Saturday, June 30, 2012
Little Hands, Little Feet
Friday, June 29, 2012
On a good note...
We celebrated Oliver's 2 week birthday yesterday, but instead of us presenting him with gifts, he showered us with 24 hours of nothing but good news (the only gift that really matters.)
His bilirubin levels have been quite stable the last few days, so it appears that at least for now, phototherapy is a thing of the past. The blood culture results have returned from the lab, and no bacteria had developed within the normal growing period of 48 hours, so the doctors halted the doses of antibiotics yesterday morning. Since that time, we all have noticed that Oliver's energy level has not declined one bit. He is back to his feisty self, grabbing onto wires and frequently disassembling his CPAP. Even though this keeps the nurses extra busy and rolling their eyes at him, we are thrilled to have our little monster back.
14 days marks the period of time outside of the womb where a baby's skin has developed enough to adjust to the air on earth. While Oliver remains in the isolet to keep his temperature stable, the humidity is now turned off. For several days, it had been on a steady decline from 75 to 40 percent, before the nurses finally ended the treatment yesterday.
Since his skin no longer needs to be conditioned by the moisture, and the chance of phototherapy in his future is slim, he now spends most of his time wrapped up with blankets in a cocoon like fashion. The pressure from the tightly wrapped blankets simulates the feeling he would have if he were still inside his momma.
Oliver has not been gaining much weight, even though his feedings have been on the increase. This is due to the decrease in his fluid intake. Today, the doctors decided to add some extra calories to momma's milk, in order to help him pack on a few extra pounds....(oops, I mean grams :). The maximum feeding amount he will receive through his feeding tube is about 6 ml per hour, and right now, he is getting 3.7. This quantity continues to rise a little bit each day.
Oliver opened his eyes a bit further today, and Poppa finally got a couple decent pictures. I think he is saying "Hello, world. Are you ready for me?" We are son, but you just aren't quite ready for the world.
Overall, the last 2 days have been quite stable, and we are enjoying each moment that we have with our boy. The nurses even suggested that due to how well the little guy is handling things, "Kangaroo Time" might soon become a twice a day occurrence. I know one baby's momma who was excited to hear that. Oliver has spent 4 hours, during each of the last two days, in his mother's arms. When the two are connected, I have noticed that his oxygen saturation is very stable, and so is his heart rate. I think he is telling everyone that being cuddled up next to momma is where he belongs.
His bilirubin levels have been quite stable the last few days, so it appears that at least for now, phototherapy is a thing of the past. The blood culture results have returned from the lab, and no bacteria had developed within the normal growing period of 48 hours, so the doctors halted the doses of antibiotics yesterday morning. Since that time, we all have noticed that Oliver's energy level has not declined one bit. He is back to his feisty self, grabbing onto wires and frequently disassembling his CPAP. Even though this keeps the nurses extra busy and rolling their eyes at him, we are thrilled to have our little monster back.
14 days marks the period of time outside of the womb where a baby's skin has developed enough to adjust to the air on earth. While Oliver remains in the isolet to keep his temperature stable, the humidity is now turned off. For several days, it had been on a steady decline from 75 to 40 percent, before the nurses finally ended the treatment yesterday.
Oliver has not been gaining much weight, even though his feedings have been on the increase. This is due to the decrease in his fluid intake. Today, the doctors decided to add some extra calories to momma's milk, in order to help him pack on a few extra pounds....(oops, I mean grams :). The maximum feeding amount he will receive through his feeding tube is about 6 ml per hour, and right now, he is getting 3.7. This quantity continues to rise a little bit each day.
Overall, the last 2 days have been quite stable, and we are enjoying each moment that we have with our boy. The nurses even suggested that due to how well the little guy is handling things, "Kangaroo Time" might soon become a twice a day occurrence. I know one baby's momma who was excited to hear that. Oliver has spent 4 hours, during each of the last two days, in his mother's arms. When the two are connected, I have noticed that his oxygen saturation is very stable, and so is his heart rate. I think he is telling everyone that being cuddled up next to momma is where he belongs.
Thursday, June 28, 2012
Numb
Every night around midnight, we leave the hospital and drive back towards our house in the suburbs, exhausted from the activities and emotions of the day. During the dark and silent drive home, I look over at my wife and speak three simple words to her. "I am numb." She need not say a word for me to understand that she feels the same way. Instead, she closes her eyes, attempting to hold back tears, and nods her head in agreement. I wonder how long this lack of feeling will continue to penetrate our lives. Can it possibly last three months?
We drive down freeways I have traveled my entire life. We pass by stores where we buy groceries and gas stations where we purchase our fuel. We enter the town I was born and raised in, and yet I recognized nothing, as if I am some solemn stranger in a foreign land. I strain to see things as they once were, longing to find some form of familiarity in this new found existence. No matter how hard I try though, I fail.
Finally we stop at our home, the one we have lived in together for almost eight years. We pull into the driveway and enter our house, like weary travelers at a roadside B&B. It is 1 o'clock, and I can't fall asleep. I look around the room and can only think of one thing. I close my eyes and picture a young child, innocent and new to the world. He is lying on his bed in the NICU.... alone. I shake myself back to reality, struggling to find something else to occupy my mind. Within minutes, I sleep.
In the morning, I arise. The sun is out and the air is warm. I glance outside, a cup of coffee in my hand, and stare at a backyard I once thought was beautiful. I see grass I used to love to mow in the early summer sun, trees that provided a comforting shade when the days became warm, and a garden; my place of solitude, the small corner of the world where I could always find joy. It all looks so distant, so unfamiliar to my eyes. I can't even bring myself to go outside, knowing that it won't be the same.
Within a few short minutes, I finish my coffee and stand up from the wooden chair in the kitchen. From that moment on, only one thought consumes my mind. We gather our belongings hastily and get in the truck, only to make the seemingly endless drive once again. I do not feel my senses rejuvenate until I see him. It just takes is a quick glimpse though, and the knowledge that he is okay brings me quickly back to life. All is momentarily well in the world and I am ready to face the possibilities of the day. No matter whether the news is good or bad, I know that I will be able to handle it if I am here, next to him, in the NICU.
