When Corey was a baby and toddler, I was going from being in a badly chosen marriage and into single parenthood. And living with my mother.
My son was my life, no doubt. But a big part of that life was simply putting one foot in front of the other. I had tunnel vision that was focused on making it through this day. This hour. This minute. My ultimate goal? I said it often.
I just want peace.
As a young mom, overall I was pretty good. But I lacked that sense of magic and awe that parents really should have about their kids. I remember feeling like people lied when they said, "It goes so fast." Several times the words "they grow so fast" seemed like a terribly false thing.
The fact that I spent all of my waking, and most sleeping, moments almost exclusively with my son for his first 11 months made it harder for me to see how he changed from day to day and week to week. The things he did that were advanced, I just figured they were normal.
It wasn't long after Corey was in nursery school that I started getting the reports. The calls. The list of problems that had to be dealt with straight away.
Memories of a very few people saying, "You must be so proud of him because... ." "Isn't it amazing how he... ?"
Only I don't remember why I was supposed to be proud or why he was so amazing.
There's a great mother of the year admission for ya.
I do, however, remember the thoughts that filled my head during these times that I should have been embracing.
They often started with "Yeah, but... ."
It wasn't always like this. And I'm not saying I was never proud of Corey. There have been times that he accomplished things or attempted something I never thought he would. And I was present and aware and so incredibly proud.
It was just that I was stuck in this one-foot-in-front-of-the-other thing and I couldn't get out.
Madelyn's start, on the other hand, was so full of love and happiness. Well, obviously not the part where she started out in NICU. But the pregnancy was textbook perfect, and bringing her home and living life with our new little girl; it was exactly the way I wish all kids could start out.
Sure, there was this quiet desperation that please, don't let anything take her from me, always in the background of my mind. But she was the center of the universe for Tom, Corey and I.
We oohed and ahhed over everything she did.
Her mere presence could calm tensions between any of the rest of us because, really, who wanted to shatter the spell?
She was amazing and wonderful, the smartest and strongest and most beautiful baby ever born.
Wouldn't you want to live in a world where people thought that about you?
I would look at her and think, "I made that, whoa."
And then along came Fynnie. These days Mad and I call her Fee Girl, which is Fynnie Girl the way Mad used to say it.
Fee Girl is the sibling Tom wanted Mad to have. I was perfectly happy not to have any more kids after I got the daughter I always knew was out there waiting for me.
But it wasn't long after I became pregnant with Fee that I was in love with this little being growing inside me.
That pregnancy was, by far, the hardest.
Morning sickness that starts at 17 weeks? Evil.
Being pregnant with a torn hip muscle? There are no words.
Heart burn and random vomiting while driving? Painful and embarrassing.
Not to mention that I sat around so much during that pregnancy that I lost a lot of muscle tone. People weren't sure I was pregnant even at the end. Maybe I was just that fat.
Awesome, right?
And then there was the labor. With Pitocin and no pain meds. (If you're contemplating doing that and ask me if it's possible, I will say yes. And I will bite my tongue so hard that you may see blood dripping out of my mouth. If you ask if I recommend it, I will say HELL NO.)
Fynn is my snuggliest baby. She is the one who makes hearts melt. The one for whom attachment parenting was created.
These are all wonderful things, but for the longest time I had a hard time seeing that they rose to the same level as the wonder of Madelyn.
There are some extenuating circumstances here.
Like I'm about 98% sure I lived through undiagnosed postpartum depression.
And that I didn't feel as close to Tom (or Corey, really) during Fee's pregnancy or newborn days.
And that, although the whole "let's have another child" thing was Tom's idea, he wasn't as interested in the pregnancy or newborn development in the same way that he had been with Mad.
In his defense, the man was working full-time and trying to get his own business off the ground, which meant working four weeknights and all of one weekend day after his other job. The man was probably living through that one-foot-in-front-of-the-other tunnel. I don't discount that or blame him (now. I did.)
All of this is to say that it took me a long time to find the wonder of Fynn.
But I did.
I have it.
Sometimes I look at her and I think to myself,
"How did you make this person?
How is it possible that she is here?
How is she possible?"
And I am grateful for this awareness while she is so young. Because it is what every child should have, this wonder at their very existence.
Showing posts with label NICU. Show all posts
Showing posts with label NICU. Show all posts
Saturday, August 25, 2012
Thursday, July 19, 2012
"How Did You Get Through It?"
That was what my very pregnant friend, Maija, asked me the other day.
It was when Madelyn went into the neonatal intensive care unit, or NICU, after she was born.
It came up because Maija is recently home from a nearly three week stay in the hospital, where she and the doctors successfully stopped her twin daughters from arriving two months early. Now home and just under four weeks away from her due date (and less than two from when the doctors would be happy for them to arrive), emotions float just under the surface.
"How did you get through it? I don't know how I could do it. How could I leave them at the hospital and just walk away? I don't think I could. I mean, how did you?"
As I listened to Maija, my immediate response was, "I was very strong. I did what I had to do. You will, too."
But as she spoke I remembered wanting answers to those questions. Over four years later, I remember them like yesterday. That line of questioning is, plain and simple, unnecessary self-abuse. It's as if the very act of leaving the hospital without your child is the first act of bad parenting you are carrying out. Abandonment at the very outset of this mommy and me relationship.
What kind of mother does that? I asked myself that question a lot before I walked out of the hospital without Madelyn.
Oh, I was terribly hard on myself. Pretty sure I'm not the only one who has felt that way. Of course we know that it is healthier for some babies to stay in the hospital, in those damned plastic boxes.
Beyond the questions about how to get over that incredibly high hurdle, there was the matter of getting through every minute between birth and going home.
When it came to actually answering Maija's question, I gave her the truth as I now see it.
I handled it like a crazy person. I did. I smiled and nodded every time the nurse came to let me know that, no, Madelyn still wasn't stabilized, but they'd let me know as soon as she was.
"No, spending some time on oxygen didn't quite work like we'd hoped. The neonatalogist will be in to speak with you and your husband soon. We might be able to let you see her and hold her in the nursery before she is transferred to NICU."
"Here's a photo I just took of your daughter (covered in wires and tape and little gold heart shaped stickers). She's beautiful. I don't say that to everyone. Sometimes I just say, "Whoa, hey, it's a baby!" Hopefully we'll get you over to see her soon. You won't be able to hold her, but you might be able to touch her foot. Hopefully."
The crazy person in me came out smiling and full of energy and trying to act like everything was fine. It was fine and I was fine and I could do it my own self, thank you very much.
What did I do after 36 hours of labor, including more than three at 8+ centimeters, and delivering an 8 pound 3 ounce broad-shouldered baby? I walked from Labor and Delivery to my new room in Maternity. Carrying some of the rather obnoxious quantities of personal belongings we'd schlepped to the hospital.
