They tried extubating Ian today to start having him to do more of his breathing work and it went horribly. They had to put his tube back in. With this lack of progress it feels like he will be in the NICU until next Christmas. We just might do ALL of his first holidays in the hospital separated by gowns and gloves.
More entries coming soon. I haven't sat down long enough to write lately.
Sunday, December 30, 2012
Sunday, December 23, 2012
Wednesday, December 19, 2012
Hotman
So, Ian's new nickname is "Hotman" (like, how you would say Fireman, but with "hot" at the beginning of it). Hotman references how Ian becomes overheated easily. It could have something to do with the fact that he is now 10 lbs 2 oz, but he's been like that since he was born. He also is very fussy and gets "hot" with anyone changing his diaper, taking his temperature, giving him a bath, etc.
Doug and I got the name from the cartoon series Avatar: The Last Airbender during "The Headband" episode in which Aang and friends are in the Fire Nation and Aang is using the outdated phrase, "Flameo, Hotman" to greet people on the street.
The other day, Doug was talking about how he gets hot easily and said that he must be "Hotman, Sr." I think "Hotman" is going to stick.
Doug and I got the name from the cartoon series Avatar: The Last Airbender during "The Headband" episode in which Aang and friends are in the Fire Nation and Aang is using the outdated phrase, "Flameo, Hotman" to greet people on the street.
The other day, Doug was talking about how he gets hot easily and said that he must be "Hotman, Sr." I think "Hotman" is going to stick.
Is God telling me to quit breastfeeding?
Pumping milk exclusively has been the bain of my existence for the past seven weeks! I get away with only pumping 5 times a day, but it keeps me from getting the sleep I need. Pumping has dominated my days. It is a major daily chore for Doug, washing and sanitizing all 5 sets of my pump stuff daily. I am devoting much more energy to it than I would like to or even think is particularly healthy.
It's just kind of dominating our lives a bit more than nursing would if Ian were home. What sucks is that there doesn't seem to be an end to the around the clock pumping. The way things are shaping up, it is highly likely that Ian will never actually nurse at the breast. I could be pumping exclusively for 12 months! Remind me why I am doing this again?? I breastfed Nia for 13 months, and it was difficult, but AT LEAST I had the positive experience of bonding with her via nursing. It was very sweet.
What is the payoff here? Ian still has reflux despite the fact that he gets breast milk. I can't nurse him and maybe never will. My breasts HURT. I am still battling a nasty case of candida, despite the fact that I had a two week dose of "super" Diflucan. I am still pumping for two reasons: (1) I don't like to give up on things that I think are important (even if I can't really see or understand their importance in the moment) and (2) We seriously can't afford formula even if I was going to stop pumping.
Doug has been really supportive of whatever decision I make about continuing to provide breast milk for Ian. He hates seeing me hate it so much. Most of the time when I pump it hurts, so on days when it actually doesn't hurt I still do my little pumping "dance" where I stall and take forever to start the session and get it over with. I am presently stalling on a pump session that was supposed to begin at midnight because my breasts are very sore today. I don't know how much longer I can take this, especially with an absent son. I just resent all of this.
It's just kind of dominating our lives a bit more than nursing would if Ian were home. What sucks is that there doesn't seem to be an end to the around the clock pumping. The way things are shaping up, it is highly likely that Ian will never actually nurse at the breast. I could be pumping exclusively for 12 months! Remind me why I am doing this again?? I breastfed Nia for 13 months, and it was difficult, but AT LEAST I had the positive experience of bonding with her via nursing. It was very sweet.
What is the payoff here? Ian still has reflux despite the fact that he gets breast milk. I can't nurse him and maybe never will. My breasts HURT. I am still battling a nasty case of candida, despite the fact that I had a two week dose of "super" Diflucan. I am still pumping for two reasons: (1) I don't like to give up on things that I think are important (even if I can't really see or understand their importance in the moment) and (2) We seriously can't afford formula even if I was going to stop pumping.
Doug has been really supportive of whatever decision I make about continuing to provide breast milk for Ian. He hates seeing me hate it so much. Most of the time when I pump it hurts, so on days when it actually doesn't hurt I still do my little pumping "dance" where I stall and take forever to start the session and get it over with. I am presently stalling on a pump session that was supposed to begin at midnight because my breasts are very sore today. I don't know how much longer I can take this, especially with an absent son. I just resent all of this.
G tube
Tomorrow morning, Ian will have surgery to insert a gastrostomy tube (g tube) into his tummy so that we can ultimately feed him at home. His constant reflux continues to be a problem that would interfere with his breathing and nutrition. He will also be having a nissen procedure (google it if you want) done to hopefully reduce his reflux issues temporarily. This is not typically done on babies so young. Thankfully, both procedures are done laproscopically.
While I'm excited that there seems to be more of a timeline for when he's coming home, I grow more exhausted with this situation by the minute. The physicians are thinking that his reflux is a neurological issue. Daily I wonder just how many things are going to be hurled at us in regard to Ian and his health. No wonder so many people decide that one child is enough after safely making it through the process. I was a fool to think things would go so smoothly this time around.
One of the nurses made it seem like Doug and I were expected to be around for surgery tomorrow. However, we've given all of the consent, and any further consent can be done by phone if necessary. I just don't feel like there is anything we can do for Ian except pray (and his laundry). We can pray remotely. Otherwise, he is going to just be a drugged up baby, asleep and completely unaware of our presence post-op. It will do us no good to wait around in the hospital. It's not like it will give us a false sense of control.
I don't feel like I've truly been able to "see" him for the past few days. Over the weekend, he started getting fussy again. He stopped having comfortable oxygen saturation levels, so they put him back on the nasal cannula on the lowest setting. Additionally, they started him back on Ativan to sedate him... first every 12 hours, then up to every 8 hours. I didn't bother to ask today how often he was getting his dose.
He was asleep when we (Doug, Fluff, his godmother and I) visited tonight--asleep and tightly swaddled in a blanket I could see his face, calves and feet (as they were sticking out at the bottom of the blanket). I think he opened his eyes for a few minutes during yesterday's visit, but he was very much asleep today.
When he is asleep, I'm sure he doesn't know that I'm there. Maybe he is able to hear me at intervals, but why be there when I have so much other stuff going on, with having to pump milk every few hours and taking care of Fluff?
While I'm excited that there seems to be more of a timeline for when he's coming home, I grow more exhausted with this situation by the minute. The physicians are thinking that his reflux is a neurological issue. Daily I wonder just how many things are going to be hurled at us in regard to Ian and his health. No wonder so many people decide that one child is enough after safely making it through the process. I was a fool to think things would go so smoothly this time around.
One of the nurses made it seem like Doug and I were expected to be around for surgery tomorrow. However, we've given all of the consent, and any further consent can be done by phone if necessary. I just don't feel like there is anything we can do for Ian except pray (and his laundry). We can pray remotely. Otherwise, he is going to just be a drugged up baby, asleep and completely unaware of our presence post-op. It will do us no good to wait around in the hospital. It's not like it will give us a false sense of control.
I don't feel like I've truly been able to "see" him for the past few days. Over the weekend, he started getting fussy again. He stopped having comfortable oxygen saturation levels, so they put him back on the nasal cannula on the lowest setting. Additionally, they started him back on Ativan to sedate him... first every 12 hours, then up to every 8 hours. I didn't bother to ask today how often he was getting his dose.
He was asleep when we (Doug, Fluff, his godmother and I) visited tonight--asleep and tightly swaddled in a blanket I could see his face, calves and feet (as they were sticking out at the bottom of the blanket). I think he opened his eyes for a few minutes during yesterday's visit, but he was very much asleep today.
When he is asleep, I'm sure he doesn't know that I'm there. Maybe he is able to hear me at intervals, but why be there when I have so much other stuff going on, with having to pump milk every few hours and taking care of Fluff?
Monday, December 10, 2012
A word of advice
It's hard to know how to support someone whose child is in the NICU without ever having that experience yourself. Even then, people cope differently.
One important thing to remember when trying to be supportive is that it's not about you. As much as we want family and friends to know how Ian is doing, we don't owe anyone an update. Doug and I are picking and choosing who gets updates and pictures, etc.
I've found that it's easier to contact people who have always been a source of steady, unimposing support. Suggestions are tricky. The ones that have been the most comforting are the suggestions on how important it is that we care for ourselves. Please think carefully before making a suggestion that would add additional pressure to add to our current "life plate" or impose any undue guilt.
We will call or text when we feel up to it. Sometimes I just won't return a call. That's either because I forgot... Or I don't feel comfortable discussing our circumstances with a person. We may not visit Ian every day. I may not be the 12 hours daily NICU mom, but I will not feel guilty for it. I have to get rest and make sure Nia is still properly cared for. What kind of mom would I be if I kicked her to the curb? I want to hold Ian when I see him, but his sleep and development are more important right now. If he's asleep when I visit, I let him rest and watch him sleep.
Encouragement in the form of prayer, promised prayer, verbal hugs, saying "awwww" when I send a picture of Ian, taking the time to call or listen, commenting on or just saying you read my blog, declaring that God is a Healer, sharing revelations about Ian's future and health--these are all greatly appreciated and cherished interactions with family and friends during this time.
Please do not tell me how I should be coping or give me some under-inspired, lightweight nod towards biblical-ish ideal as to how I should be viewing our current circumstance. Prayer is really the best way we can be helped from afar.
Do not question whether or not our son is actually in the NICU. Don't tell me how to interact with the medical staff and to 'just let them do their jobs.' If I have questions, I will ask them. If something seems shaky, I will investigate and/or get a second opinion. You can't impose on me your way of being and interacting. I know enough to not make rash decisions or step in the way of my son's care, but I won't be left in the dark.
I have said all if this to say that there is a delicate balance here that needs to be respected. Some of my family and friends are especially skilled at striking this balance. They have been our best supporters.
Lastly, pretty please fight the urge to ask when he is coming home or how much longer he has. If I knew, I would have told already. Every time I am asked when he is coming home it's a sobering reminder that he isn't home.
One important thing to remember when trying to be supportive is that it's not about you. As much as we want family and friends to know how Ian is doing, we don't owe anyone an update. Doug and I are picking and choosing who gets updates and pictures, etc.
I've found that it's easier to contact people who have always been a source of steady, unimposing support. Suggestions are tricky. The ones that have been the most comforting are the suggestions on how important it is that we care for ourselves. Please think carefully before making a suggestion that would add additional pressure to add to our current "life plate" or impose any undue guilt.
We will call or text when we feel up to it. Sometimes I just won't return a call. That's either because I forgot... Or I don't feel comfortable discussing our circumstances with a person. We may not visit Ian every day. I may not be the 12 hours daily NICU mom, but I will not feel guilty for it. I have to get rest and make sure Nia is still properly cared for. What kind of mom would I be if I kicked her to the curb? I want to hold Ian when I see him, but his sleep and development are more important right now. If he's asleep when I visit, I let him rest and watch him sleep.
Encouragement in the form of prayer, promised prayer, verbal hugs, saying "awwww" when I send a picture of Ian, taking the time to call or listen, commenting on or just saying you read my blog, declaring that God is a Healer, sharing revelations about Ian's future and health--these are all greatly appreciated and cherished interactions with family and friends during this time.
Please do not tell me how I should be coping or give me some under-inspired, lightweight nod towards biblical-ish ideal as to how I should be viewing our current circumstance. Prayer is really the best way we can be helped from afar.
Do not question whether or not our son is actually in the NICU. Don't tell me how to interact with the medical staff and to 'just let them do their jobs.' If I have questions, I will ask them. If something seems shaky, I will investigate and/or get a second opinion. You can't impose on me your way of being and interacting. I know enough to not make rash decisions or step in the way of my son's care, but I won't be left in the dark.
I have said all if this to say that there is a delicate balance here that needs to be respected. Some of my family and friends are especially skilled at striking this balance. They have been our best supporters.
Lastly, pretty please fight the urge to ask when he is coming home or how much longer he has. If I knew, I would have told already. Every time I am asked when he is coming home it's a sobering reminder that he isn't home.
Raising Other
It's slowly occurring to me that my child is, well, different. I mean I have always been weird, but not necessarily different. "Different" has always been something that "happened" to other people, other families even.
I am/was supposed to have 2+ beautiful, perfect, healthy children... But here I am, and I am struggling to accept my son's otherness and induction into the larger community of families who have children that are different.
Perhaps what hurts me the most is now that I can see Ian for who he is, with his peculiar features and possible challenges that lie ahead, it feels that I am not able to really see him. Lately I see the ideal of a son that I had hoped for (perhaps even expected) in the face of all the adversity during my pregnancy. My disbelief is starting to fade, but I have been feeling like I got cheated out of so much. After a horrible pregnancy and spending weeks or months at home while he's in the NICU, I will press onward through the parental suffering that is sure to continue.
I am not naive. I know that suffering is an inevitable component of life, of parenthood. For some reason God has allowed much of the suffering in my life to accompany my pregnancies, and now my son's birth. I am beginning to think that maybe it's some kind of curse. I want to continue to have children, but I feel like it may have been better for me to have my tubes tied.
I am so afraid of getting pregnant again, not just for financial reasons, but what kind of horror could await me the next time? Clearly motherhood has it in for me. Gratitude would say that I have two beautiful children, and I do. The struggle for each of them has gone well beyond hours of labor and continues on.
Yes, I struggle with my son's differentness. It must stem from some insistence within myself to be "perfect".... Or not that, but a constant, unhealthy harping on my flaws. I am always beating myself up about things that I do, how I wish I were different. Lately, as Doug will tell you, I use every opportunity to lament about how much I hate how I look now.
Thanks to diastasis recti, I look 5 months pregnant (except my tummy is a weird lumpy protrusion) and dumb in everything I wear. I mean, why even bother trying to look cute. In so many ways I feel broken beyond repair. My body is just the outward representation of it.
I think God is showing me that it's finally time to accept myself, no matter what. He doesn't see me the way I see myself--all I see are my flaws and imperfections. According to Him, I am fearfully and wonderfully made... But I just see the mess.
I can't allow this mess to come between my son and me. I want to see Ian only as he is, as a precious gift. The bible says that children are a gift... and it says that every good and perfect gift comes from The Lord. See, Ian is absolutely perfect. God makes no mistakes.
People have given me kudos for just making what I believe to be the right choices in the midst of adversity. I don't deserve a pat on my back for following my convictions. How could I do anything else? Unfortunately, you never know what you're getting into when you follow your beliefs by default, as in the case of deciding not to terminate either of my pregnancies.
Some advocate gathering as many facts as possible, but too many details all at once can be traumatic and cause one to to jump ship. For that reason, I just put one foot in front of the other and trudge along in blind expectation of whatever is to come. It's just that acceptance doesn't automatically follow and takes work, at least for me.
I am/was supposed to have 2+ beautiful, perfect, healthy children... But here I am, and I am struggling to accept my son's otherness and induction into the larger community of families who have children that are different.
Perhaps what hurts me the most is now that I can see Ian for who he is, with his peculiar features and possible challenges that lie ahead, it feels that I am not able to really see him. Lately I see the ideal of a son that I had hoped for (perhaps even expected) in the face of all the adversity during my pregnancy. My disbelief is starting to fade, but I have been feeling like I got cheated out of so much. After a horrible pregnancy and spending weeks or months at home while he's in the NICU, I will press onward through the parental suffering that is sure to continue.
I am not naive. I know that suffering is an inevitable component of life, of parenthood. For some reason God has allowed much of the suffering in my life to accompany my pregnancies, and now my son's birth. I am beginning to think that maybe it's some kind of curse. I want to continue to have children, but I feel like it may have been better for me to have my tubes tied.
I am so afraid of getting pregnant again, not just for financial reasons, but what kind of horror could await me the next time? Clearly motherhood has it in for me. Gratitude would say that I have two beautiful children, and I do. The struggle for each of them has gone well beyond hours of labor and continues on.
