Another one who's been there and done that. And, yep to it being a rough few days and then, suddenly, they perk up.
The important thing, the USEFUL thing is to listen to the advice saying "look after you".
Baby will be fine, the care is outstanding and it works, you just have to go with it.
But, you need to look after him when he gets back. Therefore, you need to do the following in the short term:
- sleep. Get earplugs to dull the pinging machines, grab 10 mins where you can. Go home and get someone else to sit with him so you can sleep for an hour.
- eat. Find the nearest wee shop or supermarket and buy fruit and water to nibble on. Get someone to bring you good, hot food - hospital canteen stuff will not help you. Unless you are a fan of brown stodge (no offense to anyone who prepares hospital food, I know you only have beige stodge to start off with)
Drop not-awfully-subtle hints to family and friends about them making meals for you once you are home. Meals and shopping and housework should be gratefully received. Accept all offers of help.
- milk - pump, pump and pump some more. Breastfeeding mothers will be fed and watered by the ward, and should have a bed by the baby. Cuddle him as you pump, or, sit by him and stroke his cheek if you can't do that. Your milk flow will go down a bit, but, you'll get it back if you want to.
My 6 weeker was NG fed for a week and getting feeding going again was hard. I landed up doing mixed feeding with him, which actually worked really well.
The hospital will have a breastfeeding guru, ask to see them.
I landed up glugging that revolting brewer's yeast stuff to recover milk supply - it was disgusting, but, it really worked. I went from shrivelled prune boobs to udders overnight. Weird.
- being clean and sane - ask if there is a parent's shower. Some places have a "chill out" space for families. find it and use it.
- have a hug
I can also recommend finding a toilet, locking yourself in there and having a bloody good cry about how sorry you feel for yourself and how crap it all is. Most cathartic.
Oh, and my scrawny, poorly, tiny boy is 8 now. He's the fastest kid in the class.