We drive down freeways I have traveled my entire life. We pass by stores where we buy groceries and gas stations where we purchase our fuel. We enter the town I was born and raised in, and yet I recognized nothing, as if I am some solemn stranger in a foreign land. I strain to see things as they once were, longing to find some form of familiarity in this new found existence. No matter how hard I try though, I fail.
Finally we stop at our home, the one we have lived in together for almost eight years. We pull into the driveway and enter our house, like weary travelers at a roadside B&B. It is 1 o'clock, and I can't fall asleep. I look around the room and can only think of one thing. I close my eyes and picture a young child, innocent and new to the world. He is lying on his bed in the NICU.... alone. I shake myself back to reality, struggling to find something else to occupy my mind. Within minutes, I sleep.
In the morning, I arise. The sun is out and the air is warm. I glance outside, a cup of coffee in my hand, and stare at a backyard I once thought was beautiful. I see grass I used to love to mow in the early summer sun, trees that provided a comforting shade when the days became warm, and a garden; my place of solitude, the small corner of the world where I could always find joy. It all looks so distant, so unfamiliar to my eyes. I can't even bring myself to go outside, knowing that it won't be the same.
Within a few short minutes, I finish my coffee and stand up from the wooden chair in the kitchen. From that moment on, only one thought consumes my mind. We gather our belongings hastily and get in the truck, only to make the seemingly endless drive once again. I do not feel my senses rejuvenate until I see him. It just takes is a quick glimpse though, and the knowledge that he is okay brings me quickly back to life. All is momentarily well in the world and I am ready to face the possibilities of the day. No matter whether the news is good or bad, I know that I will be able to handle it if I am here, next to him, in the NICU.
6 wonderful years
Oliver's Book: Ch 2
"The Honeymoon Stage" is what nurses in the NICU call days 3-7 outside of momma's belly. When little guys like me enter the world early, we tend to stabilize our condition within the first 48 hours of our lives, then remain that way for a few days thereafter. Today, I am 14 days old and have long left that "stable" period of my life. In order to be sure everyone is on their toes around here, I thought I would really stir things up.
A few days ago, I became lethargic, and everyone got pretty worried. The doctors thought I had some type of infection, which is a really bad sign for babies as small as me. In order to figure out what was the problem, a series of events unfolded within a very short period of time. My doctors ordered a blood culture, in order to check for infections. While they were already drawing my blood, they also decided to check my blood-gas levels. The carbon dioxide level of my blood was way to high (around 80%). The nurses gave me a good dosage of antibiotics for the infection, another blood transfusion to help stabilize my blood gases, and took a couple x-rays of my chest to better understand what was really going on. The x-rays were a good move, because they informed the doctors, nurses, and my parents of a couple concerning issues. First, the pictures showed my feeding tube was still in my stomach, instead of into my intestinal tract where they wanted it, so the nurses slowly fed it further in. The photos also alerted the doctors that my pick-line, due to it's positioning in my body, needed to be slightly adjusted. The specialist came in and fixed this pretty quickly. Finally, according to the x-rays, my lungs weren't holding as much air as they were a few days ago, and the doctors thought that it was due to a liquid buildup in my airways. The respiratory specialist suctioned some of it out, so I hope that will help.
It was a crazy 24 hours for my parents and I. Mom and Dad met with the doctor a handful of times (so they knew what was going on), and nurses, doctors, and specialists were constantly buzzing around my bedside for several hours. Everyone seemed a bit worried.
Things have settled down now, and everyone less concerned about my immediate health. In fact, yesterday was a pretty good day. The results came back from the EKG and echo-cardiogram that had taken place over the past few days. What the doctors originally thought could be a potentially serious issue, denoted by a heart murmur, they now believe is a simple issue that will self-solve as my body matures over the next few weeks. Also, that blood transfusion did wonders for me. My blood gases are back to normal, and I have more energy than I know what to do with. Back to grabbing on to wires and tubes again.
On another note, I have been eating like a champ. I now get to enjoy 3 ml of momma's milk every hour. The doctors have been increasing my feedings daily, and as a result, I have been gaining weight. I passed a metric milestone today, weighing in at just over 1000 grams. Mommy hit a milestone today too. this was the very first day she pumped over 1000 ml of food for me, We are a good team, me and her!
Last of all, my eyes have officially opened. My right eye opened up on Monday and my left just yesterday. I keep them closed most of the time, but every once in a while I open them up to sneak a peak at the world I am not quite ready to jump into. Dad tried for quite some time to take pictures of me with my eyes open, but every time he went to snap a picture, I closed them. This was all he could come up with.
Oh yeah, I almost forgot. Today was my day for a bed change. Everybody loves clean new sheets, even little guys like me!
A few days ago, I became lethargic, and everyone got pretty worried. The doctors thought I had some type of infection, which is a really bad sign for babies as small as me. In order to figure out what was the problem, a series of events unfolded within a very short period of time. My doctors ordered a blood culture, in order to check for infections. While they were already drawing my blood, they also decided to check my blood-gas levels. The carbon dioxide level of my blood was way to high (around 80%). The nurses gave me a good dosage of antibiotics for the infection, another blood transfusion to help stabilize my blood gases, and took a couple x-rays of my chest to better understand what was really going on. The x-rays were a good move, because they informed the doctors, nurses, and my parents of a couple concerning issues. First, the pictures showed my feeding tube was still in my stomach, instead of into my intestinal tract where they wanted it, so the nurses slowly fed it further in. The photos also alerted the doctors that my pick-line, due to it's positioning in my body, needed to be slightly adjusted. The specialist came in and fixed this pretty quickly. Finally, according to the x-rays, my lungs weren't holding as much air as they were a few days ago, and the doctors thought that it was due to a liquid buildup in my airways. The respiratory specialist suctioned some of it out, so I hope that will help.
It was a crazy 24 hours for my parents and I. Mom and Dad met with the doctor a handful of times (so they knew what was going on), and nurses, doctors, and specialists were constantly buzzing around my bedside for several hours. Everyone seemed a bit worried.
