Going on a bear hunt..."
Remember this game in grade school. It was so fun; a little exciting adventure right from your little desk in your classroom.
Tonight I am going on a memory hunt. I am fearful I will forget my NICU experience and hence forget the moments I had with my little daughter. A friend suggested I try bite size chunks of the adventure, bite, chew, swallow, wait. So here goes...
I have been avoiding looking at our pictures from Zaria's hospital stay. A couple weeks ago I looked all the time and I am not sure why the vacation from this habit. I have wanted to look but I have had this feeling like I would need this HUGE amount of space to do it. Pretty sure that implies not only physical space but an uninterrupted space of time and mental energy to stop and digest the thoughts and feelings.
Looking back on the pictures from the first day to week of Zaria's life I am reminded of growing a baby plant. This comes somewhat from the 'container' in which she was growing. The nurse told Luke that the staff like to take home the little plastic covers from the beds once they are in disuse to create miniature greenhouse settings. When I first saw Zaria I may have thought of her as this little science experiment. Through my shock glazed eyes I saw a little alien hooked up to all types of machines, laying in her little house. It was such a disassociated connection between me and her and the rest of her family.
There was no way to grow those connective bonds. Somehow this was linked to touch and I was scared to touch her (and for good reason as it was probably torture for her little body at 23 weeks to lay on a bed, have stuff glued to the skin, adult fingers poking and prodding, and a tube invading your small mouth and throat.) It took a few days to realize I would have to reconnect with her spiritually and/or mentally. I would have to get super comfortable in my body and then look for her spirit. Then I would try to tune in to her needs and see myself offering whatever the appropriate comfort should be. This comfort could be imagining me creating a bubble of warmth and liquid around her. It might be seeing my hands or the softest material I could think of supporting her teeny form. Also there was a need to soothe her fears and skittishness and let her know that even when I was leaving her for awhile that support would still be around her.
When I look at these early pictures I think of the torture she must have endured. Sure eventually she may have become more used to it as did Luke and I and others who saw her on a more regular basis. Aside from the intense physical discomfort I figure she was super scared. It is hard to contemplate how a baby that immature feels fear but I don't doubt that she did. Reflecting on this piles on more fears for me.
What have we done to her astro spirit? What have we saddled onto her being as it continues its journey? Pain and fear...does her being remember this now or was that something left with the body when she died?
Then I so wish I would have done things differently, so many things differently. I am not even talking about all the changes I would have made prior to birth but the way I 'gave' to her at the hospital. I wish I would have stayed beside her bed even more (especially in those early days). I could have spent more time tuning in to her and tending to her comfort.
I see the pictures of me bedside and try to remember what was I thinking. I know I wasn't thinking that Zaria would die soon but I am not sure I was able to think of her as my 'baby'. Maybe it was that the shock lessened and I was able to tune into my maternal side, my core. She did so well that first week of life. Everyone could smile and look and we didn't have to discuss all the problems. I know that in many ways I was disengaged from the situation. I figure the reality of "it did happen to me, to us" was still far from being accepted.
Remember this game in grade school. It was so fun; a little exciting adventure right from your little desk in your classroom.
Tonight I am going on a memory hunt. I am fearful I will forget my NICU experience and hence forget the moments I had with my little daughter. A friend suggested I try bite size chunks of the adventure, bite, chew, swallow, wait. So here goes...
I have been avoiding looking at our pictures from Zaria's hospital stay. A couple weeks ago I looked all the time and I am not sure why the vacation from this habit. I have wanted to look but I have had this feeling like I would need this HUGE amount of space to do it. Pretty sure that implies not only physical space but an uninterrupted space of time and mental energy to stop and digest the thoughts and feelings.
 |
| not quite three hours old |
 |
| Day 2, she really loved her Papa from the start |
Looking back on the pictures from the first day to week of Zaria's life I am reminded of growing a baby plant. This comes somewhat from the 'container' in which she was growing. The nurse told Luke that the staff like to take home the little plastic covers from the beds once they are in disuse to create miniature greenhouse settings. When I first saw Zaria I may have thought of her as this little science experiment. Through my shock glazed eyes I saw a little alien hooked up to all types of machines, laying in her little house. It was such a disassociated connection between me and her and the rest of her family.
There was no way to grow those connective bonds. Somehow this was linked to touch and I was scared to touch her (and for good reason as it was probably torture for her little body at 23 weeks to lay on a bed, have stuff glued to the skin, adult fingers poking and prodding, and a tube invading your small mouth and throat.) It took a few days to realize I would have to reconnect with her spiritually and/or mentally. I would have to get super comfortable in my body and then look for her spirit. Then I would try to tune in to her needs and see myself offering whatever the appropriate comfort should be. This comfort could be imagining me creating a bubble of warmth and liquid around her. It might be seeing my hands or the softest material I could think of supporting her teeny form. Also there was a need to soothe her fears and skittishness and let her know that even when I was leaving her for awhile that support would still be around her.
When I look at these early pictures I think of the torture she must have endured. Sure eventually she may have become more used to it as did Luke and I and others who saw her on a more regular basis. Aside from the intense physical discomfort I figure she was super scared. It is hard to contemplate how a baby that immature feels fear but I don't doubt that she did. Reflecting on this piles on more fears for me.
What have we done to her astro spirit? What have we saddled onto her being as it continues its journey? Pain and fear...does her being remember this now or was that something left with the body when she died?
Then I so wish I would have done things differently, so many things differently. I am not even talking about all the changes I would have made prior to birth but the way I 'gave' to her at the hospital. I wish I would have stayed beside her bed even more (especially in those early days). I could have spent more time tuning in to her and tending to her comfort.
I see the pictures of me bedside and try to remember what was I thinking. I know I wasn't thinking that Zaria would die soon but I am not sure I was able to think of her as my 'baby'. Maybe it was that the shock lessened and I was able to tune into my maternal side, my core. She did so well that first week of life. Everyone could smile and look and we didn't have to discuss all the problems. I know that in many ways I was disengaged from the situation. I figure the reality of "it did happen to me, to us" was still far from being accepted.
Oh, Hope. These photos are stunning. Beautiful. It's so hard to imagine how small she was, and these paint that picture so vividly. I wish I could carry some of your pain for you. Praying for peace for you and your little family. But especially for you, mama.
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