Little brave hearts

When I was a child, I always dreamed of having a baby sister, and it led me to much fascination with the “Baby Alive” doll, which has features like that of a human baby. The doll became a trend in school. Whenever a classmate would bring one, we would gather around like busy bees buzzing “Wow!” and “Ah!” and admiring the “celebrity toy.”

But as much as I wanted to have a Baby Alive doll, my mother wouldn’t buy me one because she considered it add-on clutter in the house. I shed ocean of tears, but she didn’t give in to my strategy. I understood that it was her way of disciplining me.

So while I enviously watched my classmate minister to the doll with a milk bottle, comb its hair, change its “always dry” diaper, and cuddle it like it’s a real baby, there I was, holding good old Chippy-Chippy, my stuffed-toy dog. Of course, Chippy-Chippy was my favorite, but I didn’t want a dog for a sibling. I craved that Baby Alive doll so much; it would have been the closest thing to a baby sister I could have.

In the end, I accepted peacefully that I would never have the doll that I persistently pleaded with my mom to buy for me (in vain), and learned to live life as an only child. Surprisingly, however, God still granted me a childhood dream. I was not given that doll 16 years earlier, but I received a more precious gift years later—the opportunity to care for the cuddliest and most serene of human beings: newborn babies.

I am part of a hospital team that cares for newborns. As a “big sister” to these little ones, I feed, bathe, clothe and hush them to sleep. I appreciate both the “cuteness” and the seriousness of the job; it’s not just a toy you’re carrying, there’s a life in your hands, which is a no-nonsense responsibility.

I admit it, sometimes the temptation of hugging them lovingly, kissing their rosy, chubby cheeks and smelling the baby scent of their skin is irresistible. However, there are also instances when my eardrums nearly explode from their loud cries, which sound like bombs of demands: “Feed me now! I am hungry!” Or “Hurry up, change my nappy, I am wet!” Or “I’m bored in this crib! Pick me up!” And so I would.

It’s also a test of patience whenever I encounter a baby who is sleepy during feeding time; I am ignored to death. Moreover, there are some babies for whom feeding is a complicated process, and would cry out of frustration—and that’s one heck of a challenge for both the babies and myself. They will mess with you big-time, but you can never mess with them. You cannot blame them for not speaking the words you would like to clearly understand, because babies cry to communicate; you cannot discipline them to wake up instinctively every two or three hours just so they can consume their required milk intake.

And you can’t force newborns to consume their milk in 10 minutes when their swallowing reflex is not yet developed. If it’s hard for you to make them drink, likely it’s harder for them to gulp. Thus, a cliché came to my mind: “It’s the first step that is always the hardest.” It’s the whole truth for every human being regardless of age and status.

There are times in our life when we can’t do something the way it should be done. Maybe because it’s new to us, and it’s a first-time experience. We feel a mixture of excitement and fear whenever we’re out of our comfort zone, and life has so many “firsts” that we need to surpass to keep moving forward. And I think, uniquely made by God, that this is also true for newborns, who are learning to live life outside the comfort of their mother’s womb. They were accustomed to swim in the amniotic fluid, and suddenly, the next thing they know, they are out in the world, breathing the same air we breathe, exerting effort to feed through sucking and needing someone or something to keep them warm.

Everything’s totally new for them. Striving to live and thriving to become what their parents wished them to be make up the challenge. It’s not a race, it’s a journey.

Being a humble worker in a hospital nursery, and having been assigned to the Neonatal ICU, I witnessed the different journeys that babies go through. It made me see that babies are not only bouncing cuteness and sweetness, they are also warriors. Newborn babies are at their most vulnerable stage in life: They endeavor to survive outside, detached from their tiny world in their mother’s womb and trust their fragile body to adjust to the new environment.

Witnessing this journey, I am awed by how parents become pillars of bravery for their tiny warriors. I salute those parents who, seeing their babies different from others or born prematurely, are more deepened in faith in God, and become strong to face the situation, and are patient to wait. They continue to love life and others, and, whatever may happen, will still embrace every tomorrow with light and hope. They are definitely their baby’s heroes.

I may not be staying with these babies forever, but my admiration will. These little brave hearts endure their condition, with tubes in their throat, mouth, or tummy, repeatedly poked with intravenous needles in their extremities, a blinding light atop their incubators or cribs that serves as phototherapy (minimizing or preventing jaundice in them). They suffer through a number of procedures or surgeries, and countless of times strange hands will touch, press, or hold their little bodies. Some of them will make it through easily, some with difficulty and some will not make it at all. It doesn’t matter. What I believe important is this: The struggle to live life is already the bravest thing a baby can do to be their mom and dad’s little warrior.

Rmay L. Samarita, 24, is a nurse at the Makati Medical Center.