Things have settled down now, and everyone less concerned about my immediate health. In fact, yesterday was a pretty good day. The results came back from the EKG and echo-cardiogram that had taken place over the past few days. What the doctors originally thought could be a potentially serious issue, denoted by a heart murmur, they now believe is a simple issue that will self-solve as my body matures over the next few weeks. Also, that blood transfusion did wonders for me. My blood gases are back to normal, and I have more energy than I know what to do with. Back to grabbing on to wires and tubes again.
On another note, I have been eating like a champ. I now get to enjoy 3 ml of momma's milk every hour. The doctors have been increasing my feedings daily, and as a result, I have been gaining weight. I passed a metric milestone today, weighing in at just over 1000 grams. Mommy hit a milestone today too. this was the very first day she pumped over 1000 ml of food for me, We are a good team, me and her!
Oh yeah, I almost forgot. Today was my day for a bed change. Everybody loves clean new sheets, even little guys like me!
Wednesday, June 27, 2012
It takes a village
We are truly blessed. My wonderful wife and I, as well as our newborn son, are surrounded by prayers and love, every moment of every day. The last 3 weeks have been a test for all three of us, and while I am not confident enough to say that we passed, I know we wouldn't be where we are today if this road was one that had to be traveled alone.
I have always believed that I was tough, strong, and unyielding. Like many young men, I took pride in the idea that I could handle any situation by myself. Any problem that arose, I would have the solution. Any question, I could find the answer. I will never know if that notion would have held true during the course of the last few weeks, but I can assure myself of one thing: I am quite pleased I didn't have to find out.
On June 8th, my wife came to this hospital very uncertain of what her future might hold. The care that she received during her stay in this medical establishment was astounding. Nurses who cared for her did so with love and compassion. It was clear to us that they viewed her not only as a patient, but as a human being...and furthermore, a mother. Doctors came in to visit us daily, delivering difficult information in a straightforward and professional manner. When the time came to make decisions, very difficult ones, we were able to do so with the knowledge that the team surrounding us supported our wishes 100%. During a time of complete restlessness and doubt, it was very reassuring to know this support existed. Things have not changed a bit since we have shifted our lives to the NICU. Our baby is in good hands.
Support also came in waves from the world outside the hospital. An onslaught of emails, text messages, and phone calls, from family and friends alike, showed us that my wife and I are two people who are showered in love. Beautiful flowers were sent to our bedside, bringing greenery and life near to us when we needed it most. Cards and notes, containing words of wisdom and cheer, helped us to know that love was just around the corner. Food was delivered with love, and gave us the strength and energy to push on. Powerful prayers and thoughts showed us we were in the minds of many, and this helped us to find hope during some really arduous times. Many will never realize how a simple gesture can affect someone's life so profoundly, but it does. We are truly blessed.
Lastly, there exists a special group of people in our lives who my wife has properly nicknamed "The Rally Squad". Prior to her delivery, there wasn't a time when one or more of this amazing assemblage of family wasn't by her side. They brought life and laughter to an otherwise dreary and depressing hospital room. They understood our needs without us having to explain them, never questioning us even when we were uncertain ourselves. They served as a woven net, soft and stretched out just below us, giving us the confidence that we could step forward, take chances, and believe in ourselves, all the while knowing that if we slipped, we wouldn't fall far. Simply put, they lived 6 days of their lives completely for us. Words could never explain the gratitude we feel towards these individuals. For their unending love, we will forever be indebted to them.
As I grow older and my experiences give me insight to what the world is really about, I learn. I am still not sure that there isn't a lot more to it than what I now know, but I think I am beginning to finally understand the real meaning behind the saying, "It takes a village."
I have always believed that I was tough, strong, and unyielding. Like many young men, I took pride in the idea that I could handle any situation by myself. Any problem that arose, I would have the solution. Any question, I could find the answer. I will never know if that notion would have held true during the course of the last few weeks, but I can assure myself of one thing: I am quite pleased I didn't have to find out.
On June 8th, my wife came to this hospital very uncertain of what her future might hold. The care that she received during her stay in this medical establishment was astounding. Nurses who cared for her did so with love and compassion. It was clear to us that they viewed her not only as a patient, but as a human being...and furthermore, a mother. Doctors came in to visit us daily, delivering difficult information in a straightforward and professional manner. When the time came to make decisions, very difficult ones, we were able to do so with the knowledge that the team surrounding us supported our wishes 100%. During a time of complete restlessness and doubt, it was very reassuring to know this support existed. Things have not changed a bit since we have shifted our lives to the NICU. Our baby is in good hands.
Support also came in waves from the world outside the hospital. An onslaught of emails, text messages, and phone calls, from family and friends alike, showed us that my wife and I are two people who are showered in love. Beautiful flowers were sent to our bedside, bringing greenery and life near to us when we needed it most. Cards and notes, containing words of wisdom and cheer, helped us to know that love was just around the corner. Food was delivered with love, and gave us the strength and energy to push on. Powerful prayers and thoughts showed us we were in the minds of many, and this helped us to find hope during some really arduous times. Many will never realize how a simple gesture can affect someone's life so profoundly, but it does. We are truly blessed.
Lastly, there exists a special group of people in our lives who my wife has properly nicknamed "The Rally Squad". Prior to her delivery, there wasn't a time when one or more of this amazing assemblage of family wasn't by her side. They brought life and laughter to an otherwise dreary and depressing hospital room. They understood our needs without us having to explain them, never questioning us even when we were uncertain ourselves. They served as a woven net, soft and stretched out just below us, giving us the confidence that we could step forward, take chances, and believe in ourselves, all the while knowing that if we slipped, we wouldn't fall far. Simply put, they lived 6 days of their lives completely for us. Words could never explain the gratitude we feel towards these individuals. For their unending love, we will forever be indebted to them.
As I grow older and my experiences give me insight to what the world is really about, I learn. I am still not sure that there isn't a lot more to it than what I now know, but I think I am beginning to finally understand the real meaning behind the saying, "It takes a village."
