This beautiful poem was written and shared with us by NICU dad Paul Lindsey.
From A Dads Perspective
It’s easy to forget how many times you’ve done this walk.
Down this long white sterile corridor
Sometimes too tired to talk.
The gentle hum of machinery recycling the air.
Past doors and rooms, this one’s not yours,
Don’t look, it’s private stuff in there.
Still walking, walking to the room feels like you’ve walked a mile.
A tired nurse with a trolley walks past but still she gives a smile.
Not far to go, pick up the pace, it’s now two rooms away.
The corridor refuses to acknowledge night or day.
Now here’s your room, you stop to look, face up against the glass.
You always fear the worst right here, heart is beating fast.
Open the door, come on, go in, what is it that you fear?
You know damn well replies your mind, let’s make that very clear.
Breathing deep you steel yourself and walk into the room.
The bright monitor displays glow softly in the gloom.
You walk up to the plastic case, smile, and softly say ‘its daddy’
And right on cue, I swear they know, the monitor bongs a Brady.
The nurse comes over, has a look and says, ‘dont worry he’s ok’
Then pulls out all the charts and says how he’s been today.
You understand the language, the medical terminology.
Of intubation, ventilation of PAPS both B and C.
Hi-Flo, Lo-Flo, Blood gases, and all the rest, you even understand aspirates and the endercolitis test.
You watch the gently sleeping shape of the miracle that is yours.
The tiny fingers grip the wires that are threaded through the doors.
The monitor it bongs again, you no longer jump as much.
It won’t do it for ever, he’s getting better you tell your mind as such.
Transfusions, blood tests, checks and scans.
The list goes on and on.
You await the day, to steal away your miracle and be gone.
Now anyone who’s reading this will understand my every word.
Of this journey we’ve all had to take and how it must be heard.
How the strength of all our miracles is something to behold.
The fortitude, the fighting spirit of a premmie three days old.
The stress, the worry, in the end turns everyones hearts glad.
It’s worth it just to hear one whispered word… ‘Dad’