Yes, I struggle with my son's differentness. It must stem from some insistence within myself to be "perfect".... Or not that, but a constant, unhealthy harping on my flaws. I am always beating myself up about things that I do, how I wish I were different. Lately, as Doug will tell you, I use every opportunity to lament about how much I hate how I look now.
Thanks to diastasis recti, I look 5 months pregnant (except my tummy is a weird lumpy protrusion) and dumb in everything I wear. I mean, why even bother trying to look cute. In so many ways I feel broken beyond repair. My body is just the outward representation of it.
I think God is showing me that it's finally time to accept myself, no matter what. He doesn't see me the way I see myself--all I see are my flaws and imperfections. According to Him, I am fearfully and wonderfully made... But I just see the mess.
I can't allow this mess to come between my son and me. I want to see Ian only as he is, as a precious gift. The bible says that children are a gift... and it says that every good and perfect gift comes from The Lord. See, Ian is absolutely perfect. God makes no mistakes.
People have given me kudos for just making what I believe to be the right choices in the midst of adversity. I don't deserve a pat on my back for following my convictions. How could I do anything else? Unfortunately, you never know what you're getting into when you follow your beliefs by default, as in the case of deciding not to terminate either of my pregnancies.
Some advocate gathering as many facts as possible, but too many details all at once can be traumatic and cause one to to jump ship. For that reason, I just put one foot in front of the other and trudge along in blind expectation of whatever is to come. It's just that acceptance doesn't automatically follow and takes work, at least for me.
Hump Day part 2
Instead of leaving the NICU on Wednesday before free parking was over, I stayed for the Mommy Care group. There were two other moms in the group, both with preemies who were in the step down nursery. The conversation was facilitated by the same social worker who is teaching me to knit.
I enjoyed connecting with the other moms , but they aren't going through what I am going through. Not only are their babies closer to going home, but their children are perfectly normal. They just need to gain weight so they can go home.
Conversely, the doctors don't know what is wrong with Ian, just that it's genetic and it's wrong. For some reason the way he formed in my womb has made him wonky. His sweet face is set upon a backdrop of low set ears, a short, webbed neck, a lot of extra skin at the nape of his neck where his hygroma was, in addition to his (apparently) long pinky fingers....plus other things.
Then there are the numerous things that we can't see or have yet to discover.
I enjoyed connecting with the other moms , but they aren't going through what I am going through. Not only are their babies closer to going home, but their children are perfectly normal. They just need to gain weight so they can go home.
Conversely, the doctors don't know what is wrong with Ian, just that it's genetic and it's wrong. For some reason the way he formed in my womb has made him wonky. His sweet face is set upon a backdrop of low set ears, a short, webbed neck, a lot of extra skin at the nape of his neck where his hygroma was, in addition to his (apparently) long pinky fingers....plus other things.
Then there are the numerous things that we can't see or have yet to discover.
Wednesday, December 5, 2012
Hump Day part 1
Yesterday when I held Ian, he opened his eyes much wider than I had seen him open them before. I guess he wanted to get a good look at me.
Today when I got to NICU I was sort of overloaded with information. He's going to have a repeated cranial scan, plus a neurology consult. In addition, he will be seen by a physical therapist and speech pathologist to shed light on any expected issues as we move forward.
The pressure on his nasal cannula has been moved down to 3 today so he's progressing along. I am writing from his bedside because he is asleep and positioned so that I can't see his face anyway.
It has been a long day and I am tired, so I am leaving before my free parking runs out and I need to get validated.
Today when I got to NICU I was sort of overloaded with information. He's going to have a repeated cranial scan, plus a neurology consult. In addition, he will be seen by a physical therapist and speech pathologist to shed light on any expected issues as we move forward.
The pressure on his nasal cannula has been moved down to 3 today so he's progressing along. I am writing from his bedside because he is asleep and positioned so that I can't see his face anyway.
It has been a long day and I am tired, so I am leaving before my free parking runs out and I need to get validated.
Saturday, December 1, 2012
blockade
And all my armor falling down, in a pile at my feet
And my winter giving way to warmth, as I'm singing him to sleep
The above are lyrics from one of my artists, Fiona Apple from Tidal (1996). A few conversations I've had lately with my husband brought that song to mind when I was deciding how to write this particular entry.
When I'm under any significant level of stress (or duress, really) I engage my emotional and physical blockade. It's nearly impossible to get close enough to me where I can authentically let anyone in, even Doug. Well, as a result of work and life overall (especially with the pregnancy) being overwhelming, I was already kind of shut off and emotionally unavailable. Now that Ian is in NICU for the duration, I'm truly in bad shape. I have practically drawn my head into my shell like a turtle. Please, let me know when the coast is clear.
As one could probably understand, this kind of reaction to stress is not healthy. It is especially unhealthy when considering a marriage. As a married couple, we are supposed to be one. So, when I shut down all avenues to my heart and block myself off from my husband, it's just bad business. I find myself running (or wanting to run away) from hugs and kisses. I have been like the kitty cat from the old Pepe Le Pew cartoons (not that my husband is anything like Pepe, lol). Like, I'll be ok as long as I'm just left in my own bubble to stew.
I realize that I can't continue to function like this. I have to let my husband in. Instead of withdrawing into myself I need to take care of him and allow him to take care of me while we both turn to God. It's just difficult for me to display true vulnerability. I've always said that I wear my heart on my sleeve, but I'm not sure that has been the case in my adult life.
Maybe being lonely for so many years prior to marrying and not learning to deal with that in a healthy way caused me to develop this hard shell as a coping mechanism for life? I don't back down from life. I just put on my self-made armor and blow through it.
This time, things are different. I have a met a trial that is well beyond the scope of my shoddy armor and coping mechanisms. If I don't reach outward and upward I am going to fall HARD. It looks like Ian will be in the NICU forever and not-returning to work is not an option. I have no idea when he'll be able to leave. One of my friends mentioned that she knew a baby personally that was in the same NICU for 10.5 months or so... until she was nearly a year old! I thought "Dear God, what if that is our situation?" I am not sure that is a situation that I could manage.
I mean I am freaking out about returning to work. There is no way I can get the 8 weeks of leave back that I was planning to spend home with Ian. I am having to use ALL of that time because I can't be cleared to return to work and because if I returned to work at the end of this 6 weeks (even though I had a c-section, our disability benefits only cover for 6 of the doctor-recommended 8 weeks) I would be a wreck. Work is already stressful enough without adding to it the NICU experience all while trying to make sure that Doug and Fluff are properly cared for... then having to pump at least 3 times while at work. This just really sucks. I am still experiencing anger, but I understand there is a point to all of this.
This experience is bringing my husband and I closer because it's unearthing unpleasant feelings and experiences from our lives prior to meeting each other. It's created a crisis and engaged a sort of spiritual "fight or flight" response in both of us. We are digging our heels in deep and fighting. Our main tools are prayer, conversation and reading the bible together. After something like this, we are not just going to go back to who we were. We can either be better or worse. We are striving to be better and drawer nearer to God in this time.
And my winter giving way to warmth, as I'm singing him to sleep
The above are lyrics from one of my artists, Fiona Apple from Tidal (1996). A few conversations I've had lately with my husband brought that song to mind when I was deciding how to write this particular entry.
When I'm under any significant level of stress (or duress, really) I engage my emotional and physical blockade. It's nearly impossible to get close enough to me where I can authentically let anyone in, even Doug. Well, as a result of work and life overall (especially with the pregnancy) being overwhelming, I was already kind of shut off and emotionally unavailable. Now that Ian is in NICU for the duration, I'm truly in bad shape. I have practically drawn my head into my shell like a turtle. Please, let me know when the coast is clear.
As one could probably understand, this kind of reaction to stress is not healthy. It is especially unhealthy when considering a marriage. As a married couple, we are supposed to be one. So, when I shut down all avenues to my heart and block myself off from my husband, it's just bad business. I find myself running (or wanting to run away) from hugs and kisses. I have been like the kitty cat from the old Pepe Le Pew cartoons (not that my husband is anything like Pepe, lol). Like, I'll be ok as long as I'm just left in my own bubble to stew.
I realize that I can't continue to function like this. I have to let my husband in. Instead of withdrawing into myself I need to take care of him and allow him to take care of me while we both turn to God. It's just difficult for me to display true vulnerability. I've always said that I wear my heart on my sleeve, but I'm not sure that has been the case in my adult life.
Maybe being lonely for so many years prior to marrying and not learning to deal with that in a healthy way caused me to develop this hard shell as a coping mechanism for life? I don't back down from life. I just put on my self-made armor and blow through it.
This time, things are different. I have a met a trial that is well beyond the scope of my shoddy armor and coping mechanisms. If I don't reach outward and upward I am going to fall HARD. It looks like Ian will be in the NICU forever and not-returning to work is not an option. I have no idea when he'll be able to leave. One of my friends mentioned that she knew a baby personally that was in the same NICU for 10.5 months or so... until she was nearly a year old! I thought "Dear God, what if that is our situation?" I am not sure that is a situation that I could manage.
I mean I am freaking out about returning to work. There is no way I can get the 8 weeks of leave back that I was planning to spend home with Ian. I am having to use ALL of that time because I can't be cleared to return to work and because if I returned to work at the end of this 6 weeks (even though I had a c-section, our disability benefits only cover for 6 of the doctor-recommended 8 weeks) I would be a wreck. Work is already stressful enough without adding to it the NICU experience all while trying to make sure that Doug and Fluff are properly cared for... then having to pump at least 3 times while at work. This just really sucks. I am still experiencing anger, but I understand there is a point to all of this.
This experience is bringing my husband and I closer because it's unearthing unpleasant feelings and experiences from our lives prior to meeting each other. It's created a crisis and engaged a sort of spiritual "fight or flight" response in both of us. We are digging our heels in deep and fighting. Our main tools are prayer, conversation and reading the bible together. After something like this, we are not just going to go back to who we were. We can either be better or worse. We are striving to be better and drawer nearer to God in this time.
Thursday, November 29, 2012
learning a new skill
Today, I visited Ian for about an hour in his new pod. He is now rooming with just one other baby, and there is a bit more space by his bedside. One downside is that there is no window/view in his new pod. No sunlight for him until he is near discharge I guess.
During my visit, I cut his fingernails and watched him sleep (as usual). Because he had just transitioned, I chose no to try and hold him. It is depressing to watch him with all of the tubes hanging out of him. He is awkward to hold. It always feels like I'm going to dislodge something important.
I got hungry and decided to eat. On my way to eat, I stopped by the Social Workers' office to see if I could schedule a knitting lesson. It turned out that she was scheduled to teach another mom in about fifteen minutes. As soon as I had finished eating in the NICU waiting room, she came to retrieve me for our lesson.
The social worker was a very good teacher, patient and appealing to my visual learning style. Additionally, although she is not assigned to our case, she took this time to engage me in dialogue about who I was, what my experience has been like with the NICU, where I am in life. I dare say it was a bit therapeutic.
Despite my tendency to get turned around with my stitching if I get distracted or during a transition, I think I picked up the basic stick pretty quickly. I am excited to continue practicing and to complete the "lovie" I've begun for Ian. The lovie will be a small item that I wear for a little while that gets placed in Ian's bed with my scent. After seeing how knitting works, in basic form of course, I am somewhat mesmerized about the possibilities that lie in stitching. I want to run with it, but clearly I have to learn to crawl, then walk efficiently first.
Here is a picture I took a few hours ago showcasing the progress on my very first knitting project.
During my visit, I cut his fingernails and watched him sleep (as usual). Because he had just transitioned, I chose no to try and hold him. It is depressing to watch him with all of the tubes hanging out of him. He is awkward to hold. It always feels like I'm going to dislodge something important.
I got hungry and decided to eat. On my way to eat, I stopped by the Social Workers' office to see if I could schedule a knitting lesson. It turned out that she was scheduled to teach another mom in about fifteen minutes. As soon as I had finished eating in the NICU waiting room, she came to retrieve me for our lesson.
The social worker was a very good teacher, patient and appealing to my visual learning style. Additionally, although she is not assigned to our case, she took this time to engage me in dialogue about who I was, what my experience has been like with the NICU, where I am in life. I dare say it was a bit therapeutic.
Despite my tendency to get turned around with my stitching if I get distracted or during a transition, I think I picked up the basic stick pretty quickly. I am excited to continue practicing and to complete the "lovie" I've begun for Ian. The lovie will be a small item that I wear for a little while that gets placed in Ian's bed with my scent. After seeing how knitting works, in basic form of course, I am somewhat mesmerized about the possibilities that lie in stitching. I want to run with it, but clearly I have to learn to crawl, then walk efficiently first.
Here is a picture I took a few hours ago showcasing the progress on my very first knitting project.
glorious experience
From this vantage point, I don't want to have any more children. It's not always this glorious experience where you bring your sweet baby home and become a zombie because you can't get more than a few consecutive minutes of sleep before having to nurse or entertain baby all over again.
Being in my current circumstance having my one month old in the NICU doesn't necessarily make me better understand the experiences of families who experience miscarriage, stillbirth or other instances of newborn death. However, it does require me (I hope) to be more aware and sensitive to the less-than-positive experiences that others have had in parenthood.
Even so, I have spent much of this evening mad as hell that I'm even in this situation right now. I know it could be worse, but that doesn't necessarily make me happy about it.
I am beginning to resign myself to the likely probability that we will also be spending my favorite holiday, Christmas, in the NICU as well. Of course there continues to be the impending return to work that is hanging over my head. Again, I say, how am I supposed to focus on stressful work that I'm mildly interested in while dealing with my son's absence in the background?
On top of that, I am STILL having a VERY personal battle with thrush. Despite the plain Greek yogurt, grapefruit extract, echinacea, garlic pills, acidophilus, and aloe vera juice it is kicking my BUTT. I am a tough cookie, but between my body falling apart with this infection and having to pump breast milk every 4 hours. I'm over it. I hate the breast pump and what it does to my body no matter how careful I am. If I'm going to have a ball and chain, at least let it be a beautiful baby.
Here is a picture of the ball and chain I have at home--The one I use at the NICU is better.
Being in my current circumstance having my one month old in the NICU doesn't necessarily make me better understand the experiences of families who experience miscarriage, stillbirth or other instances of newborn death. However, it does require me (I hope) to be more aware and sensitive to the less-than-positive experiences that others have had in parenthood.
Even so, I have spent much of this evening mad as hell that I'm even in this situation right now. I know it could be worse, but that doesn't necessarily make me happy about it.
I am beginning to resign myself to the likely probability that we will also be spending my favorite holiday, Christmas, in the NICU as well. Of course there continues to be the impending return to work that is hanging over my head. Again, I say, how am I supposed to focus on stressful work that I'm mildly interested in while dealing with my son's absence in the background?
On top of that, I am STILL having a VERY personal battle with thrush. Despite the plain Greek yogurt, grapefruit extract, echinacea, garlic pills, acidophilus, and aloe vera juice it is kicking my BUTT. I am a tough cookie, but between my body falling apart with this infection and having to pump breast milk every 4 hours. I'm over it. I hate the breast pump and what it does to my body no matter how careful I am. If I'm going to have a ball and chain, at least let it be a beautiful baby.
Here is a picture of the ball and chain I have at home--The one I use at the NICU is better.
I have another doctor's appointment tomorrow morning as a follow up to my last visit two weeks ago. Hopefully she has something useful to say or describe for my misery.
Monday, November 26, 2012
a mother's guilt. action and belief.
I have no idea how often I am "supposed" to be visiting Squish in the hospital, but I can tell you that I feel absolutely horrible when I miss a day. Doug and I actually decided when our NICU journey first began that we would take a least one day "off" each week from visiting, to mend ourselves.
I just want to sit at Squish's side all day and watch him sleep. Perhaps being there when I can makes me feel like a mom, his mom. I can barely do anything for him right now. Yesterday I clipped his fingernails and brushed his hair and felt accomplished. Sure I pump breastmilk to provide for him, but I long for the physical presence and care aspect of being a mother.
