As we covered in last week’s article, our son, Caden, was born on Friday, October 2. That weekend began with one of those life-impacting and memorable days that only come around a handful of times in life, but the elation of welcoming our second child—and what appeared to be the perfect tiny human—into the world took an unexpected and humbling turn when Caden was admitted to the neonatal intensive care unit (NICU) the following evening.
It was an experience I’ll never forget, and one that gave me an entirely new appreciation for what parents go through when their newborn requires intensive medical care.
Before that weekend, whenever I heard the words “neonatal intensive care unit,” I pictured the typical movie scene I’ve seen for decades: a big sterile white room full of babies lined up in those little clear plastic bassinets.
Well, let me tell you, that’s not what the NICU at Hinsdale Hospital looked like.
Not even close.
An Unexpected Trip to the NICU
As I shared in last week’s article, Caden had been struggling with low blood sugar levels following his birth.
For those first twenty-four hours, it seemed like we were constantly waiting for the results of another blood sugar test. The nurses would prick his tiny heel, draw some blood, and we’d wait to find out whether his levels were where they needed to be. Eventually, the prick every two hours turned into a slicer, and I’d wince every time I heard that loud “click” as it pierced his tiny foot.
He’d pass a couple of tests, and we’d think we were finally in the clear.
Then he’d fail the third. The nurse would give him glucose, and we’d start the whole process over again.
It was frustrating, nerve-racking, and frightening because all we wanted to hear was that our newborn was healthy and going to be okay. The nurses seemed worried, but Caden seemed to be doing just fine. He was eating, sleeping, and a shockingly calm, happy, Buddha-like, tiny old pudgy man that was the perfect baby.
On Saturday afternoon, Kristin started to feel better and Caden seemed to be doing great. He passed two tests and everyone seemed to have calmed down and thought he was in the clear. After getting the good news, I decided to go home to spend some time with Kaia, make her dinner, put her to bed, and take care of a few things around the house.
Shortly after getting home, Kristin called.
Caden failed his third test, after his third round of glucose. The doctors told Kristin that they were out of options and he needed to be transferred to the NICU for closer monitoring of his blood sugar levels.
Now, to be clear, Caden wasn’t fighting for his life. He wasn’t facing some catastrophic medical emergency. We understood that the doctors were being cautious and that low blood sugar levels in newborns need to be carefully monitored. But none of that changes how it feels when someone tells you that your newborn needs to be admitted to the neonatal intensive care unit.
I remember that sinking feeling. I was worried, nervous, a bit panicked, but there was nothing I could say, or do to help. All we could do was wait and trust in our medical team to take care of our little boy. Granted, I didn’t want to leave my wife (or Caden) to deal with him being transferred to the NICU without me, so I headed straight back to the hospital.
When I rushed in, I immediately asked the nurses if I could go see Caden in the NICU. I looked over at Kristin’s mom and asked if she wanted to come with, and she seemed relieved to hear them say we could.
Like Walking Into Another World
As the nurses escorted us into the NICU, the first thing that struck me was just how impressive the entire facility was. It was like walking into another world and a completely different hospital. The lighting, the ambiance, the soft glow of purple and orange lights pouring out of the frosted hospital room windows (most likely warming up premature babies fighting for their life), and the deafening silence of the main hallway that led to the nurse’s station.
We were immediately greeted and taken to this elaborate and futuristic spaceship-looking handwashing and phone-cleaning station. After scrubbing our hands and entire arms with fancy scrubbers, I felt like I was walking into a science fiction movie and high-tech laboratory.
And then I walked into the unit itself, and I couldn’t believe what I was seeing.
It was definitely not the big sterile white room full of babies in bassinets I’d always imagined. We passed by what seemed like 50 incredibly spacious rooms spread throughout the floor. Sophisticated medical equipment everywhere. Monitors, technology, and all sorts of calming fluorescent-colored lights pouring out of the rooms.
It was like walking onto the Starship Enterprise.
Everything was immaculate, modern, and surprisingly peaceful.
It was surreal.
And strangely serene.
And as impressive as the facility was, I couldn’t help thinking about how strange it was that I was there in the first place.
I had never envisioned or fathomed the possibility of ending up in the NICU. I didn’t know what to expect and as much as I was impressed with everything around me, I would have been perfectly happy never seeing the inside of that side of the hospital.
