Wednesday, March 11, 2009
The Time Is Here
Surgery will happen tomorrow (Thursday) at Noon. Please pray for us and for baby Desmond.
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%.
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%.
Tuesday, March 10, 2009
Saturday, February 28, 2009
The countdown is here. I grunt and moan in bed as I heave my body from left side to right, right to left, left to right. I sound like a pig at the Mercer County Fair.
My nighttime choreography goes a little like this--drift off 8 counts, shift, shift, shift, pee. Return to bed and nudge Shane for snoring, silently blaming him for my inability to sleep. Repeat 6 times and then wake, chipper for handling of breakfast and dressing of 2-yr old.
My nighttime choreography goes a little like this--drift off 8 counts, shift, shift, shift, pee. Return to bed and nudge Shane for snoring, silently blaming him for my inability to sleep. Repeat 6 times and then wake, chipper for handling of breakfast and dressing of 2-yr old.
Saturday, February 21, 2009
#2
Fortunately, I had never experienced any sort of insomnia until I was pregnant with Mahalia. And shockingly, with all the surprises of this pregnancy, I've been sleeping like a rock until now. Now sleep occurs in weird fits. A friend described to me once how her feelings about sleep had changed post-baby. She is a poet and had thought of her sleeping pattern in terms of sentence structure. I can't remember exactly her words but it had to do with nighttime being like a period--day is done, I'm sleeping for this period of time and will wake up rested. My nights are now filled with commas and parentheses, exclamations and interjections. I wake up in the middle of a full thought.
Mahalia is on day 4 of fever. The Dr. reassures us that her lungs are clear and that this is only a nasty virus. I'm sure viruses are nastier in this city than anywhere else, everything in these five boroughs is full on. With only two weeks before having a baby with compromised lungs, I was getting a little panicky about also having a two year old with pneumonia. She crawls into bed with us at night and tucks her feverish little body right into my ever increasing curves. Nose to nose, her hot little breath keeps me awake. Whoonit is also turning flips inside of me and it suddenly occurs to me for the first time (no lie) that I'm about to have two children.
I stumble to the toilet and linger there while I have this realization. I'm pretty sure I laughed out loud on the toilet. Two kids, huh? What am I doing? How does that actually work? We, as a little family, have worked out a fairly reasonable routine and we're going to throw another one into the mix? How do I get two kids into the bug? Where will two little bodies fit in our bed in the morning?
I realize too that I've been so fixated on hospital time and surgery that I haven't been able to think about the time beyond. I say I'd like to work when my body heals, but really? We talk about moving to Denver sometime later, but really? There must be a word for the brain phenomena I find myself having. It's tricky to articulate but it's sort of like stumbling upon a giant wall that you can't see over or around. You know that there is another side but in this breath, it seems impossible. In these moments, I know that it's a weird blessing how laid back Shane and I both are. It's not great for things like, well, paying bills, and getting to places on time (one of us is better at this than the other.) But it sure pays off in times of uncertainty. I see this reflected in little Miss MayMay who handles transitions in a surprisingly easy going way and I am thankful. We will have this little baby and deal with it because we have to. All other decisions, for now, can wait.
Fortunately, I had never experienced any sort of insomnia until I was pregnant with Mahalia. And shockingly, with all the surprises of this pregnancy, I've been sleeping like a rock until now. Now sleep occurs in weird fits. A friend described to me once how her feelings about sleep had changed post-baby. She is a poet and had thought of her sleeping pattern in terms of sentence structure. I can't remember exactly her words but it had to do with nighttime being like a period--day is done, I'm sleeping for this period of time and will wake up rested. My nights are now filled with commas and parentheses, exclamations and interjections. I wake up in the middle of a full thought.
