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by Jason Harper
April 5, 2018
As I trailed behind my partner, Mia, through the sterile corridors of the hospital, the nurses moved with urgency. I had to jog to keep pace, my heart racing. Mia was placed in a large glass incubator, surrounded by medical professionals who quickly surrounded her. Hours passed in a chaotic haze of conversations with various doctors as I repeatedly asked, “Is she going to be okay?” followed closely by, “Why is this happening?”
The most terrifying aspect of the situation wasn’t the doctors or the medical jargon; it was the unnerving silence from Mia, our newborn daughter. The absence of her cries filled me with dread.
She was swiftly transported from one room to another and eventually loaded into an ambulance bound for another facility. I desperately sought clarity, but the response was always the same: there was no time to explain. It wasn’t until late that afternoon, hours post-delivery, that a doctor finally informed me about Mia’s condition—hypertension in the artery connecting her heart and lungs. This complication had resulted in her underdeveloped lungs. “She lacks pulmonary surfactant,” he explained.
When I inquired about this substance, he elaborated: “It’s what prevents your lungs from collapsing each time you exhale.” He went on to discuss potential treatments, including steroids and lung injections. I looked at our tiny daughter, who could easily fit in the crook of my arm, surrounded by tubes and monitors, and worried about how she would endure such intense interventions.
That first night in the NICU felt interminable. Mia remained in the hospital, and our daughter was confined to the NICU. I found myself alone, sitting in the quiet, grappling with the reality that I might lose her before ever having the chance to hold her. I considered the moments I longed for—seeing her smile, watching her take her first steps, hearing her laughter. At 29, I had faced loss before—my father, my grandmother—but nothing had prepared me for the soul-crushing fear that engulfed me at the thought of losing my child.
In the following days, time blurred into a mix of fervent prayers, sleepless nights, and travel between hospitals. My mornings began with visits to Mia, where I would receive updates from the medical staff, but touching her was out of the question; she was sedated. All I could do was speak to her softly, assuring her of my love and that everything would be okay, though I felt anything but certain.
By midday, I would visit my partner. The doctors had informed her that she couldn’t leave the hospital until she could walk unassisted, yet she was determined. The very next day, she was up and moving, a sight that filled me with admiration. But she also appeared isolated, a mother yearning for her child, trapped in a hospital bed with nothing to do but worry. She had yet to see Mia, let alone hold or kiss her. The fear of never having that chance loomed large.
While I was consumed by concern for our daughter, I later realized the depth of Mia’s suffering. She was experiencing the same anguish, confined to her bed and separated from the little one she had carried for nine months. My own fear paled in comparison to the pain she endured.
Evenings were spent returning to the NICU, where I would stay until the late hours. One night, as I drove home around midnight, my truck’s alternator failed, adding to the chaos of the week.
These days were the most challenging of my life. Mia spent two weeks in the NICU, undergoing various treatments. It was over a week before we could hold her, and with each embrace, a part of me feared it could be the last. It was only days before her release that the doctors confidently diagnosed her for a full recovery. We finally brought her home, accompanied by large green oxygen tanks that dwarfed her tiny form.
On our first night home, Mia cried for hours. Though I was exhausted, I had never been more grateful to hear the sound of our daughter’s cries.
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Summary: The harrowing experience of a father witnessing his newborn daughter struggle for life in the NICU highlights the profound fear and helplessness that accompanies such a medical crisis. As he navigates the challenges of being separated from his partner and their child, he grapples with the reality of potential loss, ultimately finding solace in the joy of their baby’s recovery.