“Congratulations, you have a beautiful baby boy!” the doctors and nurses exclaimed after my emergency C-section. I heard his tiny cries while I leaned over a plastic bin, sideways vomiting, with my incredible anesthesiologist supporting me.
My second son entered the world fast and furious. Immediately after birth, his breathing wasn’t quite right, and he spent the first four hours of his life in the NICU. Eventually, he was brought back to me while I still had visitors, but it wasn’t long before he had to return. Less than 24 hours later, my newborn was back in the NICU—his breathing and heart rate were concerning for a baby barely two days old. On top of that, he developed an infection.
Nothing tore at my heart more than seeing my sweet boy hooked up to monitors, fed through a tube, and receiving antibiotics through an IV. Leaving the hospital without him, holding only a car seat in a wheelchair, felt unbearable.
Hunter remained in the NICU for twelve days before he could finally come home and meet his big brother. Those days of traveling back and forth—visiting my newborn in the NICU, then rushing home to spend time with my five-year-old—were the longest, most exhausting days of my life. My body was physically drained from major surgery, recovering from severe pre-eclampsia, and navigating postpartum complications, while my mind constantly worried over my baby’s safety.
The NICU nurses felt like angels sent from above. They were patient, loving, and calm in ways I can’t fully describe. One nurse, in particular, cared for Hunter almost the entire time he was in the NICU. She had this calm, reassuring presence that made me feel like everything would be okay. I felt an instant, deep connection—as if I had known her my whole life. Later, I learned she was moving to a different hospital, and Hunter would be her last patient there.
Curious, I asked for her last name and if her grandmother’s name was Joanne. When she confirmed it, her eyes widened. I told her, “You’re my fourth cousin, and you’ve been caring for your fifth cousin this whole time!” We hugged, laughing and talking about our family tree. It felt like divine intervention. I had prayed my son would be in loving, capable hands, and God sent a family member to watch over him.
It’s been two and a half years since those twelve long NICU days. The time spent there now feels like a distant memory, though it felt endless at the moment. Hunter is thriving—healthy, smart, and full of life. I am forever grateful for the NICU nurses who cared for him, especially the one who didn’t just feel like family… but was family.