Tuesday, June 26, 2012
"Moses" (part 2 of 2)
(continued from part 1)
Moses was a religious leader and prophet. He has been given credit for authoring the Torah, and is an important figure in the religions of Christianity, Judaism, and Islam. For many families throughout the world, Moses is a household name. Many well known biblical stories feature Moses as the protagonist. They range from the parting of the Red Sea, to delivering the Ten Commandments at Mt. Sinai, and of course, the historical float down the Nile River in a basket woven of bull rushes.
As the weeks went by and our little baby Moses began to grow into his name, as well as grow inside momma's belly, we decided that although it was favorable in tone and meaning, Moses would remain just a womb-name. Momma and I had decided a lot of things though, and under the circumstances that have presented themselves since that time, changes in our theory were inevitable. During the few weeks surrounding his birth, so many coincidences, connections, and stories about Moses surfaced, we decided to reconsider our original plan.
The first major connection dates back to 14th century B.C., at the time of Moses' birth. During that period, the Egyptian Pharaoh had ordered all newborn Hebrew boys to be killed. Moses' mother, determined to save her baby boy, was forced to keep him in hiding for 3 months before sending him off on his infamous Nile River adventure. Similarly, Oliver Moses has a planned stay of approximately 3 months in the NICU. There he will be cared for and protected. Coincidence?
The second coincidence occurred on Sunday June 17th, just three days after Oliver Moses Book was born. We had several phone calls from friends and family informing us that one of the readings at the Catholic mass that Sunday was an excerpt from Exodus, and more specifically, was about Moses. Knowing what we were going through at the time, they obviously turned thoughts and prayers in our direction, as well as in the direction of Oliver Moses (who at that time was without a name).
Several other stories have developed throughout the course of the last couple weeks. Momma Book, when told by the doctors that she would deliver on June 9th, and furthermore, that the baby had a 25% chance of living, said quite confidently, "That isn't the plan." When asked what plan she was on, while planning to keep her child inside at a dilation of almost 10 cm, she responded with "Plan M" and stated that it was short for "Plan Miracle." Although it wasn't her original intent when she spoke those words, it is easy to see that "Plan M" has an obvious and very pertinent double meaning.
Another coincidental story came to light because my wife, prior to giving birth, was lying in an extremely awkward position for quite some time. As one might imagine, certain required daily activities are not as easy when hanging upside down, and even more difficult while hopped up on lovely hospital drugs like magnesium sulfate. The nurses told her that it was extremely important for her to have a bowel movement every couple of days, regardless of her uncomfortable situation. This was no easy feat, so to add a bit of humor to the situation and give her a daily reminder of the difficult task at hand, our brother fashioned a large B.M. out of construction paper and taped it to the wall of the hospital room. Every new nurse that stepped foot in our room already knew what B.M. meant in medical language, but always quite innocently asked, "Does that stand for Baby Moses?" "Of course it does," we replied, with smiles on our faces. But it also means what you are already thinking.
Even though Moses was originally intended as only a womb name, the cold hard fact is that the young man should still be inside his mother's womb. He and his mother fought long and hard so that he could enter this world with the highest chance of survival (Plan M), and as protectors of this new little life, we his parents, felt that any other name we chose for him was something we tried to create for him. He earned this name. So many signs pointed in the direction of retaining the name he was given a mere 5 months ago, anything less just didn't seem right. Moses means drawn from the water, in this case just a bit early.
Moses was a religious leader and prophet. He has been given credit for authoring the Torah, and is an important figure in the religions of Christianity, Judaism, and Islam. For many families throughout the world, Moses is a household name. Many well known biblical stories feature Moses as the protagonist. They range from the parting of the Red Sea, to delivering the Ten Commandments at Mt. Sinai, and of course, the historical float down the Nile River in a basket woven of bull rushes.
As the weeks went by and our little baby Moses began to grow into his name, as well as grow inside momma's belly, we decided that although it was favorable in tone and meaning, Moses would remain just a womb-name. Momma and I had decided a lot of things though, and under the circumstances that have presented themselves since that time, changes in our theory were inevitable. During the few weeks surrounding his birth, so many coincidences, connections, and stories about Moses surfaced, we decided to reconsider our original plan.
The first major connection dates back to 14th century B.C., at the time of Moses' birth. During that period, the Egyptian Pharaoh had ordered all newborn Hebrew boys to be killed. Moses' mother, determined to save her baby boy, was forced to keep him in hiding for 3 months before sending him off on his infamous Nile River adventure. Similarly, Oliver Moses has a planned stay of approximately 3 months in the NICU. There he will be cared for and protected. Coincidence?
The second coincidence occurred on Sunday June 17th, just three days after Oliver Moses Book was born. We had several phone calls from friends and family informing us that one of the readings at the Catholic mass that Sunday was an excerpt from Exodus, and more specifically, was about Moses. Knowing what we were going through at the time, they obviously turned thoughts and prayers in our direction, as well as in the direction of Oliver Moses (who at that time was without a name).
Several other stories have developed throughout the course of the last couple weeks. Momma Book, when told by the doctors that she would deliver on June 9th, and furthermore, that the baby had a 25% chance of living, said quite confidently, "That isn't the plan." When asked what plan she was on, while planning to keep her child inside at a dilation of almost 10 cm, she responded with "Plan M" and stated that it was short for "Plan Miracle." Although it wasn't her original intent when she spoke those words, it is easy to see that "Plan M" has an obvious and very pertinent double meaning.
Another coincidental story came to light because my wife, prior to giving birth, was lying in an extremely awkward position for quite some time. As one might imagine, certain required daily activities are not as easy when hanging upside down, and even more difficult while hopped up on lovely hospital drugs like magnesium sulfate. The nurses told her that it was extremely important for her to have a bowel movement every couple of days, regardless of her uncomfortable situation. This was no easy feat, so to add a bit of humor to the situation and give her a daily reminder of the difficult task at hand, our brother fashioned a large B.M. out of construction paper and taped it to the wall of the hospital room. Every new nurse that stepped foot in our room already knew what B.M. meant in medical language, but always quite innocently asked, "Does that stand for Baby Moses?" "Of course it does," we replied, with smiles on our faces. But it also means what you are already thinking.
