Submitted by Raveena’s dad, Rish.
Dear Raveena,
It’s snowing for the first time in years. The circumstances are far from ideal. I know I should be worried but I feel oddly calm.
I don’t remember if I saw or heard you first but your cry makes me feel relieved, as does seeing you- you look like a regular baby but just skinny and small. Healthy. Though very pale but I didn’t register it at the time. I know a lot has to happen in the next few minutes and hours but I’m not really scared, in fact I think I’m more worried about your mom. I’m certain you’re strong and resilient. I’m really glad Dr. Narayan is here, he tells me to look over the tarp and take a picture of you. I think about how we had settled in for the evening and just ordered dinner, but by the time it had arrived, your mom was already being rushed to surgery.
It feels like an eternity sitting in this room. I’m holding your mom’s hand as she dozes in and out while peaking over at you. I can’t see much but the doctors sound very positive during the first few tests. I catch glimpses of your arms flailing around. I remember how you were equally squirmy in the ultrasounds. My predictions for your personality are slowly becoming validated. Thankfully Dr. Narayan is able to tell me what’s happening. It seems we’re off to a good start. I knew you were going to be tough.
They wheel you around for Mom and I to take our first family photo before you and I head for the NICU. I ask the doc if they need to intubate and he said not to worry yet as they have a few tricks up their sleeves. Things look positive. I stay with you for a short while, looking through the incubator. You remind me of a baby bird. I call you my little Birdy and tell you everything is going to be okay. I go back to check on Mom. She had to start pumping around 2:00 a.m. I’m torn between my excitement to meet you and the shared pain of everything she’s been through over the last few weeks. I come back to see you once or twice more that night. The snow has fallen and covered the city. It feels like a good omen.
The next morning all the reports are positive though you did need a blood transfusion. I realize how pale you had looked last night after seeing you with so much color now. Absolutely beautiful, full head of hair. Adorably grumpy expression just like Momma’s baby photos. And those squirmy arms. You make a lot of noise. I come to love the sound of your high pitched cries- emblematic of your strong lungs. After visiting you in the morning, I go outside to see the snow. I take lots of pictures and videos so you can see what it looks like one day. I record a message to you while I walk through the snow. Your Dada wrote me a letter when I was born and would do so at pivotal moments throughout my life. This will be my version of that. I speak to you about everything that happened. I tell you how we don’t have a name for you yet but I think I know what it’s going to be. I talk about how harrowing it had been but then I’d seen how beautiful and strong you were and I knew we were going to be okay. I can’t wait for you to watch this one day. I’m planning on filming more of these videos throughout your NICU stay, a journal for you to watch when you’re older.
I go back inside and your mom is talking to Dr. Hasan. She had been updated on your progress and agreed everything looked great. I bring Mom down to see you. She’s so scared and anxious, but we both speak to you and tell you how much we love you. We decide that your name is Raveena, which means sunshine. We have so much fun with it: Veena. Eeny Weeny Raveena. Raveena Ravioli. Little Miss Raveena. Our light in the dark.
The next day we get a briefing from Brittany the NP. She calls you feisty. We would hear that word over and over again from so many different people, and it was so evident why. You’re already crying and grabbing and getting annoyed. I’m not surprised at all about how stubborn you are, given your parents and entire immediate family. This day, you have to be under the blue light. I know this isn’t comfortable but it does allow us to see more of you. You lay there like a sleeping princess, one hand under your face and the other grasping your wrist. Your Dadi comes to visit. She’s the first relative to meet you. I tell her no crying allowed in the NICU, happy vibes only. Later on your Dada and Ami come to see you too. I wish we could all be with you together but the hospital has strict rules.