The NICU has a strange and humbling energy. Everyone is quiet and composed, carrying a somber weight you can feel without anyone saying a word. Everyone in each of those rooms is in the same boat. As your eyes meet with other parents as you walk the halls, you innately are wishing them well and sending them unspoken support as they helplessly and hopefully wait for their newborn baby to simply be okay. It is an impactful place that anyone who has been there understands. For me, it was the perfect example of human nature at its finest and what we are capable of as people in a difficult moment.
The Helplessness of Being a Parent
When I got to Caden’s room, he was lying there hooked up to a ton of monitors and had a metal wire coming out of his nose that connected him to the spaceship.
The nurse explained to us that the metal wire was actually a feeding tube to his stomach, but that it wouldn’t be necessary unless his levels showed he needed additional nutrition to regulate his blood sugar.
Seeing my tiny newborn son surrounded by all that medical equipment was difficult.
All I wanted to do was pick him up. But with the equipment and feeding tube attached to him, I couldn’t just scoop him up the way I had for the previous thirty-six hours.
And that was probably the hardest part. I wanted to help. I wanted to do something. Anything.
But there wasn’t anything I could do.
I couldn’t fix the problem, speed things along, or do anything to protect him.
All I could do was sit beside his bed, watch him, and trust the medical professionals who were taking such wonderful care of him.
It’s a humbling feeling, and one that I don’t wish on any new parent.
A Long Night at Hinsdale Hospital
After spending an hour settling into Caden’s modern and futurist corner suite in the NICU, I got a call from Kristin and headed back to check in on her. On my way back to the hospital, I picked up Andy’s Frozen Custard, Kristin’s favorite. So, I figured I’d go back and surprise her and spend some time making sure she was alright.
Hours earlier, as I was rushing back to the hospital, I figured that if I couldn’t do much to help with what was happening in the NICU, at least I could bring my wife her favorite ice cream. Sometimes it’s the little things that are within our control.
When I got back to the room, I could tell she was nervous, so we immediately got a wheelchair and I brought her over to the NICU, so she could see the spaceship herself and make sure her little boy was doing okay.
I introduced her to the nurses, showed her where I picked out his little handmade knit pumpkin hat that they let me pick out upon entering, and took her to our son’s room. She met Caden’s assigned nurse, who thankfully had no other patients and was his own personal NICU nurse for the night.
I can’t say enough about how wonderful the nurses and staff were at Hinsdale Hospital.
They were caring, genuinely concerned, reassuring, and incredibly patient. They took the time to explain what they were doing and why, and they made us feel as comfortable as possible under the circumstances. There was a station of children’s books, an amazing woman hand sewed all the tiny and hilarious hats that you got to pick as you entered, and they thought of everything to make you as comfortable as possible under the circumstances.
I could tell that it was reassuring for Kristin to see for herself that her little boy was safe and being well taken care of. Knowing her as well as I do, I hoped seeing him would put her mind at ease and keep her from going down a rabbit hole worrying about where he was and what was happening. After an hour or so, it was getting late, and everyone appeared to be in as good spirits as we could have hoped, so I took Kristin back to our hospital room to get some rest (and a little ice cream). Just after 1 a.m., I headed back to spend the night with Caden.
The NICU room was shockingly much bigger and more comfortable than our room, but I didn’t sleep much. I read the entire NICU book that was waiting in the room and sat and stared at my son hooked up to a million machines monitoring his every heartbeat and breath.
Every hour or so, a nurse would come in to check on Caden, feed him, and monitor his progress.
An Unexpected Moment at 3 A.M.
After going through the entire folder and NICU welcome packet, I couldn’t sleep, so I reached into my bag and pulled out a copy of my recently published book, Life Happens. Are You Ready?
I couldn’t help but laugh, because as I went to my bookmark, ironically I had left off on page 111, and the page staring back at me to start Chapter 7 read:
“WHAT HAPPENS TO YOUR KIDS IF SOMETHING HAPPENS TO YOU?”
The most important thing that parents can teach their children is how to get along without them. —Frank A. Clark
There are only a few intrinsically significant motivations in life that move people to create an estate plan. A parent’s innate instinct to protect their children and give them the best possible life is one of the most powerful motivations for investing the time and money necessary to create an estate plan.
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There I was, sitting beside my newborn son in the NICU at approximately three o’clock in the morning, reading a section of my own book that was published weeks earlier about how to protect your family, naming guardians for minor children, and how to leave a lasting legacy behind for your kids.
I’ve spent nearly twenty years helping parents think through how to protect their children from court and conflict, including what would happen if something unexpected happened to them.
