There was a time I never really gave nurses much thought. Not that I didn’t care, just that I kind of took them for granted, that when you got sick, nurses would just be there, much like you take oxygen for granted.

But when my girls were born just over ten weeks early, I spent a lot of time with nurses. I saw them every day for 80 days in the good, the bad, and the very ugly. I saw their determination, expertise, and mostly their hearts. I saw them leave their families every morning or every night to care for the smallest, sickest, neediest babies. I saw them understand without saying a word when they were needed and when they needed to silently close the door.

In fact, it was a nurse who realized something was going terribly wrong for Ella. Without her and her very quick thinking, would Ella be here? I’m honestly not sure. It was nurse after nurse who checked in on her constantly and sent her sunshine rays of love and hope and peace. 

It was a nurse who calmed my fears about holding Ella, who seemed so precious, so fragile, for the first time and another nurse who helped me hold them together. It was nurses who helped me feel like a mum in an environment that felt anything but homely.

When we go back to the NICU, it’s nurses who are so excited to see the girls and hear about their latest adventures. Nurses who cheer Ella every step of the way.

Never again will I absent mindedly think of nurses, instead I will always remember and be thankful for what they did for my girls and for my family. How they kept us whole and always reminded me to find the rays of sunshine wherever I was.