Those who know me know that I lead a very holistic style of life. I always have. I believe that the needs required to keep a person healthy and vital are much more than the bare
necessities. I believe there is something very real and necessary called Vitamin L. It’s the love vitamin and I feel that every living thing must have a reserve of this in their makeup to thrive. This is not a concept original to me; I didn’t come up with it. During my studies to become a holistic nutritionist, the reading and reference of vitamin L was a common thing. There is also proof that human touch releases oxytocin, the bonding hormone.  Why am I talking about vitamin L? Because I’ve spent the last 8 hours listening to a distraught little baby in the room next to ours. This tiny little prem has been inconsolable and has screamed his poor little vocal chords raw. Each nurse has taken a turn in trying to comfort and calm him only to have left defeated, fed up and exhausted because there’s nothing that he wants or nobody he will settle for. They’ve bathed him, swaddled him, turned him on his side, played music, opened the curtains, sang to him, rocked him, shushed him, swung him, given him bum pats and back rubs. They might as well be pinching him and yelling at him. He’s not sick or bored, he’s not ill in the medical sense; he’s hurting. He needs his mother. He wants to feel safe and wanted and accepted. Not by a stranger, by the person who means the most to this little boy, who he feels lost and alone and deserted - cold, without. For 6 months (he’s a prem) he’s heard nothing but the beating of his mother’s heart next to his, her voice, her warmth, her comfort. She is his world. Now he’s been left alone and hurting, confused in a stark white room, having to cry loud enough to draw attention from the hallway to receive nourishment from a hard, cold plastic nipple fed by a stranger who’s on a schedule and has a list of tasks to get back to (Nothing against nurses!).  His mother hasn’t been to visit him all week, almost nearing two. The time she visited last, she stayed for a total of 20 mins. She’s too busy, it’s too hard on her, it’s disrupted her life, parking is expensive, she lives on the other side of town. Her, her, her. I struggle every day, trying my best not to judge her. This is not a day care program! People wonder how I get up day-in and day-out, and sit for hour after hour, sometimes day after day in this hospital. Just because I have the ability to leave, doesn’t mean I have the right to stay away. Dylan’s day began today the way it always does every Tuesday and Thursday: a lab technician disturbing her cocoon of sleep at 7am, pulling out her arm without notice, tying a tourniquet and breaking skin to find a vein. Babies feel pain. I think lab techs forget that. It is so difficult to watch your flesh and blood be poked and re-poked two to three times a week as they look into your eyes crying as if to say “why do you let them do this to me, mom? I thought you loved me.” Not knowing that this is for their own good, their preservation and their progress. It takes all you have to stand back and resist the urge to snatch up your baby and run, baring your teeth at them like a feral cat, hissing in warning to back off or someone will get hurt. I can’t imagine what these babies must think of this seemingly unnecessary, evil ritual. I still worry how much of this will shape her personality and pray every day that this doesn’t create trust issues between us. I rush to cuddle her and wipe her tears and apologize for letting them do that to her. I cry at the thought of our little prem neighbour having to sort it out on his own. The most devastating part is that I’m not allowed to
comfort him. Once in a while Dylan will be sleeping and I hear him, frantic next door. Although there are volunteer cuddlers, there isn’t always someone available. While nobody is at hand to hold him except me, I am not legally permitted to touch him. My heart breaks for him and his suffering. An old friend of mine is coming to visit from Edmonton on Monday. I am so beyond thrilled to see her and reconnect. She asked me last night if there was anything I wanted her to bring, what did I need. It took me a few minutes to even think of one thing that would be nice to have, but by no means absolutely imperative to my survival- other than a hug from her, that is.


 “…And don't spend your time lookin' around
For something you want that can't be found
 When you find out you can live without it
And go along not thinkin' about it
 I'll tell you something true
 The bare necessities of life will come to you”

 -Phil Harris, Bruce Reitherman.
From The Jungle Book


To someone else, you are the world. Hug your babies.