NICU Observations
The NICU at the Calgary-Foothills is an extraordinary and unique place. If you have spent any time there, you will understand what I mean. My daughter Megan was born 14 years ago today, at 650 grams, at 25 weeks and three days. It was a precarious time.
My work-life involves observing and shaping work environments to create exceptional employee experiences. I love my work and often look beyond corporate environments to find inspiration. My three-month+ stint in the NICU was, in reflection, one of the most incredible experiences of my life. A strange thing to say, considering the prognosis was very grim. But here is a bit of an explanation.
1. The NICU is a place of hope. At the entrance is ‘the wall of fame,’ a wall of pictures showing babies at birth with their weight, and five years later, I memorized them, searched the wall for similarities to our situation, and focused on better days ahead. I always thought she, too, would be the exception, and ultimately she was. But I have heard many fantastic NICU stories over the past 14 years.
2. Sense of compassion. Ironically, you do not speak to any of the other parents in the NICU. The stories are too much in your fragile state. But as you pass through to your incubator, you know you are not alone in this struggle. It is a very private time, and many people don’t know what to say, but the silence held a deep comfort.
3. Sense of the exceptional. I don’t even know where to begin, but when you put the best doctors and nurses in a room with purpose, the extraordinary will (not might) happen. Small things added up to create the astounding. I could choose my primary nurses, who provided us with consistency and trust. I was included in the rounds and could ask and respond to questions. I can still hear Dr. Hasan bark at the students, ‘ask the mother; she’s the expert.’ In a world where a brain bleed could happen at any moment, these details mattered. What’s more, the nurses wrote a daily journal from Megan’s voice. It explained her day, the procedures she had, the drugs she was on, her thoughts, and illustrations of what the surgery was going to fix. It gave me a sense of connection to her when I wasn’t even able to touch her. It was invaluable. I can’t even put it into words.
4. Sense of belief. It’s a daunting situation that you, as parents, have zero control over the outcome on the day she was about to have heart duct surgery (patent ductus artiosus). The surgeon, Dr. Maitland, sat down with us, and in a thick Scottish accent, explained the surgery’s details and cockily stated he was the best in the world at this particular type of surgery. You might smile, but that is precisely who you want operating on your 1 pound 7 ounce baby. When he left, her dad and I just looked at each other, joked that James Bond was in there operating on our baby. I don’t remember being worried at that moment; I believed feeling we had done our best, and it was out of our hands. He returned later to reiterate that everything went well and he was right. He was, in fact, the best in the world.
Today, as we celebrate this 14-year milestone, we know that our positive result was not ‘luck.’ Extraordinary experiences are a combination of many things coming together. It results from extreme dedication, compassion, careful team selection, and execution through a series of intricate and orchestrated processes. As hard as that time was, it shaped me as a mother, observer and made me a more compassionate person. And I am incredibly grateful to our medical system for creating the ecosystem that fostered positive outcomes. Thank you, and Happy Birthday to our ‘not so wee’ Megan.
