A different nurse again this day. Alex has been at the second hospital for nearly a week and is on his seventh nurse. This one scared me as she's younger than the ones we'd had and really quite loud; and a little in-your-face. But it turned out that this wasn't a bad thing as she encouraged me to take on a more hands-on role with Alex. She had me cleaning what was left of the umbilical cord, changing his diaper, warming his milk, and putting him into diaper shirts and sleepers before I took him out of the incubator, rather than just wrapping him in a blanket. She was also the first nurse to show me how to bathe him. He was so tiny in the giant tub that I had immediate anxiety about having to bathe him myself at some point, but I tried to just focus and watch the nurse as she carefully washed his face and hair, and then down his front, and then flipping him to his back before drying him off.
First thing this morning was difficult as I sat next to Alex in the incubator and watched as another mom and baby neared discharge. They were breastfeeding 5/8 feedings now, and the baby was taking the other 3 feedings by bottle, so his feeding tube was now out. I find these moments hard as it always seems that Alex is still so far away from reaching that point; but at the same time it's nice to see that one day he should get there as well.
I enjoy weekends at the hospital much more because of the quiet. The NICU has their regular visitors but less staff and less noise. There's always lots of room in the parking lot and when I take a break and wander down to the lobby, there are very few people in the halls. My husband also comes to the hospital with me on occasion since he's off work which is great company. It's not the same having my mom or a friend with me; they just don't seem to understand what it's like to be going through this experience, at least not like my husband.
I also noticed when I arrived home later in the day that I was excited to see my dog for the first time since this whole adventure began. I curled up with her on the couch; lay my head on her back, and stroked her fur gently. It was very comforting, and something that I realized I had been missing. I guess that's the thing about pets, their unconditional love and loyalty cannot be matched and it's something I should be taking advantage of.
Friday, December 3, 2010
Wednesday, December 1, 2010
Regurging (Spitting Up)
Apparently it's quite normal for preemies to spit up. I was told this has to do with an undeveloped flap that keeps food from rising out of the stomach. Like everything else with babies, some spit up more than others.
Alex seemed to have great difficulty with regurging from the start. His nurses tried many different things, from my holding him up for over an hour after a feed (probably worked the best- but he would still spit up after I put him down- and it wasn't manageable for me to be there for every feed); to keeping his head propped up on blankets; to keeping him on his tummy. It became routine quite quickly for me to hold him up when I was there, or to keep him on his tummy if I wasn't. A new nurse would come on and often try the normal way, him lying close to flat on his back, but that would usually only last once. I would tell them that it wouldn't work, but they would try anyway. And then he would spit up all over the place and they would quickly panic and try to clean it up, and say 'wow, he really does spit up'.
It was scary the few times I was sitting alone with Alex and he spit up so much that he would start choking. After the first time when I panicked and yelled for a nurse, I learned to quickly grab him and sit him upright, patting him lightly on the back. It was terrible to watch my little guy go through this every couple of hours; and it seemed that just when he would finally start to settle down, it was time for another feed.
Giving the tube feeds became quite the challenge as Alex did everything he could to push the milk and medications back up the tubes. It made some of the nurses quite unhappy as it meant they had to stay with him until he finished the feed so they could cap the tube before he brought it back up. I imagine it was easier when they could just hook the syringe to the top of the incubator, or later cot, quickly dump the milk down and come back a while later to unhook it and cap the tube. But between the regurging and pushing the milk back up, Alex could not be left alone during a feed.
Alex seemed to have great difficulty with regurging from the start. His nurses tried many different things, from my holding him up for over an hour after a feed (probably worked the best- but he would still spit up after I put him down- and it wasn't manageable for me to be there for every feed); to keeping his head propped up on blankets; to keeping him on his tummy. It became routine quite quickly for me to hold him up when I was there, or to keep him on his tummy if I wasn't. A new nurse would come on and often try the normal way, him lying close to flat on his back, but that would usually only last once. I would tell them that it wouldn't work, but they would try anyway. And then he would spit up all over the place and they would quickly panic and try to clean it up, and say 'wow, he really does spit up'.
It was scary the few times I was sitting alone with Alex and he spit up so much that he would start choking. After the first time when I panicked and yelled for a nurse, I learned to quickly grab him and sit him upright, patting him lightly on the back. It was terrible to watch my little guy go through this every couple of hours; and it seemed that just when he would finally start to settle down, it was time for another feed.
Giving the tube feeds became quite the challenge as Alex did everything he could to push the milk and medications back up the tubes. It made some of the nurses quite unhappy as it meant they had to stay with him until he finished the feed so they could cap the tube before he brought it back up. I imagine it was easier when they could just hook the syringe to the top of the incubator, or later cot, quickly dump the milk down and come back a while later to unhook it and cap the tube. But between the regurging and pushing the milk back up, Alex could not be left alone during a feed.