Even though Moses was originally intended as only a womb name, the cold hard fact is that the young man should still be inside his mother's womb. He and his mother fought long and hard so that he could enter this world with the highest chance of survival (Plan M), and as protectors of this new little life, we his parents, felt that any other name we chose for him was something we tried to create for him. He earned this name. So many signs pointed in the direction of retaining the name he was given a mere 5 months ago, anything less just didn't seem right. Moses means drawn from the water, in this case just a bit early.
"Moses" (part 1 of 2)
We found out my wife was pregnant in the final days of January this year. Let's just say, it was quite a surprise for both of us. Even more of a shock was learning that she was so far along without our knowledge, almost a month and a half at the time. She tentatively walked out of the bathroom with two EPT's in her hand (yes two), and approached her unsuspecting husband sitting on the couch, reading some online article about hunting. Now I'm no rocket scientist, but my mind quickly put together the pieces of the not so hard to solve puzzle: white plastic sticks in her hand, tears in her eyes, jaw on the floor.
"Congratulations!" I exclaimed with a wicked grin. "You're pregnant!" To my dismay, the look of panic didn't leave her face.
"Sweetheart," I stood up and whispered to her softly. "It's okay. We have been married for over five years and we love each other. This kind of thing is supposed to happen to people like us." "Plus," I added. "We will just call him Moses. When he is born, we will float him down the nearest river in a wicker basket." With this biblical reference and rudimentary attempt at some sly humor, the color returned to her face and she even managed to let out a few giggles.
"Mission accomplished." I thought to myself, basking in the knowledge that in any given situation, I had the ability to make her smile. Then....out of nowhere....it hit me like a Louisville Slugger. "I'm going to be a dad? There is no way I am ready for this. Is this actually happening right now? This is not what I signed up for." This train of thought continued for a spell, and I was engulfed in probably the same thoughts that every man has after just learning of an unplanned pregnancy. My wonderful wife (and soon to be mother of my first child) and I embraced that day on the couch in complete bewilderment. But....
....at least we had a name. Moses, he was to be called by many, both family and friends alike. The name was never meant to be permanent fixture in our lives, but as we are learning, no one really knows what is meant to be.
(...to be continued)
"Congratulations!" I exclaimed with a wicked grin. "You're pregnant!" To my dismay, the look of panic didn't leave her face.
"Sweetheart," I stood up and whispered to her softly. "It's okay. We have been married for over five years and we love each other. This kind of thing is supposed to happen to people like us." "Plus," I added. "We will just call him Moses. When he is born, we will float him down the nearest river in a wicker basket." With this biblical reference and rudimentary attempt at some sly humor, the color returned to her face and she even managed to let out a few giggles.
"Mission accomplished." I thought to myself, basking in the knowledge that in any given situation, I had the ability to make her smile. Then....out of nowhere....it hit me like a Louisville Slugger. "I'm going to be a dad? There is no way I am ready for this. Is this actually happening right now? This is not what I signed up for." This train of thought continued for a spell, and I was engulfed in probably the same thoughts that every man has after just learning of an unplanned pregnancy. My wonderful wife (and soon to be mother of my first child) and I embraced that day on the couch in complete bewilderment. But....
....at least we had a name. Moses, he was to be called by many, both family and friends alike. The name was never meant to be permanent fixture in our lives, but as we are learning, no one really knows what is meant to be.
(...to be continued)
Monday, June 25, 2012
Bilirubin
Neonatal jaundice is the yellowing of a newborn's skin and is caused by the buildup of bilirubin in the bodies of infant children. Bilirubin exists at some level in all human beings, and is a breakdown product of red blood cells. Due to the fact that our bodies are able to excrete bilirubin, these levels usually remain quite low in humans of most ages. Bilirubin is responsible for the yellowish tint around the edges of bruises on our skin, as well as the yellow coloration of our urine.
Newborns are unable to excrete bilirubin, and in high levels, it is toxic to their system. In order for it to be passed through their body, it must be converted into other water soluble substances that are excreted more easily. In newborns, a process called phototherapy (exposing the infant to blue light at wavelengths of 420-450) oxidizes, converts, and reduces the level of bilirubin in their system. Oliver had some initial bruising on his feet and legs that occurred during delivery. With this bursting of red blood cells came an increase in bilirubin. Since delivery, his bilirubin levels have been up and down, and he has had phototherapy treatments on and off for the last 8 days or so. This isn't uncommon, and he could continue the treatment for another few days. We actually think he kind of likes the blue light. Better than all of this Oregon rain.
"Kangaroo Care"
A baby kangaroo is called a joey. It's gestation period is quite short, usually around 4 or 5 weeks. When a joey is born, it is essentially in a fetal state, weighing less than 2 grams. The baby kangaroo, blind, tiny, and hairless, crawls across it's mother's thick fur and latches to a teat located inside the her pouch, where the infant will remain for the next six months.In the NICU, kangaroo care is a way of life. Momma spends a minimum of three hours a day "kangarooing" Oliver Moses. Kangaroo care is when momma lays down on a collapsible lawn chair in the NICU, and Oliver is placed directly against her chest in skin-to-skin contact. During this period of time each day, he falls into his deepest of sleeps, which, as we are learning, is essential for good brain development. As he continues to increase in stability, so will his allotment of kangaroo time each day. The goal would be that in the next week or two, momma is able to hold him twice a day for 2-4 hours. Now that is a lot of love!
Sunday, June 24, 2012
2 pounds!
Oliver has been on a steady weight increase for a few days now. Last night, he managed to just barely sneak over the 2 pound mark (905 grams). We were all very excited to see the improvement. This weight gain can probably be attributed to the fact that he has been taking to momma's milk quite nicely, and in turn his food allotments have been on the rise. Just a few days ago, he was receiving .5 ml every 4 hours, but now he is enjoying around four times that amount (1.1 ml every 2 hours).
On the flip side, his oxygen needs have been higher than expected, and the doctors have been a bit concerned. The first step was the Non Invasive Ventilation system, to help control his breathing. It helped some, but didn't get him back to the levels they were hoping for. Today, the doctors decided to extend his feeding tube a bit further into his system, bypassing his stomach and going directly into his intestinal tract. This hope with this new change is that it will reduce the amount of reflux that has been occurring, which, because of the close proximity of the two systems at the exterior level, will help him to breathe with a bit more stability.
