Mixed Emotions

I announced his birth on Facebook. Added him to our health insurance online. Responded to text messages from friends and family. Called over to the NICU to check on him. Even though it was on the same floor, it seemed as if it were light-years away. Unreachable. My husband slept soundly just a few feet away from me on the semi couch in my hospital room, but I couldn't seem to stop the "what ifs" racing through my head long enough to fall asleep.

I read lots of "Congratulations" and "I hope everything's okay" messages that night and in the days that followed. No one seemed to know what exactly to say. The truth is, even I didn't know how to feel. Of course, I was happy that my baby was safe. But in the same moment, I shuddered at the the thought of the struggle that I knew lay ahead.

Some women mourn the loss of a normal, full term pregnancy when their baby is born prematurely. And so did I, emotionally anyway. But my body embraced the change. The metaphoric sigh of relief was almost audible. The sense of guilt was nearly enough to make me physically ill. I would have done absolutely anything to have my precious baby still tucked away from the world, in the safety of his mother's womb.

Our family was completed when Rhyan took his first breath. His presence in this world filled a void that we never knew was empty.

The first time I was able to visit him, I watched his chest shallowly inflate almost violently as he struggled to breathe. At this point, Rhyan was not yet intubated as he was breathing on his own at birth until he got tired at around 36 hours. I literally watched his heart beat. I could have counted his pulse without even touching him. I have never felt more broken than I did at that moment.

I struggled with the flurry of different, conflicting emotions that I felt all at once. Happy, sad, angry, guilty, thankful.

But there was a light at the end of that dark and scary tunnel. After 29 days on the ventilator, Rhyan was extubated and never looked back even though we were warned that it is very common for babies to have to be reintubated. You couldn't count his pulse now through his chubbiness if you tried. There are lots of lights at the ends of lots of tunnels that await my family. We see them every time Rhyan reaches a new milestone. He's had lots to achieve and many that still lay ahead. He has shown us the unrelenting, resilient strength of such a little man.

The moral of the story is that it's okay to grieve. It doesn't mean that you aren't thankful that your baby is alive and breathing (with or without the help of a machine) as some are not so fortunate. It means that you are human and sometimes the "right" way to feel is not the reality of your situation.

The doctors and nurses have told me that they do not believe that Rhyan will be a "chronic preemie," but my life has been forever changed. I am a preemie mom. I will always shudder when I hear the letters  R S V. I will always have to hold my tongue when I hear a  pregnant woman complain about her uncomfortable-ness at 40 weeks. But most of all, I will cherish every second with the miracle that God has blessed me with. I will spend the rest of my life thanking God that he chose to me to be Rhyan's Mommy.