I could tell you it was the daily visits to the NICU to see and touch my son for just 10 minutes.
I could tell you it was the roller coaster ride of holding our breaths with every doctor’s update for the day, not knowing whether it would hold good news of improvements or something more unwelcome.
I could tell you it was the stress of learning how to tube feed and cup feed while getting to know my son, all in ONE day… upon being allowed to stay in the NICU with him.
I could tell you it was the beeping of the machine monitoring my baby’s heartbeat and oxygen saturation level, playing to its own tune and making my heart drop with every downward roll that indicated desaturation.
I could tell you it was the watching helplessly as my baby’s face changed color from choking during a cup feeding session.
I could tell you it was the lack of sleep, that by the time I had fed him and changed his diaper and pumped my milk and washed my pumps and grabbed a bite to eat, there was barely an hour left to shut eye before it was time for the next feed.
I could talk about the uncomfortable narrow bed-cum-armchair that I was given to sleep on, squeezing in a room with other mamas and their babies.
Or the lack of hot water shower facilities in the government hospital.
Or the fact that once I entered the NICU premises to stay in, I would not be allowed to go in and out anymore until baby can be discharged to go home together.
I could tell you all that, and more.
But no.
While all of these things are undeniably hard, In truth, The hardest part for me is the WAITING… indefinitely. Of not knowing the end date of this ordeal. Of literally having to take it day by day, unable to answer the daily questions I get from family and friends of “When can you go home?” Because there was no way to predict whether he might improve or regress.
In one of the darkest moments of this stay, I remembered this verse and clung to it: “But they who wait for the Lord shall renew their strength; they shall mount up with wings like eagles; they shall run and not be weary; they shall walk and not faint.”
Through the tears of discouragement, weariness, and frustration, I told myself that this is not the end.
That one day, these traumatic NICU days would be a distant memory.
That I and my baby would emerge from this stronger than ever.
That I needed to focus on the factors I could control rather than on the circumstances that I could not.
I’m still here waiting.
But now, with a hopeful heart.