Saturday, June 23, 2012
Quite an Experience
It felt like a scene out of some futuristic Sci-Fi movie. I tried everything I could to focus all of my attention on her, but my eyes couldn't keep from wandering around the white-washed operating room. Above us were several sets of large circular halogen lights, extending down from the ceiling like spiders and intruding into our lives with intense brightness and heat. Throughout the room, machines stood guard, looming over us with twisted coils of wire. Their hums, drips, whirrs, and beeps were amongst the many foreign sounds that filled the room...and possessed my mind.
Movement was fast-paced and all around us. Faceless figures scurried here and there, quickly preparing for the procedure that I had dreaded since the moment we stepped foot in place of anguish and misery. Dressed in blues and whites, they spoke to each other with little tone or expression, every word echoing off the walls around us, but sounding blurry to my over-stimulated senses.
In that very moment, a still frame picture was forever burned into my memory. Looking down, I see my wife's body, pale and vulnerable, like a small lamb laid out for slaughter. How I wish I could save her from this torment; I'd switch places with her in a heartbeat...but just like that, the image is erased from my vision as a curtain is drawn over her torso, inhibiting the view I once had. I feel my heart speeding up and the nerves in my brain pushing against the bone of my skull. I grit my teeth because I think my head might explode. My attention turns back towards her. Her eyes are shut, so I squeeze her hand softly. She responds in turn, and I it soothes me for a moment to know that we are together in silent touch. I lean down and whisper soft words in her ear. "I love you," and "I am by your side," even though part of me feels like I am not even in the room.
I close my eyes and several tears fall down my cheek. I drift back to a conversation we had several months prior. That night, my wife described to me in detail how delivering a baby would be the best experience we ever shared together, not some preplanned surgical operation like many tend to be. She said that she would do everything in her power to avoid making it an experience like that. I could tell that she longed to bring her baby into the world naturally. My wife doesn't ask for much, and I knew as she spoke those words, that this was truly important to her.
As I sat there in the operating room holding her hand and weeping, I watched before my eyes the complete opposite what my wife had hoped for in a delivery. This wasn't at all how she had described it to me that night as we laid in bed, and I knew that within her inner core, hidden from all the world to see, she was disappointed. It hurt me so much, recalling this memory, almost more than the thought of what was occurring on the other side of the sheet, just inches from our hands.
I know this is all past news now, but the pain within me hasn't subsided at all. I still look at my beautiful wife daily, and inside me, I suffer for her.
Movement was fast-paced and all around us. Faceless figures scurried here and there, quickly preparing for the procedure that I had dreaded since the moment we stepped foot in place of anguish and misery. Dressed in blues and whites, they spoke to each other with little tone or expression, every word echoing off the walls around us, but sounding blurry to my over-stimulated senses.
In that very moment, a still frame picture was forever burned into my memory. Looking down, I see my wife's body, pale and vulnerable, like a small lamb laid out for slaughter. How I wish I could save her from this torment; I'd switch places with her in a heartbeat...but just like that, the image is erased from my vision as a curtain is drawn over her torso, inhibiting the view I once had. I feel my heart speeding up and the nerves in my brain pushing against the bone of my skull. I grit my teeth because I think my head might explode. My attention turns back towards her. Her eyes are shut, so I squeeze her hand softly. She responds in turn, and I it soothes me for a moment to know that we are together in silent touch. I lean down and whisper soft words in her ear. "I love you," and "I am by your side," even though part of me feels like I am not even in the room.
I close my eyes and several tears fall down my cheek. I drift back to a conversation we had several months prior. That night, my wife described to me in detail how delivering a baby would be the best experience we ever shared together, not some preplanned surgical operation like many tend to be. She said that she would do everything in her power to avoid making it an experience like that. I could tell that she longed to bring her baby into the world naturally. My wife doesn't ask for much, and I knew as she spoke those words, that this was truly important to her.
As I sat there in the operating room holding her hand and weeping, I watched before my eyes the complete opposite what my wife had hoped for in a delivery. This wasn't at all how she had described it to me that night as we laid in bed, and I knew that within her inner core, hidden from all the world to see, she was disappointed. It hurt me so much, recalling this memory, almost more than the thought of what was occurring on the other side of the sheet, just inches from our hands.
I know this is all past news now, but the pain within me hasn't subsided at all. I still look at my beautiful wife daily, and inside me, I suffer for her.
Oliver's Book: Ch 1
Oliver's Book Week 27:
A couple of nights ago my dad told me it was time to start packing on the pounds. No more being the littlest guy in the NICU. I sure hope he is proud of me, because today marks the third day in a row that I have actually gained weight. The nurses weigh me every night around 9 o'clock, and today I tipped the scales at a whopping 875 grams, just 20 grams from my birth weight. I am pretty positive that tomorrow will be the day I pass that milestone because the doctors have increased my feeding amount by .2 mls. I use to only get .5 mls of mommy's milk 8 times a day, but because I have been digesting my food better and pooping in my diaper, they are now giving me .7 mls.
I was struggling with my breathing a bit during the last few days. The respiratory specialist added a non-invasive ventilation system to my CPAP so that I wouldn't have to work so hard to breathe. What this system does is stop my lungs from completely depressing as I exhale, thus making it easier for me to begin my next breath. It also ensures that I take no less than 30 breaths per minute. Since I have been on this new breathing apparatus, I have been feeling much better, having less "episodes" (times where I forget to breathe) and the oxygen saturation in my blood has remained much more stable.
I received my very first blood transfusion this week, and since then, my blood count has been quiet a bit higher. You see, babies as young as I am don't make new red blood cells, so each time the doctors drew some of my blood for tests, my red blood cell count continuously decreased. I guess if you look at it this way, it was inevitable that I would eventually need the transfusion.
Finally, I had an ultrasound on my brain on Wednesday to see if there was any major bleeding, and an Echocardiogram today, to further investigate a heart murmur the doctors had been hearing.