Brittany told us how aside from a few minor things you were doing fine. This would continue to be the narrative for the next 10 days, minor hurdles here and there but continuous affirmation about how mighty you are. My daughter isn’t like these other babies. She exudes strength. She doesn’t need intubation. She can eat. She is aware of her surroundings. She knows when I’m with her. She’s content to tell the nurses to fuck off. All of her mom’s independence and too much of her dad’s snark. Probably a hundred generations of stubborness. Everyone remarks on your beautiful long fingers. Like a piano player they say. That makes me so excited because I can’t wait to teach you how to play. You also have these long elegant eyelashes which honestly could come from either mom or me. And even in those first couple days you look so tall despite being tiny. I think you’re going to be tall like me. You have goofy feet with big toes, just like Sahara Bua. Both Mom and I think that you look like her. I knew you would have your mom’s nose, just like your sister did. Just like all the Alibhais. I see a lot of Ria bua in you too, her particular brand of stubborness. I like to sit and sing to you. I read Harry Potter occasionally and sometimes just talk but mostly I sing to you. I started doing it when you were still in the womb. Maybe I’m projecting but I’m pretty sure Pursuit of Happiness is your favorite song, though I haven’t given you many options. Whenever I start singing to you, you immediately start to relax. Normally when you’re not contained you do your feisty dancing movements, flailing and grabbing. But when I sing to you, you do these soft swimming movements. I’m not a bad singer but I think you just like hearing my voice. The other songs I sing the most are: Solo Dolo, Under the Bridge, Californication, Stairway to Heaven, Everlong, Smells like Teen Spirit, and Time in a Bottle.
The nurses tell us not to stroke you because it’s overstimulating. It’s so instinctual to do it so I see why they warn us. Instead I give you hand hugs. At first I very delicately place my hand over you, barely touching. After a day or two, I get comfortable holding you bare without any of the coverings, just letting you feel the warmth from my hand on your skin. The nurses tell me you like to be contained which I can now do with my hand instead of the medical wraps. I worry that you only appear calm because I’m restraining you but I come to realize that you really are more relaxed when I’m with you. I like to gently fold your little arms on your chest and give you a hand hug. I think it makes you feel safe. I love to let you grip my pinky. Your little fist is tiny but so strong. They say it’s just a reflex but I can tell that you feel it’s me.
You take so well to your mom’s milk. The toll this has taken on her has been immeasurable but she is working so hard to make sure you have all the nourishment you need. I read that you’re not supposed to have a suck reflex yet but like everything else you’re ahead of the curve. They let me dip a little q-tip into the milk and feed you. It’s absolutely fucking adorable how you react to it. You clearly love the taste and can nibble on the q-tip.
After 8 days I hold you for the first time. I’m so embarrassed taking my shirt off in the hospital. I’m really nervous, so scared about how delicate you are. As usual, you get grumpy and start screaming at the nurse when she picks you up. The nurse puts you on my chest and you immediately stop crying. Your little left hand grabs at my chest hair and suddenly lets go- like you’re appalled by the texture. But then you relax and leave your hand open on my chest. I had only seen you clench and grab until now. It feels magical but I know something empirically special is happening. You squirm a bit and get fussy here and there but for over an hour we just sit there. I know I’m always going to be able to recall that squirmy feeling of my little Birdy on my chest. I may have dozed off for a minute. It feels transcendent to hold you. I know Mom is scared to hold you but she definitely would have if it weren’t for the hospital not clearing her yet. At any rate, I hoped it would have been her to hold you first but I was so happy to do it. After a short while, mom cuddled with us. I feel so strong and complete. My whole world in my arms. We take great pictures. Mom jokes that one of the pictures looked like I was the one who gave birth. I laugh so much at that and send it to all my friends.
The day your mom is finally cleared to hold you is even more magical. She has endured so much and has been so scared for you, but I was able to capture the exact moment she established that connection with you. I remembered how intense that was for me and can’t imagine how magnified it must be for her. I know you’re going to be daddy’s girl but you look so at peace in momma’s arms, not even the occasional squirminess. I’m even a little jealous but still so happy your mom finally got this moment with you. She held you for far longer than I did and I think you could have stayed with her all night.
These precious hours where we just sit together, me singing and talking to you are the most perfect moments of my life. You’ve met some of your grandparents at this point but I tell you about all the important people in my life. There are SO many people dying to meet you. I tell you about Razak Chachu who also went through his own trials as a baby. I tell you how much you look like Sahara Bua and act like Ria Bua. I tell you about all of my closest friends, your silly uncles who can’t wait to meet you and spoil you. I tell you about your future best friends. There’s Lara who lives in New York but might move here one day. And of course Greg’s baby girl who’s going to be just a few months younger than you. Maybe you’ll even go to school together. I tell you about how even though Dada and I argue a lot, I know he’ll always come through for me and that I’ll always be there for you too.