Mahalia is on day 4 of fever. The Dr. reassures us that her lungs are clear and that this is only a nasty virus. I'm sure viruses are nastier in this city than anywhere else, everything in these five boroughs is full on. With only two weeks before having a baby with compromised lungs, I was getting a little panicky about also having a two year old with pneumonia. She crawls into bed with us at night and tucks her feverish little body right into my ever increasing curves. Nose to nose, her hot little breath keeps me awake. Whoonit is also turning flips inside of me and it suddenly occurs to me for the first time (no lie) that I'm about to have two children.
I stumble to the toilet and linger there while I have this realization. I'm pretty sure I laughed out loud on the toilet. Two kids, huh? What am I doing? How does that actually work? We, as a little family, have worked out a fairly reasonable routine and we're going to throw another one into the mix? How do I get two kids into the bug? Where will two little bodies fit in our bed in the morning?
I realize too that I've been so fixated on hospital time and surgery that I haven't been able to think about the time beyond. I say I'd like to work when my body heals, but really? We talk about moving to Denver sometime later, but really? There must be a word for the brain phenomena I find myself having. It's tricky to articulate but it's sort of like stumbling upon a giant wall that you can't see over or around. You know that there is another side but in this breath, it seems impossible. In these moments, I know that it's a weird blessing how laid back Shane and I both are. It's not great for things like, well, paying bills, and getting to places on time (one of us is better at this than the other.) But it sure pays off in times of uncertainty. I see this reflected in little Miss MayMay who handles transitions in a surprisingly easy going way and I am thankful. We will have this little baby and deal with it because we have to. All other decisions, for now, can wait.
Thursday, February 12, 2009
MARCH 9, 2009
Today we set the date for induction.
I like the date 03.09.09. It makes me think of reading Greek Mythology with Mrs. Springer in High School. She told us that there is luck related to the number 3. I'm excited because there's an end in sight. He is a chunk. He's in the 77% for weight. Those of you who knew Mahalia as an infant won't be surprised by this statistic. His head circumference is above the 95%. I've not been able to think of much else besides this baby and his imperfection. While getting up and going to work has provided me with a much needed routine, I find myself extra spacey while there--calling kids by their sibling's names or forgetting names all together.
Mahalia has named this baby Whoonit. Her first choice was Rachel but she'll be the first to tell you that, "daddy says Rachel is a girl's name so I named him Whoonit." Every once in a while I say, "Mahalia, mommy and daddy might decide to name him something else besides Whoonit." It's an attempt to soften the blow when we tell her his real name. We talk in circles about names.
My brain is so busy thinking about stuff. The brain chatter is incessant. I find that the chatter makes the most sense when I'm working on a knitting project. I've made lots of little knitted items--hats (I cast on extra stitches to accomodate the large head situation I mentioned above), booties, a poncho, some pants, a sweater. I've been thinking of the big mammajamma knitting project I'll work on when Whoonit is in the NICU.
Ahhhh, the NICU. We took a tour of the NICU last week. It was mind boggling. There are so many machines and tubes and Filipino nurses. There were tiny naked babies under heating units. One baby's chest was vibrating very quickly and I ask the Dr. if these babies are in pain. I'm holding back tears the whole time we're looking around. I don't know if the tears are for the babies or for self pity or from fear. Most likely, the tears are a combination of all these things and stress and hormones. The next day at work I start crying at a staff meeting when somebody asks me how I'm feeling. It's totally humiliating and embarrassing.
I shouted at a lady on the train. The seating situation pisses me off on a daily basis and is turning me into a racist. I scan the train car as it pulls into the station for any african americans because african americans stand up for pregnant ladies. Unfortunately, my train --the B--is coming from Brighton Beach, land of the freshly emigrated Russian folks. Russian people do not get up for pregnant ladies. That said, as I was standing on the rush hour train, an old Russian lady came on and started banging me repeatedly in the back. Out of nowhere I shout, "Where are you trying to go? You're going to knock me over." Her only response was, "No. No. I am not." I didn't consciously make the decision to say that out loud. It just emanated from somewhere deep within. It feels great and I make a note to let that voice speak more often.