When WILL we get to have our bonding time? He will be a month old on Thursday, still in the NICU. At that point I probably will stil have only held him twice. I can't shake the sinking feeling that breastfeeding him is going to be a nightmare. I don't mean to be so negative, but this entire postpartum experience (on top of not bringing baby home) has already been a nightmare--especially exclusively pumping breastmilk.
Of course it would be wise to focus on God and proclaim that He will work everything out. I get caught up in the details. I mean, hello, I have to go back to work at some point here. That is an unavoidable fact. I wonder how we'll actually get to the nursing part of breastfeeding if I must return to work before he's home. It feels like he'll be walking and talking before he comes home to his mama. I know that's an irrational feeling, but why get my hopes up?
While studying psychology as an undergraduate I learned that beliefs can follow behavior. I forgot what this particular concept is called, but perhaps I could try acting as if everything will be ok eventually. Then I will truly believe that everything will be ok, and that God will continue to provide.
God has ALWAYS delivered. It is a shame that my actions and thoughts demonstrate my haste to believe in people (based on what they say) rather than what God has said and what he has specifically done in my life. There is no sense beating myself up about it, I know. It is merely time to change. Well not "merely" but DEFINITELY time to change.
My belief will follow my actions. I will strive to speak and act with positivity. Words and thoughts are SO powerful. As a man thinketh in his heart so is he (Proverbs 23:7). I grow stronger and my heart is reaffirmed with each uplifting word that someone speaks into our situation. Yesterday at my grandparents house, when my great aunt was getting ready to leave, she told me that she'd be praying for Ian. I told her that I hoped he would be home soon. She confidently proclaimed, "He will be." The way she said it, it seemed like it was as though Jesus had whispered it into her ear to tell me. I just got the sense that she was truly standing on God's promises. It made me feel warm and fuzzy.
I just want to sit at Squish's side all day and watch him sleep. Perhaps being there when I can makes me feel like a mom, his mom. I can barely do anything for him right now. Yesterday I clipped his fingernails and brushed his hair and felt accomplished. Sure I pump breastmilk to provide for him, but I long for the physical presence and care aspect of being a mother.
When WILL we get to have our bonding time? He will be a month old on Thursday, still in the NICU. At that point I probably will stil have only held him twice. I can't shake the sinking feeling that breastfeeding him is going to be a nightmare. I don't mean to be so negative, but this entire postpartum experience (on top of not bringing baby home) has already been a nightmare--especially exclusively pumping breastmilk.
Of course it would be wise to focus on God and proclaim that He will work everything out. I get caught up in the details. I mean, hello, I have to go back to work at some point here. That is an unavoidable fact. I wonder how we'll actually get to the nursing part of breastfeeding if I must return to work before he's home. It feels like he'll be walking and talking before he comes home to his mama. I know that's an irrational feeling, but why get my hopes up?
While studying psychology as an undergraduate I learned that beliefs can follow behavior. I forgot what this particular concept is called, but perhaps I could try acting as if everything will be ok eventually. Then I will truly believe that everything will be ok, and that God will continue to provide.
God has ALWAYS delivered. It is a shame that my actions and thoughts demonstrate my haste to believe in people (based on what they say) rather than what God has said and what he has specifically done in my life. There is no sense beating myself up about it, I know. It is merely time to change. Well not "merely" but DEFINITELY time to change.
My belief will follow my actions. I will strive to speak and act with positivity. Words and thoughts are SO powerful. As a man thinketh in his heart so is he (Proverbs 23:7). I grow stronger and my heart is reaffirmed with each uplifting word that someone speaks into our situation. Yesterday at my grandparents house, when my great aunt was getting ready to leave, she told me that she'd be praying for Ian. I told her that I hoped he would be home soon. She confidently proclaimed, "He will be." The way she said it, it seemed like it was as though Jesus had whispered it into her ear to tell me. I just got the sense that she was truly standing on God's promises. It made me feel warm and fuzzy.
Sunday, November 25, 2012
Thanksgiving
Mom, Dad, and my youngest sister came to visit for the Thanksgiving holiday, which meant a lot of family and a lot more opportunity to drop Fluff off and get things done (without me feeling too guilty about it). They stayed at my grandparents' house around the corner, so we got the benefit of seeing family without the stress of having houseguests in the midst of everything else that is going on.
Wednesday and Thursday were particularly hard days for me emotionally. On Wednesday, I spent the time fretting about how my son was going to be in the hospital during one of my favorite holidays. On Thursday, I was just sad that my son was in the hospital, and feeling guilty for not being at his bedside all day--not that he is even usually aware of my presence in the first place, being asleep for the entirety of most of our visits.
I just couldn't get into Thanksgiving this year. While thankful for my husband and children and for the presence of family, I was pretty sorrowful and just plain worn out. It was much less than a holiday for me. I'm not saying that I couldn't wait until it was over, but I was relieved to go to sleep when all was said and done.
We started our Thanksgiving by visiting Squish in the hospital. He was (finally) wearing one of his 0-3 month onesies, which was a big deal for me because the previous nurse kept dressing him in the 3 and 6 month onesies we'd brought for him. He has a plethora of 0-3 month onesies that we bought prior to his arrival, so it was nice to see them on him and fitting. Below is a picture of Ian that we took during our visit Thanksgiving morning. He's such a sweet baby.
He is still bringing up gastric juices, but it must be decreasing because they keep bringing up his feeds (through the feeding tube). He's gone from 9 cc's to 12 cc's every hour over the past couple of days. For the past two days I've increased my number of pumping sessions from one to four, in anticipation of him needing more breastmilk. So far I am keeping up, actually pumping more than what he is consuming, but my current health issues are making it difficult to continue pumping, so I'm not as consistent as I need to be to continue increasing and sustaining milk supply. I am praying and changing my lifestyle (with the help of my sweet husband) to change it though.
I can't wait to see the family again for the Christmas holiday, just hoping that our baby boy will finally be home with us by then. His absence in our house is really eating away at us. Until then, Fluff still continues to be an absolute joy and blessing, like balm to our hearts. Here is a picture we took tonight just before bedtime.
Wednesday and Thursday were particularly hard days for me emotionally. On Wednesday, I spent the time fretting about how my son was going to be in the hospital during one of my favorite holidays. On Thursday, I was just sad that my son was in the hospital, and feeling guilty for not being at his bedside all day--not that he is even usually aware of my presence in the first place, being asleep for the entirety of most of our visits.
I just couldn't get into Thanksgiving this year. While thankful for my husband and children and for the presence of family, I was pretty sorrowful and just plain worn out. It was much less than a holiday for me. I'm not saying that I couldn't wait until it was over, but I was relieved to go to sleep when all was said and done.
We started our Thanksgiving by visiting Squish in the hospital. He was (finally) wearing one of his 0-3 month onesies, which was a big deal for me because the previous nurse kept dressing him in the 3 and 6 month onesies we'd brought for him. He has a plethora of 0-3 month onesies that we bought prior to his arrival, so it was nice to see them on him and fitting. Below is a picture of Ian that we took during our visit Thanksgiving morning. He's such a sweet baby.
He is still bringing up gastric juices, but it must be decreasing because they keep bringing up his feeds (through the feeding tube). He's gone from 9 cc's to 12 cc's every hour over the past couple of days. For the past two days I've increased my number of pumping sessions from one to four, in anticipation of him needing more breastmilk. So far I am keeping up, actually pumping more than what he is consuming, but my current health issues are making it difficult to continue pumping, so I'm not as consistent as I need to be to continue increasing and sustaining milk supply. I am praying and changing my lifestyle (with the help of my sweet husband) to change it though.
I can't wait to see the family again for the Christmas holiday, just hoping that our baby boy will finally be home with us by then. His absence in our house is really eating away at us. Until then, Fluff still continues to be an absolute joy and blessing, like balm to our hearts. Here is a picture we took tonight just before bedtime.
Thursday, November 22, 2012
up the ante
God has been sending me a message now for years, but I haven't allowed it to take root in my life: Seek God. Trust God. Trial after trial He has stressed the importance of a relationship with Him. Each time He ups the ante.
It's like labor pains in progression. Most of the trials I've endured in my adult life have built upon each other, but I have always been able to wiggle through, relying on myself or other people mostly and undermining God's hand in the matter.
With each trial He has spoken to me louder and more clearly, but I've been reluctant to budge. Just like there became a point in labor when I couldn't remain still, He has brought me to such a place in my life.
To remain stationary and unmoved is to perish, and the stakes are too high this time for me to fold.
It's like labor pains in progression. Most of the trials I've endured in my adult life have built upon each other, but I have always been able to wiggle through, relying on myself or other people mostly and undermining God's hand in the matter.
With each trial He has spoken to me louder and more clearly, but I've been reluctant to budge. Just like there became a point in labor when I couldn't remain still, He has brought me to such a place in my life.
To remain stationary and unmoved is to perish, and the stakes are too high this time for me to fold.
Wednesday, November 21, 2012
Unravelling
It just feels like everything was falling apart today. Maintaining simply became too much to handle. It felt like being on a fast spinning merry go round and losing my grip.
Actually I did lose my grip. I rattled off to Doug about how much everything sucked and how I didn't want to be here anymore. I just wanted to escape the entire situation, feeling hopeless. He quickly pointed out that I've been acting like I am the only one of us trying to deal in our current situation.
I have been so sucked into my emotional and physical pain that I barely see him,yet I have been expecting him to prop me up. If I treated him half as good as he takes care of me, we'd both be in better places.
Until today we'd been in separate pods going through this trial, but I have consciously decided to step into Doug's pod and take care of my husband. If I continue to look up to God and look next to me, at the husband by my side and focus my energy there, it will leave much less time for wallowing.
Actually I did lose my grip. I rattled off to Doug about how much everything sucked and how I didn't want to be here anymore. I just wanted to escape the entire situation, feeling hopeless. He quickly pointed out that I've been acting like I am the only one of us trying to deal in our current situation.
I have been so sucked into my emotional and physical pain that I barely see him,yet I have been expecting him to prop me up. If I treated him half as good as he takes care of me, we'd both be in better places.
Until today we'd been in separate pods going through this trial, but I have consciously decided to step into Doug's pod and take care of my husband. If I continue to look up to God and look next to me, at the husband by my side and focus my energy there, it will leave much less time for wallowing.
Going through the motions
I just feel like an empty shell, daily going through the motions. I am torn between a duty to care for my husband and to give my daughter love and attention, while seeing my son as often as I can. Meanwhile, I am supposed to take care of myself too. I have not been sleeping or eating very well. "Rest" is a 4-letter word.
When I do take a time to notice myself beyond basic physiological needs, my itchy, thrush-ridden chest and slowly healing incision, I lunge fully forward into a personal attack. I'm not losing weight as quickly as I would like. My clothes hang off of me like rags. I only wear the handful of shirts and two pairs of pants that look the least bad on me. My diastastis recti has gained grown with a vengeance, and my organs will never return to their rightful places.
Smiles are few and far in between, unless directed at Fluff. Some days it just plain hurts to smile. I need to step away for a moment, but there is no escape. There is the obligation of bring there for my son while he is in a foreign place. When I don't call and check on him early enough in the day, I feel like a neglectful mom. When I visit early in the day and the security lady doesn't stamp my free parking card (so I'll have an opportunity to come back later the same day) I feel guilty that I didn't make the second trip to the hospital.
With so much stuff stacked against me, how can I be mom enough? I have only held my son twice during his nearly 4 weeks of life, and the second time I did he screamed (as much as newborn can) for the entire time.
One of the things eating me the most is the prospect of not having home bonding time with him before I have to go to work. How can I even resume work life effectively under all of this pressure? I am petrified of the probability that he may go directly from NICU to daycare.
I just feel like I'm at the bottom of a deep pool and everyone else is floating above me, on the surface--out of touch.
When I do take a time to notice myself beyond basic physiological needs, my itchy, thrush-ridden chest and slowly healing incision, I lunge fully forward into a personal attack. I'm not losing weight as quickly as I would like. My clothes hang off of me like rags. I only wear the handful of shirts and two pairs of pants that look the least bad on me. My diastastis recti has gained grown with a vengeance, and my organs will never return to their rightful places.
Smiles are few and far in between, unless directed at Fluff. Some days it just plain hurts to smile. I need to step away for a moment, but there is no escape. There is the obligation of bring there for my son while he is in a foreign place. When I don't call and check on him early enough in the day, I feel like a neglectful mom. When I visit early in the day and the security lady doesn't stamp my free parking card (so I'll have an opportunity to come back later the same day) I feel guilty that I didn't make the second trip to the hospital.
With so much stuff stacked against me, how can I be mom enough? I have only held my son twice during his nearly 4 weeks of life, and the second time I did he screamed (as much as newborn can) for the entire time.
One of the things eating me the most is the prospect of not having home bonding time with him before I have to go to work. How can I even resume work life effectively under all of this pressure? I am petrified of the probability that he may go directly from NICU to daycare.
I just feel like I'm at the bottom of a deep pool and everyone else is floating above me, on the surface--out of touch.
Mom knows my ugly cry face
Today my mom, dad and youngest sister drove up from GA for the holiday.
What is it about moms? I saw mom and the rest of the family shortly after leaving the hospital. Mom greeted me with a "hey sweetie". Then, clearly seeing my vulnerability like a scarf hanging out of a shallow pocket, went for it--she just YANKED it out into the open. She told me it looked like I had been crying, which I confirmed. She went on to ask if it was because Ian wasn't going to be home for Thanksgiving. "Yes," I cracked and released a few tears.
What is it about a simple inquiry that turns a loosely-retained pile of emotions into a full-fledged unstoppable overflow? My mom can read me like a book, despite how closed off I've been lately. On the one hand it may seem uncanny, but on the other hand, I lived with this woman for 20 or so years. She has seen my "ugly cry face" countless times. She's seen it evolve from that of a little girl who was emotionally disoriented splitting holidays between biological parents to that of a grown woman with major life trials.
I would bet that she'd say the face hasn't changed all. I wonder if she sees little girl-Crystal when she looks at me sometimes. It is a blessing to have a close relationship with your mother... And for her to still be around.
Today ( Nov 21st) was actually mom's birthday. I don't ever forget her birthday, but I hesitated saying happy birthday to her because I was in such a bad place today. I believe that birthday wishes should come from a warm, sunshiny place...so I procrastinated, thinking I would feel better a little later on, but it never happened. I never was able to pull my soul from up off of the floor and give the warm birthday greeting I aimed for. Instead, it looked like I had forgotten.
Maybe Eeyore's storm cloud will go hover elsewhere later today, instead of Doug and I, so that we can enjoy Thanksgiving.
What is it about moms? I saw mom and the rest of the family shortly after leaving the hospital. Mom greeted me with a "hey sweetie". Then, clearly seeing my vulnerability like a scarf hanging out of a shallow pocket, went for it--she just YANKED it out into the open. She told me it looked like I had been crying, which I confirmed. She went on to ask if it was because Ian wasn't going to be home for Thanksgiving. "Yes," I cracked and released a few tears.
What is it about a simple inquiry that turns a loosely-retained pile of emotions into a full-fledged unstoppable overflow? My mom can read me like a book, despite how closed off I've been lately. On the one hand it may seem uncanny, but on the other hand, I lived with this woman for 20 or so years. She has seen my "ugly cry face" countless times. She's seen it evolve from that of a little girl who was emotionally disoriented splitting holidays between biological parents to that of a grown woman with major life trials.
I would bet that she'd say the face hasn't changed all. I wonder if she sees little girl-Crystal when she looks at me sometimes. It is a blessing to have a close relationship with your mother... And for her to still be around.
