cried the most gut-wrenching cries I have ever cried and wished I was dead and not my babies. The room where our Now I Lay Me Down to Sleep pictures were taken (because I couldn't stand the thought of them being taken in the hospital room downstairs where there was an enormous picture of a living, breathing baby on the wall). A room I wished I would never see inside again.
And that very room was mere steps from Kanon and Remi's room. Steps. Literally. A handful of steps. Not only was it close, it was also on the way to Kanon and Remi's room. We walked by it every.single.day. Multiple times a day. Right by it. Through the same doorway we carried Chandler and Paisley, down the same hallway, to that room.
Thank God we weren't in the inner-core of the NICU, or else I don't think I could have handled it. Walking by that room was hard enough.
The first time I went to the NICU when Kanon and Remi were born was the second the nurse told me I could, at 4:44 am, I was able to go past it and not think too much of it. Oh, but the memories flooded me as we made our way to the NICU...The thoughts of Dust taking me up there when Chandler and Paisley were born overwhelmed me. As we rode the elevator up, I started to shake, and couldn't quite tell if it was from the memories or anticipation of seeing Kanon and Remi. Then, as we pushed the call button to be let in the NICU, my voice wavered and for a second, I began to say we were there for Chandler and Paisley.
Then, once we were inside, how the memories flooded me. Sitting in the wheelchair while my husband diligently scrubbed his hands the required 3 minutes. As I sat there waiting for him to scrub, my heart hurt for him, and for my mom, and how they must have dealt with the exact same thing as they came up and visited Kanon and Remi around 9:30 that evening, and then again as my husband visited them around mid-night. But, somehow, I was able to push those thoughts away as I was so anxious to see the babies.
However; the next two days were hard. When we went up to visit later on during the day on Sunday, I literally felt the anxiety close in. I felt myself having a hard time breathing as we walked past that room, as we were in the same place where Chandler and Paisley passed away. I felt the PTSD symptoms begin, even while enjoying time with Kanon and Remi. The nurse that day strictly followed the touch time rules, and it was much later in the day into her shift (I'm assuming once she realized how well the babies were doing) before she let us hold and do kangaroo care with them. I think that caused part of my anxiety as well. (Thankfully, we only had her 1 time and there rest of the nurses were amazing!)
On Monday, we went up to their room after first shift change and found out one of the nurses that had Chandler was Kanon and Remi's nurse for the day and we were so relieved. I was still struggling, though. My fear was definitely getting the best of me. I was waking up every 3 hours during the night to pump and I would sit there, in the dark in the hospital room, hoping to not wake up Dust, and realize I was scared the phone would ring, or the doctor would come into the room and give us awful news. But, that nurse, she knew. She recognized that. The minute we walked into the room, she liberated us. She made us feel like Kanon and Remi were actually our babies. She let us hold them nearly the entire day. When I accidentally started to call Kanon by Chandler's name, she got it, she knew why I stuttered, why I said "Chan..." before I corrected myself. She looked at me when I apologized, and told me it was ok, she told me that she was sure I had PTSD and it was ok! Thank God for her! I truly believe she took care of me that day as much as she took care of the babies.
Slowly, those symptoms began to fade. I was slowly able to enjoy Kanon and Remi without the constant fear of something being wrong with them, without being worried they weren't going to get to come home. I know that sounds so silly to say, given their gestational age, but once having gone through what we did, it is so hard. Being a NICU parent is hard, period.
Again, I'm so thankful for the amazing nurses who were there and cared for us during such a tough, yet truly amazing, time.
But we know that isn't what happened. And that can't be changed.
The rest of that story was and is too painful for me to write about. It is also something I've held very close, and only shared with a very limited number of people. Honestly, even today, the few recent times I've recounted parts of those short hours we had with our babies, I can't make it through without my voice quivering and tears falling. Sure, I can talk about Chandler and Paisley now without crying, but I can't talk about those moments, those sacred, awful moments.
