This is a continuation of yesterday's post. I recommend going back and reading that one before picking up with this one; it will make more sense that way.
Matt and I were finally left alone once they had verified I was recovering fine. That's when the phone chaos began: we had to call all the family to tell the good news. Because we didn't find out I was in labor until a short time before he was born, most of the family was very surprised to hear Patrick was already born. They weren't expecting any calls about it at all for two more months. I remember those first few hours after the birth being joyous, despite not having Patrick with us. I was finally able to eat dinner too, my first meal of the day. Hospital food never tasted so good!
The NICU's nurse practitioner on duty came to chat with us after Patrick had had his official NICU check-up. She had only good news for us. Patrick's official weight was 3 lbs 3 oz and he was 16.5 inches long. He was in great health for the moment, breathing room air and not needing any oxygen to help get his lungs working. She was very cautious in warning us that his health could decline at any moment, especially when he tired of breathing after a few hours. We were also warned about how long to expect him to stay in the NICU, when he might be able to start eating breast milk and how he would be fed, all the typical stuff they tell every parent of a child admitted. We didn't realize at the time, but the spiel we were given was quite rote as the doctors were rigid on the timeline for a healthy baby in the NICU. They absolutely would not try feeding a baby with a bottle before 34 weeks' gestation (they still calculated a baby's age in the NICU on its gestation, even though it was through gestating), even if the baby showed signs of being ready for it much earlier. That became quite a point of contention for Matt and me over the following weeks.
The rest of the evening and following days in the hospital were mostly taken up with visiting with family and friends. I went to visit Patrick three times while I stayed in the hospital. The first time was by myself, early in the morning before anyone had come to the hospital, even Matt. I truly hadn't felt prepared to see him before then and had only seen pictures Matt took when he visited the evening before. That experience was quite a reality check. Patrick looked so small curled up on his belly in the warmer. The diaper, the smallest size they make, was much too big for his little bottom. I wanted to touch him so badly but was afraid to. Finally the nurse caring for him (Joanie, the giraffe's namesake) came over and talked with me about him. She also offered to let me hold him. I honestly didn't think I'd get that privilege for several days, so I was surprised. Of course I accepted. She was caring enough to leave me alone with him for a few minutes to bond. I don't remember much about what I thought or said to him, but I remember being in awe that I was holding my son. Matt joined me a few minutes later, about the time I needed to put him back in the warmer, and we marveled together at our tiny infant son for the first time.
I only stayed in the hospital for two nights. By the end of that second night, I was more than ready to leave. I had gotten very little sleep while I was there. I was also in very little pain and feeling too well to be stuck in a hospital. I hated going home to where I'd be an hour away from Patrick, but I knew it was bound to happen eventually. I was quite numb after we left the hospital. I knew we were leaving without part of the family, but I couldn't quite wrap my fragile emotional state around that idea until we were long gone.
Patrick was always a healthy baby, despite taking up residence in the NICU for over a month. The extra rooms of the NICU, what they called the annex, had been closed down when they started evacuating the hospital for Hurricane Rita a few weeks earlier. The day after we left the hospital, they re-opened the first of those annex rooms and chose the four healthiest babies to move into it. Patrick was one of the first they chose, even though he was one of the youngest in the unit. He never needed oxygen or any help breathing at all and was able to handle breastmilk the day after he was born.
Over the next five weeks, Matt and I rearranged all our schedules to be across town at the hospital every evening. Sometimes I would also go visit during the day. I turned into a milk hoarder, mourning the loss of even one drop of breastmilk. When my production far outpaced his intake, we started storing extra at home. Soon our freezer was almost exclusively milk storage. Then we had to start throwing some away. We still took several bottles of milk to the hospital every few days. Patrick was allowed more and more milk almost every day. Almost as soon as he hit the 34-week mark, he started bottle-feeding. That was a monumental day for Matt and me. Based on our observations of him over the past few weeks, he was more than ready for it. He proved us right, drinking his first bottle like a pro in about ten minutes. That started him on the fast track to coming home.