It’s something I discuss regularly with my estate-planning clients. But sitting there that night, looking over at Caden, the subject felt a little different.
Not because I thought something terrible could happen to him. Thankfully, the doctors were optimistic he’d be released quickly, and we had every reason to believe he was going to be okay. But I was experiencing, in a very real and personal way, just how little control we sometimes have over the things that matter most to us.
I spend so much of my professional life helping families prepare for situations they hope will never happen. And here I was, living out one of those moments with my newborn son. It was one of those moments when your professional life and personal life collide in a way you don’t quite expect and put things in perspective.
But what stayed with me most wasn’t anything I had written in my book. It was the realization that life is precious. Here I was watching my son enter the world in the same way that most families experience someone’s final days. It was surreal, extremely humbling, enlightening, and frightening all at the same time.
Thinking About the Other Parents
As I sat there throughout the night, I couldn’t stop thinking about the other families in that NICU.
Because the reality is, we were incredibly fortunate. Caden was being carefully monitored. He was feeding well. His numbers were exactly where they needed to be after being transferred and the nurse was extremely optimistic. And while the experience was frightening for us, we had every reason to believe he would be okay.
And he was. At 4:00 a.m. the nurse took his feeding tube out because she could tell that it was hard for me to see it taped to his nose and not being able to hold him. He never even needed to use it. He was eating like a champ every hour or two.
By Sunday morning, October 4, Caden was doing well enough to be released from the NICU.
We spent one night there.
One long sleepless night.
And I found that experience to be incredibly nerve-racking, emotional, exhausting, and humbling.
I felt helpless.
I worried about my son.
And while we were lucky, I couldn’t help wondering about the other parents whose babies were in those rooms. Children who were born prematurely and might need weeks or months of specialized care. Babies who were experiencing serious medical complications. Tiny helpless kids who were fighting for their lives. Parents who didn’t know when, or even whether, they would get to bring their newborn baby’s home.
I honestly cannot imagine.
If our relatively minor experience was that difficult emotionally, I can’t begin to comprehend what those parents must be feeling. The worry. The nervousness. The exhaustion. The feeling of desperately wanting to help your child, knowing there was nothing you can personally do. And having to wake up the next morning and do it all over again.
My heart truly goes out to every parent who has ever had to go through that experience. I have an entirely new respect and appreciation for you. And I realize that the small glimpse I had into that world is nothing compared to what so many families have had to endure.
Gratitude for the People Who Care for Our Children
The experience also gave me a tremendous appreciation for the doctors, nurses, and other medical professionals who work in neonatal intensive care units.
The NICU at Hinsdale Hospital was truly remarkable and I couldn’t have been more impressed. But as amazing as all that technology was, what mattered most was the people.
The nurses who checked on Caden throughout the night. The medical professionals who patiently explained what was happening. The people who reassured us, kept us informed, and made a frightening situation a little less frightening.
They do this every single day. They care for some of the most vulnerable patients imaginable, while also supporting parents who may be experiencing some of the most stressful and emotional moments of their lives. And I can’t thank them enough for what they did for Caden and our family.
A Humbling Experience I’ll Never Forget
By Sunday morning, Caden was released from the NICU.
I was exhausted, relieved, and incredibly grateful.
We were able to return to the much happier business of welcoming our new son into the family, introducing him to his big sister, and beginning our life as a family of four. And thankfully, Caden has been doing fantastic ever since.
But as I reflect on that night, I’ve thought about the emotional roller coaster I went on, knowing that Caden’s condition wasn’t especially serious. I’ve thought about how helpless I felt, sitting beside him and wishing there was something more I could do. I’ve thought about those other parents, many of whom were facing circumstances far more difficult than ours. And I’ve thought about the remarkable medical professionals who care for these children and their families.
It was an incredibly humbling experience, and it left me feeling fortunate and grateful in ways that are difficult to put into words. I know our experience was brief. I know Caden wasn’t in the kind of danger that so many other NICU babies face. And that’s precisely why the experience affected me the way it did. Because if one night of worry and uncertainty was that difficult for us, I can only imagine what other families are going through.
To every parent who has experienced the NICU, whether for one night, one week, or several months, my heart goes out to you. And to the doctors, nurses, and medical professionals who care for these babies and their families, thank you. From the bottom of my heart.
I never imagined that I would find myself spending a night in the NICU with my newborn son. Yet, I’m incredibly grateful that Caden is healthy and doing so well. And I will never forget the experience, or the perspective it gave me.
