As I repacked my bag for the third time, I found myself stuffing in more mesh underwear, stalling as I faced the inevitable. For most new mothers, the moment of discharge from the hospital is one filled with excitement; they yearn to return home, settle into familiar surroundings, and begin their journey of motherhood. They dream of cuddling their newborn in a cozy bed that has space for their partner too. But I was different.
My hospital room was filled with reminders of the joyous occasion—my duffle bag sat neatly on the bed, surrounded by vibrant bouquets of flowers, a pile of congratulatory cards, and gift bags overflowing with adorable outfits for my little one. My husband was en route to pick me up, and as I waited, a wave of dread washed over me. I wasn’t ready to leave.
When a nurse arrived to have me sign my baby’s birth certificate, I repeatedly read his full name, finally confident that we had chosen a name that would serve him well throughout life. I attempted to engage in small talk with the nurse, but my sorrow was palpable. She quickly recognized my distress and tried to comfort me.
“The good news is, by the time your baby comes home, you’ll likely be fully healed,” she remarked.
That’s when the tears started.
I understood her intentions; she was looking for a silver lining in a situation that felt overwhelmingly bleak. Yes, my body would recover from the trauma of childbirth, but my heart wouldn’t heal until my baby was with me. Until my premature son was discharged from the NICU, I remained shattered and heartbroken.
As we exited the labor and delivery ward, I continued to cry. By the time we reached the elevator, I was trembling so much that my husband had to support me. I can’t recall how he managed to get me into the car. As we drove away, I glanced back at that stark brick building—the place that would serve as my baby’s home for an uncertain period.
“This isn’t right,” I whispered. “He needs me. He needs his mother. I can’t leave him.”
“He’s receiving the best possible care,” my husband reassured me gently. “We’ll go back to see him tonight. Just a few more hours. You need to rest.”
“But what if something happens?” Panic surged in me, and I envisioned every worst-case scenario looping in my mind.
The most difficult aspect of leaving the hospital without my baby was the fear of the unknown. My trust had to be placed in unfamiliar caregivers to look after my child, my very own flesh and blood, during the times I could not be there. The doctors and nurses at the NICU became my lifeline.
When I finally returned home, I tried to keep myself occupied. I had envisioned those first days filled with endless feedings, diaper changes, and snuggles. The reality of returning home without my baby felt alien. Hormones swirled through me, and all my maternal instincts screamed to care for an infant.
I was fortunate; the hospital was only a few miles away, allowing me to visit my son several times a day. Still, there were far too many hours where I was supposed to rest, eat, and shower. Instead, I pumped breast milk obsessively, determined to provide nourishment for my preemie, even though he couldn’t latch yet. I meticulously washed and folded doll-sized clothes in the gentlest detergent.
I navigated the baby section at Target in such an emotional state that I found myself in tears in the diaper aisle at the sight of a mother pushing her joyful baby in a cart. I might have set a record for the number of “check-in” calls to the NICU. In essence, I did whatever it took to endure one of the most challenging periods of my life.
To any mother facing the heart-wrenching experience of leaving the hospital without her baby, I offer this: do what you must to survive. Your little one will be home before you know it. You can handle this.
This article was originally published on April 7, 2016.
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Summary
This article shares the emotional journey of a mother leaving the hospital without her newborn who is in the NICU. While most new mothers anticipate taking their babies home, the author reflects on the fear and heartbreak of separation, emphasizing the importance of self-care and support during this trying time.