About the time the feeding tube came out of Patrick's nose because he was eating solely with bottles and was able to start trying to breastfeed, we expected to hear talk of his homecoming. When we didn't, we started to wonder what was going on. What happened over the next week or so was a comedy of errors. There were several other milestones Patrick had to reach in order to be considered healthy enough to be discharged. Every time he would appear to be taking a step in the right direction, the nursing staff would change shifts and the new nurse would take him back a step again. Finally it looked like he was ready to leave, and then he suddenly started having apnea attacks again (although we'd never heard of him having apnea attacks before this time). The doctors were sure it was acid reflux but had to run tests to make sure. They said that based on the results of the tests, they would either send Patrick home with medicine for acid reflux (they did), send him home on an apnea monitor (they did), OR keep him another week to make sure the apnea attacks weren't a problem (they did that too). I think it goes without saying that Matt and I were a bit upset with the news, especially when they did all three things, not the one we had been told they would do. We think the whole thing was a big conspiracy and unnecessary, but we can't prove it. Probably all he ever needed was the acid reflux medicine.
Then the day came, quite suddenly it seemed, that we were told we were rooming in with him for the night and taking him home the next day. There was a last-minute problem that he hadn't been circumcised when we were told he would be, but somehow miraculously that happened and he recovered from it in enough time that we were still able to bring him home on November 14, a month and a week after his birth. That was at least as joyous as the day he was born, even though we knew it was also the start of sleepless nights and even more worrying than we'd already been doing. Since that day, we haven't had any other health problems with him, not even a cold. He may have decided he was going to come early, but at least he knew he was ready to come that early.
Yes, I have more to say about the matter. Stay tuned tomorrow for part three, what I hope to be the final part of this story.
Matt and I were finally left alone once they had verified I was recovering fine. That's when the phone chaos began: we had to call all the family to tell the good news. Because we didn't find out I was in labor until a short time before he was born, most of the family was very surprised to hear Patrick was already born. They weren't expecting any calls about it at all for two more months. I remember those first few hours after the birth being joyous, despite not having Patrick with us. I was finally able to eat dinner too, my first meal of the day. Hospital food never tasted so good!
The NICU's nurse practitioner on duty came to chat with us after Patrick had had his official NICU check-up. She had only good news for us. Patrick's official weight was 3 lbs 3 oz and he was 16.5 inches long. He was in great health for the moment, breathing room air and not needing any oxygen to help get his lungs working. She was very cautious in warning us that his health could decline at any moment, especially when he tired of breathing after a few hours. We were also warned about how long to expect him to stay in the NICU, when he might be able to start eating breast milk and how he would be fed, all the typical stuff they tell every parent of a child admitted. We didn't realize at the time, but the spiel we were given was quite rote as the doctors were rigid on the timeline for a healthy baby in the NICU. They absolutely would not try feeding a baby with a bottle before 34 weeks' gestation (they still calculated a baby's age in the NICU on its gestation, even though it was through gestating), even if the baby showed signs of being ready for it much earlier. That became quite a point of contention for Matt and me over the following weeks.
The rest of the evening and following days in the hospital were mostly taken up with visiting with family and friends. I went to visit Patrick three times while I stayed in the hospital. The first time was by myself, early in the morning before anyone had come to the hospital, even Matt. I truly hadn't felt prepared to see him before then and had only seen pictures Matt took when he visited the evening before. That experience was quite a reality check. Patrick looked so small curled up on his belly in the warmer. The diaper, the smallest size they make, was much too big for his little bottom. I wanted to touch him so badly but was afraid to. Finally the nurse caring for him (Joanie, the giraffe's namesake) came over and talked with me about him. She also offered to let me hold him. I honestly didn't think I'd get that privilege for several days, so I was surprised. Of course I accepted. She was caring enough to leave me alone with him for a few minutes to bond. I don't remember much about what I thought or said to him, but I remember being in awe that I was holding my son. Matt joined me a few minutes later, about the time I needed to put him back in the warmer, and we marveled together at our tiny infant son for the first time.