Other nurses protested as my nurse and I passed their station. If I could have worn a top hat and tap shoes, I would have jazz handed my way from one department to the next.
"She should be in a wheelchair! Why is she carrying her things?"
And there I was, smiling and waving, even laughing a little at them, "I feel great. It's okay. I can do this."
And clearly, I could. Some of why I could had to do with giving birth naturally and all the amazing things a body does for a woman whose just given birth. But a lot of it was just me literally putting one foot in front of the other. Getting through this minute while I tried to come up with a plan for the next one.
Away from the nurses and doctors, I let my true feelings out. Breaking down on the phone to my aunt in Wisconsin because no one else was available.
Tom was with Madelyn, where he belonged.
My mom and Corey had gone to her house to sleep off the all-nighter they'd just pulled with me. They left before we knew how serious the problem was.
Nancy, who left the same all night labor along with Mom and Corey, went and picked up her husband and took him on what turned out to be his last trip sailing until his ashes were buried at sea the following year.
Honestly, it has only just occurred to me that I could have used that energy to go be with my daughter and husband. Isn't it strange how the brain works? Why didn't I get that?
The other thing about having this experience with Madelyn is that it never goes fully away. No, I don't sit around silently weeping about it. I don't wake up in the middle of the night catching my breath. I don't even think about it often.
But if I read or hear a story about someone going through a similar situation (or worse... and we got off comparatively easy, so the stories are worse), the memories come and tears will probably flow. The feelings of that time are right there.
Back when my water had broken with Fynn and Tom pulled our car up to the hospital, my mood made a sudden shift from giddy to somber.
This was the place where we left our first daughter.
Apparently I am not alone in carrying these thoughts and emotions. Maija recently witnessed something that brought back the equally traumatic experience of the birth of her first daughter. She and her husband contained themselves because that's what people do, and because their young daughters were with them. And also because the father was standing next to them in the hall as his wife was raced down the hall for an emergency C-section, and who wants to be the jackass who falls apart in front of him?
Having read hundreds of birth stories with happy and sad endings, I am fully aware that four days in NICU is hardly anything at all. And coming home isn't guaranteed. I'm sure Maija knows that emergency C-sections happen all the time, and that they don't always end with a beautiful child to raise.
We get it.
All the same, it's pretty safe to say that the births of our first daughters were some of the most difficult times of our lives. I am amazed at how emotionally tied to that experience I am more than four years later. I probably will always be.
It was when Madelyn went into the neonatal intensive care unit, or NICU, after she was born.
It came up because Maija is recently home from a nearly three week stay in the hospital, where she and the doctors successfully stopped her twin daughters from arriving two months early. Now home and just under four weeks away from her due date (and less than two from when the doctors would be happy for them to arrive), emotions float just under the surface.
"How did you get through it? I don't know how I could do it. How could I leave them at the hospital and just walk away? I don't think I could. I mean, how did you?"
As I listened to Maija, my immediate response was, "I was very strong. I did what I had to do. You will, too."
But as she spoke I remembered wanting answers to those questions. Over four years later, I remember them like yesterday. That line of questioning is, plain and simple, unnecessary self-abuse. It's as if the very act of leaving the hospital without your child is the first act of bad parenting you are carrying out. Abandonment at the very outset of this mommy and me relationship.
What kind of mother does that? I asked myself that question a lot before I walked out of the hospital without Madelyn.
Oh, I was terribly hard on myself. Pretty sure I'm not the only one who has felt that way. Of course we know that it is healthier for some babies to stay in the hospital, in those damned plastic boxes.
Beyond the questions about how to get over that incredibly high hurdle, there was the matter of getting through every minute between birth and going home.
When it came to actually answering Maija's question, I gave her the truth as I now see it.
I handled it like a crazy person. I did. I smiled and nodded every time the nurse came to let me know that, no, Madelyn still wasn't stabilized, but they'd let me know as soon as she was.
"No, spending some time on oxygen didn't quite work like we'd hoped. The neonatalogist will be in to speak with you and your husband soon. We might be able to let you see her and hold her in the nursery before she is transferred to NICU."
"Here's a photo I just took of your daughter (covered in wires and tape and little gold heart shaped stickers). She's beautiful. I don't say that to everyone. Sometimes I just say, "Whoa, hey, it's a baby!" Hopefully we'll get you over to see her soon. You won't be able to hold her, but you might be able to touch her foot. Hopefully."
The crazy person in me came out smiling and full of energy and trying to act like everything was fine. It was fine and I was fine and I could do it my own self, thank you very much.
What did I do after 36 hours of labor, including more than three at 8+ centimeters, and delivering an 8 pound 3 ounce broad-shouldered baby? I walked from Labor and Delivery to my new room in Maternity. Carrying some of the rather obnoxious quantities of personal belongings we'd schlepped to the hospital.
Other nurses protested as my nurse and I passed their station. If I could have worn a top hat and tap shoes, I would have jazz handed my way from one department to the next.
"She should be in a wheelchair! Why is she carrying her things?"
And there I was, smiling and waving, even laughing a little at them, "I feel great. It's okay. I can do this."
And clearly, I could. Some of why I could had to do with giving birth naturally and all the amazing things a body does for a woman whose just given birth. But a lot of it was just me literally putting one foot in front of the other. Getting through this minute while I tried to come up with a plan for the next one.
Away from the nurses and doctors, I let my true feelings out. Breaking down on the phone to my aunt in Wisconsin because no one else was available.
Tom was with Madelyn, where he belonged.
My mom and Corey had gone to her house to sleep off the all-nighter they'd just pulled with me. They left before we knew how serious the problem was.
Nancy, who left the same all night labor along with Mom and Corey, went and picked up her husband and took him on what turned out to be his last trip sailing until his ashes were buried at sea the following year.
Honestly, it has only just occurred to me that I could have used that energy to go be with my daughter and husband. Isn't it strange how the brain works? Why didn't I get that?
The other thing about having this experience with Madelyn is that it never goes fully away. No, I don't sit around silently weeping about it. I don't wake up in the middle of the night catching my breath. I don't even think about it often.
But if I read or hear a story about someone going through a similar situation (or worse... and we got off comparatively easy, so the stories are worse), the memories come and tears will probably flow. The feelings of that time are right there.
Back when my water had broken with Fynn and Tom pulled our car up to the hospital, my mood made a sudden shift from giddy to somber.
This was the place where we left our first daughter.
Apparently I am not alone in carrying these thoughts and emotions. Maija recently witnessed something that brought back the equally traumatic experience of the birth of her first daughter. She and her husband contained themselves because that's what people do, and because their young daughters were with them. And also because the father was standing next to them in the hall as his wife was raced down the hall for an emergency C-section, and who wants to be the jackass who falls apart in front of him?
