This morning's 8am check in: Ollie did last night like a professional baby! He got food in his tube every 3 hours. He had a little residual food in his belly after each feeding, so they backed down on the amount. I'm happy about that because we think they were starting him with too high an amount anyway. It's hard because Ollie is not tiny like most the babies in the ICU, he's huge. They have to hunt down diapers for him because the newborn size is like a speedo on the poor kid. Anyway, he may be big, but that tummy is the size of a marble right now, never had food before. They were trying to feed him golfball size doses. He'll be ready in a couple days, so no worries. Other than that he slept great through the night. His next feed is at 1030am. I asked the nurse (Becky again) if I could "kangaroo" hold him again like I did last night while he gets that 1030 am feed. She said sure no problem. He will not have had his phenol barbatol yet which makes him really sleepy. So maybe he can nuzzle around on me a little bit and associate mama with food some more. Good stuff!
I may not update until late tonight again, depending on how busy I am at the hospital. But I wanted to say that any parent who's had a kid in ICU knows that you can't be there long, without hearing stories, and meeting other parents. We have met masses. But, there are a few that weigh on my mind this morning I ask you think of in your prayers. I may not ever know the outcome of these kids, but extra prayers and thoughts and wishes never hurt. They are fighting for life in the very room our little Ollie is...
Yesterday we met Samantha. She was born full term to a very happy mama, dada, and big sister. Samantha won't eat, and when she does she throws up. She doesn't wake up from sleeping most of the time. She doesn't look around. She just lays in her bed. Everyone talks to her and strokes her and loves her. Doctors have tested her and consulted with other doctors and specialists. For three weeks every test known to man has been done on this little girl, and she passes each with flying colors, and yet she has no will to live. She does not thrive. I pray she comes back to us and goes home with her loving, sweet family and excited big sister.
I can't remember the name of the mama I met in the waiting room with her other two sons. We were both sore from birth and tired. She was negotiating childcare arrangements on a cell phone. Her baby has a mass in his lungs. They found it before birth. She is praying it's not cancer. She is praying they can remove it. She is praying it will remedy itself. And she, like me, has 3 other children. They are all parted out to various places. She goes home alone to an empty house and cries and cries. We cried together for our healthy children, we cried together for our sick babies. We found refuge in eachother. I don't even know her name...I pray her baby goes home to happy big brothers, just as I do mine. We all just want life for our children. Anything more than simply that is a miracle.
And then in the very corner of the ICU is a tiny little girl. She is maybe a pound. I could hold her entire body in one hand. She's not much larger than the size of your check book. And I could not believe my eyes the first time I saw her mama crying over he tiny isolette. She was a very good friend of my brother and I during high school. She went to our church youth group for years, and dated our friends. Her baby girl was born at 25 weeks gestation. She is tiny and fighting for life. This mom and dad have months left in this ICU. I look at merely weeks. Her baby is the size of my baby's leg. But she's a baby none the less and mom and dad are smitten with her. She was born 24hours and 3 minutes before Oliver. In the still of the morning, just like my Ollie. We pass eachother daily and just hug. We talk of lockers to stash our stuff, the cleanest bathroom, the cheapest hospital food, and of course our babies. Please keep her little girl who's name I haven't even asked yet...up in your prayers...she has so far to go. (Grace Emma-found out today-funny if Ollie were a lil girl his name would be Emma Grace...)
I'm off to hold my lil moose of the ICU in his big boy diapers. My heart is light this morning. I feel good. I pray it's not a calm before the storm...I am always braced for something. I don't know if that will ever go away. But for just a moment when my baby is in my arms, the whole world stands still, and I am just a mom. That's all I want to be, just another mom, with just another baby. How weird to want something that simple. You realize just how much you take for granted when you have a "normal" baby.
I thank you all for your continued support. Please keep praying today as you go to church for our little boy. He still has hurdles to overcome. Check this post tonight for another update of miraculous proportions!
700pm. I was doing so well when I left this morning. Somehow between the long drive to the hospital and standing at Ollies crib I lost my nerve. It has taken me a full day of processing my feelings to get to an okay place. I had a couple aunties stop by, who gave me more confidence in myself. My midwife and assistant stopped by as well, full of encouragement. No one tries to take away reality from me, and that I am grateful for. As I spend hours at Ollies bedside I have mixtures of feelings. I see some movements that make me nervous, they remind me of patients I have worked with that have movement problems-cerebral palsy type stuff. His nurse who has been around this department a while sees these things too and points them out to me. It's good for me to know, and learn now at 5 days old how to work with him physically, but it's also so new and such a reality check. Did I honestly believe we would be the one percent that walks away unscathed? Yes and No. It's a fine line to balance.