Monday, November 29, 2010
Day 11- Numb
Pumped throughout the night so woke feeling anything but rested this morning. Feel like some sort of machine when I'm pumping; can't believe how different the whole breastfeeding experience has been so far. But I woke up, pumped again, had breakfast, jumped in the shower, and was off to the hospital again.
I was anxious to see my son (Alex) as always, but wasn't really feeling up or down. Probably closer to the down side, but more I just felt tired and numb to everything on this day.
I checked Alex's chart and was excited to see he had gained almost an ounce since he was last weighed the day before. Soon after I arrived Alex's new nurse introduced herself and asked if I wanted to hold him while she gave him his tube feeds. He had been regurging (spitting up) following his feeds for some time so they hoped my holding him upright would help. I held him upright for the 10 a.m. and 4 p.m. feeds, and against my breast for the 12 p.m. I continued to change his diaper and was told that I could soon start bathing him. This was all good news, but I just felt out of it.
During the hour I spent at home in the afternoon I checked my email which I had avoided doing for some time. My heart sank at the number of people requesting to come to the hospital to meet Alex. I don't know if I was supposed to feel the opposite- excited that people wanted to meet him- but all I felt was sad. No one was supposed to have met him yet, and it didn't seem right having people come in to see the little guy for the first time while he was in an incubator. So I decided to ignore the requests. I was finding it hard enough to 'entertain' my parents when they arrived for a few minutes here and there to see their grandson; it was taking all of my energy just to get through each day. I think too it was hard seeing other people happy and excited to meet him as I was still feeling overwhelmed with guilt, worry, and uncertainty.
I was anxious to see my son (Alex) as always, but wasn't really feeling up or down. Probably closer to the down side, but more I just felt tired and numb to everything on this day.
I checked Alex's chart and was excited to see he had gained almost an ounce since he was last weighed the day before. Soon after I arrived Alex's new nurse introduced herself and asked if I wanted to hold him while she gave him his tube feeds. He had been regurging (spitting up) following his feeds for some time so they hoped my holding him upright would help. I held him upright for the 10 a.m. and 4 p.m. feeds, and against my breast for the 12 p.m. I continued to change his diaper and was told that I could soon start bathing him. This was all good news, but I just felt out of it.
During the hour I spent at home in the afternoon I checked my email which I had avoided doing for some time. My heart sank at the number of people requesting to come to the hospital to meet Alex. I don't know if I was supposed to feel the opposite- excited that people wanted to meet him- but all I felt was sad. No one was supposed to have met him yet, and it didn't seem right having people come in to see the little guy for the first time while he was in an incubator. So I decided to ignore the requests. I was finding it hard enough to 'entertain' my parents when they arrived for a few minutes here and there to see their grandson; it was taking all of my energy just to get through each day. I think too it was hard seeing other people happy and excited to meet him as I was still feeling overwhelmed with guilt, worry, and uncertainty.
Sunday, November 28, 2010
Routine
I realized that I had fallen into a daily routine. I would usually pump once overnight in order to give myself some extra sleep, and then starting in the morning, every 3 hours until I went to bed. In the beginning I used a single pump so one session took upwards of 45 minutes to an hour; between getting things set up, pumping for 20 minutes on each side, and then storing and labelling freezer bags and cleaning the pump and bottles.
In the morning I would first pump, have breakfast, and then shower. After I was changed I would put some things in a bag; usually a book, crossword, agenda, camera, water bottle, and snack. I would head to the hospital and park in pretty much the same spot each day. I'd walk through the halls and often pass the same staff going in the opposite direction. It was usually quite busy when I arrived during the week as it was around shift change (8 a.m.) and the start of visiting hours. Although the NICU did not have visiting hours for parents; we were allowed there anytime except during shift change morning and night.
I would then stay with my son, helping with feeds, diaper changes, and anything else I could, until about 1 p.m. In between I would have to pump, usually sometime between 10 and 11. Just after 1, I would either head out to do errands or go home and lie down for an hour, prior to being back at the hospital for 2:30/3. During this time I would try to remember to eat something, and would usually have to try to fit a pump session in. And there were definitely days that I had to leave the hospital earlier because I found it so upsetting, but on average I stayed there most of the day.
I would then leave the hospital again at about 5/5:30 so I could be home when my husband arrived from work. We would eat dinner, I would usually pump, and then we would head to the hospital following shift change in order to meet our son's night nurse, hold him for a little while, and say goodnight to him. My husband did not always come with me to this one as he found the hospital extremely difficult; which I could understand.
