One Month Old

Sweet Baby Girl turned one month old yesterday!  We celebrated by returning the oxygen tanks and pulse ox monitor to the medical supply company yesterday.  She’s been cut lose from the “high risk” newborn follow ups at the pediatric clinic and she’s been released from care by the neonatologist.  As the neonatologist told me, “She’s a nice, normal, healthy baby now!”  We’ve been assured that we have no concerns for future problems with her lungs and that she’s not at a higher risk for asthma, pneumonia or anything along those lines. We are so incredibly thankful for such a good outcome.

Now that things have started settling down, I’ve had time to reflect on the events of the last month.  I will admit that I have downplayed at lot of what happened when she was born.  This is partly because things happened so fast the day she was born and immediately after that we just didn’t realize the seriousness or magnitude of what was happening.  We just didn’t have time for our thoughts to stray in that direction; we had to focus on what was happening right then and there to cope.  The other part is that the truth sounds so melodramatic and still a little surreal to me.   The final little bit is that the truth scares the crap out of me.

If I am being brutally honest and blunt – my baby could have died.  She couldn’t breathe on her own after birth. That’s not a small problem or a small complication. That’s a Big Bad. I have to also admit to myself that I was also in danger.  If the nurses are bringing bags of blood into the operating room for you, it’s probably not good.  I don’t like to admit this because it means I should probably be cutting myself a little more slack in my recovery.  And, you know, that’s not my style…I have stuff to do.

The image of my tiny baby surrounded by wires, tubes, a tube down her throat and a metal box holding her head immobile is burned on my brain.  I won’t ever forget that.  I felt so horribly helpless sitting alone in the hospital after she was born.  I had a baby that I loved desperately even though I had never held her or really seen her.  I saw the edge of her arm and leg inside the PICU transport cart and managed to get two fingers on her before they wheeled her away.  I sat awake all night staring at the photo on my cell phone and remembering the feel of her warm soft skin on my fingers.  I tried so hard to imagine a connection between us, as if I could WILL her better that night. 

I called the hospital around 1am to check on her.  I was sure she had to be improving by then.  She wasn’t.  The nurse and doctor’s update was not at all reassuring. They said she was struggling to breathe, even on the ventilator, there was so much fluid on her lungs still they couldn’t keep them clear and that they were concerned about infection.  My sweet baby was all alone at the hospital, fighting to breathe and I was incapacitated. I couldn’t help her. 

I made it my goal to be discharged the next day, even though I knew that it was very early.  I thought if I could just see her, touch her and talk to her everything would be ok.  I did manage to get discharged the next day.  I won’t say that I lied about how I was feeling to get released, I think I just deluded myself into believing it.   Looking back, I don’t know how I managed to make it out of the hospital, across town and up to the nursery.  I was in so much pain, but all I could think was that if I stopped moving, I wouldn’t get to her.  My dad walked me down the hall towards the nursery. As soon as I figured out which door lead to her, I lost track of everything else.  I easily spotted my 9 lb baby in the nursery filled with premies. 

She was beautiful and heartbreaking.  She had two tubes in her mouth, one to help her breathe and one to pull the fluid out.   She had a line in her umbilical for glucose and hydration.  She had an IV, a blood pressure cuff, a pulse ox monitor and leads to measure her heartbeat and respirations.  Her head was surrounded by a silver metal box and a blanket.  This held her head still and supported the tubes down her throat.  She couldn’t be held because of the ventilator and it was hard to find a place to touch her because of everything attached to her.  The vent tube bothered her, so she fought it and cried periodically. The nurse assured me this was a good thing…she was feeling well enough to be a little feisty.  But, it hurt my heart so much to see her screw up her face to cry, open her mouth and let out a soundless wail. 

I wanted to comfort her, to tell her everything is OK and that Mommy’s here.  But nothing worked.  The nurse tried to show me how to cradle her legs so she felt held.  I just didn’t do it right.  It broke my heart to be there and not be able to comfort my own baby.   I hated that the nurse had a magic touch that could soothe her, yet I was grateful that she was soothed.  I hated that the nurse knew my baby better than I did.  The nurse explained that she didn’t like having her head touched, that she liked the pacifier and that it was best if she slept so she didn’t fight the tube down her throat and that they had “no touch” times where they let the babies rest.  I felt so useless and unneeded. I realized that sitting by her bed all night would be detrimental to her since I’d probably wake her. 

Looking back, I have such guilt over the events of those first few days.  I can’t help but feel I should have KNOWN something was wrong when I started bleeding.  I should have taken my symptoms more seriously. I should have known that the dizziness and lightheadedness was because I was bleeding.  I should have called for help sooner.  If I had done that, maybe she wouldn’t have ended up on the ventilator. 

Shortly after the bleeding started, she started kicking and wiggling all over the place.  It was unusual because she’d been moving less over the last couple of days – pretty typical as babies get larger and descend into the pelvis since they just run out of room. After Mike got home, I commented to him that she was really “rockin’ and rollin’” in there.  I now realize that may have been a signal.  She may have been moving so much because she was inhaling blood was in distress.  All those kicks and wiggles could have been from a tiny panicked baby and I didn’t know it. I didn’t know she needed help.  Mommies are supposed to know and are supposed to help and I didn’t.  I feel so much guilt over it.  I feel awful that she was alone at the hospital going through the tests, blood work, IVs, x-rays, and intubations alone.  I’ve been told everything – “You couldn’t have known.”  “You had to rest and recover, too.”  But those are hollow reassurances.  I still feel as if I failed her somehow.  I should have known. I should have done more.

I’m so very thankful to be snuggling this sweet baby today.  She’s happy and healthy, gaining weight nicely and is starting to look a little chubbier every day.  If I had my way, I’d snuggle her for hours each day and let the sweet weight of a baby on my chest and the smell of baby breath on my face sink into my soul and heal my heartache.