Mom and Dad have been taking a larger role in my "cares" which take place every four hours. I can't believe how much my momma loves to change my diaper. She ooh's and aah's at me the whole time she is doing it. It's crazy but I think it is her favorite part of the day. Dad is still a bit scared to take part in too much of the fun, but he has figured out that it is safe to help momma with the oral cares. This involves putting a bit of momma's milk on a Q-tip and rubbing it on my lips, gums, and all over the inside of my mouth. This usually stimulates me to suck on the end of the Q-tip. Boy, I can't wait till I get the real thing.
A couple of nights ago my dad told me it was time to start packing on the pounds. No more being the littlest guy in the NICU. I sure hope he is proud of me, because today marks the third day in a row that I have actually gained weight. The nurses weigh me every night around 9 o'clock, and today I tipped the scales at a whopping 875 grams, just 20 grams from my birth weight. I am pretty positive that tomorrow will be the day I pass that milestone because the doctors have increased my feeding amount by .2 mls. I use to only get .5 mls of mommy's milk 8 times a day, but because I have been digesting my food better and pooping in my diaper, they are now giving me .7 mls.
This life outside the womb thing is a lot of work. It has been a busy week.
I was struggling with my breathing a bit during the last few days. The respiratory specialist added a non-invasive ventilation system to my CPAP so that I wouldn't have to work so hard to breathe. What this system does is stop my lungs from completely depressing as I exhale, thus making it easier for me to begin my next breath. It also ensures that I take no less than 30 breaths per minute. Since I have been on this new breathing apparatus, I have been feeling much better, having less "episodes" (times where I forget to breathe) and the oxygen saturation in my blood has remained much more stable.
I received my very first blood transfusion this week, and since then, my blood count has been quiet a bit higher. You see, babies as young as I am don't make new red blood cells, so each time the doctors drew some of my blood for tests, my red blood cell count continuously decreased. I guess if you look at it this way, it was inevitable that I would eventually need the transfusion.
Finally, I had an ultrasound on my brain on Wednesday to see if there was any major bleeding, and an Echocardiogram today, to further investigate a heart murmur the doctors had been hearing.
Mom and Dad have been taking a larger role in my "cares" which take place every four hours. I can't believe how much my momma loves to change my diaper. She ooh's and aah's at me the whole time she is doing it. It's crazy but I think it is her favorite part of the day. Dad is still a bit scared to take part in too much of the fun, but he has figured out that it is safe to help momma with the oral cares. This involves putting a bit of momma's milk on a Q-tip and rubbing it on my lips, gums, and all over the inside of my mouth. This usually stimulates me to suck on the end of the Q-tip. Boy, I can't wait till I get the real thing.
Oh yeah...I am 27 weeks old today. If all goes as planned, I will be going home in only 13 weeks!!!
Friday, June 22, 2012
Overachiever!
Within a few short days, the good stuff was flowing free. In no time at all, the 10 ml vials were replaced with 120 ml bottles, all needing to be delivered to the NICU within 1 hour of pumping. (So at least I had a job!) Every time I would carry in a shipment of what I was soon finding out was quite a precious commodity, the nurses would look at me with much bewilderment on their faces. "This is amazing," they would say. It was clear they were in disbelief.
First Kiss
When momma leaned down to kiss her only son for the very first time...all was right in the world. For one small minute, nothing else mattered. The tubes, the wires, the monitors, the doctors...everything just disappeared. All that existed was Momma and baby...in the most pure form of love I have ever witnessed! What a little miracle he is.
Thursday, June 21, 2012
Life?
written 06/9/12 (5 days before delivery)
Humans are not capable of making decisions of this magnitude, are we? How will I ever be able to look "life" in the eyes again with any feeling but hate... if we were to decide to go down that path? I stare outside at a world that I thought I once knew with complete and utter disgust. I find consolation in nothing except the calm and peaceful look on the face of my wife when she is awake. When she sleeps, I turn inward. The unrest that is happening within my soul is a fiery hell. My pain is the type I haven't experienced before. It engulfs me, sweeping through my body like a tidal wave hitting the shore. There is nothing left untouched.
I think of the life that lies just beneath the surface of my wife's skin. How many nights I have laid near her and felt the movement within. That is my child, I would think to myself. Soon I will have the honor of being a parent. How I long to have those moments back. The peace and solitude of being in our bed at home in a place I call safe. The energy and vigor she once possessed, which feeds me and gives me confidence, is now diminished by the need for concentration, on only one thing. She seems at peace with this. She doesn't even shed a tear. Does she really even understand what is happening? I need her to understand. I need her to cry out with the same pain that I feel within me.
Even though I am surrounded by family who fill all of our voids will nothing but love, I feel alone. How can this be happening? I pinch myself to see if I'm dreaming. It is real. I scrub myself in the shower but I still feel dirty. Tears stream down my face. I am able to shake it off for a second, but it hits me over and over again. I must overcome this, so as not to startle or frighten her. I must be strong. If I melt down now, she is soon to follow. The reality sets in.
written 6/21/12
(At 25 weeks the lungs of a baby are not fully developed, and only 25% will survive, even with resuscitation. At 26 weeks, the percentages dramatically increase. My wife was able to hang on for 6 days and made it to 25 6/7 days gestation. All this while being fully dilated. There is no doubt in my mind that she single-handedly saved our child. For this act of courage, I am left speechless. Thank you.)
Humans are not capable of making decisions of this magnitude, are we? How will I ever be able to look "life" in the eyes again with any feeling but hate... if we were to decide to go down that path? I stare outside at a world that I thought I once knew with complete and utter disgust. I find consolation in nothing except the calm and peaceful look on the face of my wife when she is awake. When she sleeps, I turn inward. The unrest that is happening within my soul is a fiery hell. My pain is the type I haven't experienced before. It engulfs me, sweeping through my body like a tidal wave hitting the shore. There is nothing left untouched.
I think of the life that lies just beneath the surface of my wife's skin. How many nights I have laid near her and felt the movement within. That is my child, I would think to myself. Soon I will have the honor of being a parent. How I long to have those moments back. The peace and solitude of being in our bed at home in a place I call safe. The energy and vigor she once possessed, which feeds me and gives me confidence, is now diminished by the need for concentration, on only one thing. She seems at peace with this. She doesn't even shed a tear. Does she really even understand what is happening? I need her to understand. I need her to cry out with the same pain that I feel within me.
