It wasn't the same place, but it sounded the same. It even smelled the same. How odd.
There was the familiar "ding, ding, ding", the scurry of people from one place to another, monitors with lines and numbers - but this time I understood what it all meant.
At 16 years old I entered this world few ever see, and fewer understand. I was rolled into this web of noise and technology, feeling very, very small and totally overwhelmed, and not at all prepared for what I was about to see. In the midst of all the noise, the tubes, and the wires, was a tiny 2 pound living baby. Honestly, she didn't look much like a baby at that point - at least not the Gerber baby on the baby food jar, or the ones they have in those "getting ready to have a baby" books. She was so tiny, so skinny, and red. The world had stopped completely. Nothing else existed for a few minutes, and nothing else mattered for quite a while after.
I very kind nurse named Renee' spent time explaining all that was going on as I tried to take it all in. Tried to believe what she was telling me, that every time her alarm went off didn't really mean she was about to die. It was all so profound in the moment. The fragility of life, the total lack of control I had over it. It was a very weird mix of fear and wonder.
Now, 18 or so years later, I was back. Right off the bat I knew faces of people who had taken care of me and my teeny one 18 years ago. Familiar and comforting. I knew I would meet again the one who treated my child as her own special child 18 years earlier. Who kept her up at night, worried over her, kept her alive and knew her name and her story as well or better than I did. Her primary nurse, Rodna.
One might think that I would have understood the first time how blessed I was, how much God had watched over my child, how His hand was necessary for her growth and healing. Nope! "Young and dumb" I tell you! It wasn't until I saw through the eyes of a nurse, my very own "RN" eyes that the enormity of the miracle I raised became very very clear. It wasn't until I discussed terrible blood gas results, tried for the third time to wean a baby off a vent, "saved" a baby from an apnea spell again that I realized how much prayer mattered and how much more than a job it was to take care of these little ones. My understanding of the power of prayer grew, my repsect for the NICU family of nurses grew the longer I was one. The more I knew, the more I marveled.
On Mother's day I am reminded to continuously pray for the ladies and gentlemen who fight bravely every day for the littlest ones. Who love "their" babies as long as they have them and then let them go. Lord, thank You for the team of people who cared for my baby when she was too tiny to breathe on her own, who loved her and tried to teach me. Thank You for the team of people who still do that every day. Thank You for allowing me to work there for a while and for allowing me to leave there to do something else. Thank You for watching over my little one so that she could grow up to be a wonderful young lady and great mother. Thank You for the million miracles I didn't see, and for showing me just a few. In Jesus name - amen