Today ( Nov 21st) was actually mom's birthday. I don't ever forget her birthday, but I hesitated saying happy birthday to her because I was in such a bad place today. I believe that birthday wishes should come from a warm, sunshiny place...so I procrastinated, thinking I would feel better a little later on, but it never happened. I never was able to pull my soul from up off of the floor and give the warm birthday greeting I aimed for. Instead, it looked like I had forgotten.
Maybe Eeyore's storm cloud will go hover elsewhere later today, instead of Doug and I, so that we can enjoy Thanksgiving.
Realizing my son is sick
One would think that having a son in the NICU would clue me into the fact that he's sick. However, like every other truly difficult thing in my life, it has taken a while to sink in. In fact, it just really hit me earlier this evening.
I went alone to visit Squish around 4:30 today. It's been a trying day, and I just wanted to see my son. For the entire nearly 3 hours I was there he slept mostly or rested his eyes, breathing tubes and a saline tube in his nose, feeding tube in his mouth. He has what I assume is an oximeter around his right foot. His tiny left foot, while free, is scarred with tiny red dots because his blood is tested at least two times per day. His heel is pricked each time.
Today he didn't look as peaceful to me as he had been. Ever so often he would cough and try to bring up mucus, which frustrated him (as per his usual). Occasionally while doing this he would cry and turn beet red for a moment. After observing for a few hours, I realized: my son is SICK. He's not fake sick or in the nursery for an extended amount of time. No. He lives not with his family, but in the hospital. The 'crib' he's in is a hospital bed, despite the multicolor specked paint. I must SCRUB in to see him. The people who care for him only touch him with gloves. He has do many tubes and other equipment hanging from him that I, his own mother, am intimidated to hold him.
Perhaps worst of all today I was gripped with the fact that maybe he would never come home. Nothing outside of my family means anything to me anymore. Life is too short, and time with my loved ones is too precious.
I can't look back anymore. Mediocrity is no longer an option for my life. It is time to accept my trial and take a seat at my heavenly Father's feet to find out what He would have me do. Who would he have me to serve, to be.
He says to seek His kingdom first, but I have allowed the pressures of this world to make me a slave to my current livelihood, with my family taking back seat and Jesus riding in the trunk like a spare tire.
During my pregnancy it all peaked, as the demands of my pregnancy increased, so did those at my job. I ran myself ragged mentally, physically and emotionally so much that there was nothing left for my husband or for myself. I squeezed out the last drops of whatever I had for my daughter, but I was zombie mommy at best. Now she has a hollow, shell shocked woman for a mother. I believe she knows. She recognizes my crying and tries to pet me up. I feel like I am shortchanging her as I try to navigate my state of being and her brother's illness.
I went alone to visit Squish around 4:30 today. It's been a trying day, and I just wanted to see my son. For the entire nearly 3 hours I was there he slept mostly or rested his eyes, breathing tubes and a saline tube in his nose, feeding tube in his mouth. He has what I assume is an oximeter around his right foot. His tiny left foot, while free, is scarred with tiny red dots because his blood is tested at least two times per day. His heel is pricked each time.
Today he didn't look as peaceful to me as he had been. Ever so often he would cough and try to bring up mucus, which frustrated him (as per his usual). Occasionally while doing this he would cry and turn beet red for a moment. After observing for a few hours, I realized: my son is SICK. He's not fake sick or in the nursery for an extended amount of time. No. He lives not with his family, but in the hospital. The 'crib' he's in is a hospital bed, despite the multicolor specked paint. I must SCRUB in to see him. The people who care for him only touch him with gloves. He has do many tubes and other equipment hanging from him that I, his own mother, am intimidated to hold him.
Perhaps worst of all today I was gripped with the fact that maybe he would never come home. Nothing outside of my family means anything to me anymore. Life is too short, and time with my loved ones is too precious.
I can't look back anymore. Mediocrity is no longer an option for my life. It is time to accept my trial and take a seat at my heavenly Father's feet to find out what He would have me do. Who would he have me to serve, to be.
He says to seek His kingdom first, but I have allowed the pressures of this world to make me a slave to my current livelihood, with my family taking back seat and Jesus riding in the trunk like a spare tire.
During my pregnancy it all peaked, as the demands of my pregnancy increased, so did those at my job. I ran myself ragged mentally, physically and emotionally so much that there was nothing left for my husband or for myself. I squeezed out the last drops of whatever I had for my daughter, but I was zombie mommy at best. Now she has a hollow, shell shocked woman for a mother. I believe she knows. She recognizes my crying and tries to pet me up. I feel like I am shortchanging her as I try to navigate my state of being and her brother's illness.
Tuesday, November 20, 2012
quick praise re:healing
I posted a few days ago about how my entire family needs healing. Well, we've been praying and I know that family and close friends have been lifting us up as well. God is swiftly answering our prayers. Here are updates:
Squish - Having setbacks with breast milk feedings via his tube, so that is more of a challenge than anticipated. HOWEVER, he continues to advance in breathing, which is amazing.
Fluff - You know that rash that I felt horrible about? We began applying it Friday night (after I had to get aggressive with the Pharmacy folks) and as of tonight (Monday), she is a new Fluff. It began to clear up immediately, but with each morning and night application of the ointment, it becomes more difficult to tell that she even had a rash to begin with! I am so happy for that. Praise Jesus!
Doug - He still has a slight cough from residual congestion, I guess... but his energy has been restored and his throat no longer bothers him.
Me - The condition of my c-section incision seems to be improving. It's actually a bit more sore lately (probably because I'm still a bit too mobile), but seems more stable and on the road to recovery. The thrush situation is now at bay. After taking a 36-hour (maybe more) break from pumping milk, continuing my meds and elevated hygiene procedures, I've stopped feeling like I'm in shambles. Pumping did not hurt tonight, and I am back in the game, determined to successfully breastfeed Squish--by pump for now, but via nursing as SOON as we can, by the grace of God.
Thank you all for your prayers. We are so very blessed to have family a friends that love us so much, loving us right through this emotional storm. We love you.
Squish - Having setbacks with breast milk feedings via his tube, so that is more of a challenge than anticipated. HOWEVER, he continues to advance in breathing, which is amazing.
Fluff - You know that rash that I felt horrible about? We began applying it Friday night (after I had to get aggressive with the Pharmacy folks) and as of tonight (Monday), she is a new Fluff. It began to clear up immediately, but with each morning and night application of the ointment, it becomes more difficult to tell that she even had a rash to begin with! I am so happy for that. Praise Jesus!
Doug - He still has a slight cough from residual congestion, I guess... but his energy has been restored and his throat no longer bothers him.
Me - The condition of my c-section incision seems to be improving. It's actually a bit more sore lately (probably because I'm still a bit too mobile), but seems more stable and on the road to recovery. The thrush situation is now at bay. After taking a 36-hour (maybe more) break from pumping milk, continuing my meds and elevated hygiene procedures, I've stopped feeling like I'm in shambles. Pumping did not hurt tonight, and I am back in the game, determined to successfully breastfeed Squish--by pump for now, but via nursing as SOON as we can, by the grace of God.
Thank you all for your prayers. We are so very blessed to have family a friends that love us so much, loving us right through this emotional storm. We love you.
late night call from NICU *gasp*
Tonight, around 10 p.m., I contemplated calling the NICU to check up on Squish, but decided to wait until Doug was around in order to avoid having to repeat detailed information. I did not get a chance to call, because they called me first.
Naturally, seeing the hospital number show up on my phone at 11 a.m. was somewhat startling and scary to answer. It was the nurse practitioner. Squish continued to vomit excessively, so they were stopping his feedings for tonight and feeding him via IV instead until the depth of his feeding tube was properly adjusted.
He was very unhappy on the Cpap machine, so they'd also switched him to a vapotherm high flow nasal cannula. This way, instead of having a huge piece of plastic covering his nose, he'd have two small tubes in his nose and hopefully be much more comfortable. If I'm not mistaken, this new development is an additional step closer to him breathing on his own.
I'm elated, because I had stopped taking pictures of him since Saturday. I don't like to take pictures of Squish looking overly uncomfortable. With the Cpap, I could barely see his face. Now he will just have some tubes coming out of his nose, so I'm excited to see him tomorrow (or later today). Not only will he have on some of the clothes mommy and daddy selected for him, but I get to see his sweet face! I am about to be the mamarazzi and take lots of pictures.
Because this blog is wide open to the public, I am still hesitant to post photos on here, but I may add a couple of celebratory shots of Squish. Every moment that we seem to be least expecting any progress, God steps in and advances Squish's recovery. It's amazing, and I'm along for the ride.
Naturally, seeing the hospital number show up on my phone at 11 a.m. was somewhat startling and scary to answer. It was the nurse practitioner. Squish continued to vomit excessively, so they were stopping his feedings for tonight and feeding him via IV instead until the depth of his feeding tube was properly adjusted.
He was very unhappy on the Cpap machine, so they'd also switched him to a vapotherm high flow nasal cannula. This way, instead of having a huge piece of plastic covering his nose, he'd have two small tubes in his nose and hopefully be much more comfortable. If I'm not mistaken, this new development is an additional step closer to him breathing on his own.
I'm elated, because I had stopped taking pictures of him since Saturday. I don't like to take pictures of Squish looking overly uncomfortable. With the Cpap, I could barely see his face. Now he will just have some tubes coming out of his nose, so I'm excited to see him tomorrow (or later today). Not only will he have on some of the clothes mommy and daddy selected for him, but I get to see his sweet face! I am about to be the mamarazzi and take lots of pictures.
Because this blog is wide open to the public, I am still hesitant to post photos on here, but I may add a couple of celebratory shots of Squish. Every moment that we seem to be least expecting any progress, God steps in and advances Squish's recovery. It's amazing, and I'm along for the ride.
fussy wussy was a squish
During our visit today (Monday), Squish had on an over-sized onesie and was lying in his crib being somewhat fidgety. The nurse asked if we wanted to hold him, so we decided that Doug would hold him. No sooner than he had gotten into Doug's arms, we discovered that he'd pooped his diaper. As I was changing his diaper, he began to pee. Changing his diaper seemed to take 20 minutes. I am so out of practice.
Doug needed to step out, so I got the opportunity to hold Squish. That little boy squirmed, screamed, and hollered (as much as a newborn can) to no avail for 98% of the time he was in my arms. The nurse swaddled him. I adjusted him so that he wasn't fully reclined, patted his back. He continued to baby-curse and shake his tiny fists at me, red in the face. It was non stop, and I became quite discouraged. The nurse tried to give me tips and assure me that he'd been upset all day, but in the end Doug and I decided to put him down because he was so miserable.
Squish is currently experiencing reflux, with constant vomiting (may be caused by the placement of his feeding tubes), whatever withdrawal symptoms he may be having from being weaned off of morphine (even though he is being weaned very slowly), and he also had the Cpap covering a great deal of his face.
I could be completely off base, but it seemed like he was able to smell my milk when I was holding him... This is probably unlikely because the Cpap machine was very much attached to his nose, but initially he was acting like a routing baby.
We hope to have a nice, peaceful experience holding him soon.
Doug needed to step out, so I got the opportunity to hold Squish. That little boy squirmed, screamed, and hollered (as much as a newborn can) to no avail for 98% of the time he was in my arms. The nurse swaddled him. I adjusted him so that he wasn't fully reclined, patted his back. He continued to baby-curse and shake his tiny fists at me, red in the face. It was non stop, and I became quite discouraged. The nurse tried to give me tips and assure me that he'd been upset all day, but in the end Doug and I decided to put him down because he was so miserable.
Squish is currently experiencing reflux, with constant vomiting (may be caused by the placement of his feeding tubes), whatever withdrawal symptoms he may be having from being weaned off of morphine (even though he is being weaned very slowly), and he also had the Cpap covering a great deal of his face.
I could be completely off base, but it seemed like he was able to smell my milk when I was holding him... This is probably unlikely because the Cpap machine was very much attached to his nose, but initially he was acting like a routing baby.
We hope to have a nice, peaceful experience holding him soon.
mommy's baby can wear clothes!
Last night (Sunday night), we called to check on Squish and were informed that he can now wear clothes! That makes me so happy, because every day I go into his and Fluff's room and see all of his little clothes in a bin just waiting for him to come home. Now we can bring him some more "home." Any modicum of normalcy in this situation is much appreciated.
iFreaked out about a phone!
MIL bought iPhone 5s for Doug and I this weekend (a sweet gesture), using our upgrades via our cell phone company. Anyone who knows me understands that this was a big leap. At the ripe age of 28, I had never owned a smartphone. I'd had an LG EnV Touch for just over two years, and before that I'd had an EnV 2 for over two years. Doug was actually using an old flip phone that had belonged to my dad since like 2000, because my EnV 2 that he'd been using broke as a result of being old and brittle.
We purchased our phones on Saturday evening, just before visiting Squish. Once we got home, my phone froze and would not come on after I attempted to open text message with an mp3 attachment. BIL came over and revived my phone, so I stopped holding my breath. I thought everything was ok...
Sunday night, I plugged my phone up to charge it while talking to my BFF and it crashed again. This time, I knew how to reset it. However, it kept crashing this time and would not stay on for more than a few seconds at I time. So, I whined to Doug about it. He tried to fix it, by researching to see if it had happened to someone else and checking troubleshooting advice. We tried calling our phone company, but they don't offer phone support after 11 p.m. Then I was under the impression that I would not be able to get my phone replaced because we hadn't had the opportunity to purchase AppleCare+ yet. I became very angry, wrote the most melodramatic status EVER on Facebook, and stomped off to take a shower.
I mean, how was I going to replace a phone that retails for $650? I couldn't afford it at the $149.99 upgrade price. It was completely unfair that this ONE thing could decide not to go well. Seriously, I already have a 3 week old son in NICU indefinitely and am already dealing with a lot. These were the thoughts going through my head.
Post-shower, I was quite ashamed by my Facebook status, as it was over a dumb phone. Under normal, moderate stress levels I would not let something like this get to me so easily. I could think clearly and rationally, recognize the phone as a piece of equipment and move on. The phone incident was just a reminder that I can't be cool all the time, and perhaps it was time to express some anger. It was the straw that broke the camel's back. For a moment, I got sick of being so strong.
By the time I was out of the shower, my sweet husband informed me that I'd probably be able to get it replaced for free by our cell phone company with no questions asked, which turned out to be the case. I now have another brand new iPhone. We did go immediately to the Apple Store after getting the replacement phone to purchase the AppleCare+ extended warranty.
We purchased our phones on Saturday evening, just before visiting Squish. Once we got home, my phone froze and would not come on after I attempted to open text message with an mp3 attachment. BIL came over and revived my phone, so I stopped holding my breath. I thought everything was ok...
Sunday night, I plugged my phone up to charge it while talking to my BFF and it crashed again. This time, I knew how to reset it. However, it kept crashing this time and would not stay on for more than a few seconds at I time. So, I whined to Doug about it. He tried to fix it, by researching to see if it had happened to someone else and checking troubleshooting advice. We tried calling our phone company, but they don't offer phone support after 11 p.m. Then I was under the impression that I would not be able to get my phone replaced because we hadn't had the opportunity to purchase AppleCare+ yet. I became very angry, wrote the most melodramatic status EVER on Facebook, and stomped off to take a shower.
I mean, how was I going to replace a phone that retails for $650? I couldn't afford it at the $149.99 upgrade price. It was completely unfair that this ONE thing could decide not to go well. Seriously, I already have a 3 week old son in NICU indefinitely and am already dealing with a lot. These were the thoughts going through my head.
Post-shower, I was quite ashamed by my Facebook status, as it was over a dumb phone. Under normal, moderate stress levels I would not let something like this get to me so easily. I could think clearly and rationally, recognize the phone as a piece of equipment and move on. The phone incident was just a reminder that I can't be cool all the time, and perhaps it was time to express some anger. It was the straw that broke the camel's back. For a moment, I got sick of being so strong.