Even though I am surrounded by family who fill all of our voids will nothing but love, I feel alone. How can this be happening? I pinch myself to see if I'm dreaming. It is real. I scrub myself in the shower but I still feel dirty. Tears stream down my face. I am able to shake it off for a second, but it hits me over and over again. I must overcome this, so as not to startle or frighten her. I must be strong. If I melt down now, she is soon to follow. The reality sets in.
written 6/21/12
(At 25 weeks the lungs of a baby are not fully developed, and only 25% will survive, even with resuscitation. At 26 weeks, the percentages dramatically increase. My wife was able to hang on for 6 days and made it to 25 6/7 days gestation. All this while being fully dilated. There is no doubt in my mind that she single-handedly saved our child. For this act of courage, I am left speechless. Thank you.)
Surprise surprise!
It's a boy! A bit anti-climatic I know. We decided to wait all those months only to find out that Oliver was indeed a boy during the verbal checklist the doctors hastily went through in the delivery room before quickly whisking the little guy off and into the NICU. Of course, in my mind, it might have gone down a bit differently.
This picture was taken a few days back, when the doctors were still changing diapers. How quickly things change. Now Momma gets to do the dirty work...and of course she doesn't mind. Dad is still a bit nervous to change diapers, but helps out by weighing the dirty ones, taking Oliver's temperature, and quietly whispering encouraging words into Momma and baby's ears.
Oliver gained 25 grams over the last 24 hours. His current weight is 810 grams, which is slightly down from his original birth weight of 890 grams. Keep packing on the pounds son!!
Wednesday, June 20, 2012
Is it really up to us?
Modern medicine is quite astounding. I always knew in the back of my
mind what was out there, what human beings were capable of pulling off,
but until I saw it first hand, the whole picture was rather
incomprehensible. As I sit here in the NICU and look around, I am
completely awestruck. Everywhere I glance, life seems to hang on by a
thread.
In reality though, it is the hundreds of humming machines protecting these fragile and innocent lives, assisting their lungs so they can take another breath, helping their heart not to skip another beat, keeping them with us so that they might see tomorrow. If I let them torment me, the numbers on the flat screen monitors give me the roller coaster ride of a lifetime. When they are steady, some rare form of relaxation creeps over my body. My son is stable. He is asleep and at peace. All is well. Just seconds later, they rise and fall with the greatest of magnitude. I stare, mouth slightly open, breath gone from my lungs and my stomach dropped to my feet. All I can do is wonder...
In reality though, it is the hundreds of humming machines protecting these fragile and innocent lives, assisting their lungs so they can take another breath, helping their heart not to skip another beat, keeping them with us so that they might see tomorrow. If I let them torment me, the numbers on the flat screen monitors give me the roller coaster ride of a lifetime. When they are steady, some rare form of relaxation creeps over my body. My son is stable. He is asleep and at peace. All is well. Just seconds later, they rise and fall with the greatest of magnitude. I stare, mouth slightly open, breath gone from my lungs and my stomach dropped to my feet. All I can do is wonder...
Strength
I have witnessed strength. Not the typical form of strength that one might run across on a daily basis. I am talking about a different kind of strength; a strength with depth, originating from places within the heart that some of us never even knew existed. This strength can only come from one place...love. I have looked into the eyes of determination, a woman so strong she would do anything, no matter how unimaginable it could be, just to give her child a chance at life. I have felt the spirit of this strength fill a room, and overflow into the adjacent hallways, changing the lives of people who never even saw it coming. The world is not the place that it has always been for me. It is forever changed.
My wife spent 6 days in the hospital dilated at 8+ cm. She laid on that hospital bed for countless hours at an incredibly steep angle, well beyond anything resembling a form of comfort. Head below feet, she fought contractions day in and day out, not paying any mind to the cold hard fact that our very first child would be slipping out of it's home inside her womb 15 weeks early. She would whisper in my ear reassurances that it wasn't over yet. She would console me, even though she was the one doing all of the work. She brought a joyous smile to the face of every human being that dare step foot into the hospital room she called home. She displayed a strength I have never seen before. During that short time period...which felt like an eternity, my wife, even in her nearly incapacitated state, guided me though some of the toughest decisions of our life.
I used to think strength was forceful and loud, emitting powerful waves as it pulsates through time. I have learned that it is not this way at all. I never really understood. True strength is quiet and peaceful. Strength smiles at your and speaks without words. Strength comes from deep within, from a storage capsule tucked away inside the human body and saved specifically for moments like this...
My wife spent 6 days in the hospital dilated at 8+ cm. She laid on that hospital bed for countless hours at an incredibly steep angle, well beyond anything resembling a form of comfort. Head below feet, she fought contractions day in and day out, not paying any mind to the cold hard fact that our very first child would be slipping out of it's home inside her womb 15 weeks early. She would whisper in my ear reassurances that it wasn't over yet. She would console me, even though she was the one doing all of the work. She brought a joyous smile to the face of every human being that dare step foot into the hospital room she called home. She displayed a strength I have never seen before. During that short time period...which felt like an eternity, my wife, even in her nearly incapacitated state, guided me though some of the toughest decisions of our life.
I used to think strength was forceful and loud, emitting powerful waves as it pulsates through time. I have learned that it is not this way at all. I never really understood. True strength is quiet and peaceful. Strength smiles at your and speaks without words. Strength comes from deep within, from a storage capsule tucked away inside the human body and saved specifically for moments like this...
June 9th of 2012...A day I will never forget.
I question myself. I used to have it all figured out. My life...no...ALL life seemed to fit quite nicely into the shape I had chosen for it. Four corners...90 degrees, four sides...all the same length. Even when things didn't seem to fit, I found a way to make them. Things are different now. I don't believe that I ever will see things the same as I did before. After all, I am a father now. Dads have to be different then men without seeds. We have to be responsible. We have to be strong. We have to be confident in ourselves. These are all qualities I used to believe I possessed. After June 9th; however, I'm not so sure anymore.
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