Besides a quiet, undisturbed environment, being held close to her parents was important for Saimi’s development, often called skin-to-skin care. In practice, this meant we took a comfortable position in the armchair and held Saimi against our bare chest, sheltered by our hands. At first, she was so small that she could fit beneath my two palms. While resting on our chest, she wore nothing but a nappy and a small beanie, and was also covered with warm blankets. From the very beginning, the nurses encouraged us to focus entirely on Saimi and forget everything else, such as using our phones, which I thought was excellent advice.
Elli and I took turns being with Saimi from morning until evening, so that one of us had a chance to rest or take care of things during the day. At night, we both slept at the apartment, but beside Saimi’s head there was always a small piece of cloth that Elli had kept on her pillow while sleeping, so it carried her familiar and comforting scent. I found it very calming and therapeutic to just sit in the quiet and dim room, without any distractions, for hours. Of course, I talked, hummed, and sang to Saimi a lot.
At first, I had a small problem: I could only remember the full lyrics to one song, and even that was because the lyrics were so short. It was a song by Tuomari Nurmio called Oi mutsi mutsi (Oh mother mother). The lyrics are quite gloomy and not really suited to the situation, as the song is basically a dying man’s lament to his mother. However, I realised that neither the nurses nor Saimi would understand the words anyway, and what mattered most was the beautiful melody. So I sang the song over and over again in the dim room with Saimi against my chest. The song became important to us, as Saimi later really liked it when I sang that familiar tune to her.
Music and different kinds of sounds were important to Saimi throughout her life, and I would go on to sing to her a lot. Luckily, Saimi didn’t seem to mind that I can’t really sing, and even with the best will in the world, you couldn’t say that I have a nice singing voice. However, over time, my repertoire of songs expanded, and I even learned many children’s songs.
Saimi was developing well and gaining weight every day, gram by gram. She still needed support with breathing and additional oxygen, but after a couple of weeks, the large oxygen mask was replaced with light nasal prongs. Because Saimi was born so prematurely, Elli wasn’t producing milk yet and had to use a breast pump to get it going. It was a bit difficult at first, but there was enough milk, as Saimi needed very little. At the time, Saimi was given five millilitres of milk every two hours through a nasogastric tube. Later on, she became a real magician at getting rid of the tube the moment we looked away. It had to be put back again and again, and eventually we had to secure it with stronger tape so that it would at least take her a bit longer to pull it out. What a little Houdini!
Saimi had several wonderful nurses at Sant Pau. Isa, or Isabel, was the only one who often spoke English with us, and when she was on duty, she helped us understand what the doctors were saying in Spanish if needed. Isa was very warm and approachable, and we quickly became fond of her. She made, for example, a small handmade name sign for Saimi, and later a one-month birthday card that said “happy birthday” in both Finnish and Spanish. One day, when I came to the hospital, Isa surprised me by greeting me in Finnish with a cheerful “moi!”. Those kinds of small gestures can mean more than they seem. At least to me, they felt meaningful and gave the sense that Saimi, and all of us, truly mattered.
The other nurses also sometimes made small crafts for the children at the nurses’ station. There was also a volunteer programme at the hospital, and the volunteers had made small blankets, and we could choose one for Saimi. They had also sewn a pile of fabric letters of different colours, and we picked the letters S, A, I, M and I and hung them next to Saimi’s space. Also, almost every week, professional photographers visited the neonatal unit through the Dits Petits volunteer organisation, taking photos of the families and giving them to us free of charge.
On another shift, Estrella and Carla, a student who was about to graduate, were working together. Estrella was an experienced and firm nurse who constantly encouraged and supported us in caring for Saimi. From the very beginning, we handled Saimi’s daily care, either on our own or together with the nurses, such as changing her nappy, feeding her through the nasogastric tube, and cleaning and moisturising her skin.
It was hard to believe that Carla was only just starting out as a nurse, as she carried out her duties with ease and genuine compassion. I also remember the sympathetic Silvia, and the way she was there for us and took care of Saimi left a warm impression on me. Additionally, all the other nurses who cared for Saimi – whose names I unfortunately no longer remember – were excellent at their job. Although Isa was the only one who spoke English with us, I later realised that some of the others probably could have as well. In fact, in the final days I noticed that one of the nurses who had often been with us spoke English quite fluently, even though she had never mentioned it before. It was a bit annoying to realise this, as there had been many situations where I was frustrated because I couldn’t properly express myself in Spanish.
The hospital also arranged peer support for us, and Elli met a woman named Karolinska, who had previously gone through experiences similar to ours. Her name stayed with me, as she had been named after the Swedish medical university. An especially important support for us was Matilde, who volunteered at the hospital through Pauets, an organisation supporting parents, and came to meet us very early on. In addition to Catalan and Spanish, she spoke excellent English, so communication with her was easy. Matilde was constantly there to support us and helped us with many things during our time in Barcelona, both in the hospital and outside it. In fact, I soon needed Matilde’s help with some practical matters of my own.
I had previously received the rabies vaccination in Finland after being bitten by a monkey in Thailand, but it was part of a series of shots, and the next dose was scheduled for early February. It must have been quite confusing for everyone when I tried to explain in my broken Spanish that I had been bitten by a wild monkey and needed a rabies vaccination. As I recall, things were eventually sorted out with Matilde’s help, and I was given an appointment at a hospital on the other side of the city.
Matilde came with me and helped me find the right place. To my surprise, the person giving the shot spoke English, so no interpreting was needed. However, he didn’t seem to fully grasp the situation. He wondered how it was possible that I didn’t have a vaccination card and remarked that he had always heard such praise for the Finnish healthcare system, but that in Catalonia they at least had vaccination cards. I could hardly believe my ears. I almost made a sarcastic comment about digitalisation, but I kept my mouth shut so we could just get it over with. Matilde did say something to him quietly, though. I assume she reminded him of the nature of my situation, after which he dropped the subject. And so I got the vaccination, and now I have a vaccination card from the Catalan healthcare system.