I tripped on a branch on the walk to the train today and totally bit the dust. I landed only inches from a mud puddle. I wish I could see a replay of the fall. I'm pretty sure I was heading face down but somehow I ended up on my side to avoid landing on my belly. You'll be surprised to learn (just kidding) that I cried after I got up. I felt so discombobulated and scared. Tonight my arm hurts. I felt my amniotic fluid sloshing around when I fell. My polyhydramniosis (excess amniotic fluid) condition makes my belly so hard but it felt like a giant balloon when I landed on the ground.
I'm dying to know what will happen tomorrow. It's windy here in NYC and two people got killed from shit flying thru the air. Bam. One second you're alive, brain chattering away, and the next moment you're dead. Holy crap.
Today we set the date for induction.
I like the date 03.09.09. It makes me think of reading Greek Mythology with Mrs. Springer in High School. She told us that there is luck related to the number 3. I'm excited because there's an end in sight. He is a chunk. He's in the 77% for weight. Those of you who knew Mahalia as an infant won't be surprised by this statistic. His head circumference is above the 95%. I've not been able to think of much else besides this baby and his imperfection. While getting up and going to work has provided me with a much needed routine, I find myself extra spacey while there--calling kids by their sibling's names or forgetting names all together.
Mahalia has named this baby Whoonit. Her first choice was Rachel but she'll be the first to tell you that, "daddy says Rachel is a girl's name so I named him Whoonit." Every once in a while I say, "Mahalia, mommy and daddy might decide to name him something else besides Whoonit." It's an attempt to soften the blow when we tell her his real name. We talk in circles about names.
My brain is so busy thinking about stuff. The brain chatter is incessant. I find that the chatter makes the most sense when I'm working on a knitting project. I've made lots of little knitted items--hats (I cast on extra stitches to accomodate the large head situation I mentioned above), booties, a poncho, some pants, a sweater. I've been thinking of the big mammajamma knitting project I'll work on when Whoonit is in the NICU.
Ahhhh, the NICU. We took a tour of the NICU last week. It was mind boggling. There are so many machines and tubes and Filipino nurses. There were tiny naked babies under heating units. One baby's chest was vibrating very quickly and I ask the Dr. if these babies are in pain. I'm holding back tears the whole time we're looking around. I don't know if the tears are for the babies or for self pity or from fear. Most likely, the tears are a combination of all these things and stress and hormones. The next day at work I start crying at a staff meeting when somebody asks me how I'm feeling. It's totally humiliating and embarrassing.
I shouted at a lady on the train. The seating situation pisses me off on a daily basis and is turning me into a racist. I scan the train car as it pulls into the station for any african americans because african americans stand up for pregnant ladies. Unfortunately, my train --the B--is coming from Brighton Beach, land of the freshly emigrated Russian folks. Russian people do not get up for pregnant ladies. That said, as I was standing on the rush hour train, an old Russian lady came on and started banging me repeatedly in the back. Out of nowhere I shout, "Where are you trying to go? You're going to knock me over." Her only response was, "No. No. I am not." I didn't consciously make the decision to say that out loud. It just emanated from somewhere deep within. It feels great and I make a note to let that voice speak more often.
I tripped on a branch on the walk to the train today and totally bit the dust. I landed only inches from a mud puddle. I wish I could see a replay of the fall. I'm pretty sure I was heading face down but somehow I ended up on my side to avoid landing on my belly. You'll be surprised to learn (just kidding) that I cried after I got up. I felt so discombobulated and scared. Tonight my arm hurts. I felt my amniotic fluid sloshing around when I fell. My polyhydramniosis (excess amniotic fluid) condition makes my belly so hard but it felt like a giant balloon when I landed on the ground.
I'm dying to know what will happen tomorrow. It's windy here in NYC and two people got killed from shit flying thru the air. Bam. One second you're alive, brain chattering away, and the next moment you're dead. Holy crap.
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