I tell you about all the things I’m into, shamelessly trying to imprint all my nerdy hobbies and interests onto you. I’m sure you’ll think most of it is lame when you’re older, but I at least want to foster an interest in science. I tell you everything I know about the universe. I want you to pursue your own path but I secretly hope you’ll be a badass scientist who changes the world or helps us understand it better. Or if you go into politics like me, I bet you could be POTUS. Or maybe this experience will shape you and you’ll be a doctor like Ami (I’m pretty sure you’re going to be studious like her and Mama). At one point I had wanted you to be an astronaut but now I’m too scared to let you go that far away. The doctors tell me that talking to you is good for your development. I would’ve spent all my waking hours talking to you anyway. I even make up my own songs to sing to you.
(Hey there Raveena)
>Hey there Raveena, don’t you worry about nothing, because daddy’s here with mama and she’s about to get to pumpin’, just for you… Oh you don’t know the things we do… little boo… Oh, you’re just a wee baby, oh, you’re just a wee baby.
Hey there Raveena, what’s it like in baby city… Daddy’s here with Mama and she looks so fuckin pretty, Just like you… girl I hope you know that we love you, little boo.
This one always makes Mom so emotional but it’s our favorite song. I even sing it while we are at home.
The day you start getting sick, I’m not worried. Why should I be? Preemies get infections all the time. My mighty Raveena can beat a fucking infection. She doesn’t even need to be intubated. Your medical team talks about “when’s” with you, not “if’s”. It’s still painful to see you unwell. By this point, I KNOW you. I can read so much from your chaotic little movements, your cries, and your reactions to my voice and touch. I can tell you don’t feel well. Your belly is distended and it’s a scary sight. The thought is distressing for both me and your mom but I have to stay positive for both of you. I’m a little scared after the first test results, but objective optimism is still on my side. Much weaker preemies have beaten much worse infections. And you’re the renowned mighty Raveena of TX Children’s NICU. As I predicted, your body defeated the infection. Of course you did it, my badass girl. They tell me that, as long as they’ve caught it early, it shouldn’t affect your brain. At this point, I believe this was our roller coaster moment before we sail out of this fucking place and take you home. A close call, but every NICU survivor has a story like this.
When those final test results come in, there is a moment in which I realize it’s all over and I lose control. All the internal structures I had forged over so many weeks to take care of you and your mom come crashing down violently. I break objects around me. I flip over furniture, throw things into the walls. I want to tear my house down brick by brick. I want to destroy the world. I wish I could undo all of time and revert existence back to a singularity. I have failed as a father. I promised you everyday that everything was going to be alright, that I would always keep you safe. But I failed. For the first time in this whole ordeal, your mom has to anchor me. I am filled with rage and agony but I know I have to be strong for the remaining time we have with you. I keep my composure until we reach the hospital and I enter your room and see you. I fall to my knees. I tell you how sorry I am and beg for your forgiveness. I can’t understand why there’s nothing I can do. I’m supposed to die for my child and I so desperately wish I could. I would cut out my own heart to save you. Immense willpower but nothing to do with it. While we’re still in your room I try to sing to you but I can’t keep it together. Eventually we decide to move you to a calmer room without all the wires and beeping. Mom holds you. You finally meet Razak Chachu and your Nani. I can bring myself to sing to you again. I sing all of our songs. I’m doing my best to make sure these moments are peaceful and that you can feel it. Mom cradles you while I hold her. We cry, we smile, and we revel in your amazing beauty and strength. You bless us by opening your eyes and looking right at your mom, and then me. Thank you so much for that gift, my perfect little Birdy. I kiss you, hold you, and breathe you in until you leave us to be with Raina.
Mom bathes you and I swaddle you for the first and only time. I kiss you and promise to hold you and your sister in my mind and heart forever.
I am, and always shall be, your Dad.
Thank you.