Master of Ceremonies

By the time Levi and I arrived at the hospital, Justice and many family members were already there. There were no time for greetings or comforting, we were the parents and soon realized they expected us to be the Master of Ceremonies, the ringleader’s of Justice’s personal circus.

One of the first things I remember when we arrived at this Neonatal Intensive Care Unit (NICU) in the larger hospital was the smell. I’m not sure what causes the smell, the soap, medicine, maybe it’s the floor cleaner but it’s a distinctive smell. I’ve only smelled it once or twice since our time in the NICU, every time it stops me cold and instantly I am whirled back to this time.

When we first arrived, we were directed through the first set of heavy doors where we were told to scrub our hand with a very strong soap and make sure we did not have any cold sores. This suddenly worried me because I get cold sores when I’m stressed and this was about as stressed as I thought was possible. If I got a cold sore, I would not be allowed to enter the NICU thus I couldn’t be with Justice. This did not help my stress level. However, I was very blessed and did not get a cold sore through her whole stay in the NICU.

When Justice was born they were building a new hospital across the street but at this time we were “old schooling it” in the old building so I can only describe the way the NICU was at the time. After scrubbing up, you went through a second set of heavy doors and entered where the babies were. It was a long rectangular room with a baby in an incubator about every 10 feet. Each child hooked up to monitors that alarmed a chorus of bells and beeps depending on what was in need of attention. Nurses and doctors moved with precision juggling stethoscopes, IV’s, syringes and oxygen tubes.

On the way to the area where Justice was we passed preemies who’s beds were shaking at lightning speed with blue neon lights shining out from under plastic wrap with tangled up cords and tubes running to them. We saw a larger crib with a baby with deformities on a respirator and a trake getting ready to be released home for the first time. “Really? Are her parent’s doctors?” I thought. “I wonder if they will expect me to take Justice home like that. God I hope they cure Justice first before they send her home. I don’t know how to do THAT kind of stuff! I’ve never even seen a baby like that before!”

Once we reached Justice, a parade of doctors came by to introduce themselves. I wish I could remember more about this time but it all began to run together. Giving birth, lack of sleep, my daughter being resuscitated was all catching up with me and still there was no time. The nurses gave me one of their high-rise office chairs to sit on so I could rest a little and sit beside Justice. The doctors continued to come by, read her chart, look at her then unload a wealth of medical diagnosises on us. Most of them would end in the classic statement/questions that apparently the Master of Ceremonies is supposed to answer. We would do our best but at this time, I couldn’t have told you what the N in NICU stood for. It’s Neonatal, the first 28 days after birth if you were curious.

As time went on and with the help of our Neonatologist, we got the hang of things. It didn’t get easier but we did figure out where the rings in our circus were and at that time, that was all I could ask for. That and for Justice to live.