By the time I was out of the shower, my sweet husband informed me that I'd probably be able to get it replaced for free by our cell phone company with no questions asked, which turned out to be the case. I now have another brand new iPhone. We did go immediately to the Apple Store after getting the replacement phone to purchase the AppleCare+ extended warranty.
i can do it grammy
Saturday evening, we took MIL & our niece to meet and visit with Squish. When we got to the NICU I was somewhat peeved, because I felt like his nurse for the day had not been taking care of him as well as the previous nurses had. I mean, he was ok, but the nurse was not as attentive to detail... like putting little gauze pads under Squish to make sure he didn't end up wading in vomit (he's been vomiting a lot recently).
So my MIL and I were observing Squish, while I obsessed about the dried up vomit he was lying next to and about how the brace on his face that his tubes were connected to was loose, in fact it was nearly detached from his face. Meanwhile, the day nurse was catching the night nurse up on Squish's progress and care plan, so they were across the room--It was shift change.
Suddenly, Squish began coughing repeatedly. Vomit spewed out of his mouth, which of course, pissed him off, so he began batting around. I put his infant mitts on, but it didn't help. He went for his tubes, and detached the brace from his face. I flagged down the nurses, and immediately a team of staff swarmed around his bed--nurses, respiratory team, etc. MIL and I stepped out of the way. It seemed like it was more of an emergency than it had initially struck me to be. When I flagged down the nurses, his tube was not yet out. Regardless, I was overly cool. I have the tendency to be that way when I should be flipping out and worried.
MIL looked at me as if to say that I was handling the situation very well. I was just confused. A lady introduced her as the nurse practitioner on staff that evening. Because Squish had taken his own breathing tube out, they decided to "go ahead" and replace the ventilator with a Cpap machine... a step down, a step into the direction of him taking a more active role in his breathing (and hopefully coming home soon). They thought that maybe he'd do ok, since he'd taken the initiative.
We left shortly after the Cpap was in place, so that Squish would have an opportunity to settle down and get acclimated to his new machine. MIL was so excited. Her version of the story is that he saw his Grammy and decided that it was time for him to breathe on his own so that he could leave the hospital soon. He saw Grammy, which convinced him that he could do it. They'd had a connection.
While I wish that my son were home with me, I feel blessed to have shared that special moment with my MIL. I did not meet her prior to marrying Doug, and we have not spent much time together at all. Having her around this weekend, along with our other family was quite a treat. I feel like I got to at least know her a little better, as we were able to chat more. Fluff got to know her Grammy, big cousin, and uncle and aunt more. She was a lot more engaged seeing them this time, being nearly two and a half now. It was sweet and a great encouragement.
We were exhausted all weekend, but having family around was like having one big group hug that we desperately needed in order to regain some more energy to push through our current trials.
So my MIL and I were observing Squish, while I obsessed about the dried up vomit he was lying next to and about how the brace on his face that his tubes were connected to was loose, in fact it was nearly detached from his face. Meanwhile, the day nurse was catching the night nurse up on Squish's progress and care plan, so they were across the room--It was shift change.
Suddenly, Squish began coughing repeatedly. Vomit spewed out of his mouth, which of course, pissed him off, so he began batting around. I put his infant mitts on, but it didn't help. He went for his tubes, and detached the brace from his face. I flagged down the nurses, and immediately a team of staff swarmed around his bed--nurses, respiratory team, etc. MIL and I stepped out of the way. It seemed like it was more of an emergency than it had initially struck me to be. When I flagged down the nurses, his tube was not yet out. Regardless, I was overly cool. I have the tendency to be that way when I should be flipping out and worried.
MIL looked at me as if to say that I was handling the situation very well. I was just confused. A lady introduced her as the nurse practitioner on staff that evening. Because Squish had taken his own breathing tube out, they decided to "go ahead" and replace the ventilator with a Cpap machine... a step down, a step into the direction of him taking a more active role in his breathing (and hopefully coming home soon). They thought that maybe he'd do ok, since he'd taken the initiative.
We left shortly after the Cpap was in place, so that Squish would have an opportunity to settle down and get acclimated to his new machine. MIL was so excited. Her version of the story is that he saw his Grammy and decided that it was time for him to breathe on his own so that he could leave the hospital soon. He saw Grammy, which convinced him that he could do it. They'd had a connection.
While I wish that my son were home with me, I feel blessed to have shared that special moment with my MIL. I did not meet her prior to marrying Doug, and we have not spent much time together at all. Having her around this weekend, along with our other family was quite a treat. I feel like I got to at least know her a little better, as we were able to chat more. Fluff got to know her Grammy, big cousin, and uncle and aunt more. She was a lot more engaged seeing them this time, being nearly two and a half now. It was sweet and a great encouragement.
We were exhausted all weekend, but having family around was like having one big group hug that we desperately needed in order to regain some more energy to push through our current trials.
food and family
This weekend, my Mom-in-law (MIL), niece, Brother-in-law, and Sister-in-law-to-be (SIL2B) all drove down from New Jersey to visit us. I was really excited to see everyone because it had been quite a while since our last visit.
MIL and niece actually slept in our apartment. When Fluff awoke on Saturday morning to a house full of people, she ran around screaming with delight and jumping up and down. My dad will tell you that this is something I did as a little girl--I would jump up and down anytime I got excited, usually about something social, like having a friend sleepover or relatives coming into town to visit.
Doug's and my favorite restaurant used to be Longhorn Steakhouse. Whenever family would visit and want to take us out to eat, we'd go there. However, the last two times we've taken loved ones to Longhorn's we've been disappointed, and it's been somewhat of a restaurant-mare. For example, on our most recent (and final visit) to the location here in town, our initial waitress suggested that I add sugar or splenda to my "sweet" tea when I mentioned that it was bitter and over-brewed. (Did you catch that I referred to her as our "initial" waitress?)
As a result of things going south with Longhorn's, we've decided to focus on eating at our local favorites. They are somewhat more pricey, but owned and operated by families for a more personal atmosphere. Our number one spot in town to eat is Kotobuki on W. 21st Street in the Ghent section of Norfolk. It's a Japanese restaurant and sushi bar owned by a mother and daughter pair we've known for the past almost three years. I was pregnant with Fluff when I met them. They always ask about Fluff when we come into the restaurant without her. Upon my discharge from the hospital after having Squish, we went DIRECTLY to Kotobuki with my mom and dad for a celebratory meal. It's just our place, so it's nice to share our family with theirs. Before we could introduce the owner/mother to Doug's family, she picked up on it.
In keeping with our "local favorite" tradition, we ate at d'Egg in downtown Norfolk for brunch on Sunday before going to see Squish in the hospital. The host actually described us as regulars this time, lol. I find it funny, because we barely visit sit down restaurants in an effort to be economical. When we do, I guess it's almost guaranteed that we will eat at either Kotobuki or d'Egg.
MIL and niece actually slept in our apartment. When Fluff awoke on Saturday morning to a house full of people, she ran around screaming with delight and jumping up and down. My dad will tell you that this is something I did as a little girl--I would jump up and down anytime I got excited, usually about something social, like having a friend sleepover or relatives coming into town to visit.
Doug's and my favorite restaurant used to be Longhorn Steakhouse. Whenever family would visit and want to take us out to eat, we'd go there. However, the last two times we've taken loved ones to Longhorn's we've been disappointed, and it's been somewhat of a restaurant-mare. For example, on our most recent (and final visit) to the location here in town, our initial waitress suggested that I add sugar or splenda to my "sweet" tea when I mentioned that it was bitter and over-brewed. (Did you catch that I referred to her as our "initial" waitress?)
As a result of things going south with Longhorn's, we've decided to focus on eating at our local favorites. They are somewhat more pricey, but owned and operated by families for a more personal atmosphere. Our number one spot in town to eat is Kotobuki on W. 21st Street in the Ghent section of Norfolk. It's a Japanese restaurant and sushi bar owned by a mother and daughter pair we've known for the past almost three years. I was pregnant with Fluff when I met them. They always ask about Fluff when we come into the restaurant without her. Upon my discharge from the hospital after having Squish, we went DIRECTLY to Kotobuki with my mom and dad for a celebratory meal. It's just our place, so it's nice to share our family with theirs. Before we could introduce the owner/mother to Doug's family, she picked up on it.
In keeping with our "local favorite" tradition, we ate at d'Egg in downtown Norfolk for brunch on Sunday before going to see Squish in the hospital. The host actually described us as regulars this time, lol. I find it funny, because we barely visit sit down restaurants in an effort to be economical. When we do, I guess it's almost guaranteed that we will eat at either Kotobuki or d'Egg.
Friday, November 16, 2012
peppermint mocha, chocolate-fetti cookie, cheez-its
After Fluff's doctor's appointment today at the children's hospital, Doug picked her up on his way home from school and took her to daycare. This was around 12 p.m., which left me 2 hours to kill before my CPR & Safety course at 2:00 p.m. today. Doug was going to attend class with me but can't make it due to his sickness and not wanting to share that sickness with other people who have sick children.
I went to the small hospital cafeteria to grab something to eat with my NICU parent 20% off gift card.... during the buzz of lunch hour. The cafeteria is not very large, but I was quite overwhelmed. What did I want to eat? What WAS there to eat? I couldn't see the make-to-order food offerings for the mini-crowds in front of the separate stations. The "grab and go" options were sparse and unappealing. After a while, I gave up and bolted out of there. I glanced into the on-site pharmacy and the gift store for suitable "meal" options with no luck. Ultimately, I defaulted to the authorized Starbucks coffee shop across the hallway. There was no line, no pressure. I ordered my seasonal favorite peppermint mocha and grabbed a cookie to go with it.
After I had begun my journey to the NICU, I realized that I absolutely had to have something salty to go with my sweet drink and cookie. A quick stop to the vending area dictated that only cheez-its would do.
Presently, the cheez-its are gone. I've eaten half of the cookie, and I'm laboring through this grande peppermint mocha. I think tall Starbucks drinks are plenty. I meant to go back and see Squish from 1:30 to 2:00 p.m. before my class, but I knew I couldn't take my drink with me. Also, I think I needed this time to kind of be to myself. Although I'm in the NICU waiting room, I'm in my own zone. Seeing Squish prior to class would probably make it difficult for me to absorb the CPR class information. I haven't spent very much time alone for the past two years, but especially not since I've had Squish. It's possible that I'm just overstimulated.
I went to the small hospital cafeteria to grab something to eat with my NICU parent 20% off gift card.... during the buzz of lunch hour. The cafeteria is not very large, but I was quite overwhelmed. What did I want to eat? What WAS there to eat? I couldn't see the make-to-order food offerings for the mini-crowds in front of the separate stations. The "grab and go" options were sparse and unappealing. After a while, I gave up and bolted out of there. I glanced into the on-site pharmacy and the gift store for suitable "meal" options with no luck. Ultimately, I defaulted to the authorized Starbucks coffee shop across the hallway. There was no line, no pressure. I ordered my seasonal favorite peppermint mocha and grabbed a cookie to go with it.
After I had begun my journey to the NICU, I realized that I absolutely had to have something salty to go with my sweet drink and cookie. A quick stop to the vending area dictated that only cheez-its would do.
Presently, the cheez-its are gone. I've eaten half of the cookie, and I'm laboring through this grande peppermint mocha. I think tall Starbucks drinks are plenty. I meant to go back and see Squish from 1:30 to 2:00 p.m. before my class, but I knew I couldn't take my drink with me. Also, I think I needed this time to kind of be to myself. Although I'm in the NICU waiting room, I'm in my own zone. Seeing Squish prior to class would probably make it difficult for me to absorb the CPR class information. I haven't spent very much time alone for the past two years, but especially not since I've had Squish. It's possible that I'm just overstimulated.
need healing
On top of our heavy hearts concerning our son (and baby brother) being in the NICU, sickness has directly affected each member of my family at home, which doesn't help our efforts to be healthy.
I am nearly 3 full weeks into recovering from a c-section. It's hard to rest appropriately when you want to (and feel obligated) to visit your son in NICU at least once every day. So far, I've only been making it once, but I feel like I should be there more often and for longer durations. As soon as Squish was born, since I planned to breastfeed him like I did Fluff (for 13 months), it was immediately explained to me that I needed to be pumping breast milk 6 to 8 times a day and for 15 minutes each. I very quickly realized that 6 to 8 times per day would not work with my needing to rest, but I felt guilty not pumping as often as prescribed by the lactation consultant. My body's weakened immune system, in addition to my lack of rest and poor diet contributed to the absolute WORST case of thrush I've ever had. Unfortunately, as soon as it dawned on me that thrush had once again reared it's ugly head (within a week of Ian's birth), I also noticed some issues with my incision and had to be seen by my doctor. She prescribed me a round of antibiotics to clear up a possible infection. The antibiotics catapulted my case of thrush directly into hell. It's been a nightmare trying to manage all of my linens and clothes. Thankfully I have Doug to wash and sterilize all of my pump stuff daily, which is a great help. He told me yesterday that I reminded him of Sally from the Nightmare Before Christmas, with all of my aches, pains and infections, not to mention my body is also doing its basic postpartum body repair. It feels like I will never be together, but I have to be some day.
Doug had not been feeling well the past few days, so he went to the doctor last night to find out that he has some kind of viral infection in his throat. Of course this means he won't be seeing Squish until he's well, hopefully by this Monday. I know he's hurting that he doesn't feel well and can't see our son on top of all of that.
We took Fluff to the doctor on Tuesday to get a body rash checked out and he referred us to the dermatologist, whom we visited today (on the same floor of the hospital as Squish). The started in her diaper area and is pretty much taking over my poor baby's little body. She was prescribed a couple of medications and we are changing her body lotion. She may have the lanolin sensitivity that I had as a little girl. I hope the rash responds to treatment, because it's making Fluff miserable. I feel like I dropped the ball. We should have taken her to the doctor sooner, before it got this bad. I've been so caught up in my own health and being devastated about Squish, that she got lost in the shuffle. I'm going to do better from now on. She's my baby too.
I am nearly 3 full weeks into recovering from a c-section. It's hard to rest appropriately when you want to (and feel obligated) to visit your son in NICU at least once every day. So far, I've only been making it once, but I feel like I should be there more often and for longer durations. As soon as Squish was born, since I planned to breastfeed him like I did Fluff (for 13 months), it was immediately explained to me that I needed to be pumping breast milk 6 to 8 times a day and for 15 minutes each. I very quickly realized that 6 to 8 times per day would not work with my needing to rest, but I felt guilty not pumping as often as prescribed by the lactation consultant. My body's weakened immune system, in addition to my lack of rest and poor diet contributed to the absolute WORST case of thrush I've ever had. Unfortunately, as soon as it dawned on me that thrush had once again reared it's ugly head (within a week of Ian's birth), I also noticed some issues with my incision and had to be seen by my doctor. She prescribed me a round of antibiotics to clear up a possible infection. The antibiotics catapulted my case of thrush directly into hell. It's been a nightmare trying to manage all of my linens and clothes. Thankfully I have Doug to wash and sterilize all of my pump stuff daily, which is a great help. He told me yesterday that I reminded him of Sally from the Nightmare Before Christmas, with all of my aches, pains and infections, not to mention my body is also doing its basic postpartum body repair. It feels like I will never be together, but I have to be some day.
Doug had not been feeling well the past few days, so he went to the doctor last night to find out that he has some kind of viral infection in his throat. Of course this means he won't be seeing Squish until he's well, hopefully by this Monday. I know he's hurting that he doesn't feel well and can't see our son on top of all of that.
We took Fluff to the doctor on Tuesday to get a body rash checked out and he referred us to the dermatologist, whom we visited today (on the same floor of the hospital as Squish). The started in her diaper area and is pretty much taking over my poor baby's little body. She was prescribed a couple of medications and we are changing her body lotion. She may have the lanolin sensitivity that I had as a little girl. I hope the rash responds to treatment, because it's making Fluff miserable. I feel like I dropped the ball. We should have taken her to the doctor sooner, before it got this bad. I've been so caught up in my own health and being devastated about Squish, that she got lost in the shuffle. I'm going to do better from now on. She's my baby too.
