a walk in a NICU dad's Birkenstocks

I've had many people ask me throughout the past several months, "how do you do it?" referring to the major alterations having two children in the NICU (and before that a wife in the antepartum unit) can make on your schedule, psyche, and life in general. In honor of the many dads out there who have faced and/or are facing similar situations to Jeni and mine, I offer this post- a walk in a NICU dad's Birkenstocks. Being a dad during this whole process can be some hard and joyful work, but before we get to that, first, I must begin by commenting on my brown Birkenstock sandals. Just about anyone who I encounter during the months of May through October will notice that I wear by brown Birks just about every day when weather permits. My wife will not allow me to wear socks with them when it gets cold (there are few things that Jeni will put her foot down to, and socks and sandals is one of them). These sandals are somewhat beat up, but oh, so comfy, and it so many ways, oh, so reassuring. I got my first pair of brown Birks with the strap in the back when I was in high school. Now, three or four pairs later, here I am, as a 30 year old wearing, essentially the same footwear. Other shoes may be considered more fashionable these days, but I feel like my Birks and I have "been there, done that," and hence deserve mention. Even during uncomfortable times, I can count on them to keep my feet in a familiar state, and, metaphorically keep my balance.

Balance is the key to being a NICU parent. As hard as it can be, you can't let highs get too high or lows get too low. Each day since March 31st, I have made the trip to and from St. Joseph's Hospital at least once a day (and on many days two and sometimes even three times). The trip from our home to the hospital is approximately 10 miles long each way and takes between 20-30 minutes, depending on traffic on the city streets. Each day I take the same route, passing by a business called "Pest Supplies and Gifts" (hmmm, I have to go in there at some point, as I am curious to see what kinds of "gifts" can be found in a store that also advertises having roach and rodent killers). Each day I enter the parking structure and snake my way to the third floor. I park the car and walk into the hospital corridor. When it was cold outside, I was greeted with a large blast of warm air. These days, with their air conditioning cranked, an arctic chill gives me a shiver as I enter the hallway. I walk down the hallway with its purple and gray monotone carpeting past a knitted picture of St. Joseph and a a picture of a baby's head in a parent's hands. Then I pass the waiting room area and approach the NICU entrance. There I will find a beige 1980's vintage wall-mounted phone which I will pick up and be greeted with the same, familiar greeting, "St. Joseph's Family Care, NICU." I will introduce myself as Will Piper to see Hope and Grace, and will hear a mechanical "thunk" as the receptionist presses a button at her station that allows me to enter the ward.

I gulp and my heart rate always increases a tad at this point. I may know what to expect out of the sandals on my feet, but how the girls will be doing each day always remains somewhat of a mystery until I'm actually there. I walk down a wide hallway hearing the familiar "beep beeps" of the monitors. For most weeks until recently I made a left into the "sick baby" room where I would wash my hands and then proceed to stare yearningly into the isolettes of my daughters. These days I make a right into Hope and Grace's "suite." I still wash my hands throughly, and now am able to touch the girls more, pick them up, hold them, change them, and feed them. Still, there is no certainty as to what shape the girls will be in.

I've seen some pretty scary stuff. I almost fainted when Hope's foot early on was swollen and bruised badly due to the numerous pokes she had been receiving for the lab work that needed to be done on her. I saw the nervous look in Grace's eyes as the nurses asked us to leave as they prepped her area for her PDA surgery. I have seen my babies hooked up to a plethora of machines- intubation tubes, CPAP devices, the "flow driver," nasal cannulas, pulse socks and monitors. I have raced to the hospital after hearing that Hope had stopped breathing. I have asked a nurse, flat out, "is my daughter going to die." I have had a nurse draw the curtains around Hope's isolette as I broke down in tears balling, unable to finish reading "Goodnight Moon." With shoes on my feet, I've been there and done that.

I've seen some pretty beautiful stuff. I have cried tears of joy when I was first able to hold each of my girls. I have seen the girls more than double their weights from their birth up until now. I have seen Grace kick her little feet up and smile at her mom and dad. I have witnessed Hope's wide eyes stare at me. I have felt the tiny chests of my girls go up and down on top of my chest while we have "kangarooed." I have felt the tight squeeze of a tiny hand wrapped around my finger. I have laughed out loud trying (often unsuccessfully at that) to dress my daughters. I have felt the overwhelming sense of "WOW!" of feeding my girls a bottle. I have tried, unsuccessfully for the most part, to bait nurses into giving us further insight into when the girls will come home. With shoes on my feet, I've been there done that.

Over the past several months I've made over 100 trips to the NICU, traversed the drone purple and gray carpeting over 100 times, walked past the St. Joseph wall hanging over 100 times, wished that I would be holding Hope and Grace in my hand over 100 times when I pass that picture, and heard the metallic "thunk" of the NICU door opening over 100 times.

With all of this in mind, however, there is a light at the end of the tunnel. Tomorrow we get to go and spend a night with our daughter Hope as a "trial run" for her coming home. As I write this blog, Jeni is putting the finishing touches on the nursery and says it's 98.8% complete (pictures will be forthcoming). Grace had her best day of feeding yet- I am really getting the knack of bottle feeding her. With my first Father's Day coming to a close, I thank God for the blessing of my daughters, and my own dad and the love of so many friends and family. I also thank God for teaching me the value of looking at the big picture and learning to stay in balance, during good times and bad. Perhaps as a NICU dad I realize that Father's Day isn't really just about one day a year to celebrate, it's about the whole journey of raising kids and the countless memories you have with them throughout their lives as you watch them grow.