I was watching an online training about CPR earlier and it brought me back to the CPR for parents course I took right before Henry was discharged from the NICU. There was another mom there that I recognized. We had been on the same pumping schedule, so I saw her often. And we were in the same oxygen training.
I have no idea what her name was. I never asked.
But as I watched this video and was transported back to the class where her baby's oxygen monitor kept beeping, I wondered how she is doing, how her baby is doing, if he came off oxygen, if he's okay.
Where is she now, this woman nameless to me? And what about these others we shared experience with:
The couple with the name that sound like ours (Be, not Ba, we'd have to say at the NICU desk), the ones who were only at the same hospital as us because their insurance wouldn't let them be closer to home.
And Dawn, who had to leave to get buttons removed from her c-section incision (I had never heard of such a thing). Her baby was in the first room on the left in the CICU. Her mother happened to eat the only kind of cereal I eat. She offered me some one day and then put her name and mine on the box that she left in the communal kitchen.
And the woman whose daughter had a brain tumor removed. She had a strong Boston accent and always looked dressed up.
And our string of roommates: Jonathan, Xavier, Mariana, . . . .
Or the woman who was trying to do online classes, whose dad was the same age as Brian, who always, always talked to me.
I wonder where they are now, how they are doing, how their babies are. I wonder how many have left that behind as a bad beginning, how many have the hospital as a regular part of their lives, how many are on the path I'm on. I'm curious about these people who were part of my daily life, part of something scary and hard, who I know so little about really, but who I don't forget.