What I will share is this. There was a room in the NICU. A room where we last held our babies alive. A room where we handed our sweet babies to Jesus. A room where I cried the most gut-wrenching cries I have ever cried and wished I was dead and not my babies. The room where our Now I Lay Me Down to Sleep pictures were taken (because I couldn't stand the thought of them being taken in the hospital room downstairs where there was an enormous picture of a living, breathing baby on the wall). A room I wished I would never see inside again.
And that very room was mere steps from Kanon and Remi's room. Steps. Literally. A handful of steps. Not only was it close, it was also on the way to Kanon and Remi's room. We walked by it every.single.day. Multiple times a day. Right by it. Through the same doorway we carried Chandler and Paisley, down the same hallway, to that room.
Thank God we weren't in the inner-core of the NICU, or else I don't think I could have handled it. Walking by that room was hard enough.
The first time I went to the NICU when Kanon and Remi were born was the second the nurse told me I could, at 4:44 am, I was able to go past it and not think too much of it. Oh, but the memories flooded me as we made our way to the NICU...The thoughts of Dust taking me up there when Chandler and Paisley were born overwhelmed me. As we rode the elevator up, I started to shake, and couldn't quite tell if it was from the memories or anticipation of seeing Kanon and Remi. Then, as we pushed the call button to be let in the NICU, my voice wavered and for a second, I began to say we were there for Chandler and Paisley.
Then, once we were inside, how the memories flooded me. Sitting in the wheelchair while my husband diligently scrubbed his hands the required 3 minutes. As I sat there waiting for him to scrub, my heart hurt for him, and for my mom, and how they must have dealt with the exact same thing as they came up and visited Kanon and Remi around 9:30 that evening, and then again as my husband visited them around mid-night. But, somehow, I was able to push those thoughts away as I was so anxious to see the babies.
However; the next two days were hard. When we went up to visit later on during the day on Sunday, I literally felt the anxiety close in. I felt myself having a hard time breathing as we walked past that room, as we were in the same place where Chandler and Paisley passed away. I felt the PTSD symptoms begin, even while enjoying time with Kanon and Remi. The nurse that day strictly followed the touch time rules, and it was much later in the day into her shift (I'm assuming once she realized how well the babies were doing) before she let us hold and do kangaroo care with them. I think that caused part of my anxiety as well. (Thankfully, we only had her 1 time and there rest of the nurses were amazing!)
On Monday, we went up to their room after first shift change and found out one of the nurses that had Chandler was Kanon and Remi's nurse for the day and we were so relieved. I was still struggling, though. My fear was definitely getting the best of me. I was waking up every 3 hours during the night to pump and I would sit there, in the dark in the hospital room, hoping to not wake up Dust, and realize I was scared the phone would ring, or the doctor would come into the room and give us awful news. But, that nurse, she knew. She recognized that. The minute we walked into the room, she liberated us. She made us feel like Kanon and Remi were actually our babies. She let us hold them nearly the entire day. When I accidentally started to call Kanon by Chandler's name, she got it, she knew why I stuttered, why I said "Chan..." before I corrected myself. She looked at me when I apologized, and told me it was ok, she told me that she was sure I had PTSD and it was ok! Thank God for her! I truly believe she took care of me that day as much as she took care of the babies.
Slowly, those symptoms began to fade. I was slowly able to enjoy Kanon and Remi without the constant fear of something being wrong with them, without being worried they weren't going to get to come home. I know that sounds so silly to say, given their gestational age, but once having gone through what we did, it is so hard. Being a NICU parent is hard, period.
Again, I'm so thankful for the amazing nurses who were there and cared for us during such a tough, yet truly amazing, time.
Oh my gosh, I just cannot imagine the anxiety. I'm thankful you have your happy ending. By the way, my daughter who is nearly 13 wants to become a Neonatal Nurse when she's older. Bless her heart, it'll need to be really strong.
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