I sort out feelings of loss. Loss of those days after birth, when you have planned special things. A warm bath with the baby, snuggling in bed for hours, a certain drink or meal in celebration. I wanted to make Ollie a cake-for his first real birthday. His brothers holding him, dressing him in his clothes I picked out so carefully during my pregnancy. His little hats...and tiny pacifiers. There's a stack of receiving blankets, still folded and waiting for his tiny body. He's five days old. I have to change my plans. But I don't want to. In my head he's still in womb, waiting until it's right for all this to happen.
His eyes are so close to opening, he wants to when he stirs and is somewhat awake. But, not quite. As his color gets better and the swelling continues to go down he gets so close to opening them. His eyes are bruised as if he's been socked one real good. Like a boxer stepping out of a good fight. It makes me think of kids that are abused. It makes me real sad that my baby looks abused.
I went downstairs to the room full of cubicles...breastpumps in each one and rocking chairs. I get what milk I have and then I sit. I feel like crap, I'm not ready to go upstairs and sputter all over Ollie my emotions that are a mess. I don't want to just sit, I came here for my son. I'm caught in this limbo, longing for what I can't have, longing for what's lost. Longing for what I can't get back. I suddenly realize that I have been staring at a breastpump for an hour. I grab the milk sitting on the counter, pack up my stuff and head up to get this milk to his nurse for the fridge. I am weepy. I can't really seem to pull myself together. I crave normalcy again. My other kids coming home from school, lazy days taking naps with my Ryan, late night gaming fun on my xbox. I miss my friends online, I miss having time for those things and assuming that life will go-as normal-it was so peaceful, even this time last week. Everything is upside down. How on earth do I muster the courage to keep going? What do you do?
I try to call Will from one of the phones screwed into the wall. No luck. I need to talk to someone to snap out of this...and I have no way to reach out. I consider opening my laptop and shooting off an email-but am so down the thought of turning it on is too much work. I decide to get upstairs with this milk.
I hand the nurse his bottles of milk, and prepare to sit with him, trying to suck it up. She asks if I'm okay and the tears that I have controlled for two days start rolling down my cheeks. Damnit. I am trying so hard to be strong for him, for the other kids, for my husband, for myself. This f'ing sucks. And now I'm hallucinating because I hear my name. I look around and see my aunties standing outside the nursery. No point in trying to suck it up now. I come out blubbering and sputtering and crying all over. We stand in the middle of the room while I just break down.
After finding my tissues we walk to a waiting room and I get to unload. They take me to lunch and pray over me. They hand me presents for the baby and for Ryan who is now a big brother. They don't make me suck it up. They don't feed me candy dreams. They validate how I feel and assure me that the Lord will give me the strength and grace to walk this path he's leading me down. I wish my heart had the strength of these prayer warriors. I take them in to see my bruised baby, and they coo and awe over him, seeing him through the wounds. I'm extra sad today over feeling a loss of connection with Ollie, and a loss of connection with the rest of the family too. I am here on a mission to find this baby inside and out and bring him home. And today he's lost. Auntie H tells me a story of a relative who had altimers and how she was sitting to pray with him. He had been closed off from the world for a long long time, and the world went on without him, dragging him in tow. She closes her eyes and prays real hard and when she looks up a single tear is running down his face. I hold the hope that Ollie is in there. And even if he never comes out of inside where he is, I love him anyway. Even if his limbs won't work right, I love him anyway.
We go to say goodbye and my husband is here with Ryan. I tell him of my hard day and he is so supportive I start crying all over again. God just stepped in for me....and filled my day with hope again. We talk a little and I get to squeeze my healthy happy, often irritated, playful four year old. Even when he's bossy and a stinker, he's a normal four year old, and I just can't blow that off and take it for granted anymore. I wonder what Ollie will be like at four years old. I wonder if he'll pout like Ryan does because he can't stand on the little tykes playhouse in the waiting room.
As the hours of the evening pass, I get to meet with the midwife and assistant again. They are family now. This is our baby. They listen to my loss and my frustration. They make me feel better. We do some healing and holding therapy with baby Ollie. Will gets to hold him again too before he and the midwife's head for home. His doc decides he doesn't need the bili lights anymore so we can hold him longer. I plan to stay late tonight and just snuggle my little boy. They put him in pajamas. He's no longer under a temperature controlled crib, and he's wearing his first clothes. Baby steps. But they make me smile and perk me up. We have to leave the nursery for shift change. I tell Ollie I'll be back...I have to pump milk again. I go to my locker and get out what I need to do the duty. I take a peek at the present-some cute little boy clothes. I think of what Ollie will look like dressed up like a little boy. It brings a smile to my face. But what made my night was the card. It is just what I need to get through this night, and that's all I have for now: What lies behind us and what lies before us are tiny matters compared to what lies within us. ~ Emerson
I read the card and turn it over...it's made by "Willows"
Okay God. I see you. I'm with you. Let's do this.
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