After the very difficult day before, I woke up the next morning unsure if I could keep going. I felt so terrible and as though I had no control over anything. Unlike the day prior, I could no longer hold back the tears. I forced myself to get out of bed, purely on the need to see my son as it was feeling more and more like I was missing an arm or a leg without him being at my side. I cried when I pumped, I cried through a brief shower, I cried while I got dressed, I cried when I drove to the hospital... I parked and tried not to cry as I walked through the familiar hospital hallways towards the NICU. I kept my head down but knew my face was red and puffy from the tears. I washed my hands and quickly passed by the nursing station, hoping that no one would see how upset I was. I checked my son's chart and was relieved to see that he had a small weight gain from the day before. I then leaned against his incubator, opening one of the slots so I could slide my hand in over his.
My son had a different nurse than the previous 2 days and my spirits were lifted when she was open to kangaroo care and allowed me to start changing his diapers. I also spoke to the lactation consultant who wanted me to start putting my son against the breast so he could start getting used to it, even if he was too young to be able to understand how breastfeeding works. Around noon I drew the drapes around my son's area and placed his little body against my chest. He was so tiny but absolutely adorable and I felt that I could hold him in that position forever. He stayed with me for nearly an hour at which time I reluctantly gave him up to the incubator once again.
I left the hospital feeling happy that I got to spend some intimate and bonding time with my son, but devastated once again that I had to leave him there. I arrived home around suppertime and noticed that a relative had left sushi on our doorstep. Considering we had no food in the house, this was a very nice surprise. My husband arrived briefly prior to having to return to work which resulted in a stupid argument over my not giving our dog enough attention. He was right, as I had barely even looked at our dog since returning home a few days prior, but I needed him to understand. It wasn't about our dog, it wasn't about anything except my longing for my son, and the increasing guilt I was feeling for him coming early and needing to be in the hospital. Nothing seemed fair, and no one seemed to understand.
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