Thursday, November 15, 2012
spending thanksgiving in the NICU
This morning after a doctor's appointment for myself, Doug and I visited Ian. It is so cold in there, and he has no clothes on. They had him all wrapped up (not swaddled though) in a blanket. His head was facing away from us. His eyes were loosely covered with some white felt.
Because of all of this, he looked like a small bundle of covers. We couldn't see his tiny face without standing up and lurching over him. This shortened our visit.
Upon arrival to Ian's pod in the NICU, we were able to speak with his attending physician briefly. The doctor said that Ian was not progressing as quickly as he would like. He mentioned doing some other things to adjust his treatment, like weaning him off of some of the IV fluids he's on... using a steroid as a last result.
As we sat at our son's bedside, one of the Chaplains came over and introduced herself. Then she asked a lot of questions about Ian and his condition. She asked about our lives, any other children we might have and our support system. Then she prayed for us. In her prayer she mentioned a lot of the things that I had been praying about, particularly being able to feel God's presence during this difficult time.
Doug tried to get ahold of the doctor because he had additional questions, but he was busy and didn't know when he'd be able to come back down. We took this as a sign that it wasn't yet time to ask him some of our burning questions. Maybe we needed to wait some more. This whole circumstance has been a lot of waiting and seeing. God seemed to have other plans, because as we were about to walk out of the NICU unit, the doctor emerged and he and Doug went to talk.
From their conversation, this is what I've gathered: Ian will most definitely NOT be home for Thanksgiving, which is what I was hoping for. *sad face* On a lighter note, the doctor feels confident that Ian doesn't have any of the genetic issues (like CHARGE syndrome) that they were thinking he had in utero. Also, he feels that maybe he didn't transition at birth because he may have breathed in some meconium while he was in my belly. They don't think that my labor or c-section delivery were the primary factors in causing his breathing issue, which was a big worry for me (not that I could go back and change it).
I'm starting to make a tiny bit of peace with the fact that I won't have much time with Ian prior to returning to work in January--if at all. The truth is that I need this break at home regardless. Work stress has sucked the life out of me, and I need to heal, regroup and refocus. It's time to get back in touch with God, my family, and with myself to discover what I am truly supposed to be doing in my life, for my career. I think what I'm doing now is the wrong answer, and I just do it for my family and my love of people.
Because of all of this, he looked like a small bundle of covers. We couldn't see his tiny face without standing up and lurching over him. This shortened our visit.
Upon arrival to Ian's pod in the NICU, we were able to speak with his attending physician briefly. The doctor said that Ian was not progressing as quickly as he would like. He mentioned doing some other things to adjust his treatment, like weaning him off of some of the IV fluids he's on... using a steroid as a last result.
As we sat at our son's bedside, one of the Chaplains came over and introduced herself. Then she asked a lot of questions about Ian and his condition. She asked about our lives, any other children we might have and our support system. Then she prayed for us. In her prayer she mentioned a lot of the things that I had been praying about, particularly being able to feel God's presence during this difficult time.
Doug tried to get ahold of the doctor because he had additional questions, but he was busy and didn't know when he'd be able to come back down. We took this as a sign that it wasn't yet time to ask him some of our burning questions. Maybe we needed to wait some more. This whole circumstance has been a lot of waiting and seeing. God seemed to have other plans, because as we were about to walk out of the NICU unit, the doctor emerged and he and Doug went to talk.
From their conversation, this is what I've gathered: Ian will most definitely NOT be home for Thanksgiving, which is what I was hoping for. *sad face* On a lighter note, the doctor feels confident that Ian doesn't have any of the genetic issues (like CHARGE syndrome) that they were thinking he had in utero. Also, he feels that maybe he didn't transition at birth because he may have breathed in some meconium while he was in my belly. They don't think that my labor or c-section delivery were the primary factors in causing his breathing issue, which was a big worry for me (not that I could go back and change it).
I'm starting to make a tiny bit of peace with the fact that I won't have much time with Ian prior to returning to work in January--if at all. The truth is that I need this break at home regardless. Work stress has sucked the life out of me, and I need to heal, regroup and refocus. It's time to get back in touch with God, my family, and with myself to discover what I am truly supposed to be doing in my life, for my career. I think what I'm doing now is the wrong answer, and I just do it for my family and my love of people.
Wednesday, November 14, 2012
spoken encouragement
As I think I mentioned in another entry, throughout the course of our Ian saga, beginning in pregnancy, a few people have spoken into his life. I will attempt to list them here:
- On August 7th, when I was about 28 weeks along in my pregnancy, Fluff said "Brother's fine" to Doug while he was dressing her one morning. -- This was a major encouragement to press on through our troubled pregnancy.
- October 30th (the day after Ian was born), my dear friend said "I am so excited to [see] what lies ahead. I can't explain what I felt when I saw your pics of him. Usually seeing babies in ICU w tubes etc makes me sad and emotional. I had such peace when I saw him. I could literally feel the presence of the Holy Spirit speak value, worth, future and hope about him. Keep God BIG on his throne. The enemy has been defeated, speak out that victory my sister because its yours. Start praying over and thanking God for his glorious future now. The word says speak the things that aren't as if they are. Never let your emotions tell you what truth is. Only the Word of God can do that. Gods arm is not too short and nothing is too difficult. In fact He doesn't operate by "degrees of difficulty" He operates by and is moved by trust and faith. He is not surprised by anything you are going through. He is not nervous or fearful. He loves the opportunity to show his glory & that is what He will do in your life. I love you Crystal. You are special and loved by the most high God. He has not forgotten you. He is with you now."
- November 6th, his godmother, one of my closest friends said "My Ian will be ok. I had a dream about it after praying and my dreams are never wrong."
- November 12th, my dear friend and mentor said "The Lord has spoken his healing to me as well. I rebuke all negativity in the name of Jesus. He is a beautiful sweet boy that we all can't wait to hold. I know he will be a blessing to all who know him. This little guy's strength and spirit are amazing. I know it is hard to understand, but God is blessing us all right now. I think he put us all together for a reason. Just think about all the people in the world we could meet. We will always be instrumental in each other's lives."
fluffy gangnam style
When I returned home from the NICU tonight and opened the door, "Call Me Maybe" by Carly Rae Jepsen was blasting on the laptop and my little Fluff was signing to the top of her lungs and dancing. She shrieked loudly and ran over to greet me.
I love Fluff so much. She is such a joy. After taking a few steps into the living room and removing my coat, I just crumbled onto the loveseat and began to cry. Doug gave me a hug, and Fluff brought me the miniature picnic blanket from one of her toy sets and tried wiping the tears from my eyes. I gave her a hug. She patted my back and said "It's ok."
Once I stopped crying, Doug played the "Gangnam Style" video by PSY and Fluff went wild and danced. Then she came to snuggle with me for a half hour before putting PJs on and going to bed. I'm thankful that she is willing to snuggle with me recently. I'm not sure how I would make it through without her snuggles.
I love Fluff so much. She is such a joy. After taking a few steps into the living room and removing my coat, I just crumbled onto the loveseat and began to cry. Doug gave me a hug, and Fluff brought me the miniature picnic blanket from one of her toy sets and tried wiping the tears from my eyes. I gave her a hug. She patted my back and said "It's ok."
Once I stopped crying, Doug played the "Gangnam Style" video by PSY and Fluff went wild and danced. Then she came to snuggle with me for a half hour before putting PJs on and going to bed. I'm thankful that she is willing to snuggle with me recently. I'm not sure how I would make it through without her snuggles.
my help comes from the Lord
After tonight's visit with Ian, I held myself together enough to get back to the parking garage and into the van before falling into a puddle of tears behind the wheel. I pulled it back together so that I could see and be alert enough to drive. As soon as I pulled out of the parking garage, "Praise You in This Storm" by Casting Crowns came on. The lyrics are included below. It seemed like the song was being played for me in this moment "As the thunder rolls, I barely hear Your whisper through the rain 'I'm with you'".
The next time I am in the NICU with my son, I will be listening for God's voice... reaching for His presence and comfort. I will push through the tears and rely on the Lord's strength for my family and especially for my Ian. He should not have to open his eyes and see a sorrowful mommy. Just like Doug flashed me a winning smile in the operating room when our son came out and wasn't breathing like he needed to, I must put on my warm, loving game face for Ian. How else is he supposed to know that everything will be alright?
The next time I am in the NICU with my son, I will be listening for God's voice... reaching for His presence and comfort. I will push through the tears and rely on the Lord's strength for my family and especially for my Ian. He should not have to open his eyes and see a sorrowful mommy. Just like Doug flashed me a winning smile in the operating room when our son came out and wasn't breathing like he needed to, I must put on my warm, loving game face for Ian. How else is he supposed to know that everything will be alright?
"Praise You In This Storm"
I was sure by now
God You would have reached down
And wiped our tears away
Stepped in and saved the day
But once again, I say "Amen", and it's still raining
As the thunder rolls
I barely hear Your whisper through the rain
"I'm with you"
And as Your mercy falls
I raise my hands and praise the God who gives
And takes away
[Chorus:]
And I'll praise You in this storm
And I will lift my hands
For You are who You are
No matter where I am
And every tear I've cried
You hold in Your hand
You never left my side
And though my heart is torn
I will praise You in this storm
I remember when
I stumbled in the wind
You heard my cry to you
And you raised me up again
My strength is almost gone
How can I carry on
If I can't find You
But as the thunder rolls
I barely hear You whisper through the rain
"I'm with you"
And as Your mercy falls
I raise my hands and praise the God who gives
And takes away
[Chorus]
I lift my eyes unto the hills
Where does my help come from?
My help comes from the Lord
The Maker of Heaven and Earth
[Chorus x2]
God You would have reached down
And wiped our tears away
Stepped in and saved the day
But once again, I say "Amen", and it's still raining
As the thunder rolls
I barely hear Your whisper through the rain
"I'm with you"
And as Your mercy falls
I raise my hands and praise the God who gives
And takes away
[Chorus:]
And I'll praise You in this storm
And I will lift my hands
For You are who You are
No matter where I am
And every tear I've cried
You hold in Your hand
You never left my side
And though my heart is torn
I will praise You in this storm
I remember when
I stumbled in the wind
You heard my cry to you
And you raised me up again
My strength is almost gone
How can I carry on
If I can't find You
But as the thunder rolls
I barely hear You whisper through the rain
"I'm with you"
And as Your mercy falls
I raise my hands and praise the God who gives
And takes away
[Chorus]
I lift my eyes unto the hills
Where does my help come from?
My help comes from the Lord
The Maker of Heaven and Earth
[Chorus x2]
seeing mommy fight back tears
During the course of my three-hour visit with Ian today, he held my finger a lot. I placed my hand on his tummy, head, arms and feet as much as possible to make my presence known.
At different intervals he would cry or cough. No one can hear him when he cries or coughs because the ETT (defined in the previous entry) depresses his vocal cords. This saddens me deeply, that someone has to be looking at hime to realize he is upset. He gets very red, balls his little fists up and tightly squeezes his eyes shut. Watching him freak out just hurts me so much. I know they are taking excellent care of him, but I worry that he is this tiny baby in a hospital instead of cozy at home with his mommy.
I don't have the emotional capacity yet to be at his bedside all the time, not to mention I'm supposed to be pumping breast milk (which is currently a disaster due to thrush) and recovering from major abdominal surgery. I must heal. I will have to return to work sooner than later. I am frightened that Ian and I will have NO mommy-baby time for maternity leave. We are spending our maternity leave in NICU right now. While most moms would know their babies cries right about now I have never even HEARD him cry. I have good NICU days and rough ones.
Today was good yet rough. Watching him cry and cough I just started constantly fighting to hold back my tears. I hate when people that I'm not close to ask me if I'm ok. Asking me if I'm ok is a ticket to Crystal's Waterworks Land. It's not a good luck. I don't like to cry in front of strangers. I don't just cry, I fall to pieces and break down completely. Don't open the flood gates! Lol.
There I was fighting back tears and my son opened his eye (just one, his left eye--he was lying on his right side and chose to leave the right one closed). He opened his little warm brown eye and looked at me, his mommy. This made it harder to fight back tears. Then his one open eye rolled back into the socket for a moment so that I could only see the white. Maybe this should have freaked me out, but I attributed it to the fact that he is constantly sedated. He focused his eye on me a few more times despite its tendency to roll back. It seemed like he was fighting to look at me, coordinating his muscles as best he could. I was pretty close to his face, so I am sure that he saw me at least somewhat.
All of this made me want to cry even more, the tears constantly welled in my eyes. Why can't my son be home with me so that I can hear his cries and coughs and attend to him? It sucks so much that I have to drive across town (though not ridiculously far, thank God) to see him. There are so many steps (30) between my son and me: step out of apt, lock door, open van door, start van, drive van to hospital passing through at least 15 traffic lights, pull into parking garage, get parking ticket, drive to 3rd floor (at least) for suitable spot, park, turn off van, lock van, get on elevator, exit elevator, cross street, walk down sidewalk, cross street, walk up sidewalk to hospital, check in with security, walk down hallway to elevator, get on elevator, exit elevator, turn left, turn right, turn left, enter NICU waiting room on right, have receptionist call back, gain access to NICU ward, walk to Ian's pod, open door, scrub in, then FINALLY visit with Ian. Sometimes there are additional steps, like last week when he had a fever briefly and we had to put on yellow gowns.
It would be dramatic to stay that I am at my wit's end right now but this is really wearing on me--maternity leave without my baby, leave that technically ends as of December 9th. I have the "opportunity" to learn how to knit via one of the social workers and join a mommy's group (which I plan to do) but it all pales in comparison to having 24/7 access to my baby son.
At different intervals he would cry or cough. No one can hear him when he cries or coughs because the ETT (defined in the previous entry) depresses his vocal cords. This saddens me deeply, that someone has to be looking at hime to realize he is upset. He gets very red, balls his little fists up and tightly squeezes his eyes shut. Watching him freak out just hurts me so much. I know they are taking excellent care of him, but I worry that he is this tiny baby in a hospital instead of cozy at home with his mommy.
I don't have the emotional capacity yet to be at his bedside all the time, not to mention I'm supposed to be pumping breast milk (which is currently a disaster due to thrush) and recovering from major abdominal surgery. I must heal. I will have to return to work sooner than later. I am frightened that Ian and I will have NO mommy-baby time for maternity leave. We are spending our maternity leave in NICU right now. While most moms would know their babies cries right about now I have never even HEARD him cry. I have good NICU days and rough ones.
Today was good yet rough. Watching him cry and cough I just started constantly fighting to hold back my tears. I hate when people that I'm not close to ask me if I'm ok. Asking me if I'm ok is a ticket to Crystal's Waterworks Land. It's not a good luck. I don't like to cry in front of strangers. I don't just cry, I fall to pieces and break down completely. Don't open the flood gates! Lol.
There I was fighting back tears and my son opened his eye (just one, his left eye--he was lying on his right side and chose to leave the right one closed). He opened his little warm brown eye and looked at me, his mommy. This made it harder to fight back tears. Then his one open eye rolled back into the socket for a moment so that I could only see the white. Maybe this should have freaked me out, but I attributed it to the fact that he is constantly sedated. He focused his eye on me a few more times despite its tendency to roll back. It seemed like he was fighting to look at me, coordinating his muscles as best he could. I was pretty close to his face, so I am sure that he saw me at least somewhat.
