So that’s ok, right? We need your consent before we go ahead’. “Umm, yeah.” I say. As I am sitting in the cold reclining blue NICU chair pondering on what has been discussed. I am holding Tommy tight, amidst all the blankets, cords, beeps & screens. His body fragile & light- his soul ever so tough. Then it hits me. “Ummm, NO, its NOT ok’. I don’t want some nurse-student practicing putting a catheter on my 3 pound-month-old surviving baby. I want the real deal, please.
Three weeks in, and it suddenly dawns on me that I am Tommy’s most fervent advocate. ‘Oh but they’re a teaching hospital’, ‘oh but it would be the proper thing to do’. You’d think at 31, I’d have it figured out. Nope. I am still learning how to say ‘no’& giving myself permission to ask a million questions about procedures no matter how ‘trivial’ it seems to professionals. I have a right to demand the BEST for my babes. This realization serves me well. Little did I know back then, we would be going to the hospital daily, weekly, when were lucky-monthly. That we’d be admitted more times than I have fingers & toes. That the nurses knew Tommy & i by first names, reasoned more than once that I was difficult; borderline bitch. And don’t get me wrong, I wasn’t always right. But at least I knew what was going on. At least, I knew I could speak up & own my truth-stand in it with no shame. Stand in my own motherly wisdom with self-love.
While fighting with & for Tommy and NOW for the first time in my life I am learning to not give a shit about what people think; and this is the most liberating& rewarding feeling you’ll ever get. Hands down, Thomas has led me to live an inspired life. But more so, I realize that the source of my personal power is him- Thomas. Him & my own intuition. Claiming it, rightfully mine. By caring for him-in the most difficult times-I have found myself.