This is a fictional story that I wrote quite early on in my NICU career about a baby who was born about three months premature. This was an all-too-common scenario in the NICU, and my curious mind wanted to jump into these babies’ experiences and see the world through their eyes. What would this new world look like? What would it feel like?
***
I am born.
But I am too early for this world.
There are bright lights and blurry faces and buzzy noises.
“He’s not breathing!”
“Let’s tube him!”
I know these faces and noises are trying to help me. But that tube. It hurts my throat, but I can breathe easier. I can hear My Mummy crying, while My Daddy’s voice wobbles as he tries to be strong for all three of us. I am too small. I am cold and I am wet. I am too early for this loud, bright world. It’s so much bigger than where I came from. I am confused. I am tired. I surrender to the beeping machines and the blurry faces…
***
I startle & jump when the incubator doors fling open. I feel the cold hospital air sweep over my tiny, naked body. I hope that whatever is coming is warm. The voices are loud, too loud for my not-quite-developed ears. I miss the inside quiet. And it smells funny here.
The cold hands lift my legs up in the air. Why does it feel drier and smell better when they put my legs back down again? My throat still hurts and so does my belly, and sometimes my belly makes noises that move.
“His bloods are good and we’ve weaned the ventilator. We’re going to take out his tube now, so he can breathe on his own”
The tube is gone and I hear the loudest noise. I flinch. But, this is my voice, I realise. This is my sound from within.
I smell My Mummy’s milk going into my belly. But I can’t taste it. It’s another tube that feeds my tiny body. I also have a tube in my belly button that quenches my thirst and keeps me “safe” with antibiotics, My Daddy tells me.
But am I safe in this new world?
“He is stable now and has kept down his milk. Would you like your first cuddle?”
I snuggle into My Mummy’s bare chest, nestled against mine, with my hands and feet curled up in between. Thank you Mummy. I feel warm and safe here. It’s your voice and your smell and your heartbeat that I know so well. They remind me of before I was born too early. I hold on tightly to your little pinkie and I know that for now I am safe in this world.
I sleep.
***
I wake up back in my incubator. I am not with My Mummy anymore.
I cry and hold my breath. Then cold hands tickle my feet and I remember that I’m supposed to breathe. Being born too early, I sometimes forget. They tell My Mummy and My Daddy that I will grow out of it.
But I know that I can’t, that I won’t. I am born too early.
My lungs are stiff and hurting, but I try to breathe anyway. I am tired. I am hot. My eyes feel heavy now, too hard to open.
“He’s not breathing!”
“Let’s tube him!”
I know what’s coming, even through the darkness of my eyelids. I know those faces and voices are trying to help me again. My throat hurts, but I can’t breathe any easier. I am so tired. Hot and tired.
***
“He has an infection. He’s only day three and his lungs are failing. We are doing everything we can”
I know those faces and voices can’t help me anymore. They tried so hard, too hard. My Mummy, My Daddy, please don’t cry. You don’t need to save me anymore. My body is not strong enough. It was never meant to stay in this world.
I am small in body, yet big in spirit. We are strong, My Mummy, My Daddy and me. But, my body is here on Earth for just a fraction of time. I am here to touch your hearts, to see your faces, to hear your voices and to feel our chests breathe as one. I taught you a love you didn’t know until me. But I am way too early for this world, My Mummy and My Daddy, try as I might, will as you will.
Let me go. Please let me go. It’s ok now. Let my breathing slow. Feel my warmth cool. Watch my flushed cheeks fade. But, feel this bond that we will forever share, just the three of us.
I am sleeping soundly now. There is no noise here. My body could not survive this world. But you both will, My Mummy and My Daddy. I promise you. Let me show you how.
(PS Many years later, in hindsight, I recognised the beginnings of baby soul communication in these words, as well as my attempt to understand and process a baby’s death from a different perspective. I really struggled to care for critically unwell babies who then passed away – it broke my heart to its very core leaving grief, confusion, disillusionment and injustice in its wake (and these babies were not even mine!). This ultimately led to me quitting my role as a NICU nurse for a few years…..until these babies called me back into the nursery)
コメント