As we sit in our living room on the other side of the world, thinking of a town we’d barely even heard of up until just about a year ago, but which has since spellbound us, we’re left thinking: How do you even begin expressing the feeling of eternal gratitude to an entire community?
Our Boise story began with a woman who is very special to us. One of our dearest friends. She lives on the outskirts of Boise, and she is the type of self-sacrificial person, you only thought possible in a movie. Knowing of our decade long struggle to get to share our mutual love with a baby, she offered the greatest gift you can offer another person: Giving our baby a home for the first nine months of its life. Together with her family we began a journey full of equal amounts of excitement and hope. The hope blossomed and our baby girl found her home. But what was supposed to be a home of nine months suddenly became a home of only five and a half months – and our baby girl came into the world way too early, way too unprepared for what the world demanded of her and her body.
That is how we ended up jumping on a plane, leaving our home, family, friends and safety net in Scandinavia behind to become Boise citizens until our baby girl was ready to go back home with us. We arrived in a state and city pretty much unknown to us. We were alone, caught in the most frightening, fearful and stressful time of our lives.
And now the town of Boise was our home. It is sometimes said that a journey is not defined by the bumps on the road, but the people you meet on the way. Our journey definitely had its bumps on the road, but if you would indulge us for a minute to tell you about all the people we met on our way.
We showed up in the middle of the night in a hospital hallway. We had travelled 22 hours in the dead of night to get to meet our baby girl. This was our first encounter with the community of Boise. We were met by hospital staff that immediately cared for us; they navigated dealing with two emotionally exhausted and frightened strangers with such consideration and empathy as were they our closest family. With us having no place to stay, they showed us to a room with a bed to sleep in for the night. And they thought of all the things that will matter in the future that we did not have the mental capacity to think of in the present. Such as taking a picture of us seeing our daughter for the very first time.
The following day we were shown to a house across the street. A house we would be able to call our home for as long as we needed to. We could barely stand on our feet of pure exhaustion; we hadn’t had any water to drink the entire day; we hadn’t eaten any food; we had only focused on being with our tiny, tiny daughter. And yet again we were cared for by a part of the Boise community. The Ronald McDonald House welcomed us with open arms, gave us a room, ensured we had plenty of water and showed us to a fridge filled with food and a minibar full of snacks. We were overwhelmed.
In the days to come we barely left the hospital room, only occasionally would we allow ourselves time to go for a walk to get a breath of fresh air and to clear our minds. On one such walk, we stumbled upon a coffee shop, and for the first time since arriving, we allowed ourselves a short break from the darkness of the hospital room for the brightness of the Boise cafe life. As days passed, walks to one of the many coffee shops in Boise became our “break for the day”, where we would put our minds at hold and we were given room to breathe. Despite not knowing of our story or why these seemingly out-of-place tourists were randomly walking the streets of Boise mid-day, we were met with such kindness and generosity and on occasion even met with a smiling face refusing payment. “No, todays coffee is on me,”, we’d be told. Such acts of genuine kindness might seem like a casual act to some, but for two Scandinavians stuck in the hospital watching their daughter fight for her life, it felt like a warm embrace on a cold winter’s day.
Life as Boise citizens went on. Every day the same drill: Hospital, lunch, hospital, groceries, eat, hospital. It felt like being stuck in a time loop. Not realizing the passing of time or the time yet to come. Not realizing the seasons were changing or that the world was slowly moving on outside the hospital window. Except those few seconds where the people of Boise reminded us that we were part of a world on the other side of that window. Like when we’d stand in line at the supermarket realizing that we’d – in a moment of pure exhaustion – did not bring enough cash for the groceries, and the guy next in line, a complete stranger, would immediately offer to pay the remainder. Or when we would meet people on a hiking trail just wanting to connect.
You see, the city. The atmosphere. The people. Without even knowing it, or why it was needed: It, they, you, all made us feel less alone.