I only stayed in the hospital for two nights. By the end of that second night, I was more than ready to leave. I had gotten very little sleep while I was there. I was also in very little pain and feeling too well to be stuck in a hospital. I hated going home to where I'd be an hour away from Patrick, but I knew it was bound to happen eventually. I was quite numb after we left the hospital. I knew we were leaving without part of the family, but I couldn't quite wrap my fragile emotional state around that idea until we were long gone.
Patrick was always a healthy baby, despite taking up residence in the NICU for over a month. The extra rooms of the NICU, what they called the annex, had been closed down when they started evacuating the hospital for Hurricane Rita a few weeks earlier. The day after we left the hospital, they re-opened the first of those annex rooms and chose the four healthiest babies to move into it. Patrick was one of the first they chose, even though he was one of the youngest in the unit. He never needed oxygen or any help breathing at all and was able to handle breastmilk the day after he was born.
Over the next five weeks, Matt and I rearranged all our schedules to be across town at the hospital every evening. Sometimes I would also go visit during the day. I turned into a milk hoarder, mourning the loss of even one drop of breastmilk. When my production far outpaced his intake, we started storing extra at home. Soon our freezer was almost exclusively milk storage. Then we had to start throwing some away. We still took several bottles of milk to the hospital every few days. Patrick was allowed more and more milk almost every day. Almost as soon as he hit the 34-week mark, he started bottle-feeding. That was a monumental day for Matt and me. Based on our observations of him over the past few weeks, he was more than ready for it. He proved us right, drinking his first bottle like a pro in about ten minutes. That started him on the fast track to coming home.
About the time the feeding tube came out of Patrick's nose because he was eating solely with bottles and was able to start trying to breastfeed, we expected to hear talk of his homecoming. When we didn't, we started to wonder what was going on. What happened over the next week or so was a comedy of errors. There were several other milestones Patrick had to reach in order to be considered healthy enough to be discharged. Every time he would appear to be taking a step in the right direction, the nursing staff would change shifts and the new nurse would take him back a step again. Finally it looked like he was ready to leave, and then he suddenly started having apnea attacks again (although we'd never heard of him having apnea attacks before this time). The doctors were sure it was acid reflux but had to run tests to make sure. They said that based on the results of the tests, they would either send Patrick home with medicine for acid reflux (they did), send him home on an apnea monitor (they did), OR keep him another week to make sure the apnea attacks weren't a problem (they did that too). I think it goes without saying that Matt and I were a bit upset with the news, especially when they did all three things, not the one we had been told they would do. We think the whole thing was a big conspiracy and unnecessary, but we can't prove it. Probably all he ever needed was the acid reflux medicine.
Then the day came, quite suddenly it seemed, that we were told we were rooming in with him for the night and taking him home the next day. There was a last-minute problem that he hadn't been circumcised when we were told he would be, but somehow miraculously that happened and he recovered from it in enough time that we were still able to bring him home on November 14, a month and a week after his birth. That was at least as joyous as the day he was born, even though we knew it was also the start of sleepless nights and even more worrying than we'd already been doing. Since that day, we haven't had any other health problems with him, not even a cold. He may have decided he was going to come early, but at least he knew he was ready to come that early.
Yes, I have more to say about the matter. Stay tuned tomorrow for part three, what I hope to be the final part of this story.
Labels: Feelings, Monthly Celebration
2 Comments:
Randie used an apnea monitor until she was a year old.. I dont think I would have slept without it!! Patrick came home on Randie's birthday!! YAY November 14th! Now when her birthday comes I will think.. this is the day that sweet patrick came home..lol :)
What a strong little man! And he is such a beautiful boy, I can't get over the eyes!
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