All of this made me want to cry even more, the tears constantly welled in my eyes. Why can't my son be home with me so that I can hear his cries and coughs and attend to him? It sucks so much that I have to drive across town (though not ridiculously far, thank God) to see him. There are so many steps (30) between my son and me: step out of apt, lock door, open van door, start van, drive van to hospital passing through at least 15 traffic lights, pull into parking garage, get parking ticket, drive to 3rd floor (at least) for suitable spot, park, turn off van, lock van, get on elevator, exit elevator, cross street, walk down sidewalk, cross street, walk up sidewalk to hospital, check in with security, walk down hallway to elevator, get on elevator, exit elevator, turn left, turn right, turn left, enter NICU waiting room on right, have receptionist call back, gain access to NICU ward, walk to Ian's pod, open door, scrub in, then FINALLY visit with Ian. Sometimes there are additional steps, like last week when he had a fever briefly and we had to put on yellow gowns.
It would be dramatic to stay that I am at my wit's end right now but this is really wearing on me--maternity leave without my baby, leave that technically ends as of December 9th. I have the "opportunity" to learn how to knit via one of the social workers and join a mommy's group (which I plan to do) but it all pales in comparison to having 24/7 access to my baby son.
POOP... already
This afternoon after much hesitation. I went to the hospital alone to see Ian for my very first time. I think I hesitated because I'm not used to doing things alone anymore. Doug is so involved and supportive that he is pretty much ALWAYS there. I have happily put my independence on a shelf where it is now collecting dusty cobwebs. Today I felt like I needed to break away and focus on being Ian's mom for a while.
Ian and I spent three hours together. I opted not to hold him today, afraid it would be too much for me to handle. When I arrived shortly after 4 p.m., he was in his crib attached to the ventilator, with his oxygen at 35% (the goal is around 21%). He had just been given some breast milk (through his tube) and was mostly relaxing. The nurse took some blood from his heel shortly thereafter to test his blood gas levels, which were not good. (Blood gas levels are one of the indicators that determine whether or not his oxygen and/or other ventilator settings may be weaned down some more).
Because of his blood gases and the fact that he has not pooped yet (since being back on breast milk for the past few days) a chest x-ray was ordered and quickly done, as I observed from a few steps away. The x-ray was clear, so the respiratory therapist came in to adjust his ETT (endotracheal tube) because it had begun to slip out. I certainly hope he poops soon. It doesn't seem like the doctors and nurses are taking into account the fact that breastfed babies don't poop as often. He also just switched from a lipid/sugar solution to breast milk. His digestive system needs to switch over.
Perhaps he'll be like Fluff during her first week home--I had to supplement my milk with formula for like a day before my milk was fully in. It took her body a few days to adjust to my milk. Then late one night when ALL of my help had gone to sleep, Fluff completely BLEW out her diaper while we were hanging out on the sofa. I mean crap was everywhere. My tiny newborn daughter had blown grainy yellow poop out of her diaper, onto my lap, and past/through my lap onto the sofa. It was her first poop-ocalypse of many. So yes, maybe Ian will send the message loud and clear.
He has to be eating, pooping and peeing regularly before he can come on (in addition to breathing on his own, of course). They still haven't given him an actual medicine for the purposes of "fixing" his respiratory system. I wonder at what point they'll do that... or if they'll need to with Ian. I'm team #no-meds if God wills that his body will get the message on its own. However, I am also team #bringhimhome. Maybe a balance could be found.
Ian and I spent three hours together. I opted not to hold him today, afraid it would be too much for me to handle. When I arrived shortly after 4 p.m., he was in his crib attached to the ventilator, with his oxygen at 35% (the goal is around 21%). He had just been given some breast milk (through his tube) and was mostly relaxing. The nurse took some blood from his heel shortly thereafter to test his blood gas levels, which were not good. (Blood gas levels are one of the indicators that determine whether or not his oxygen and/or other ventilator settings may be weaned down some more).
Because of his blood gases and the fact that he has not pooped yet (since being back on breast milk for the past few days) a chest x-ray was ordered and quickly done, as I observed from a few steps away. The x-ray was clear, so the respiratory therapist came in to adjust his ETT (endotracheal tube) because it had begun to slip out. I certainly hope he poops soon. It doesn't seem like the doctors and nurses are taking into account the fact that breastfed babies don't poop as often. He also just switched from a lipid/sugar solution to breast milk. His digestive system needs to switch over.
Perhaps he'll be like Fluff during her first week home--I had to supplement my milk with formula for like a day before my milk was fully in. It took her body a few days to adjust to my milk. Then late one night when ALL of my help had gone to sleep, Fluff completely BLEW out her diaper while we were hanging out on the sofa. I mean crap was everywhere. My tiny newborn daughter had blown grainy yellow poop out of her diaper, onto my lap, and past/through my lap onto the sofa. It was her first poop-ocalypse of many. So yes, maybe Ian will send the message loud and clear.
He has to be eating, pooping and peeing regularly before he can come on (in addition to breathing on his own, of course). They still haven't given him an actual medicine for the purposes of "fixing" his respiratory system. I wonder at what point they'll do that... or if they'll need to with Ian. I'm team #no-meds if God wills that his body will get the message on its own. However, I am also team #bringhimhome. Maybe a balance could be found.
david tutera called me... like on my phone
I'm going to make this as brief as the phone call was but...
DAVID TUTERA, celebrity wedding and celebration designer, planner, visionary called ME today! Yes, ME... like on MY cell phone.
Shortly after Ian was born, my husband, Douglas, wrote David Tutera an email about how difficult things were currently for us and requested that David give me a call. I did know about the email, not necessarily the content though. Either way, I completely doubted that David would call.
If you don't know, David Tutera is the host of one of my favorite shows "My Fair Wedding" where he shows up three weeks before a couple's wedding date and just goes Fairy Godfather on EVERYTHING, creating an absolute MASTERpiece of a wedding. The component that I like most about the show is the emotional aspect. David seems to be a very compassionate person who truly does care about the people he's working with and does what he can to give them an awesome experience and make at least some of their dreams come true.
Today, I was caught off guard when I got to experience his compassion first hand. Unfortunately, I feel like I botched the call. I had just begun to break down in tears about Ian (literally in the midst of an ugly cry face) when the phone rang with a 310 number. Something told me to just go ahead and answer it, and it was David calling to offer encouragement. He asked me how things were going, if I was still in the hospital, how Ian was doing. I just completely clammed right up! I used to pride myself on being an open book, but I became so tight lipped that I shocked myself. I made the phone call unnecessarily awkward. I am semi-beating myself up because maybe I could have given more details as to how Ian was doing instead of just saying "fine." I guess that was all I could get out at the time.
It's just wonderful to know that David cared enough to reach out and that the person I see on my television is truly genuine. Some people still are authentic.
DAVID TUTERA, celebrity wedding and celebration designer, planner, visionary called ME today! Yes, ME... like on MY cell phone.
Shortly after Ian was born, my husband, Douglas, wrote David Tutera an email about how difficult things were currently for us and requested that David give me a call. I did know about the email, not necessarily the content though. Either way, I completely doubted that David would call.
If you don't know, David Tutera is the host of one of my favorite shows "My Fair Wedding" where he shows up three weeks before a couple's wedding date and just goes Fairy Godfather on EVERYTHING, creating an absolute MASTERpiece of a wedding. The component that I like most about the show is the emotional aspect. David seems to be a very compassionate person who truly does care about the people he's working with and does what he can to give them an awesome experience and make at least some of their dreams come true.
Today, I was caught off guard when I got to experience his compassion first hand. Unfortunately, I feel like I botched the call. I had just begun to break down in tears about Ian (literally in the midst of an ugly cry face) when the phone rang with a 310 number. Something told me to just go ahead and answer it, and it was David calling to offer encouragement. He asked me how things were going, if I was still in the hospital, how Ian was doing. I just completely clammed right up! I used to pride myself on being an open book, but I became so tight lipped that I shocked myself. I made the phone call unnecessarily awkward. I am semi-beating myself up because maybe I could have given more details as to how Ian was doing instead of just saying "fine." I guess that was all I could get out at the time.
It's just wonderful to know that David cared enough to reach out and that the person I see on my television is truly genuine. Some people still are authentic.
inherited strength
I called my mom earlier today, and she told me that she'd shared my blog with one of her coworkers. Of course this was perfectly fine with me. What she said after that was surprising to me.
She had no idea that we had already gone through so much with Ian before he was born and that she didn't think she would be able to handle something like this at my age. I didn't tell her on the phone, but I was kind of shocked to hear her say that. I mean, she's always been encouraging in my life, but she's always been my shero. At my age, she had me and then proceeded to go through her own collection of life storms.
Mom has always been this mysterious (yet approachable and inviting) quiet pillar of strength in my life. She taught me that you don't run away from your problems. You don't just face them---you run THROUGH them, with God.
So that is how I handle my problems (sort of)... I charge AT them. Mom would also tell you that for most of my trials in my short life (or anything that was perceived as such before now). I would call her almost daily for every step of the way... for hurt feelings at work, trying to adjust to married life, being frustrated and bewildered by my chosen career path. She and I are very close.
I believe mom can tell that having my son in NICU has launched me into an entirely different facet of struggle. For me it is the Storm of the Century (or at least this decade), and I'm constantly being bombarded with the downpours of information, high winds of confusion and rushing waves of sadness. I went from being super busy at work and still finding time to call mom every day to being not-busy, at home, missing my newborn son, not-having anything to do and not-calling mom.
Although I've historically word vomited my feelings to my mom, things are just different now. There are times that she'll call and, although I see it, I don't answer immediately because I don't want to answer the phone mid-cry. A cry is just around every corner these days. Now that we are in week three of this saga, I've gotten better, more able to reach out--not just to her--but to other loved ones to provide updates on how Ian is doing and how we're making it.
She had no idea that we had already gone through so much with Ian before he was born and that she didn't think she would be able to handle something like this at my age. I didn't tell her on the phone, but I was kind of shocked to hear her say that. I mean, she's always been encouraging in my life, but she's always been my shero. At my age, she had me and then proceeded to go through her own collection of life storms.
Mom has always been this mysterious (yet approachable and inviting) quiet pillar of strength in my life. She taught me that you don't run away from your problems. You don't just face them---you run THROUGH them, with God.
So that is how I handle my problems (sort of)... I charge AT them. Mom would also tell you that for most of my trials in my short life (or anything that was perceived as such before now). I would call her almost daily for every step of the way... for hurt feelings at work, trying to adjust to married life, being frustrated and bewildered by my chosen career path. She and I are very close.
I believe mom can tell that having my son in NICU has launched me into an entirely different facet of struggle. For me it is the Storm of the Century (or at least this decade), and I'm constantly being bombarded with the downpours of information, high winds of confusion and rushing waves of sadness. I went from being super busy at work and still finding time to call mom every day to being not-busy, at home, missing my newborn son, not-having anything to do and not-calling mom.
Although I've historically word vomited my feelings to my mom, things are just different now. There are times that she'll call and, although I see it, I don't answer immediately because I don't want to answer the phone mid-cry. A cry is just around every corner these days. Now that we are in week three of this saga, I've gotten better, more able to reach out--not just to her--but to other loved ones to provide updates on how Ian is doing and how we're making it.
encounter
I finally got to hold my son today, after two full weeks of barely touching him. He's a heavy boy! At least 9 lbs now. I'll add more about this later, and perhaps some pictures.
It was just really uplifting and sweet to get to hold him. He was so calm and seemed to enjoy himself. I hope that once he comes home from the NICU we won't have to be separated from each other too much, outside of me going to work. I wish I could be a stay at home mom. I suppose having a new baby will always make me feel that way. No amount of time at the beginning of their little lives is enough time to spend bonding with them around the clock. While work allows me to provide financially for my family, my job is a hindrance to my family.
It was just really uplifting and sweet to get to hold him. He was so calm and seemed to enjoy himself. I hope that once he comes home from the NICU we won't have to be separated from each other too much, outside of me going to work. I wish I could be a stay at home mom. I suppose having a new baby will always make me feel that way. No amount of time at the beginning of their little lives is enough time to spend bonding with them around the clock. While work allows me to provide financially for my family, my job is a hindrance to my family.
Tuesday, November 13, 2012
first look
It took forever that first time in the NICU waiting room. They weren't ready for us. All I could do was cry. I didn't understand anything about why he was there honestly until at least his 3rd day there. We waited for about an hour.
When they finally let us back, I couldn't see the little boy for all of the tubes they had stuck down his throat, the monitors attached to his chest, the big machine he was connected to, and the incubator bed he was in. I couldn't see for all the tears that were constantly welling up in my eyes. I could not see my beautiful baby boy. I was physically and emotionally exhausted and needed to sleep. Husband and I did not visit for very long.
When they finally let us back, I couldn't see the little boy for all of the tubes they had stuck down his throat, the monitors attached to his chest, the big machine he was connected to, and the incubator bed he was in. I couldn't see for all the tears that were constantly welling up in my eyes. I could not see my beautiful baby boy. I was physically and emotionally exhausted and needed to sleep. Husband and I did not visit for very long.
a birth story
On Friday, October 26, 2012, Hurricane Sandy was headed our way, and the University president at work made the executive decision that afternoon to close the University for Monday and Tuesday to ensure the safety of our students. Earlier that day, a lady I encountered in the elevator in the hospital on the way to my nonstress test said "I hope the barometric pressure doesn't push your baby out this weekend." Umm, yeah... little did I know she was taking a glimpse into my future. At this point, I had been procrastinating for a good three weeks on packing my hospital bag. I was going to be 38 weeks on Sunday the 28th, and I had been scheduled for an induction on Monday, November 5th (to my dismay) because Ian was a decidedly large baby, estimated to be about 8lbs 9oz at my 35 week ultrasound.
I went home on Friday, like "Woot! long weekend!" I thanked God for giving me the break from work that I so desperately needed but refused to take. I spent much of the day on Sunday washing Ian's clothes and finally packing my hospital bag as well as my labor and delivery bag. When I climbed into bed on Sunday night (Oct 28th), I had made a list of items I intended to buy for my hospital bag. I prayed, pleading with God to have Ian come out via spontaneous labor as I wasn't a fan of induction. Also, why did they feel he needed to come out an ENTIRE week early. I mean, c'mon. A few hours later, I want to say around 3:30 a.m., I woke up to use the bathroom. This was commonplace at this point in my pregnancy, and I thought nothing of it. However, it was different this time. I climbed back into bed and was unable to solidly go back to sleep. Around 5:30am or so, I started feeling some cramping that I'd never felt before, which became regular... about 10 minutes or so apart.
Like any millennial would do, I let my husband continue to sleep and I got onto gchat and sent Ian's god mother a message. She responded! So I told her I thought I was in labor, and then I started to hurt a bit. Then I was like, oh no. I still have packing to do. I finished packing my bag. I called the doctor on call to see if I needed to come in. He said YES emphatically. My hesitation was that I knew the main roads to the hospital would be flooded with all of the rain, so I had no idea how we'd get there. Perhaps this made me procrastinate more.
After speaking with the doctor, I woke my husband to tell him I was in labor and that he needed to get himself and Fluff ready. I hopped in the shower. By this time (about 8am) I was having trouble standing up straight or speaking through contractions. The shower made me feel a little better, but it was mostly so I could avoid being groaty in the delivery room. We make our way out of the house by 8:30 a.m., in the rain (yuck). We drop Fluff off at my grandparents who live literally around the corner, directly on the way to the hospital. We make our way towards the hospital, taking a few detours around areas that usually flood downtown and still not knowing how we would actually get to the hospital. I thought, let's take Princess Anne Rd on down. As we traveled Princess Anne, we eventually came to a road block and had to maneuver back to Brambleton Avenue, headed for the Hague river, which was flowing completely over the road at this point (I knew this, because I had seen it on the news the night before).
Not knowing what else to do, we drove directly down Brambleton and up to a police road block at the intersection of Duke, and then we stopped. A male offer paced over to our van and began to scold us for coming to the intersection when they were attempting to avert traffic. Husband and I politely informed him that I was in labor and needed to deliver downtown, mind you I could SEE the medical complex from this point...across the river! His facial expression turned to panic and he motioned for a lady police officer to come over, and they decided to call me an ambulance.