Once we arrived back home, I would pump before bed, and then try to get some sleep. The next day it started all over again.
In the morning I would first pump, have breakfast, and then shower. After I was changed I would put some things in a bag; usually a book, crossword, agenda, camera, water bottle, and snack. I would head to the hospital and park in pretty much the same spot each day. I'd walk through the halls and often pass the same staff going in the opposite direction. It was usually quite busy when I arrived during the week as it was around shift change (8 a.m.) and the start of visiting hours. Although the NICU did not have visiting hours for parents; we were allowed there anytime except during shift change morning and night.
I would then stay with my son, helping with feeds, diaper changes, and anything else I could, until about 1 p.m. In between I would have to pump, usually sometime between 10 and 11. Just after 1, I would either head out to do errands or go home and lie down for an hour, prior to being back at the hospital for 2:30/3. During this time I would try to remember to eat something, and would usually have to try to fit a pump session in. And there were definitely days that I had to leave the hospital earlier because I found it so upsetting, but on average I stayed there most of the day.
I would then leave the hospital again at about 5/5:30 so I could be home when my husband arrived from work. We would eat dinner, I would usually pump, and then we would head to the hospital following shift change in order to meet our son's night nurse, hold him for a little while, and say goodnight to him. My husband did not always come with me to this one as he found the hospital extremely difficult; which I could understand.
Once we arrived back home, I would pump before bed, and then try to get some sleep. The next day it started all over again.
Thursday, November 25, 2010
Day 10- A Better Day
I slept well after the 2 emotional days prior. I did not wake to pump and allowed myself to have a full night's sleep. It meant feeling much more rested in the morning. I also realized that I started to believe my son was going to be okay; we were all going to get through this. I did my usual morning routine- pump, breakfast, shower, and then was off to the hospital.
I checked my son's chart upon arrival as usual, and noticed that he had another weight loss. This concerned me but when I looked closer at my baby I realized that his IV had been removed. I found his nurse and inquired and sure enough he was now receiving enough fluids from his feeds that he no longer required an IV. I was also now pumping much more than my son was eating so began freezing my breast milk.
Since arriving at this second NICU, there had been two other babies on the more intensive side where our son was placed. One was in an incubator, the other in a cot. I had yet to see any family visit the little girl beside us, who had some personal blankets around her incubator and a name printed on the outside. I later learned that the blankets had come from the hospital, and the crafted name had been made by one of the night nurses. I overheard a couple of the nurses talking about how the parents never came in, but they had one or two other children at home so maybe they were too busy. This made me feel very sad. The little girl often cried out and wiggled around her incubator, but received no attention in return unless she carried on for some time. According to her whiteboard she had been born at a younger gestational age than my son, but was currently a week or two older than him.
The other baby was in a cot against the far wall, a little ways away from the two in the incubators. There had been a lot of activity around this baby as the young mom had told me in the pump room that social services were involved. Apparently there were concerns about her boyfriend, the father, who had been violent in the past. The young mom insisted that these were false accusations, but the investigation meant that he would be placed in foster care upon discharge. So at pretty much all times the baby had one of his parents or the foster mom there holding, changing, and feeding him. The mom had told me that she was kind of sad that her son was doing so well as the longer he was in hospital, the better the chance that they would be able to take him home as it would give enough time for the investigation to run its course. She was also concerned that once he was placed they wouldn't have the same access to him as they did in the NICU.
Only a couple of days after this conversation with her, he was being prepared for discharge to the foster home. That morning there was the pediatrician, the hospital social worker, the community social worker, the foster mom, and the young parents all surrounding the baby's little area. I heard the mom ask if she could visit her baby at the foster home that afternoon but the community social worker told her it would be a bad idea as he needed to settle and adjust to his new home. I could see the young mom fighting back tears as the foster mom put her baby into a car seat, received follow-up instructions from the pediatrician, and left with their baby. I tried smiling when she walked past me but she held an empty stare.
It was always hard to see another baby go home; especially when it seemed like my baby had so far to go still. But then again, this case presented far from ideal circumstances, so there were a lot of mixed feelings. I think it was also hard in this situation because it meant feeling lonely again- at least I had the young mom to talk to on occasion. After they left it was back to beeping machines and nurses wandering around from time to time.
I checked my son's chart upon arrival as usual, and noticed that he had another weight loss. This concerned me but when I looked closer at my baby I realized that his IV had been removed. I found his nurse and inquired and sure enough he was now receiving enough fluids from his feeds that he no longer required an IV. I was also now pumping much more than my son was eating so began freezing my breast milk.