And so did the NICU at St. Luke’s. The warmth, care and dedication that we felt that very first night showing up at the NICU continued throughout our daughter’s entire stay. Every day we stepped over the threshold we knew that everybody behind those doors were dedicated to saving our daughter. They fought for our daughter’s life with every fiber of their being. They went the extra mile every single day to ensure her present and future well-being. They pondered, researched and discussed to find the best possible way of treating her. They would perform small acts of kindness. Things we would never ask nor expect of them, but nevertheless things that would brighten our daughters or our day. They would take the time to listen to our worries, the time to thoroughly explain us the reasoning behind their approaches to our daughter’s medical treatment and the time to discuss the plan for her treatment. They would include us, make us feel seen, make us feel heard and more importantly: make us feel safe. And they would spend that extra minute or two making us feel cared for by simply listening to us telling them about the dinner we had the night before or the Saturday market we went to. They would show interest in how we spent our short stints of time outside the hospital, and they would give us recommendations on where to go and what to do. They would comfort us on the most frightening of days and encourage us on the best of days. They would share our daughter’s beautiful moments with equal excitement. Not because they had to, but because they felt them, too.
Our daughter’s room in the NICU became a room not only filled with the love shared between parents and their child, but between a family and all the people working in the NICU. For those many months the hospital was our home, and the hospital staff our family.
Despite the fear of having our daughter admitted to the hospital, that very hospital was our safe space. And so was the Ronald McDonald House. Every night when we came home, exhausted and in an emotional state, the staff at the Ronald McDonald House would embrace us with their care. They would make sure to check up on whether we had had anything to eat and drink, they would listen to all our worries, be inquisitive about the well-being of our daughter, and they would hug us when we broke down in tears. On the toughest of days, they would leave encouraging and caring notes by our door. They would get us Scandinavian baked goods they had stumbled upon in the supermarket to remind us of home. They would get us tickets for a performance of the Nutcracker for Christmas, so we could experience American culture first hand. When we needed help figuring out a practical issue, they would immediately offer their assistance. The workers are the Ronald McDonald House ensured that our world kept on spinning despite it not always feeling like it would. But the Ronald McDonald House is more than its employees. It is also the volunteers that spend their mornings, afternoons and evenings cooking delicious meals for the exhausted families living in the house, cleaning the playroom and kitchen, playing an intimate violin concert on a cloudy December day in an attempt to give comfort and bolster the Christmas spirit for families being without their loved ones. It is that one middle aged couple who has a tradition of spending their date nights preparing dinner for the families staying at the house before going out for a couple’s dinner themselves. It is people and companies from near and far that prioritize donating money, toys, clothes, gift cards and food to the Ronald McDonald House Charities, thereby ensuring an everyday safety net for families who might not have the physical, mental or financial capacity to think about the next meal, kids’ birthday gift or the next seasonal change and the clothing requirements that comes with it. The Ronald McDonald House Charities in Boise is based on the community it is part of. And the Boise community has made a collective decision of not leaving families of seriously ill children behind. One of the moments that stood out to us the most was when a worker at The Ronald McDonald House asked us to follow her upstairs. She stopped in front of a door on which it said “Santa’s Workshop”. She opened the door for us and told us to enter the room. We stepped inside – and broke down in tears. By donating to the house, the Boise community had filled this room with toys, games, bikes, blankets, clothes. All for the families living behind all the other doors of the house at a time of the year where they were supposed to celebrate Christmas behind their families’ doors at home. It was the most beautiful and moving manifestation of generosity we have ever witnessed.
From the very first moment we stepped foot in this town, we were greeted with open arms, care and the spirit of giving. By every stranger on our way. As typical somewhat emotionally buttoned up Scandinavians you wouldn’t usually expect to see a lot of public display of emotions; but as often as we cried out of fear for our baby girl, just as often did we end up crying out of sheer gratitude for the generosity and care shown to us by the people of Boise.
So to all the people we met on our way: Words cannot express how thankful we are. You have defined our family’s journey in ways we would have never imagined possible. Thank you for everything that you were for us, and for everything that you continue to be. This may very well be a smallish town called Boise, but it left the largest of imprints on our hearts.
With eternal gratitude,
Isabelle’s parents