Having read hundreds of birth stories with happy and sad endings, I am fully aware that four days in NICU is hardly anything at all. And coming home isn't guaranteed. I'm sure Maija knows that emergency C-sections happen all the time, and that they don't always end with a beautiful child to raise.
We get it.
All the same, it's pretty safe to say that the births of our first daughters were some of the most difficult times of our lives. I am amazed at how emotionally tied to that experience I am more than four years later. I probably will always be.
Monday, March 19, 2012
Lost in My Daughter
Madelyn's fourth birthday is coming up soon. I am working on a photo book for her. It's not easy to fit four years of energetic and happy and studious life (make no mistake, she's watching!) into one book, but I'm trying. It's even more difficult when a certain someone who is not me, but who is the only other adult living in this homestead, has taken the old photo cards out of the monitor stand, where they had been since I owned a digital camera, and put them who knows where. (I don't mind them being moved, especially since we don't use the monitor stand anymore. But can they all just go in one place that someone here remembers?)
Slightly sickening feeling when I remember pawing through some things he had set aside for recycling and trash a couple years ago. In with the box from my first digital camera was a disk for it. Once upon a time there were probably five or six such disks that captured much of Corey's youth and Tom's and my early years, but I only have that rescued one.
*Ohm*
On top of those disks, almost all of which predate even my pregnancy with Madelyn, I was missing the card from her first six months at home.
I have a code for a free photo book. It expires soon. More importantly, Mad's birthday is coming up right after that! And I have another coupon code that should cover any extra pages I might need in order to make four years fit into one book. That coupon expires tonight. (Yes, I should be working on it now. I know!)
Tom and I had a brief discussion that... well... here's my status update last night:
Happiness is having your husband find the photo card that has Madelyn from about two weeks to six months old. (Let's not talk about the open-mouthed stare I received when I pointed out that he had said he'd look for it a month ago. Or the rude remark he made about how I shouldn't go "tearing up the office" right before he went in and tore up the office and banged things around for half an hour. Aaand, since we're not talking about certain things, let's also not mention that I had already pulled the disk out of our desk, but thought it was something else and let it sit there, only popping it into the computer because he handed it to me along with the disk reader.) Happy, happy.
So yeah. Tom handed me the disk I had located and it turned out to hold 1624 photos, almost exclusively of Mad's early days. That's a lot of photos. A lot of memories. And yet, I needed more.
Why? Because my old camera had crapped out about a week before Mad's arrival, and we didn't replace it until she was a couple weeks old. Everything we have from those intervening weeks are crappy, but much loved cell phone shots.
The good news is that I've been pretty generous in sending photos to both Tom (at work) and his mom. The better news is that they are both hoarders photo savers. (They're really not hoarders. Well, his mom is really not a hoarder.) (I wouldn't even be putting disclaimers in here if it weren't for the fact that one of his good friends reads this blog. Shh.)
One week before my due date. Six days before her arrival.
Her very first photo, taken when she was about 20 minutes old, gray, grunting and giving Daddy the stink eye. I held her for a few minutes that went by way to quickly. The next time I would see her would be another rapid few minutes in the nursery before she was taken to NICU, and after that, it would be a photo taken by the nurses; she was covered in electrodes and little gold heart-shaped stickers and tubes. Add to that her blonde hair (in the photo from the nurses) and it's no wonder it felt surreal. Speaking of her head, do you see how it's perfectly round? That's because my kids like to stay up in my ribs until the last freaking second. You would never guess that I'd been in labor 36 hours before she shot out!
The first time she got to eat, she was almost a day and a half old. I look at my nails and remember getting the manicure so my hands would look nice in photos. Who knew those photos would be taken in the Neonatal Intensive Care Unit and that my hands would be holding a bottle of mostly formula and the couple tiny drops I had been able to pump?
Part of me thinks this is the first time Tom got to hold Madelyn. But there was a period of an hour or two when she went to the regular nursery for monitoring. He went with her and I hope he got to hold her there, too. Do you see the way their eyes locked? I have a few photos like that. Immediately after her birth, she was taken to the isolette to be worked on by the respiratory team. Although she had ingested meconium and one lung had collapsed, our Mad-A-Girl hollered. My mom, Corey and Nance could all hear her even though they were on the other side of a glass door with a room in between us and them. But as soon as Tom walked over and said something to her, she stopped crying and looked at him. (If only that worked so well now!)
Out of all the photos, this is the one that surprised me. How do I not remember that she had a feeding tube? Even looking at this photo and comparing it to my memory... it just doesn't match up. Even though I have followed Miss Elimy's story, my memory was never jogged.
Wednesday, July 14, 2010
Open Wide
It was one of those long, hot days of summer, made longer by my 35 week appointment this afternoon and the maternity tour at the hospital this evening. Somewhere in the day I left my cell phone in a class. Since the teachers and I left about 15-20 minutes after school got out, I didn't bother going back for it. There is some mild anxiety about not having my cell phone, lame as that sounds. Aside from having everyone's numbers, I use the calendar to track my plans. Moreover, I often play Scrabble or some version of solitaire before falling asleep at night. Perhaps most importantly, I use the alarm to make sure I get up in the morning. Our regular alarm clock is across the room. Normally that's great, but ever since dealing with that torn hip muscle, getting out of bed for the alarm seems like cruel and unusual punishment.
After visiting classes and employers all morning, I headed back to the office for a meeting. Between the heat and our office chairs, my feet have swollen beyond recognition. At one point, the skin on top of my left foot was shiny. Gross! And I got shiny, swollen feet because of what all-important meeting? Oh, you know... the one for the freaking brochure committee. So, at least it was worthwhile.
Next stop was the doctor's office. Normally I'm in and out, but from what I gathered, Doc was very likely performing a D & C on a woman, so things got backed up. Once the receptionist blabbed to someone on the phone that "he's doing a procedure," the mood in the room changed. There were two men sitting with us, and it didn't take long to figure out who the "lucky" guy was. Doc called him back and, although he spoke quietly, I think we all heard the, "I'm sorry." As he and the woman left, I had a hard time not breaking into tears. I have been in her painful shoes.
Once we were in the exam room and I was naked from the waist down (Group B Strep test today), Doc walked in. We always exchange pleasantries. Part of me wanted to say, "Rough day, huh?" But I figured it wasn't my place to bring up this other woman. So instead I asked about his vacation last week. He started off in my hometown, San Diego. I wanted to hear more about it, but he came over, laid the table back and examined Fynn and me. She's head down, though not engaged, and he estimates her to be around 6 pounds. She measures 38 weeks, which he thought was great. Her heartbeat was a little tricky to find, but she'd been moving all over just a minute before so I wasn't too worried. Eventually he did find it and she sounded beautiful.