Since arriving at this second NICU, there had been two other babies on the more intensive side where our son was placed. One was in an incubator, the other in a cot. I had yet to see any family visit the little girl beside us, who had some personal blankets around her incubator and a name printed on the outside. I later learned that the blankets had come from the hospital, and the crafted name had been made by one of the night nurses. I overheard a couple of the nurses talking about how the parents never came in, but they had one or two other children at home so maybe they were too busy. This made me feel very sad. The little girl often cried out and wiggled around her incubator, but received no attention in return unless she carried on for some time. According to her whiteboard she had been born at a younger gestational age than my son, but was currently a week or two older than him.
The other baby was in a cot against the far wall, a little ways away from the two in the incubators. There had been a lot of activity around this baby as the young mom had told me in the pump room that social services were involved. Apparently there were concerns about her boyfriend, the father, who had been violent in the past. The young mom insisted that these were false accusations, but the investigation meant that he would be placed in foster care upon discharge. So at pretty much all times the baby had one of his parents or the foster mom there holding, changing, and feeding him. The mom had told me that she was kind of sad that her son was doing so well as the longer he was in hospital, the better the chance that they would be able to take him home as it would give enough time for the investigation to run its course. She was also concerned that once he was placed they wouldn't have the same access to him as they did in the NICU.
Only a couple of days after this conversation with her, he was being prepared for discharge to the foster home. That morning there was the pediatrician, the hospital social worker, the community social worker, the foster mom, and the young parents all surrounding the baby's little area. I heard the mom ask if she could visit her baby at the foster home that afternoon but the community social worker told her it would be a bad idea as he needed to settle and adjust to his new home. I could see the young mom fighting back tears as the foster mom put her baby into a car seat, received follow-up instructions from the pediatrician, and left with their baby. I tried smiling when she walked past me but she held an empty stare.
It was always hard to see another baby go home; especially when it seemed like my baby had so far to go still. But then again, this case presented far from ideal circumstances, so there were a lot of mixed feelings. I think it was also hard in this situation because it meant feeling lonely again- at least I had the young mom to talk to on occasion. After they left it was back to beeping machines and nurses wandering around from time to time.
Wednesday, November 24, 2010
Guilt
No one could prepare me for how much guilt I would feel for giving birth prematurely. The only time I seemed to not be overwhelmed by it was when I was able to completely block it out and not even let it enter my mind. As soon as I gave the situation any thought, my mood dropped considerably. Time and time again my support system would assure me there was likely nothing that I could have done to prevent his being born early, but that's a hard thing to accept. Even more so as I hoped to have more children and if there was no preventable cause than there was nothing I could do to improve the chances of a full-term birth in future pregnancies.
I went over everything I did before and during the pregnancy trying to figure out what could have gone wrong. Prior to conception I had gone off the pill for a few months to assure that my cycle was regular again. During that time I also took a prenatal pill religiously, never skipping a day. I started eating much better, and stopped all caffeine intake. I got necessary shots beforehand and did a lot of reading and research around healthy pregnancies.
Once pregnant, I continued to take the prenatal pill, I went to every doctor's check-up, ultrasound, and blood test. I ate quite well, never drank, smoked, or did drugs. I took a prenatal class and had been signed up for a breastfeeding course. I did moderate exercise everyday. These were all the things I knew I did right.
The things that I truly obsessed about were the times I was not perfect. I had lunch meat on occasion. I dyed my hair early in the second trimester. I continued to use face cream and hand ointment. I had caffeine on occasion. Once in a while I exercised slightly harder than at a moderate level. I had warm showers here and there. I continued my stressful job full-time. All of these things are apparently not likely to cause any harm, but none are fully recommended either.
The biggest guilt came from my having had some likely leakage of amniotic fluid for a week or two prior to my water breaking. I assumed it wasn't anything to be concerned about, as it had been brought up in the prenatal class as being a relatively common occurrence. But my gut had told me to say something, or at least ask my doctor about it, and I didn't. Maybe if I had they could have confirmed leakage and I could have been put on bed rest, or changed something, in order to keep him safe and protected longer than the 31 weeks. This is the one that I struggle with, the one factor that I definitely did have control over.
I went over everything I did before and during the pregnancy trying to figure out what could have gone wrong. Prior to conception I had gone off the pill for a few months to assure that my cycle was regular again. During that time I also took a prenatal pill religiously, never skipping a day. I started eating much better, and stopped all caffeine intake. I got necessary shots beforehand and did a lot of reading and research around healthy pregnancies.
