I was about
to be initiated into the mothers of premature infants society and learn what it
was like to have a baby in the NICU. I'll be honest: it stinks having to stare at your fragile new baby through plexiglass and poke your hands through portals in order to caress a cheek or hold a delicate pinky.
For the
next week, I rose early and packed snacks and frozen bottles of breast milk in
the little diaper bag provided by the hospital. Then I took Parker to school
and drove to the hospital. Once there, I maintained a daylong vigil in the NICU
and returned home later in the evening. The hospital continued to provide three
meals a day for breastfeeding mothers, so I stopped bringing a lunch after the
first day and enjoyed the bountiful trays of food delivered to the unit. I
read, listened to music, chatted with nurses and doctors, and observed—with
awe—the dedication and love that permeated that special room.
The nurses
taught me how to open the isolette and extend Cory’s bed, maneuver the wires
and change his diapers, carefully monitor his urine output, and recognize signs
of stress (hiccupping being a prime indicator of system overload). I became
proficient at removing him from his little clear plastic home for holding and
feeding, first using the nasogastric tube held aloft, then the tube and bottle,
then a bottle alone after he yanked the tube from his nose five days into his
stay. Two days prior to that incident, they had removed his IV feeding and
started relying only on what he would ingest from the tube and bottle. It was
still too early to attempt breastfeeding, so I asked the nurse for a preemie
pacifier, hoping it might help strengthen his sucking reflex. I was determined to make a breast-feeder out
of my baby, so he could get the best possible start on life, even if the odds
were against us. (Preemies typically have weak sucking reflexes, so, once they
get used to the ease of bottle-feeding, they resist having to work at
breastfeeding.) I thought I’d won a major victory when he sucked viciously on
the pacifier for several minutes. But within minutes he tired from the effort
and was snoozing so deeply we couldn’t arouse him.
On March 3,
four days following his birth, one of the doctors announced that he was doing
so well we would let him take the lead at breastfeeding. With much rejoicing on
my part, we were successful for three feedings that day. I was ecstatic!
To compound
the sucking reflex problem, the energy requirements it takes to breastfeed can
deter preemies from sucking for the amount of time necessary to obtain adequate
nourishment. Taking him out of the isolette to nurse was risky, since he still
had difficulty maintaining his body temperature and keeping warm. Chris, Parker
and I discovered that fact the hard way one night when we kept him out of his
warm environment too long, causing him to lose a considerable amount of weight.
We were firmly exhorted (chewed out) about it after the staff discovered his
extreme weight loss.
Quite
simply, we had to look more and hold less. After that episode, when I did
remove him for feedings, I pressed his little body next my warm skin and
enveloped his exposed parts (which was just about all of him) in blankets. This
arrangement almost seemed too comfortable for him, since he’d fall asleep and
refuse to waken to continue feeding even when the nurse pinched the bottom of
his foot in attempts to “pinch him awake.” That never worked, though. “Boy,
he’s a laid back one!” they’d laughed. “You’re lucky; he’s going to be calm.”
Little did they know…
Then there
was the blare of monitors signaling a potential problem with hear rate, oxygen
saturation levels or sleep apnea. The machines monitored breathing, heart rate
and other vital statistics every second of the day. Occasionally, a baby’s mere
wiggle or position change dislodged a sensor, causing the alarm to sound. The
first time Cory’s monitor made a shrill announcement of something awry, I
gripped the seat and frantically looked around the room for someone to come
running to his aid. Much too calmly for my satisfaction, a nurse calmly checked
the leads and turned to offer me a smile. “Whenever that goes off, I always
first look to see if they’re moving or breathing. If they are, I don’t get too
excited. The machines are very sensitive; they go off all of the time.”
Indeed,
they did. I never quite managed to get
used to it, although I no longer felt compelled to bolt from the chair and
roughly steer a nurse to his side.
Since
things seemed to be moving along so well, Chris and I decided we should shop for
a car seat, although we still didn’t have a clue about when Cory would be
coming home. I wanted the new super fancy model that allowed infants to recline
and then reverted automatically to a more upright position if the car was
involved in a collision. Our special baby required the top-of-the-line
equipment, so we hunted for the right model and brought home the pricey-
high-tech car seat. It looked so monolithic, though, too big for a baby to be
comfortable. But then, car seats weren’t designed for comfort.
I continued
my daily trips to the hospital, gaining strength each day I was up and walking
around. The first day I arrived, however, laden with breast milk and meals, I
made the mistake of parking some distance form the door I needed to enter to
get to Cory’s unit. This poor planning required me to hike uphill before
arriving at the desire location. At one point, I had to stop and lean against a
wall, unsure whether I could go farther, breathing heavily and feeling
dangerously weak and dizzy from the exertion. My heart pounded fiercely in retaliation to the
stress it was no longer prepared to handle. How
embarrassing! I thought. I need a
wheelchair just to get to the front door! Without one, I’m probably going to
faint right here on the sidewalk, (pant),
within visibility of the Life Flight helicopter!
Three months of
confinement to bed had taken a tremendous toll on my physical condition. The
muscular deterioration and calcium depletion were so considerable that I wasn’t
convinced someone my age could fully recover. I was only too aware of how
difficult it could be for a woman—technically approaching middle age—to reverse
the rapidly declining exponential curve. But at that moment, my goal was just
to make it—paraphernalia and all—to the NICU. By taking slow, shuffling steps
and frequent breaks, and praying, I
arrived, panting heavily and exhausted, but happily at my son’s side.
Chris and I
were stunned, but elated, at Cory’s rapid progress. By the fourth evening after
his birth, they moved Cory into a real crib in another room—out of the
isolette. The final step before releasing him to go home. He looked so
diminutive in the cavernous hospital crib, bundled like a bean encased firmly
in a blanket pod; tiny knit cap adorning his barely visible head. He looked
even more fragile and vulnerable in this setting, particularly because it began
to register in our minds that he was going to be coming home with us. Coming
home very soon.
And that
scared me. I’d begun to rely on the security of those annoying machines; rely
on the information they continuously emitted. Without them we were unable to
tell what was going on with Cory’s body. The machines that had so scared and
repelled me now gave me peace of mind. And I needed them!
Were Chris
and I up to the task of caring for a premature infant, in our home? Alone?
One way or
the other, when the doctors felt he was ready—which they had told us would be
when he weighed five pounds or met his gestational age—we would find out. Right
now, he was neither, so I relaxed and dismissed the thought of preemie care
happening any time soon.
I shouldn’t
have been so complacent…
__________________________________________________
NEXT
WEEK: Seeing life for the first time after confinement. What I
had so taken for granted…
__________________________________________________
Until next week,
Thanks for joining me!
Blessings,
Andrea
May all of you be tremendously blessed this Christmas
season. I know for many of you, this will be a year full of broken dreams, pain
and melancholy memories. I do pray that you find hope and peace in the promise
this season brings us and reminds us of, and that you look to the One who is
the reason behind and for all of it!
He came to pay a debt He didn’t owe.
Because you owe a debt you cannot pay.
Unknown
Thank God for His tremendous grace toward the world!!!
Merry Christmas!
photo credit: <a href="https://www.flickr.com/photos/atomicshark/316620916/">atomicshark</a> via <a href="http://photopin.com">photopin</a> <a href="http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-nc-sa/2.0/">cc</a>
