Love, Sam
“Dear NICU Mama, You may not know it now, but one day, you will be a walking letter of hope for the NICU mom who feels lost, isolated, and overwhelmed.
Whether your days are spent by your baby’s bedside, splitting time between the NICU and kids at home, grieving, or finding the strength to keep going, know that you are not alone and I see you. You are a warrior, a survivor and so loved.
When so much has already been taken away from you and out of your control it’s easy to fall into a feeling of hopelessness. Remember, you know your baby best and you are their fiercest advocate.
When the constant noise of monitors, alarms, machines, and footsteps becomes too loud—when it's impossible to see past the tubes and wires—take a moment. Close your eyes and just breathe. Your baby knows the fierce, unconditional love you have for them. They feel your immense strength that keeps them fighting.
Please know that you're not alone in any of the emotions that come with this NICU journey. We're often thrown into situations that are profoundly misunderstood by those who haven't walked this path. I'm here to tell you that you are seen, you are heard, and everything you feel is valid. There are sisters among you who share similar traumatic events and the feeling of being utterly alone and overwhelmed. Those who have walked this path before are a testament to the immense strength NICU mamas possess.
Grief and joy can co-exist, and healing takes time. Chapters in your journey will come to an end, but that doesn't mean your story is over. Every tiny step, every worry, every single moment—it's all valid, before, during, and after a NICU journey. Share your story when you're ready, on your own time. You might not see it now, but opening up can become a lifeline for someone else walking this exact path. You are a light in someone else's darkness.
Being a NICU mom is an incredibly difficult path, yet it can also be one of the most profoundly rewarding.”
Love,
Sam
More of Sam + Isabella’s NICU Journey:
“It was Memorial day and I had just gotten home from camping to suddenly feel a gush of fluid. An immediate call to my Midwife and her urgent advice to head straight to the ER left me even more bewildered. "What do I tell them?" I asked. "Tell them your water broke and you're only 21 weeks pregnant," she replied. Shock barely describes my state. Not only did I have a pre-diagnosis before even reaching the hospital, but everything had been perfectly fine until that moment.
The ER confirmed Preterm Premature Rupture of Membranes (PPROM). I was sent home on bed rest and instructed to return at 23 weeks, if I even made it that far. The high risk of labor within 24-48 hours loomed, and at 21 weeks my baby wasn't considered viable. Determined, I checked myself into a different hospital at 22 weeks and remained there until I went into labor at 24 weeks and 4 days.
Isabella's arrival was a day of mixed emotions. Born 16 weeks early, we knew a long NICU stay was inevitable, assuming she survived.
Our NICU journey was a rollercoaster of hurdles and scares. It was weeks before I could hold her for the first time. For over a month, she relied on intubation and various levels of breathing support. She bravely battled a multi-drug-resistant infection and underwent both a G-tube placement for feeding and emergency surgery. My husband and I juggled full-time work with spending every possible moment at the NICU. After 152 days, Isabella finally came home, still needing a G-tube due to silent aspiration.
We've since adjusted to life as G-tube and medical parents, navigating countless doctor appointments and therapies. Through it all, our daughter has continued to show immense resilience and strength. She is the sweetest, happiest girl, bringing love, joy, and laughter wherever she goes. While this journey has been difficult, we are honored to share her light with the world.”