Once pregnant, I continued to take the prenatal pill, I went to every doctor's check-up, ultrasound, and blood test. I ate quite well, never drank, smoked, or did drugs. I took a prenatal class and had been signed up for a breastfeeding course. I did moderate exercise everyday. These were all the things I knew I did right.
The things that I truly obsessed about were the times I was not perfect. I had lunch meat on occasion. I dyed my hair early in the second trimester. I continued to use face cream and hand ointment. I had caffeine on occasion. Once in a while I exercised slightly harder than at a moderate level. I had warm showers here and there. I continued my stressful job full-time. All of these things are apparently not likely to cause any harm, but none are fully recommended either.
The biggest guilt came from my having had some likely leakage of amniotic fluid for a week or two prior to my water breaking. I assumed it wasn't anything to be concerned about, as it had been brought up in the prenatal class as being a relatively common occurrence. But my gut had told me to say something, or at least ask my doctor about it, and I didn't. Maybe if I had they could have confirmed leakage and I could have been put on bed rest, or changed something, in order to keep him safe and protected longer than the 31 weeks. This is the one that I struggle with, the one factor that I definitely did have control over.
Tuesday, November 23, 2010
Day 9- Emotional Rollercoaster Continues
After the very difficult day before, I woke up the next morning unsure if I could keep going. I felt so terrible and as though I had no control over anything. Unlike the day prior, I could no longer hold back the tears. I forced myself to get out of bed, purely on the need to see my son as it was feeling more and more like I was missing an arm or a leg without him being at my side. I cried when I pumped, I cried through a brief shower, I cried while I got dressed, I cried when I drove to the hospital... I parked and tried not to cry as I walked through the familiar hospital hallways towards the NICU. I kept my head down but knew my face was red and puffy from the tears. I washed my hands and quickly passed by the nursing station, hoping that no one would see how upset I was. I checked my son's chart and was relieved to see that he had a small weight gain from the day before. I then leaned against his incubator, opening one of the slots so I could slide my hand in over his.
My son had a different nurse than the previous 2 days and my spirits were lifted when she was open to kangaroo care and allowed me to start changing his diapers. I also spoke to the lactation consultant who wanted me to start putting my son against the breast so he could start getting used to it, even if he was too young to be able to understand how breastfeeding works. Around noon I drew the drapes around my son's area and placed his little body against my chest. He was so tiny but absolutely adorable and I felt that I could hold him in that position forever. He stayed with me for nearly an hour at which time I reluctantly gave him up to the incubator once again.
I left the hospital feeling happy that I got to spend some intimate and bonding time with my son, but devastated once again that I had to leave him there. I arrived home around suppertime and noticed that a relative had left sushi on our doorstep. Considering we had no food in the house, this was a very nice surprise. My husband arrived briefly prior to having to return to work which resulted in a stupid argument over my not giving our dog enough attention. He was right, as I had barely even looked at our dog since returning home a few days prior, but I needed him to understand. It wasn't about our dog, it wasn't about anything except my longing for my son, and the increasing guilt I was feeling for him coming early and needing to be in the hospital. Nothing seemed fair, and no one seemed to understand.
My son had a different nurse than the previous 2 days and my spirits were lifted when she was open to kangaroo care and allowed me to start changing his diapers. I also spoke to the lactation consultant who wanted me to start putting my son against the breast so he could start getting used to it, even if he was too young to be able to understand how breastfeeding works. Around noon I drew the drapes around my son's area and placed his little body against my chest. He was so tiny but absolutely adorable and I felt that I could hold him in that position forever. He stayed with me for nearly an hour at which time I reluctantly gave him up to the incubator once again.
I left the hospital feeling happy that I got to spend some intimate and bonding time with my son, but devastated once again that I had to leave him there. I arrived home around suppertime and noticed that a relative had left sushi on our doorstep. Considering we had no food in the house, this was a very nice surprise. My husband arrived briefly prior to having to return to work which resulted in a stupid argument over my not giving our dog enough attention. He was right, as I had barely even looked at our dog since returning home a few days prior, but I needed him to understand. It wasn't about our dog, it wasn't about anything except my longing for my son, and the increasing guilt I was feeling for him coming early and needing to be in the hospital. Nothing seemed fair, and no one seemed to understand.
Monday, November 22, 2010
Girl Preemies
I'm not sure I could count how many times nurses told us that girl preemies tend to do better than boy preemies. I remember being asked if I knew his gender while in labour and when I told them he was a boy, there were definite looks exchanged. That first afternoon in the NICU I was told by one of the nurses that it was too bad he was a boy as girl preemies usually fair much better. I would then hear this statement at least a few dozen more times over the following few weeks. I'm not sure how it was supposed to be helpful...
