So, here I am. Tomorrow will be Annabelle's first full week home from 3 weeks in the NICU. Some of you may remember my earlier post asking for milk production tips (thank you all, by the way, unfortunately nothing worked and Mommit threw in the towel, not able to handle it on top of everything else).

I thought I'd take a brief look back at the 3 weeks before, which may give others finding themselves unexpectedly in the NICU some hope, or at least, some comfort.

And suddenly, the room was full

It was just me, my mother-in-law, my wife (really, fiance, but it's practically the same), and the nurse. Father-in-Law was outside waiting, and my Mother was on her way in from our house. Suddenly, it was the same four, plus FIL, my Mom, 2 doctors, NICU Nurse and Respiratory Therapy. With a cry, the guest of the hour finally made her debut. While this should have been when baby went straight to mom's bare chest, and someone hands me a cigar shaped chocolate bar, at 8 weeks early, this was "mom, pat your baby real quick", then a flurry over to get checked, swaddled, handed to mom for a whole 90 seconds, and immediately into a bassinet for...

The First Walk

Fellow Daddits, you're most likely to share this with me. While Mommit got to see our little girl, it was brief. I was told "Follow us" by the NICU nurse and RT. To be smiling like someone who just won every lottery on earth and yet simultaneously scared to death, it was the most excruciating walk of my life. It wasn't long, maybe 100 feet. Instead of a left turn with Mom toward Recovery, it was a right turn, through C-Section and into the NICU... with just Daddy.

That walk, you're between wanting to collapse and cry, and feeling like the personal body guard to royalty. "Wash up, use purell, and you can put her first diaper on."

Fellow Daddits, I don't blame you for suddenly feeling like the Greek God Atlas. I know I did. Here I was, "alone" in the NICU with someone so small. Bend the knees, flex the calves... it's time to lift all the pressures of the world off her that you can. Mommit, Grandmommits, everyone. You're it now, you're Daddy in the NICU: and you're the one who is going to go back in a few minutes and tell everyone what to expect. Lift just a little bit more.

"Hold on, let me help you lift that"

We had chosen our hospital, what is now National Jewish Health | Saint Joseph Hospital in Denver months before our due date. We had no expectations we would have anything other than a text-book pregnancy. But, I had had surgery at the old St. Joes just after we unknowingly conceived. My recovery there was short and my experience was exceptional: the best staff from pre-op to recovery. So when we needed to choose a hospital, we had a short list to choose from since we're members of Kaiser Permanente of Colorado. But, given my experience, their status as THE center of the most births in the state, year-after-year, staffed by Kaiser Permanente Doctors, and home of a Level III NICU if it was needed, the choice was obvious.

Holy crap, were we right on that last one. With no warning, our little girl came early, our planning had worked out: if things go wrong, we have the best outside a Childrens' Hospital to help. The tip here, when choosing a hospital or birthing option, consider the things you don't want to consider.

So, when everything felt like it had gone south and I was Atlas holding up the world, it didn't take long for the nurses, LPNs, Doctors, RT staff, Lactation, hell... even the security guards, cafeteria workers, baristas at the on-site Daz Bog coffee, everyone to feel like family. I couldn't go grab a bite in the cafeteria without the workers there asking about her status and offering a hug. The coffee shop staff always checked in "how's she doing." The security guards: "Glad to hear she's counting down the days!" The valets: "Hope she's doing well and going home soon." The nurses were the most like family. Considering we're first time parents, and Mommit is blind, we needed some extra coaching. They made it known real quick: that world you're trying to hold up? Yeah, not all yours to hold, amigo. They were always there for us, no matter what we needed. When we were exhausted, they made us get rest: stay here, go home, either way, you need sleep.

The Final Walk

Sunday was the big day, and one of our favorite nurses was on staff. We got a nice send-off from the NICU staff, but what surprised me was the response from everyone else. I pull up to the valet out front, hop out, he starts to ask how she's doing today, and I pull out a car seat. "Woah! Awesome!" When I ask if he can park it close since we're leaving today: "If I have to move cars, I will. I got this, man, go get your girl! Go Go GO!"

Duck into the cafeteria to grab a snack, since I hadn't eaten much. "That carseat is exactly what I wanted to see today! Go get her, Daddio!" Stop by the coffee shop for some coffee: "And this is good bye for now! Don't you come back here, comprende? Well, come back, but no more wrist bands. When she can, we'd love to see your little one if you feel like visiting!" The security guard stands and gives a quick clap "Now THAT's what I'm talking about!" Secretary on the fourth floor? "How's it go... OOH! OOOH! A CAR SEAT! YAY!"

The walk out was much of the same. A lot of "so long", good-byes, claps from hospital staff I've not learned names of but knew by face, and they knew me. It's sad and happy at the same time when you don't need to introduce yourself to anyone at any time, and no one asks where you're going, they know: you're a NICU Dad, and you're part of the hospital community for a while. The point here is, while this may be a-typical, don't underestimate the help you'll get from the NICU care team down to the valet out front. I don't know how many nights I talked to the lady in the cafeteria an extra few minutes when I wasn't feeling on the ball, or when the valet would remind me we're in a good place.

And that final walk out the front door, with the nurse carrying your baby as you all walk out in a gaggle, is the sweetest of sweet things. When the valet handed me the keys, pointing to the car he parked right next to the front door, "Take her home, my friend, and hope everything goes well from here on." I nearly lost it. I reached for a handshake and got a firm one with a smile. "You'll do fine, Dad!"

The tl;dr:

• When choosing how/when you'll bring your little one into the world, consider planning for the unexpected: you may expect a text-book pregnancy and suddenly find yourself needing a NICU.
• Dads, you feel like you're holding up the world but a lot of people you never expected to have your back. When you escort your newborn to the NICU, do so with pride: you're a NICU Dad, and you're giving your little one the thing she needs right now - someone to be with her in this scary new world of probes, sensors, and monitors.
• Moms, rest easy. You'll see your little one soon, just remember she's with aunts and uncles you never met before, people who care for her like she was their own.
• Going home, make it a big thing, because it IS a big thing.
• Support your local NICU. Because what they do is nothing short of miracles, and they deserve honors better than any nation gives it's soldiers in my humble opinion. They come to work each day, care for sick little ones, and help keep families from cracking under the pressure. Why there isn't a national holiday for NICU staff is beyond me.

Most importantly:

Remember, although everyone's NICU stay is different, the fact shes in the NICU gives her the best chance of coming home. You didn't fail her, every day you watch over her is proof of that. And if things get worse, it's not your fault - you aren't being punished. If anything, you're here because she needs parents who can handle it. She needs Atlas, strength capable of holding up the world.

Now, go forth NICU Parents and families... flex and lift. Someone special needs us every joule of energy we can muster. You can lift the world, you'll see.

and NICU Staff: you are worth more than what you could ever be paid.