It was a few minutes before 2AM when my wife, Jess, finally got through to me with, “Ian, wake up!”. Apparently, she had been trying to wake me for awhile but this was the first I had heard of it. I shot straight up and heard my grandfathers’ voice in my head, “things will never be the same”. Over the next week, I would wish daily that he were around to provide some wisdom and comfort.

We had been home from the hospital for a week, after a nearly week-long stay when Jess was struck with early onset labor, 8 months into her pregnancy. They had seemed willing to discharge her only because we lived so close and could return as soon as there was a change with her or the baby. I would have preferred to stay, me being a nervous soon to be first time father. However, there was no way I was going to convince Jess to stay in that hospital bed for another week at minimum.

A couple minutes after 4AM, just over two hours after snapping awake, I was holding our daughter

Our bags were packed and waiting. The adrenaline made sure I was immediately awake. I’m sure there were a few moments of frantic searching for something I already had but it honestly seems like I woke up and then we were at the hospital checking into the ER. I’m pretty sure I drove with my hazards on the whole way, running lights with no traffic just to get there quicker. They got us to the prep room to change and… prepare. Our parents had been alerted somewhere along the way and were beginning to arrive in the waiting area. Everything was playing out as it had for many of you reading this but the baby was coming quick and there was going to be no attempt at a traditional birth. A couple minutes after 4AM, just over two hours after snapping awake, I was holding our daughter.

The rest of the morning is a blur of happiness. As the little one slept, the procession of grandparents and family moved through our room. With the baby being a month early, there were still some hurdles to clear to make sure she wouldn’t need extra care. Our phones chirped with news alerts about a strange new illness beginning to spread across the globe. By mid day it was time for the little one to pass her most important blood sugar test. When she didn’t and was moved to the Natal Intensive Care Unit (NICU), despite every assurance that her challenges were routine and this was nothing to fear, we were terrified. The fairy tale portion of the story was over for us again and for the first time we felt the anxiety and fear that all parents do for the safety of their children.

The nurses and doctors working those hospital wings are some of the finest human souls you will ever meet.

I’m going to go ahead and kill any kind of suspense I may have created at this point. As I write this, our baby girl and her momma are both happy and healthy. The week we spent in the NICU was an experience I’ll never forget, am glad I experienced and never want to go through again. The nurses and doctors working those hospital wings are some of the finest human souls you will ever meet. My heart still aches for the families that were there before we arrived and were still there when we were able to check out. The world outside keeps moving on while your entire life is in a hospital bed. Your day revolves around the times of tests, doctors rounds and doses of medicine. My combination of increased caffeine intake, stress and lack of sleep led to a mild bout of vertigo. Each day that passed saw new measures put in place as the strange new illness sweeping the globe had arrived in our city and the hospital was now screening people upon entry. The day after we went home, families were restricted from re-entry after leaving.

The feeling you get when you leave that place can only be described as elation. As we signed out and gleefully snipped our identification bracelets off, we exited the wing and down the hallway towards a rapidly changing world outside. Walking down the hallway I thought back to a week before and waking in the middle of the night when I heard the sound of a familiar tune whistling through the hospital halls. It was the same song my grandfather had always whistled while working in his garage. The hair on my neck stood up and as the goosebumps hit I heard those words again, “things will never be the same”.