DH and I enjoyed a lovely Sunday together, which is a rare thing given that he usually works on Sundays. We spent the day attending breastfeeding and infant care classes at Realbirth. Both classes were excellent, and much better than the hospital-based classes we took when I was pregnant with Julian. I had left my previous breastfeeding class feeling completely overwhelmed and unprepared, but left the Realbirth class feeling confident and empowered by my own intuition.
While the classes and teachers were great, they also raised some very emotional issues for us, which we discussed through tears on the journey home. For one thing, the issue of SIDS came up in the context of sleeping preferences. Although our baby didn't die of SIDS, and I've only met one woman whose baby did die of SIDS, I felt very self-conscious about the discussion, sitting in a room presumably full of first-time parents who had never experienced the death of an infant. The conversation was fairly light and somewhat dismissive of the risk factors, which made me a little uncomfortable.
The most emotional aspect of the classes, however, was re-learning all the basics of newborn care that are intended to make a baby's transition from the womb to the real world feel as safe and comforting as possible, from the importance of skin-to-skin contact, to breastfeeding, to rooming-in with the baby in the hospital and discouraging unnecessary interruptions and interventions when possible. When the presenter said, "...unless your baby has to go to the NICU..." DH and I pretty much lost it. For most people, their NICU babies become NICU graduates, not babies who get a plaque in the hospital garden in their honor for having lost the battle for their lives in the NICU.
While DH and I know that Julian received the best medical care possible, and that all the interventions were necessary to help him, I think we will always feel very sad and even a little guilty about what he didn't get in his short little life. Forget that he didn't get to grow up--he didn't even get to experience his mother's arms until the day he died. He didn't get to look into our eyes or smell familiar smells or sleep in the same room as his mother, or any of the things we know to be so important during those first few days. This detachment must have been very hard on him, as I know it was, and still is for me. I can't bear the thought of him all alone in a NICU bed, even though I know that we were there. Natalie's upcoming birth will be especially emotional for those reasons. I truly hope we're able to have the best introduction possible this time around.
2 comments:
Natalie's introduction to you and your DH will be beautiful--and so soon!
I know what you mean about the light and dismissive way people have regarding risk factors. I often want to yell at the top of my lungs and at the same time let them revel in their ignorant bliss. It certainly beats the alternative that we know too, too well. Sadly, I was once dismissive because I was afraid. I am semi-glad I didn't face the truth until I was in it. Sigh..
All the things that you said about blissfull ignorance and breaking down is why we were too chicken to go to any classes this time around! Good for you for getting the information you need.
Did they teach you how to swaddle? Owen seemed to like it, although we figured out later that he was busy getting his arms free every time. Putting him into the bath swaddled and unwrapping in the water slowly made bathing him really easy, no screaming at all.
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