Sunday, November 21, 2010
Day 8: An Emotional Mess
I'm not sure whether the shock had started to wear off and the reality had begun to set in, but day 8 of my baby's life was incredibly difficult. He had lost weight since being transferred from the other hospital, the nurses were rarely letting me hold him, my husband was back at work and thus I was alone visiting our son, and I just felt so broken.
When I sat beside my baby in the hospital I tried not to cry as I didn't want to bring attention to myself. I sat quietly either trying to read a book, or more successfully, write in a journal. Most of the time I just sat watching my baby, until I had to pump again which seemed to be much too frequent.
On this day I must have given away my mood in my face, as I did not shed a tear, as one of the nurses approached me in what I believe was an effort to lift my spirits. She told me that the bright side of the whole thing was that I got to meet my baby early. I thought about this quite a bit, and how I almost went to get the 3D ultrasound of him a couple of weeks before in order to get the early peek...
The thing is, I wouldn't wish this experience on anyone. At least when I was still pregnant with him I had him with me all the time. While he was in the hospital I had to keep leaving him behind- I think an incredibly terrible thing for a mother to have to do. It doesn't feel right to be separated from your child- emotionally or physically.
This was a really hard day as my thoughts kept sinking lower. I remember watching some of the other women on the maternity floor when I was sitting on an empty chair to get a break from the NICU, carting their babies around in cots, preparing to take them home with them in the next day or two. Some might have smoked, others may have drank or done drugs or eaten poorly or not exercised. I had thought I had done everything right, everything that I possibly could have to ensure a healthy pregnancy, yet here I was- visiting my baby in the NICU. It just didn't seem fair.
The tipping point occurred that night when I got home. I found out that my dad had sent pictures of our son in the NICU out to different family and friends by email and I just lost it. It wasn't that I had told him he couldn't, I just hadn't told him he could. I didn't want anyone to see my son with an IV in his head, with wires all over his body, with a tube down his nose... he was still supposed to be safe and protected inside me- this was not supposed to happen. I cried and yelled and cried some more. My husband tried to comfort me through his own tears but there was no consoling on this day.
When I sat beside my baby in the hospital I tried not to cry as I didn't want to bring attention to myself. I sat quietly either trying to read a book, or more successfully, write in a journal. Most of the time I just sat watching my baby, until I had to pump again which seemed to be much too frequent.
On this day I must have given away my mood in my face, as I did not shed a tear, as one of the nurses approached me in what I believe was an effort to lift my spirits. She told me that the bright side of the whole thing was that I got to meet my baby early. I thought about this quite a bit, and how I almost went to get the 3D ultrasound of him a couple of weeks before in order to get the early peek...
The thing is, I wouldn't wish this experience on anyone. At least when I was still pregnant with him I had him with me all the time. While he was in the hospital I had to keep leaving him behind- I think an incredibly terrible thing for a mother to have to do. It doesn't feel right to be separated from your child- emotionally or physically.
This was a really hard day as my thoughts kept sinking lower. I remember watching some of the other women on the maternity floor when I was sitting on an empty chair to get a break from the NICU, carting their babies around in cots, preparing to take them home with them in the next day or two. Some might have smoked, others may have drank or done drugs or eaten poorly or not exercised. I had thought I had done everything right, everything that I possibly could have to ensure a healthy pregnancy, yet here I was- visiting my baby in the NICU. It just didn't seem fair.
The tipping point occurred that night when I got home. I found out that my dad had sent pictures of our son in the NICU out to different family and friends by email and I just lost it. It wasn't that I had told him he couldn't, I just hadn't told him he could. I didn't want anyone to see my son with an IV in his head, with wires all over his body, with a tube down his nose... he was still supposed to be safe and protected inside me- this was not supposed to happen. I cried and yelled and cried some more. My husband tried to comfort me through his own tears but there was no consoling on this day.
Saturday, November 20, 2010
Head IV
One of the first mornings we went in to see our son in the NICU, he had a catheter coming out of the left side of his head. It was explained to us that they were unable to find a vein anywhere else, so they had to shave a section of his newborn hair and put the catheter just above his ear. With his head being so small, it looked like a giant needle sticking out of the top of his head. It was incredibly dramatic and once again broke my heart. I was also handed a little card that had the lock of hair they had to shave off- it read 'my first haircut'.
Thursday, November 18, 2010
Apnea and Jaundice
Our baby was started on caffeine shortly after his birth. One of many things I didn't know was a possibility prior to giving birth prematurely. The pediatrician explained that it would help to regulate his breathing and increase his heart rate, mainly to prevent periods of apnea (where the heart rate decreases to a dangerous level). My son had a few episodes of apnea which resulted in the alarms going off and a number of nurses rushing over to his incubator in order to shift and rub him until his heart rate increased once again. Giving him caffeine apparently stimulates the heart and increases its rate. This made sense as I imagined my husband getting his 'caffeine boost' from coffee each morning, but still seemed crazy to be giving to someone so young and small. I was assured that he would be 'off' the caffeine in a few weeks and would not become addicted to it as I feared.