Then he went to the end of the table and told me, "Open wide."
It was all I could do not to say, "Ahh." And thinking about it made me laugh. Laughing isn't exactly something you want to be doing when someone's swabbing your rectum. Especially not if you're dealing with lovely pregnancy side effects, like hemorrhoids. That's right, I'll say it. The man stabbed me in a 'roid before getting the job done. Nice. Thanks, Doc.
After all the technical stuff was handled, we asked our questions. We didn't have a lot. Tom asked, "What's it like when you deliver a baby?" One thing we learned that I was very happy about, is that he will remind me to watch the baby being born. That was probably the one thing I'd do differently about Mad's delivery (what came next, of course, I'd change a bunch of different ways).
This evening Tom and I went on the hospital tour. Someone was laboring away in the very room where Mad took her first breaths. Whenever I am near that door, I want to go in. If someone else is there, I want to talk with them and tell them how wonderful it is to share this space with them. I wonder if they know to open the blinds so they can see the enormous pepper tree outside.
Tom and I both feel a connection with the room. Does that seem odd? As we stood outside it, listening to which rooms were for what purposes, he mentioned that maybe we could request room 149 if it's available when we go in.
Then we saw what an actual labor, delivery, recovery and postpartum room is like. Holy moly! Turns out we got placed in what used to be an "alternate birthing room" back in the day. Now they just use them if the others are full. That's why a few hours after Mad was born and we'd seen her off to the NICU, they moved me to a room in the "maternity" section. I had no idea! If I end up in an LDRP room this time, I probably will use the shower as a soother. It's a nice size The other bathroom was claustrophobic. It was a tiny shower, sink and toilet, with the wall maybe 12-15 inches in front of it. The only good thing was that they'd put a bar on that wall, which came in handy during contractions.
In the nursery we saw a two day old baby. Adorable. All of the stories we heard about what they do with babies under normal circumstances made me hope even harder to have a baby without complications this time. I've been telling Tom that I really want to bring her home with us when I leave. Like he doesn't, right? But having a baby go into the NICU has apparently shaken my normally reasonable expectations that everything will be alright.
After the tour, we picked up Mad and brought her home. Tom took over Mad duties while I went to work re-organizing the loft. Mad's baby clothes were everywhere. Since I'd asked my mom to come up and be here when Corey got out of school, she (quite naturally) assumed she was spending the night. I didn't have any thoughts of the sort, so the sleeper sofa was buried. But now it is ready for her, and my bed is ready for me. Hopefully the morning will bring smaller feet and then the return of my phone!
After visiting classes and employers all morning, I headed back to the office for a meeting. Between the heat and our office chairs, my feet have swollen beyond recognition. At one point, the skin on top of my left foot was shiny. Gross! And I got shiny, swollen feet because of what all-important meeting? Oh, you know... the one for the freaking brochure committee. So, at least it was worthwhile.
Next stop was the doctor's office. Normally I'm in and out, but from what I gathered, Doc was very likely performing a D & C on a woman, so things got backed up. Once the receptionist blabbed to someone on the phone that "he's doing a procedure," the mood in the room changed. There were two men sitting with us, and it didn't take long to figure out who the "lucky" guy was. Doc called him back and, although he spoke quietly, I think we all heard the, "I'm sorry." As he and the woman left, I had a hard time not breaking into tears. I have been in her painful shoes.
Once we were in the exam room and I was naked from the waist down (Group B Strep test today), Doc walked in. We always exchange pleasantries. Part of me wanted to say, "Rough day, huh?" But I figured it wasn't my place to bring up this other woman. So instead I asked about his vacation last week. He started off in my hometown, San Diego. I wanted to hear more about it, but he came over, laid the table back and examined Fynn and me. She's head down, though not engaged, and he estimates her to be around 6 pounds. She measures 38 weeks, which he thought was great. Her heartbeat was a little tricky to find, but she'd been moving all over just a minute before so I wasn't too worried. Eventually he did find it and she sounded beautiful.
Then he went to the end of the table and told me, "Open wide."
It was all I could do not to say, "Ahh." And thinking about it made me laugh. Laughing isn't exactly something you want to be doing when someone's swabbing your rectum. Especially not if you're dealing with lovely pregnancy side effects, like hemorrhoids. That's right, I'll say it. The man stabbed me in a 'roid before getting the job done. Nice. Thanks, Doc.
After all the technical stuff was handled, we asked our questions. We didn't have a lot. Tom asked, "What's it like when you deliver a baby?" One thing we learned that I was very happy about, is that he will remind me to watch the baby being born. That was probably the one thing I'd do differently about Mad's delivery (what came next, of course, I'd change a bunch of different ways).
This evening Tom and I went on the hospital tour. Someone was laboring away in the very room where Mad took her first breaths. Whenever I am near that door, I want to go in. If someone else is there, I want to talk with them and tell them how wonderful it is to share this space with them. I wonder if they know to open the blinds so they can see the enormous pepper tree outside.
Tom and I both feel a connection with the room. Does that seem odd? As we stood outside it, listening to which rooms were for what purposes, he mentioned that maybe we could request room 149 if it's available when we go in.
Then we saw what an actual labor, delivery, recovery and postpartum room is like. Holy moly! Turns out we got placed in what used to be an "alternate birthing room" back in the day. Now they just use them if the others are full. That's why a few hours after Mad was born and we'd seen her off to the NICU, they moved me to a room in the "maternity" section. I had no idea! If I end up in an LDRP room this time, I probably will use the shower as a soother. It's a nice size The other bathroom was claustrophobic. It was a tiny shower, sink and toilet, with the wall maybe 12-15 inches in front of it. The only good thing was that they'd put a bar on that wall, which came in handy during contractions.
In the nursery we saw a two day old baby. Adorable. All of the stories we heard about what they do with babies under normal circumstances made me hope even harder to have a baby without complications this time. I've been telling Tom that I really want to bring her home with us when I leave. Like he doesn't, right? But having a baby go into the NICU has apparently shaken my normally reasonable expectations that everything will be alright.
After the tour, we picked up Mad and brought her home. Tom took over Mad duties while I went to work re-organizing the loft. Mad's baby clothes were everywhere. Since I'd asked my mom to come up and be here when Corey got out of school, she (quite naturally) assumed she was spending the night. I didn't have any thoughts of the sort, so the sleeper sofa was buried. But now it is ready for her, and my bed is ready for me. Hopefully the morning will bring smaller feet and then the return of my phone!
