The boy was incredibly small, barely able to fully wrap his tiny, fragile arms around the hospital blanket that was meant to provide him warmth and comfort. His voice, soft and trembling, broke repeatedly as uncontrollable sobs escaped from deep within him, filling the otherwise sterile and quiet hospital room.

The bright, unforgiving fluorescent lights overhead cast stark shadows across the white walls, reflecting off the polished floors and adding to the cold, impersonal atmosphere. Around him, unfamiliar machines beeped rhythmically and occasionally hummed, their sounds strange and intimidating to someone so young. The constant movement of nurses and doctors in their scrubs, the whispered conversations, and the sterile scent of antiseptics created a world that was overwhelming, frightening, and isolating.

At such a tender age, the world feels enormous—every noise feels amplified, every face foreign and potentially threatening, and every change in routine can unsettle a child’s fragile sense of safety. The hospital, a place designed to heal and comfort, sometimes inadvertently causes distress, especially for infants who cannot understand the reasons for…