A few Saturdays ago, Sisters Hospital had its 9th Annual Special Care Nursery Reunion, an event I was thrilled to get an invite to. Although it had been almost two years since my son spent the first week of his life there, the raw emotions of that time haven’t faded as much as one would think.
Having a generally uneventful pregnancy, an extended stay in the NICU was not something I anticipated as being part of my post-birth experience. I envisioned a slew of visitors flooding into my hospital room, hands full of onesies and balloons, taking turns holding the new little one while I explained the play-by-play of my labor and delivery. But almost the moment he was born, Tate was intent on foiling my plans. He was whisked away to the Special Care Nursery when routine bloodwork was not looking as it should, leaving his parents panic-stricken and the doctors puzzled. Instead of dialing every contact on my cell phone, I found myself turning it off, not sure what to tell our loved ones who I knew wouldn’t know what to say either.
For the next seven days, we hung on the doctors’ and nurses’ every word, and they slowly became a part of the family. Every three hours we sat on the edge of our seats, wondering whether this test or that test would come back with a number they were looking for, or if they had any idea why this full term baby wasn’t making the grade at the blood lab. Good or bad news was always delivered with seemingly just the right words, in a tone that let you know they were almost as thrilled or disappointed as we were.
Even though Tate was constantly entangled in a maze of wires and we weren’t allowed to hold him for days, the staff encouraged us to bond with our baby as much as possible. They patiently demonstrated how to change a diaper through the holes in his incubator and taught us tricks for getting our son to take in that one last ounce of formula that was so vital in those early days.
As time went by, we were ecstatic to hear that a positive prognosis was emerging, and things were a bit clearer. Everything terribly frightening had been ruled out, and his condition had improved so much were even able to snuggle with him. I finally returned all the voicemail messages I had ignored, and everyone we loved came to visit the person we now loved the most.
Across the hall from the unit, we gathered in a cozy room whose sole purpose was to provide an area for families to relax away from the cradles and beeping of the heart monitors. We ate pizza, I finally opened those onesies, and I was able to smile when talking about Tate. It was so nice to have that feeling of normalcy – something Sisters really made a priority- which we appreciated up until the minute Tate was discharged a few days later.
It was out of that appreciation that I decided to make sure we went to the reunion. I wanted to show off Tate – that he was doing fantastic and that he’ll live life like any other kid, something we didn’t always know when we was born. And of course, I wanted to thank them one last time.
When I arrived Saturday afternoon in the hospital cafeteria, dozens of kids were buzzing around, enjoying homemade rice krispy treats and pizza. In one corner, a captive audience of toddlers had formed a circle around a few jugglers entertaining them. But what I remember most about the event was not the children, but the parents. I saw the looks on their faces when they thanked the doctors and nurses, glowing as they gave them updates. And eventually, my husband and I got our turn, too, catching up with Dr. Singhal who was one of the three neonatologists who had helped care for Tate.
And as our family left the gathering, I realized that the reunion was yet another event that highlights exactly what kind of place Buffalo is; like the Queen City, Sisters Special Care Nursery is full of intelligent people with tons of heart and grit who happily go the extra mile for someone they barely know. It is the people that make the difference in any field, but even more so in medicine. I think the same is true for a city- ultimately, it is their denizens who will define it, and who will help it rise up or drag it down.
And so, one last thank you to the good people of Sisters Hospital- an institution which is one more reason I’m proud to be a Buffalonian.