Monday, April 12, 2010
A Long Story About A Quick Delivery
On this morning two years ago, at 4:35 A.M., Mad shot into the world like a rocket (after 36 hours of labor). Since I've already written about the first part of my labor, this starts up once we arrived at the hospital.
Despite repeated warnings on the hospital tour about how it's better not to arrive during shift change, that's exactly what we did. The downside is that we were stuck standing outside the maternity entrance for a minute while we waited for a response to the buzzing doorbell... and then again once we were two feet inside the maternity lobby and waiting to get into the maternity department.
The upside was that all the exam rooms were taken, so we went immediately into the room where our baby would be born. Oliver Canyon or Madelyn Kenzie? We didn't know.
The nurse who checked me out, Philomena ("or you can just call me Phil"), wasn't exactly pleasant, friendly or gentle. I would have sworn she was wearing a 9 karat ring on her finger during the exam. She declared I was dilated to about 3; I was so sure I was at least 4 by then, especially after all the walking I'd done over the past two days (not to mention, on the way to the hospital). Lucky for us, Phil was going off duty and Maribel Cruz became our nurse.
Maribel was the kind of nurse I hope to have again next time. Heck, I'd really prefer to have Maribel herself.
She had us on the monitor for an hour to see what the contractions were like. When she re-examined me, I was dilated another centimeter and a half (or Phil's ring got in the way). We were staying. Corey was given a cell phone and a list of people to call.
We presented our birth plan, which was written mainly for us since we knew the hospital allowed most of the things we wanted. It was pretty simple and straightforward.
*Soft music playing (Corey was the DJ)
*Friends and family allowed during labor
*Do not offer pain medication; I will ask for it if I need it
*Lots of walking and changing positions to stimulate labor
*Break my water if necessary instead of administering pitocin
*No antibiotic eye cream for the baby (as it just so happens, I don't have any STD's, so it was unnecessary)
*No vitamin K shot unless the baby has bruising or bleeding
*No Hep B shot (none of the people in our circle have hepatitis and we were counting on the baby not being sexually active for quite some time, so it was unnecessary... and it reduces appetite and increases lethargy, which are not good things for newborns)
Of course we had to sign declination forms for the shots and eye cream, but Maribel didn't make a big deal about it. She did ask about our reasoning, but it seemed to be more out of curiosity than condescension.
One thing I did agree to was an IV fluids line. Maintaining hydration isn't always easy for me under the best of circumstances. When I was in labor with Corey, I'd taken several hot showers. Getting an IV put an end to that. I never even asked if showering would be possible this time. Although the room was spacious, the bathroom was tiny; I didn't even want to try a shower.
My mom and Nancy both arrived and stayed for the duration. Tom was by my side almost every minute. I used the restroom by myself... we're just not that kind of couple. I'm not sure if Tom ever got to use the restroom. I remember he tried to at one point, but couldn't get more than a foot from me before another contraction would start. We walked the halls numerous times until around 11:00 or so. I was usually in bed by 10:00, and my body wanted to catch some sleep like usual.
Tom counted out my breaths for each contraction. I know, I know... a lot of women would find that annoying, but I can not find a focus point on the wall or in a pair of booties. I found it in Tom's voice.
Everybody in the room was quiet for most of the night. Once, my mom dared to whisper something to Nance while I was having a contraction. I shushed her. My own mother. As soon as the contraction went away I felt bad about it.
For quite a while things progressed pretty close to the one centimeter per hour like you hear. But then I hung out at 8+ for over three hours. That was not fun. As we approached 3.5 hours of no progress, I started losing control of my pain (and, perhaps, my mind). According to Nancy, the only thing I said the whole time (and only once) was a very quiet, "Oh my."
Can I be frank? I have quite the sailor's vocabulary. I could have said a lot of things, and I was definitely thinking them, but I had Corey in the room. I wanted him to be part of the labor and see (to a point) what a woman goes through. I did not want to traumatize him. I also had my mom and Nance, two churchgoing women... who've heard my foul mouth on (the hopefully rare) occasion. But it just hit me as unseemly at that moment (I don't know why then, when I really could have gotten away with it). And lastly, I had Tom there. I felt very protective over him and Corey. I didn't want to scare either of them since they'd never been through this side of labor before.
At one point Corey, who is a night owl, decided he needed a snack. We'd brought plenty for just such a moment. He selected his A-1 steak sauce flavored beef jerky. When the package was torn open, I could have sworn a skunk had been let loose in the room. It smelled awful! I explained, as rationally as I could, that even though it didn't make any sense he would have to get those things out of the room and not open them up again near me until after the baby was born.
Sometime around 3:30 in the morning I started enquiring about pain medications. Even though I could recite which drugs do what to Mom and Baby, and Tom and I shared a common view on each of them, I really didn't care what they gave me. I just wanted the pain to end.
Tom knew how much I wanted to deliver naturally, and Maribel also understood me (she was pregnant, too... Fynnie will be born when her son is about 2). When Tom called to ask her about pain meds, she came to talk with us.
We talked after Mad was born and Maribel said, "I knew how much you wanted to go natural, but you'd been stalled out for so long. What if it took several more hours?"
Tom asked if it was still possible to get an epidural. She said it was, had me change positions (we'd forgotten that step somewhere along the way) and then left us alone to talk about it. Of course, with the position change, the pain of the contractions increased. I was as close to wanting an epidural as I'd ever been in my life.
Tom called Maribel back and they talked some more about my getting the epidural. She had me change positions again (ugh!) and told me the anesthesiologist was just down the hall. He was about to do someone else first who had been waiting a long time, but if it was really bad, she would have him come to me first. I don't recall an actual response, but in my mind there was no way I could step in front of someone else.
Another exam and I was at 9. Progress! Maribel left the room again. I'm not sure if a decision had been made at that point. It seems to me she or Tom said something about talking it over and getting back to her.
Are you onto them yet? They tag-teamed me and stalled me. Whatever.
At some point, though, I did specifically ask for the epidural.
I've heard that "you know a woman's about to have a baby when she doesn't care who sees her naked." Not so much on my end, thanks. With the position changes that Maribel suggested, somewhere in the fog of my brain I recalled that getting on all fours could be useful. I didn't mind doing that in front of my peeps, but I didn't want the back side of my gown opening and revealing... me... to them.
Of course I handled it all with tact and aplomb. I believe my frantically whispered words to Tom were, "Get those people out of here!"
"What? Who?"
"Them! Those people! Get them out!"
Tom ushered them out pretty quickly. We changed positions a couple more times. Eventually I had him call because I thought maybe I had to push.
Nope, 9+. Maribel worked some obstetrical magic on my body. A few minutes later when she checked me... just as the anesthesiologist walked in... I was finally at 10.
