We gave Rose a middle name as I wanted to acknowledge the huge part medicine played in her life. She narrowly escaped Minerva!!

Today the nurse told me not to feed Rose and it truly felt like she was more Medicine’s child than mine. It certainly felt like that during the first month or so. It hurts to feel that again.

Rose has had quite a few things done to her over the past couple of days, replacing nasal gastric tubes and blood tests and she fights and screams and then passes out. She’s had this type of procedure all her life but the difference is probably that now I’m here all the time they can’t really wait for when I’m not here to do it. I’m feeling so angry and frustrated and guilty and silly for feeling it but too tired to try to understand why exactly.

About RoseEir

Premmie born @ 30 weeks with Cervical Teratoma
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3 Responses to Eir

  1. Abi says:

    Completely understand your anger, frustration and guilt feelings. The obvious strain of NICU care is worrying about the increased medical needs of your child and struggling with seeing them go through procedures that distress you and her, no matter how necessary they are. But the less obvious strain is the disruption to your mothering instinct. And I don’t believe any nurse who hasn’t been through the same experience herself can ever really understand how hard it is as a mother to have someone tell you when you can feed, or hold or take them home. My NICU experience was nothing compared to yours, we were only there a few days. But remember that day we decided to bring Q home and met you in Balmain because you had Ike for us? And we didn’t even get to speak because the barrage of calls and threats from the professionals (we could call DOCS on you, Q could deteriorate in an hour, the head of obstetrics is very upset you’ve gone, even tho the registrar had agreed we could) had crushed me so much with guilt and frustration that I couldn’t even get out of the car and celebrate with one of my best friends that my so-wanted son had arrived. It was one of the worst moments. I will never forget the blind rage I felt and expressed to my midwife after we’d turned around and took Q back to special care. I remember shouting at her, ‘but they’re not looking after him like only I can. And they keep puncturing his feet and testing relentlessly and he’s MINE and I don’t want anyone to hurt him or touch him or tell whether I can hold him.’ I remember saying I felt like one of those raging post-partum cows who often trample innocent countryside walkers in the UK when they’ve walked too close to their new calf. I was so angry and then felt so ashamed I was making such a fuss. Weeks later, when Melissa and I could look back on the disruption of that NICU experience, we agreed we could write a chapter just on the hidden struggles of those few days alone ( tho obvs this comment is now almost a chapter in itself!). Anyway that was me, not you, who has coped with an unimaginably long time in NICU with an inspiring amount of grace, especially in the way you share on this blog, which I know will help others too. But on the days when you feel like you did in this post, just want you to know you’re not alone or silly. Not one bit. Love you, A xx

  2. Vanessa Kingston says:

    Oh hunni, that is crushing. I feel so badly for you and it is totally understandable why you feel that way. Sending all our love, cuddles and best wishes xxxx

  3. San says:

    Anger and frustration from your lack of control over the choices that are made for Rose and for the procedures she must endure. I’m so sorry that it is so. How awful to be told that you cannot feed Rose, thus slamming up against your incredibly strong maternal instinct my friend. I hope tomorrow is a much better day in the NICU for you both. Much love to you precious lady, xx

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