At 21%

As I stood next to him for the first time yesterday, big juicy tears rolled out of my eyeballs. He has a strong presence, even for a little person who is only 24 hours old. I feel like it is brave, what he is doing and I think to myself that I've never done anything as brave as that in my whole life, even if he isn't aware of his strength. The NICU nurse seems uncomfortable with my crying which fully surprises me. She tries to comfort me by saying something like, "he's not as sick as these other babies." Then I start feeling sad about the other babies. Is it so out of the norm for a gal who has freshly delivered a baby and feels a little scared and helpless to shed a few tears?

I can feel my arms ache as I look at him. We won't be able to pick him up for some time, and it feels hard. There's a really lovely night nurse on duty, Catherine is her name. She is Irish, in her fifties and from the Bronx. She's been a pediatric nurse at this hospital since she was 20. At first, I was taken aback by her thick New Yorkese and abrupt manner but I spent some time with her last night and admired the way she spoke to Dezi and handled him. I went to bed, calm and reassured, knowing that he was in such confident hands.

During his first full day, they've weaned his oxygen intake down to 30%. You and I breathe room air which is 21%. So for a little guy who has his guts in his chest, 30% ain't bad. It's possible that his surgery will happen on Thursday. (breathe in, breathe out.)

There was a constant stream of people in and out of my room yesterday--surgeons, Drs., research fellows, social workers, nurse practitioners, lactation consultants. I start having moments of rage, answering questions and signing forms. Being polite starts getting on my nerves.

Mahalia and mom and dad and Shane come for a visit and Mahalia and I spent a couple of quiet hours, cuddling on my bed, watching Curious George. That was my favorite part of the day. She is being a good girl albeit slightly sassy. It's to be expected as it's often my go to emotion during times of stress. She strutted around the hospital in quite a getup --red cable knit tights, her fancy sparkly pink sneakers and (and this is the piece de resistance) her pink polka dotted skirted bathing suit. I told some of my friends that she looked like a drunk figure skater. In an outfit like that, she demanded a lot of attention and when one nurse stopped to say, "You look so cute! People tell you that all the time, don't they?" She quietly and factually responded with, "they say beautiful."

I'm tired of being bossed around by nurses on the recovery floor and I use the NICU, and Dezi's bedside as a place of respite. I woke early today, knowing that I'll be heading home or actually to New Jersey which is so close, yet so far from home, and started to get a little panicky. At the moment, the next few weeks seem highly implausible and unmanageable--getting here, having Mahalia, healing, being polite, etc. I suppose it means taking everything one day at a time (or one part of one day at one time. breathe in, breathe out.) I should remind myself that a week ago, delivering a child and getting through this week seemed highly implausible and unmanageable, and here I am, alive, breathing at 21%.