The pain doc apologized for taking so long. I said, "No, it's good. Really." I was so relieved to have made it, even if it wasn't entirely of my own free will or internal strength. My man and my nurse helped me get where I wanted to go, even if they had to carry me a little way.
Maribel left one last time to call the doctor. In no time at all I understood the difference between, "I think maybe I have to push" and "I can't not push!" It's pretty amazing what you can feel when you aren't medicated. I remember being able to visualize the baby's head moving down the birth canal. It might sound painful, but it wasn't. It was a tangible sign of progress.
The whole time I pushed I made some sort of a low, guttural humming sound. I remember hearing myself and wondering why I was doing it, but I didn't stop.
One thing I didn't want was to have someone counting out how long I should push. I was concerned more about feeling like I couldn't breathe when I wanted. Turned out that I didn't care about breathing, all I could do was push.
I'd been working on my right side and was pretty comfortable that way. So when Maribel came in and had me move to my back, I was not thrilled. Just then my water broke and there was some meconium in it. She called in all the people who would need to check the baby out after he or she was born.
On the last night of class Pamela had done an activity that showed how many people would be in the room if there were any complications. Tom was the "mom in labor," I was his partner and the rest of the other members of the class ended up surrounding us as Pamela told us what each person's job would be in such a case. We weren't panicked. I felt pretty calm because I'd seen so many "Baby Story" shows where meconium was present. Everything was smooth sailing and I figured the same would be true for us.
I pushed for 10-15 minutes. The bed was not broken down and the doctor did not arrive until after the baby was halfway out. Tom was the person who saw first and said, "I think it's a girl."
Someone, maybe Maribel, said, "Let's look."
Tom said, "No, it's a girl!"
I sat up to look at her and immediately noticed she had Tom's mouth and chin. She had the same pucker he makes while sleeping. Her left hand made the sign for the letter T.
Tom cut the cord after some instructions from Maribel. I was surprised that he did because he gets pretty queasy around blood, but he had no problems. He seemed rather proud of himself. I know I was.
We didn't get to hear that first cry for a long time as they worked to clear out her lungs. It was a loud, strong cry. So loud that the family was able to hear her even though they'd been shuttled to the lobby and were on the other side of a glass door (ours was the room second from the lobby door).
Tom went to be with our little girl as the doctors and nurses tried to stabilize her breathing. She had been upset, but when she heard Daddy's voice, she stopped crying and looked at him. That was beautiful.
It was a good thing he was there, too, because the doc stepped in then to deliver the placenta. Someone pressed on my abdomen and blood and guts shot out of me and hit Doc with a large splat. I had been laying back, but sat up to see what had happened. I looked at her scrubs and said, "Well that's a mess." Doc laughed and said she needed more patients like me.
Again, I was just glad Tom was over with Madelyn, because I had virtually promised him that there wouldn't be much blood involved in delivering our baby. There wasn't any when Corey was born.
Doc said I had a small tear. She gave me enough anesthetic to numb a miniscule tear. I could feel the last several stitches. Even though I told her, she did not do anything but continue sewing. Jeez!
After about 20 minutes I was finally able to hold Madelyn (Tom handed her to me), but only for a couple minutes because she was still having a hard time breathing. She was grunting and rather gray and on her way to the nursery. Everyone got to see her while I held her, but that was it. Once Mad was on her way, Nancy kissed me goodbye and went to take her husband on what would end up being his last trip sailing. Mom took Corey to her house and I'm sure they slept the day away. I began calling anybody who was out of state and likely to be up.
An hour or so later Tom came in to report that Madelyn was going to the neonatal intensive care unit. She had a collapsed lung and the air had gone into her chest, not out her mouth or nose. Because of the meconium, she was at risk of a potentially fatal infection. And the course of treatment required at least three days.
The first time I got to see her looking pink was in a photo a nurse brought to me. My sweet daughter was covered in tubes and wires. It was surreal.
The neonatologist came to see us and told us the plan. He said I could go into the nursery and hold her for a few minutes before they moved her to the NICU. After that we wouldn't be able to do more than touch her foot for a while (and that only every couple of visits, it turned out). We were there as soon as we were allowed and held her as long as they let us. Seeing my baby with a pacifier made me kind of sad (like there wasn't enough other stuff, right?), and I remember being surprised at how little she seemed. At 8 pounds 3 ounces, small isn't usually what one thinks about a newborn.
I didn't make any more calls that morning, but I may have sent out a text. In any case, friends came to visit, which made things better. My dad and Margaret brought my sister and niece. All the adults took turns going in to see Mad with Tom while I stayed in the lobby with the rest.
Speaking of which, I do understand keeping the regular nursery separate from the NICU, but is it really necessary to put it on the other side of the maternity ward... and on the other side of the lobby? The family of about 20 people who were waiting for their own long delivery knew our entire story after Tom had passed through there about a dozen times.
Mom brought Corey back later that afternoon. Corey didn't want to see the baby like that. Mom stayed with me while Corey and Tom walked home to feed the iguana and get our car.
I remember feeling like I was ready to leave the hospital almost immediately after giving birth. The only thing that kept me there was Madelyn. The nurses and my family all encouraged me to stay just because it was easier to visit with her from my room instead of a few blocks away. So I postponed walking out of there and into our home without her.
The air pocket (which was now surrounding her lung and heart) did not resolve itself as can happen, so it was removed with a needle. The doctor said that Madelyn didn't cry. Except for the risk of infection, she could have gone home the next day. Her respiratory distress resolved pretty quickly.
Instead of starting off with breastfeeding, Mad went without food for about 24 hours. Then she was given IV nutrition and then a bottle. Meanwhile I was pumping everything I could. It was hardly anything. Even though I wasn't outwardly expressing how upset I was, the lack of physical contact with my daughter was killing me. After the 12th time I pumped, I finally managed to get a few drops of colostrum. We got to nurse when she was three days old. Making it happen involved me, Mad, Tom, a lactation consultant and the neonatologist (who had to tell the lone idiot nurse we had that Madelyn could nurse).
It seemed like every time Mad would reach a feeding milestone set by the medical staff, they would increase the goal. When a mild case of jaundice occurred, they talked about keeping her for up to an additional week (that was another gem from the lone idiot nurse... the rest were spectacular). I might have raised a small amount of holy hell because the jaundice numbers were low; if we were home we'd have to keep her near a window for the indirect sunlight.
She kept getting stronger and was able to regulate her body temperature and breathing. The morning after the course of antibiotics was completed, she came home.
One thing we decided after bringing her home was that it was nice to do all of her first diapers and feedings and baths under the caring supervision of the NICU nurses. Tom became an expert at everything and my skills were refreshed, so we weren't as nervous as we might otherwise have been. Most importantly, we got to bring her home. I never doubted we would, but it was easy to wonder if it would ever really happen.
