Gratitude

To Mom and Dad after walking through the special care nursery, May 18, 1999

Peering through the plastic incubators:

I saw little creatures with big heads

And small bodies with perfect toes

Noses full of tubes

Heels bandaged

Nestled in soft padding

Some of these tiny people moved their limbs,

Sucked soothers

One baby looked at me, I think

I heard intrusive monitors warning:

Blat-blat-blat-blat-blat-blat, beep-beep-beep-beep-

-ahh-ahh-ahh-ahh-ahh-

I turned toward a soft cry and another gave up grunts.

I wanted to pick up the newborn

And feel her lightness

Her thin skin

Her wispy, almost-absent hair

I washed my hand,

Smelled the antibacterial soap,

And adjusted her soother

Through the little oval window.

I wondered if she ever tasted the formula

Dripped through a tube directly into her stomach

I imagined you patiently holding a syringe of formula

Day after day for weeks.

I looked for someone born my size—1500 g.

Or my age—30 weeks

That I was so tiny seems impossible

And, why did I escape

Learning disabilities, “cognitive weaknesses,”

Behaviour problems, or the less likely deafness or blindness

(though, you waited for months for me to smile,

and I did walk on my tiptoes—

I’m still pretty good at tripping over my feet)?

What can I say to my patients who will ask if their premature babies will be like me?

Girls do better than boys,

An extra 5 weeks and 250 to 900 g matters,

And, I have to thank—

Mom, who resuscitated me herself,

when the midwife dismissed me as dead,

She gained weight as she dutifully drank 4+ milkshakes a day

to encourage milk production

Dad, who gladly spent extra hours in the hospital,

just watching me

Do you still worry about my development?

What else did you think about twenty-three years ago?