It's late, very late, and I've left my daughter for a bit to shower and pack some clothes because there is a snow storm coming and so we'll be bunking together in the NICU, me and my Scarlette.
It's late and I am weary from the day and I may not make any sense.
I was broken today.
I sat next to her bed and held her pacifier to up to her tiny mouth for her because her little hands were too full of IVs to do it herself. She sucked on it and stared at me with eyes that are wide and trusting as, for the first time, I sobbed in front of her. I am so sorry Scarlette.
I tried. I tried. I did so much research and then you were born and nothing applied anymore. So I threw it all out and started over, asking question after question of specialists in neo-natology, polling other mothers of babies your gestational age, reading anything I could get my hands on.
With Scarlette it's not just that she's tiny. It's that she's supposed to still be a fetus. She's not fully developed. There is nothing that is just good for her here, outside of my womb. She's not just a preemie, she's a micro-preemie. Every single thing we choose for her is a choice between the lesser of two evils. There's never a simple answer. Every decision is life altering for her.
And how do you keep breathing if you feel like you chose wrong? If you look down into her isolette and see her struggle for breath and screw up her face in a heart breaking cry and know that even though you tried your best, your very, very best, it still wasn't enough.
It's never enough. I feel like I just keep failing her. I couldn't even carry her. I don't know how to navigate this and my heart is in anguish because how do I know? How do I know? I don't. I just don't.
And my husband holds me tightly and tells me that it isn't my fault, that we made the best decision for her based on the information that we had, that we did all the right research, that her reaction is atypical and we couldn't have known.
But there's little comfort in words, genuine words, when your heart is this sort of broken.
Oh my daughter, I would lay down my life for you. I am so sorry.
Please get better.