Despite repeated warnings on the hospital tour about how it's better not to arrive during shift change, that's exactly what we did. The downside is that we were stuck standing outside the maternity entrance for a minute while we waited for a response to the buzzing doorbell... and then again once we were two feet inside the maternity lobby and waiting to get into the maternity department.
The upside was that all the exam rooms were taken, so we went immediately into the room where our baby would be born. Oliver Canyon or Madelyn Kenzie? We didn't know.
The nurse who checked me out, Philomena ("or you can just call me Phil"), wasn't exactly pleasant, friendly or gentle. I would have sworn she was wearing a 9 karat ring on her finger during the exam. She declared I was dilated to about 3; I was so sure I was at least 4 by then, especially after all the walking I'd done over the past two days (not to mention, on the way to the hospital). Lucky for us, Phil was going off duty and Maribel Cruz became our nurse.
Maribel was the kind of nurse I hope to have again next time. Heck, I'd really prefer to have Maribel herself.
She had us on the monitor for an hour to see what the contractions were like. When she re-examined me, I was dilated another centimeter and a half (or Phil's ring got in the way). We were staying. Corey was given a cell phone and a list of people to call.
We presented our birth plan, which was written mainly for us since we knew the hospital allowed most of the things we wanted. It was pretty simple and straightforward.
*Soft music playing (Corey was the DJ)
*Friends and family allowed during labor
*Do not offer pain medication; I will ask for it if I need it
*Lots of walking and changing positions to stimulate labor
*Break my water if necessary instead of administering pitocin
*No antibiotic eye cream for the baby (as it just so happens, I don't have any STD's, so it was unnecessary)
*No vitamin K shot unless the baby has bruising or bleeding
*No Hep B shot (none of the people in our circle have hepatitis and we were counting on the baby not being sexually active for quite some time, so it was unnecessary... and it reduces appetite and increases lethargy, which are not good things for newborns)
Of course we had to sign declination forms for the shots and eye cream, but Maribel didn't make a big deal about it. She did ask about our reasoning, but it seemed to be more out of curiosity than condescension.
One thing I did agree to was an IV fluids line. Maintaining hydration isn't always easy for me under the best of circumstances. When I was in labor with Corey, I'd taken several hot showers. Getting an IV put an end to that. I never even asked if showering would be possible this time. Although the room was spacious, the bathroom was tiny; I didn't even want to try a shower.
My mom and Nancy both arrived and stayed for the duration. Tom was by my side almost every minute. I used the restroom by myself... we're just not that kind of couple. I'm not sure if Tom ever got to use the restroom. I remember he tried to at one point, but couldn't get more than a foot from me before another contraction would start. We walked the halls numerous times until around 11:00 or so. I was usually in bed by 10:00, and my body wanted to catch some sleep like usual.
Tom counted out my breaths for each contraction. I know, I know... a lot of women would find that annoying, but I can not find a focus point on the wall or in a pair of booties. I found it in Tom's voice.
Everybody in the room was quiet for most of the night. Once, my mom dared to whisper something to Nance while I was having a contraction. I shushed her. My own mother. As soon as the contraction went away I felt bad about it.
For quite a while things progressed pretty close to the one centimeter per hour like you hear. But then I hung out at 8+ for over three hours. That was not fun. As we approached 3.5 hours of no progress, I started losing control of my pain (and, perhaps, my mind). According to Nancy, the only thing I said the whole time (and only once) was a very quiet, "Oh my."
Can I be frank? I have quite the sailor's vocabulary. I could have said a lot of things, and I was definitely thinking them, but I had Corey in the room. I wanted him to be part of the labor and see (to a point) what a woman goes through. I did not want to traumatize him. I also had my mom and Nance, two churchgoing women... who've heard my foul mouth on (the hopefully rare) occasion. But it just hit me as unseemly at that moment (I don't know why then, when I really could have gotten away with it). And lastly, I had Tom there. I felt very protective over him and Corey. I didn't want to scare either of them since they'd never been through this side of labor before.
At one point Corey, who is a night owl, decided he needed a snack. We'd brought plenty for just such a moment. He selected his A-1 steak sauce flavored beef jerky. When the package was torn open, I could have sworn a skunk had been let loose in the room. It smelled awful! I explained, as rationally as I could, that even though it didn't make any sense he would have to get those things out of the room and not open them up again near me until after the baby was born.
Sometime around 3:30 in the morning I started enquiring about pain medications. Even though I could recite which drugs do what to Mom and Baby, and Tom and I shared a common view on each of them, I really didn't care what they gave me. I just wanted the pain to end.
Tom knew how much I wanted to deliver naturally, and Maribel also understood me (she was pregnant, too... Fynnie will be born when her son is about 2). When Tom called to ask her about pain meds, she came to talk with us.
We talked after Mad was born and Maribel said, "I knew how much you wanted to go natural, but you'd been stalled out for so long. What if it took several more hours?"
Tom asked if it was still possible to get an epidural. She said it was, had me change positions (we'd forgotten that step somewhere along the way) and then left us alone to talk about it. Of course, with the position change, the pain of the contractions increased. I was as close to wanting an epidural as I'd ever been in my life.
Tom called Maribel back and they talked some more about my getting the epidural. She had me change positions again (ugh!) and told me the anesthesiologist was just down the hall. He was about to do someone else first who had been waiting a long time, but if it was really bad, she would have him come to me first. I don't recall an actual response, but in my mind there was no way I could step in front of someone else.
Another exam and I was at 9. Progress! Maribel left the room again. I'm not sure if a decision had been made at that point. It seems to me she or Tom said something about talking it over and getting back to her.
Are you onto them yet? They tag-teamed me and stalled me. Whatever.
At some point, though, I did specifically ask for the epidural.
I've heard that "you know a woman's about to have a baby when she doesn't care who sees her naked." Not so much on my end, thanks. With the position changes that Maribel suggested, somewhere in the fog of my brain I recalled that getting on all fours could be useful. I didn't mind doing that in front of my peeps, but I didn't want the back side of my gown opening and revealing... me... to them.
Of course I handled it all with tact and aplomb. I believe my frantically whispered words to Tom were, "Get those people out of here!"
"What? Who?"
"Them! Those people! Get them out!"
Tom ushered them out pretty quickly. We changed positions a couple more times. Eventually I had him call because I thought maybe I had to push.
Nope, 9+. Maribel worked some obstetrical magic on my body. A few minutes later when she checked me... just as the anesthesiologist walked in... I was finally at 10.
The pain doc apologized for taking so long. I said, "No, it's good. Really." I was so relieved to have made it, even if it wasn't entirely of my own free will or internal strength. My man and my nurse helped me get where I wanted to go, even if they had to carry me a little way.