Our baby also had jaundice which is apparently very common in full-term babies, and even more so in premature infants. He had a bit of a yellow look to him and needed to be placed under lights for therapy. He was given a tiny little headband that covered his eyes for protection from the lights. At the first hospital the light was long and narrow and did not cover his full body at once; the second hospital's seemed to be a little fancier with full body, and incubator, coverage.
I kept thinking that it would have been nice to have been provided with some, or any, of the information during prenatal classes that we were forced as parents to learn quickly following the sudden and expected early birth of our son.
Our baby also had jaundice which is apparently very common in full-term babies, and even more so in premature infants. He had a bit of a yellow look to him and needed to be placed under lights for therapy. He was given a tiny little headband that covered his eyes for protection from the lights. At the first hospital the light was long and narrow and did not cover his full body at once; the second hospital's seemed to be a little fancier with full body, and incubator, coverage.
I kept thinking that it would have been nice to have been provided with some, or any, of the information during prenatal classes that we were forced as parents to learn quickly following the sudden and expected early birth of our son.
Tuesday, November 16, 2010
Holding My Baby
After parking I made my way through the narrow hospital halls and up to the NICU. I washed my hands with soap and water for the 15-30 seconds I was supposed to prior to entering the specialized unit. I then beelined it to my baby, anxious to make sure he was alright. I stared into the incubator and was happy to see that everything looked okay. The vitals machine wasn't beeping- another good sign. I then looked through his chart next to his station and saw that he had lost more weight after the transfer. This had been expected but was still hard as it just seemed that much longer that he would need to be in there. I pulled up a chair and sat watching my little guy.
A nurse appeared a few minutes later to introduce herself and say that she would be taking care of my baby for the next couple of day shifts. She was an older nurse and seemed okay, but not overly warm towards me. I asked her how he was doing and whether the pediatrician had been in but she didn't really have any answers. She thought the pediatrician would probably be in shortly to talk to me.
I sat and watched my little guy breathe for sometime before I went to pump. Shortly after I returned the pediatrician came by and told me that although he had taken a bit of a step back from the transfer, he was still doing really well and they had no real concerns at this time. He still had jaundice so would need to continue to be under the lights but there were no signs of infection. There would be no changes for at least a few days on his medication or tube feeding schedule as he adjusted to his new environment.
Later in the morning the nurse came by and asked if I'd like to hold my little guy. I had been too shy to ask, but of course I was dying to hold him. In the previous NICU I had held him kangaroo style (no clothing, chest to chest) for over an hour the last 2 days he was there which had been such a great bonding experience.
The nurse then wrapped my baby up in several layers and handed him gently to me. She told me that I could hold him 10-15 minutes and that would be good for the day. Maybe the following day I could hold him that amount of time as well. I stared at her in disbelief as this was completely different than what I had been exposed to at the other NICU, and contradicted what the pediatrician had told me the day before. The nurse left and I tried to enjoy holding my tightly packaged little man while tears welled up in my eyes. Ten minutes later she came back and asked if I was done holding him. I quietly requested some more time, so she gave me another 5 minutes. I was heartbroken.
A nurse appeared a few minutes later to introduce herself and say that she would be taking care of my baby for the next couple of day shifts. She was an older nurse and seemed okay, but not overly warm towards me. I asked her how he was doing and whether the pediatrician had been in but she didn't really have any answers. She thought the pediatrician would probably be in shortly to talk to me.
I sat and watched my little guy breathe for sometime before I went to pump. Shortly after I returned the pediatrician came by and told me that although he had taken a bit of a step back from the transfer, he was still doing really well and they had no real concerns at this time. He still had jaundice so would need to continue to be under the lights but there were no signs of infection. There would be no changes for at least a few days on his medication or tube feeding schedule as he adjusted to his new environment.
Later in the morning the nurse came by and asked if I'd like to hold my little guy. I had been too shy to ask, but of course I was dying to hold him. In the previous NICU I had held him kangaroo style (no clothing, chest to chest) for over an hour the last 2 days he was there which had been such a great bonding experience.