So...yeah... about that. One thing to know about me is that I'm frugal. Despite the fact that I was having contractions that were 4 minutes apart I was NOT about to ride ANYONE's ambulance and pay whatever the co-pay was going to be. Besides, where would my husband go? Were we going to leave our brand new van on a random side street in downtown Norfolk during a hurricane? I should certainly think not. Thankfully, once the ambulance arrived, they informed us as to a passable route to the hospital. This took about 7 minutes to travel.
We checked into labor & delivery just after 9am. The contractions were steadily getting stronger. I was so underprepared. I hadn't finished my pre-registration for the hospital, so I had to answer most of the questions at the check-in desk. I was having difficulty thinking and responding. I asked husband to answer everything I could defer to him. My bag of waters was bulging, and I could feel it. I just wanted to sit down somewhere.
I am checked into a triage room to see if I'm in active labor (even though I knew I was), and I saw Dr. Dattel in the hallway (yay, she's here). I was at 9.5 cm (out of 10). Because they were expecting Ian to be a special baby and have a lot of potential needs, my delivery room FILLED with at least 6 medical professionals in addition to the doctor and nurse that were already in the room. Then the CROWD was amazed at how my bag of waters was bulging. I never did get to see it, but apparently it was quite a site. I felt like a writhing show pony.
So... when asked about pain meds, I was like nahhhh... I got this. I figured Ian would be there in about an hour. I thought I had made it through transition. The contractions began to amp up even more, but with Husband's help I was able to get through each one, so I was confident. They poked some holes in my bag of waters and I began to slowly leak. Little did I realize just how much the amniotic fluid had been padding my labor pains.
As SOON as the fluid was done leaking out, I began to DIE. I do not say this to be dramatic, nor to scare women who have not yet had children or who have not had unmedicated births, but I began to lose it. Where was the confident girl who strolled in at 9.5 cm? Oh, I had shrunk back to 8 cm because I wasn't bulging anymore. I was also informed that I couldn't have any IV pain medicines at this point... and for some reason, I thought this meant I couldn't have an epidural at this point either. I was in so much pain, all I could do was wail in agony for the duration of each contraction. I repeatedly (to the nurse's dismay) RIPPED off my blood pressure cuff and the oximeter that was placed on my left index finger. I began to come out of my hospital robe. I couldn't sit still. Crouching didnt help. Lying down made the pain worse. I wanted to run quickly out of the room and LEAVE my body right there. I just fell absolutely to pieces. My poor husband, I didn't curse or yell at him. I wasn't mean to him or anything, but it came to a point where there was nothing he could do. Oh, and by this point, my contractions were 2 minutes apart. I have NO idea what time it was, but definitely still morning.
There was nothing left to do but for me to cry and beg for an epidural as I was CLEARLY not going to make it. I may gave been back up to at least 9cm at this point. I don't recall. I remember asking if they would be able to do the epidural before I had another contraction (even though I already knew it was a 10 minute procedure, having had one before). The anesthesiologist warned me about a lot of stuff I didn't hear. She did say that, since I was having it so late in labor that my baby might come out mid-procedure. I didn't give two craps. I was DYING. She asked me if I would be able to stay still for the procedure. I said yes, although I wasn't sure how. I just knew that I had to. I wanted to be able to use my legs again someday. It was pure agony having the 4 or 5 contractions that I did while she was setting up the epidural, but I stayed still, and I made it.
Once I was on drugs and on cloud 9, I made it to 10cm and they decided I should push...to no avail. Ian would not come down. They sat me in a more upright position in bed, so that I could "labor down". Ian budged a little bit, we tried pushing again...and again, it was to no avail. A few hours went by, and Dr. Dattel came in. She essentially said that we needed to get Ian out ASAP. I had been completely dilated for about 3 or so hours, and they like to have babies delivered within 4 hours of completion. Immediately afterward, a new pushing team came in. I reallllly didn't like the lead doctor. She was a female and kind of mean and pushy. Mean and pushy doesn't work on me. I began to cry while pushing. It was difficult. Ian was still high up there and I was being "encouraged" by a meanie doctor who told me not to cry. Yeah, I gave up.
Dr. Dattel came in again. Seeing her made me want to really go for the gold. I gave it my ALL. I bore down and gave her the three most olympic pushes of my life... but Ian didn't budge. At this point it was probably close to 8 p.m. We stopped pushing, and Dr. Dattel leaned over to break the news to me that she was recommending a c-section. She knew I felt strongly about not having a c-section. By this time, I didn't care. It was time for Ian to be evicted, and I felt confident in her executive decision to remove him surgically. I was extremely tired, and I had fallen behind on my epidural self-medication and was in pain again. I was prepped for surgery. Before going into the OR, I made the executive decision to go to sleep (as best I could) during the procedure. I had been warned by a friend and by the doctor that I would feel pressure as they worked on me, and I wasn't interested in any of that. I thought I would freak out.
They were playing cheesy, mostly 90s music in the OR the entire time. I thought they were going to forget to bring Husband into the room, but he made it. After what seemed like a short time, they announced at 8:38 p.m. that Ian was born while pulling this large "thing" out of my abdomen. There was no cry. There was some shuffling. They called Husband over for pictures and then whisked Ian away. I did not get to hold or see him. Then there was the awkward waiting for them to patch me up, which took forever.
I asked Husband to see the pictures he took. There was a yellow baby. All I could see on this baby was what seemed to be a growth (or extra skin) hanging off the back of his neck. I began to cry in the OR continuously, and through the 2 hours I spent in the recovery room. I'm not sure at what point I was told that Ian was taken to the NICU. Everything was such a blur and ran together. I had a large dressing covering my lower abdomen. At one point, Husband had to leave me, and around 11 p.m. or so some guy who was HORRIBLE at "driving" my hospital bed took me to Timbuktu (in relation to my room in the maternity suite) to have a CT scan. I am not sure there was a door frame left unbumped during the trip, and I was very annoyed.
When I finally got back to my room, Husband appeared shortly after and we both went to sleep. Around 4:30 a.m. on the next day, October 30th, I was awakened to get up and walk and to ride over to NICU in the adjacent Children's Hospital to see my son for the very first time.
I am a mother of two (an intro)
It has taken me a few years to get the inspiration to write again. Maybe this time writing will "stick" again for me. Writing used to be like breathing for me. Tonight after I decided that it would be the night for me to begin a blog to chronicle my journey through "experienced" (Hah!) motherhood, it took me quite a few hours to stop procrastinating and just go for it.
I mean, what would I write about? There is so much going on with us, how do I single on any one thing? So I lay on the bed next to my husband playing Angry Birds Star Wars edition, as I shop aimlessly on Zulily.com liking EVERYTHING I see (as usual) but not being able to afford anything. Despite the financial challenge, I find shopping online to be relaxing. I peruse through Zulily almost daily oohing and ahhhing at all of the cute baby items, flashy female clothing and accessories and ghastly overpriced furniture and other home goods to buy nothing. It has become ritual, especially now that I am on maternity leave.
So, I'm on Zulily and it finally sinks in "I am a mother of two." When you leave a baby in NICU (as I have for the past 2 weeks (exactly, as of tonight) basic facts like that get lost in the shuffle. I am a MOTHER of TWO.... at 28, when just three short years ago I was convinced that I'd never find a man who was husband-worthy, and if I did, all of my eggs would be long-dried up by the time we got married. Here I am with the husband AND the TWO children.... not 1.5, but 2. And I figured, that is what I'd write about.
I have a daughter named Nia (purpose, bright or clear), whom we affectionately call "Fluff." She is two (or 27 months if you want to be technical). Her existence was a TOTAL shock to my carefree (careless) single psyche. Yielding to the fact that she was on her way led me down a road filled with great strife, family struggle and provision, through an amazing support system of friends that God surrounded me with. She has been one of God's greatest gifts in my life, and I love her more each day. Being her mom has taught me and changed me a lot, for the better. According to my husband, Fluff made me into someone that he could marry. I used to think that my struggle with Fluff was the hardest thing I'd been through...
Nia's brother, Ian (God is gracious), was born at 8:38 p.m. on Monday, October 29 (almost exactly two weeks ago). It was a troubled pregnancy from the very first ultrasound at 9 weeks. The ultrasound technician discovered a cystic hygroma (CH), which is a pocket of fluid in the lymphatic system of a developing fetus. Sometimes they resolve. Often times they symbolize major chromosomal abnormalities and other health issues with the baby. They can even take over the baby's body entirely, terminating its life. After a follow up appointment for a level two ultrasound to get a closer look, the CH was confirmed and my husband and I were ushered into an office to speak to a perinatologist and then a genetic counselor. The doctor's tone was grim. He was clearly quite disturbed by the findings. I am not going to go through the long list of things they thought Ian had at 11 weeks gestation. It was suggested that we undergo genetic testing, at which point we spoke to the genetic counselor.
Husband and I had already decided that we were not terminating the pregnancy under any circumstances, so we declined the chorionic villi sampling and amniocentesis in favor of a new-ish blood test called Maternit21 Plus test. This test would take a blood sample from me and test my blood for traces of fetal DNA that would indicate the following three chromosomal abnormalities: trisomy 13, 18, or 21 (Down Syndrome). After nearly a week, the test came back negative for any of the trisomies it tested for. This was encouraging, but we were still in for an uphill battle.
We visited EVMS for an level 2 ultrasound/echocardiogram every three weeks from that point on, which took an average of at least 1.5 to 2 hours each visit. Eventually they were viewing Ian on 2 different machines each visit (They got a brand new--apparently awesome--ultrasound machine for the purpose of looking at hearts). It was quickly determined that Ian's heart was enlarged and fixed in the center of his chest, instead of to the left. His heart had to work harder than that of most babies in utero because his umbilical artery bypassed his liver. In addition to his heart issues, they observed elevated fluid in his brain, low ears, a small (or absent) nasal bone. As for me, I had polyhydramnios (extra fluid), which meant that I had to visit the hospital weekly for nonstress tests to make sure that Ian was ok, and I was on watch for preterm labor... not to mention my stomach was growing at a rate quicker than that of one holding twins.
In the midst of all of this surveillance, I was torn away from the natural, unmedicated childbirth I was planning to have with my midwife in the hospital that Fluff was born in. I was now a high risk pregnancy. The first OBGYN I had a prenatal appointment with at EVMS was fail...did not like her at ALL. However, the next OB I saw, Dr. Dattel, was absolutely PERFECT, heaven sent. She entertained my moleskine pages full of questions patiently upon first meeting. It was immediately deemed by husband and I that she MUST deliver Ian no matter what.
So I schlepped along, working harder at work than I ever have, my pregnancy taking a major physical toll on my body more so than it did with Fluff. At one point I was having medical appointments 3 times a week. Thankfully, during this ordeal, I switched from classified staff to administrative faculty which afforded me more overall leave time and more workday/hour flexibility. Being the conservationist I am when it comes to having more time off with the baby, I had done the math and determined that, if Ian were to hang on until sometime after November 2nd (the Friday of Homecoming at work), I would just work until that day... even though work was honestly stressing me out and killing me slowly by this point. I was in so much pain just walking around, and all of the driving to see medical professionals had become too much.
I mean, what would I write about? There is so much going on with us, how do I single on any one thing? So I lay on the bed next to my husband playing Angry Birds Star Wars edition, as I shop aimlessly on Zulily.com liking EVERYTHING I see (as usual) but not being able to afford anything. Despite the financial challenge, I find shopping online to be relaxing. I peruse through Zulily almost daily oohing and ahhhing at all of the cute baby items, flashy female clothing and accessories and ghastly overpriced furniture and other home goods to buy nothing. It has become ritual, especially now that I am on maternity leave.
So, I'm on Zulily and it finally sinks in "I am a mother of two." When you leave a baby in NICU (as I have for the past 2 weeks (exactly, as of tonight) basic facts like that get lost in the shuffle. I am a MOTHER of TWO.... at 28, when just three short years ago I was convinced that I'd never find a man who was husband-worthy, and if I did, all of my eggs would be long-dried up by the time we got married. Here I am with the husband AND the TWO children.... not 1.5, but 2. And I figured, that is what I'd write about.
I have a daughter named Nia (purpose, bright or clear), whom we affectionately call "Fluff." She is two (or 27 months if you want to be technical). Her existence was a TOTAL shock to my carefree (careless) single psyche. Yielding to the fact that she was on her way led me down a road filled with great strife, family struggle and provision, through an amazing support system of friends that God surrounded me with. She has been one of God's greatest gifts in my life, and I love her more each day. Being her mom has taught me and changed me a lot, for the better. According to my husband, Fluff made me into someone that he could marry. I used to think that my struggle with Fluff was the hardest thing I'd been through...
Nia's brother, Ian (God is gracious), was born at 8:38 p.m. on Monday, October 29 (almost exactly two weeks ago). It was a troubled pregnancy from the very first ultrasound at 9 weeks. The ultrasound technician discovered a cystic hygroma (CH), which is a pocket of fluid in the lymphatic system of a developing fetus. Sometimes they resolve. Often times they symbolize major chromosomal abnormalities and other health issues with the baby. They can even take over the baby's body entirely, terminating its life. After a follow up appointment for a level two ultrasound to get a closer look, the CH was confirmed and my husband and I were ushered into an office to speak to a perinatologist and then a genetic counselor. The doctor's tone was grim. He was clearly quite disturbed by the findings. I am not going to go through the long list of things they thought Ian had at 11 weeks gestation. It was suggested that we undergo genetic testing, at which point we spoke to the genetic counselor.
Husband and I had already decided that we were not terminating the pregnancy under any circumstances, so we declined the chorionic villi sampling and amniocentesis in favor of a new-ish blood test called Maternit21 Plus test. This test would take a blood sample from me and test my blood for traces of fetal DNA that would indicate the following three chromosomal abnormalities: trisomy 13, 18, or 21 (Down Syndrome). After nearly a week, the test came back negative for any of the trisomies it tested for. This was encouraging, but we were still in for an uphill battle.
We visited EVMS for an level 2 ultrasound/echocardiogram every three weeks from that point on, which took an average of at least 1.5 to 2 hours each visit. Eventually they were viewing Ian on 2 different machines each visit (They got a brand new--apparently awesome--ultrasound machine for the purpose of looking at hearts). It was quickly determined that Ian's heart was enlarged and fixed in the center of his chest, instead of to the left. His heart had to work harder than that of most babies in utero because his umbilical artery bypassed his liver. In addition to his heart issues, they observed elevated fluid in his brain, low ears, a small (or absent) nasal bone. As for me, I had polyhydramnios (extra fluid), which meant that I had to visit the hospital weekly for nonstress tests to make sure that Ian was ok, and I was on watch for preterm labor... not to mention my stomach was growing at a rate quicker than that of one holding twins.
In the midst of all of this surveillance, I was torn away from the natural, unmedicated childbirth I was planning to have with my midwife in the hospital that Fluff was born in. I was now a high risk pregnancy. The first OBGYN I had a prenatal appointment with at EVMS was fail...did not like her at ALL. However, the next OB I saw, Dr. Dattel, was absolutely PERFECT, heaven sent. She entertained my moleskine pages full of questions patiently upon first meeting. It was immediately deemed by husband and I that she MUST deliver Ian no matter what.
So I schlepped along, working harder at work than I ever have, my pregnancy taking a major physical toll on my body more so than it did with Fluff. At one point I was having medical appointments 3 times a week. Thankfully, during this ordeal, I switched from classified staff to administrative faculty which afforded me more overall leave time and more workday/hour flexibility. Being the conservationist I am when it comes to having more time off with the baby, I had done the math and determined that, if Ian were to hang on until sometime after November 2nd (the Friday of Homecoming at work), I would just work until that day... even though work was honestly stressing me out and killing me slowly by this point. I was in so much pain just walking around, and all of the driving to see medical professionals had become too much.
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