Maribel left one last time to call the doctor. In no time at all I understood the difference between, "I think maybe I have to push" and "I can't not push!" It's pretty amazing what you can feel when you aren't medicated. I remember being able to visualize the baby's head moving down the birth canal. It might sound painful, but it wasn't. It was a tangible sign of progress.
The whole time I pushed I made some sort of a low, guttural humming sound. I remember hearing myself and wondering why I was doing it, but I didn't stop.
One thing I didn't want was to have someone counting out how long I should push. I was concerned more about feeling like I couldn't breathe when I wanted. Turned out that I didn't care about breathing, all I could do was push.
I'd been working on my right side and was pretty comfortable that way. So when Maribel came in and had me move to my back, I was not thrilled. Just then my water broke and there was some meconium in it. She called in all the people who would need to check the baby out after he or she was born.
On the last night of class Pamela had done an activity that showed how many people would be in the room if there were any complications. Tom was the "mom in labor," I was his partner and the rest of the other members of the class ended up surrounding us as Pamela told us what each person's job would be in such a case. We weren't panicked. I felt pretty calm because I'd seen so many "Baby Story" shows where meconium was present. Everything was smooth sailing and I figured the same would be true for us.
I pushed for 10-15 minutes. The bed was not broken down and the doctor did not arrive until after the baby was halfway out. Tom was the person who saw first and said, "I think it's a girl."
Someone, maybe Maribel, said, "Let's look."
Tom said, "No, it's a girl!"
I sat up to look at her and immediately noticed she had Tom's mouth and chin. She had the same pucker he makes while sleeping. Her left hand made the sign for the letter T.
Tom cut the cord after some instructions from Maribel. I was surprised that he did because he gets pretty queasy around blood, but he had no problems. He seemed rather proud of himself. I know I was.
We didn't get to hear that first cry for a long time as they worked to clear out her lungs. It was a loud, strong cry. So loud that the family was able to hear her even though they'd been shuttled to the lobby and were on the other side of a glass door (ours was the room second from the lobby door).
Tom went to be with our little girl as the doctors and nurses tried to stabilize her breathing. She had been upset, but when she heard Daddy's voice, she stopped crying and looked at him. That was beautiful.
It was a good thing he was there, too, because the doc stepped in then to deliver the placenta. Someone pressed on my abdomen and blood and guts shot out of me and hit Doc with a large splat. I had been laying back, but sat up to see what had happened. I looked at her scrubs and said, "Well that's a mess." Doc laughed and said she needed more patients like me.
Again, I was just glad Tom was over with Madelyn, because I had virtually promised him that there wouldn't be much blood involved in delivering our baby. There wasn't any when Corey was born.
Doc said I had a small tear. She gave me enough anesthetic to numb a miniscule tear. I could feel the last several stitches. Even though I told her, she did not do anything but continue sewing. Jeez!
After about 20 minutes I was finally able to hold Madelyn (Tom handed her to me), but only for a couple minutes because she was still having a hard time breathing. She was grunting and rather gray and on her way to the nursery. Everyone got to see her while I held her, but that was it. Once Mad was on her way, Nancy kissed me goodbye and went to take her husband on what would end up being his last trip sailing. Mom took Corey to her house and I'm sure they slept the day away. I began calling anybody who was out of state and likely to be up.
An hour or so later Tom came in to report that Madelyn was going to the neonatal intensive care unit. She had a collapsed lung and the air had gone into her chest, not out her mouth or nose. Because of the meconium, she was at risk of a potentially fatal infection. And the course of treatment required at least three days.
The first time I got to see her looking pink was in a photo a nurse brought to me. My sweet daughter was covered in tubes and wires. It was surreal.
The neonatologist came to see us and told us the plan. He said I could go into the nursery and hold her for a few minutes before they moved her to the NICU. After that we wouldn't be able to do more than touch her foot for a while (and that only every couple of visits, it turned out). We were there as soon as we were allowed and held her as long as they let us. Seeing my baby with a pacifier made me kind of sad (like there wasn't enough other stuff, right?), and I remember being surprised at how little she seemed. At 8 pounds 3 ounces, small isn't usually what one thinks about a newborn.
I didn't make any more calls that morning, but I may have sent out a text. In any case, friends came to visit, which made things better. My dad and Margaret brought my sister and niece. All the adults took turns going in to see Mad with Tom while I stayed in the lobby with the rest.
Speaking of which, I do understand keeping the regular nursery separate from the NICU, but is it really necessary to put it on the other side of the maternity ward... and on the other side of the lobby? The family of about 20 people who were waiting for their own long delivery knew our entire story after Tom had passed through there about a dozen times.
Mom brought Corey back later that afternoon. Corey didn't want to see the baby like that. Mom stayed with me while Corey and Tom walked home to feed the iguana and get our car.
I remember feeling like I was ready to leave the hospital almost immediately after giving birth. The only thing that kept me there was Madelyn. The nurses and my family all encouraged me to stay just because it was easier to visit with her from my room instead of a few blocks away. So I postponed walking out of there and into our home without her.
The air pocket (which was now surrounding her lung and heart) did not resolve itself as can happen, so it was removed with a needle. The doctor said that Madelyn didn't cry. Except for the risk of infection, she could have gone home the next day. Her respiratory distress resolved pretty quickly.
Instead of starting off with breastfeeding, Mad went without food for about 24 hours. Then she was given IV nutrition and then a bottle. Meanwhile I was pumping everything I could. It was hardly anything. Even though I wasn't outwardly expressing how upset I was, the lack of physical contact with my daughter was killing me. After the 12th time I pumped, I finally managed to get a few drops of colostrum. We got to nurse when she was three days old. Making it happen involved me, Mad, Tom, a lactation consultant and the neonatologist (who had to tell the lone idiot nurse we had that Madelyn could nurse).
It seemed like every time Mad would reach a feeding milestone set by the medical staff, they would increase the goal. When a mild case of jaundice occurred, they talked about keeping her for up to an additional week (that was another gem from the lone idiot nurse... the rest were spectacular). I might have raised a small amount of holy hell because the jaundice numbers were low; if we were home we'd have to keep her near a window for the indirect sunlight.
She kept getting stronger and was able to regulate her body temperature and breathing. The morning after the course of antibiotics was completed, she came home.
One thing we decided after bringing her home was that it was nice to do all of her first diapers and feedings and baths under the caring supervision of the NICU nurses. Tom became an expert at everything and my skills were refreshed, so we weren't as nervous as we might otherwise have been. Most importantly, we got to bring her home. I never doubted we would, but it was easy to wonder if it would ever really happen.
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