The nurse then wrapped my baby up in several layers and handed him gently to me. She told me that I could hold him 10-15 minutes and that would be good for the day. Maybe the following day I could hold him that amount of time as well. I stared at her in disbelief as this was completely different than what I had been exposed to at the other NICU, and contradicted what the pediatrician had told me the day before. The nurse left and I tried to enjoy holding my tightly packaged little man while tears welled up in my eyes. Ten minutes later she came back and asked if I was done holding him. I quietly requested some more time, so she gave me another 5 minutes. I was heartbroken.
Monday, November 15, 2010
Parking
I got up the first morning back home and went through the motions to start my day- breakfast, shower, change. I threw some snacks, a water bottle, and a book in a bag and went out to the car. I planned to arrive at the NICU just after morning shift change as I wouldn't be allowed in otherwise.
I raced to the hospital, anxious to see my little guy. I was especially worried after being told that he may take a step or two back because of the transfer. I arrived and parked in one of the longer term parking areas. I went up to get a ticket to put on my car and stared at the choices. Do I get an hourly, daily, weekly, or monthly pass. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath before punching in for a monthly ticket. This would be our goal I was thinking, to get the little guy out of here by the time this parking pass expires.
I raced to the hospital, anxious to see my little guy. I was especially worried after being told that he may take a step or two back because of the transfer. I arrived and parked in one of the longer term parking areas. I went up to get a ticket to put on my car and stared at the choices. Do I get an hourly, daily, weekly, or monthly pass. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath before punching in for a monthly ticket. This would be our goal I was thinking, to get the little guy out of here by the time this parking pass expires.
Sunday, November 14, 2010
Going Home
My parents arrived with my husband at the NICU not too long after I had arrived with the paramedics. It was the first time they got to meet him, one at a time, as no visitors aside from the parents had been allowed into the NICU at the previous hospital. They both commented on how tiny he was.
My husband and I then left the hospital and drove to pick up our dog. She has meant the world to both of us for many years so I was shocked to have little feeling for her when we picked her up. She was incredibly excited, whining and racing circles around us, but I just didn't seem to care. I wasn't expecting this sort of reaction and it suddenly occurred to me I was still feeling numb and in shock.
We then returned home to our house. It had only been a week since I had left for the doctor's office but it felt like a lifetime had passed. Here I was back home, without my baby. Never had I predicted this, nor could anyone understand how it feels unless they have been there. My husband then mentioned that he planned to return to work the next day so he could take time off once the baby was actually home. It made sense, but upset me as I realized that I was now going to be facing the hospital visits alone. I was so excited to get home that I hadn't thought through the reality of it, including having a number of regular responsibilities around the house again, and no longer having the 24/7 company of my husband.
My husband and I then left the hospital and drove to pick up our dog. She has meant the world to both of us for many years so I was shocked to have little feeling for her when we picked her up. She was incredibly excited, whining and racing circles around us, but I just didn't seem to care. I wasn't expecting this sort of reaction and it suddenly occurred to me I was still feeling numb and in shock.
We then returned home to our house. It had only been a week since I had left for the doctor's office but it felt like a lifetime had passed. Here I was back home, without my baby. Never had I predicted this, nor could anyone understand how it feels unless they have been there. My husband then mentioned that he planned to return to work the next day so he could take time off once the baby was actually home. It made sense, but upset me as I realized that I was now going to be facing the hospital visits alone. I was so excited to get home that I hadn't thought through the reality of it, including having a number of regular responsibilities around the house again, and no longer having the 24/7 company of my husband.
Saturday, November 13, 2010
Hometown Arrival
I felt as though I had gone full circle stepping back onto the maternity ward where it had been confirmed that my water had indeed broken the week prior. This time though I was no longer pregnant and my baby was being wheeled onto the unit in a special travel incubator. It felt strange going down the halls of the hospital, following the 2 paramedics and my baby. It seemed like we were drawing a lot of attention, like we were some sort of parade. And I felt like a little kid, following behind, unshowered in jogging pants and a hoodie, with only a small backpack. It also occurred to me that I really needed to pump again.
We reached the unit and the nursing staff appeared surprised to see us. I was pretty sure I'd seen the staff in the previous hospital contact this one to let them know we were on our way, but I guess there was miscommunication somewhere. Thankfully one of the younger nurses jumped up and pulled in an incubator to start warming it in one of the open slots. It was a much brighter NICU, but with only a few spaces for incubators compared to the couple of dozen in the hospital we had been in. Once the incubator had warmed, my baby was transferred from the travel one to his more permanent one up against a wall, under a new whiteboard. There was just one other incubator at the time, in the space beside him. A little girl who looked as though she'd been in hospital for some time with a number of personal belongings surrounding her.
The nurse briefly spoke to me and the pediatrician came by to let me know he would only be there the one day as it was the weekend and he was from out of town, just covering for the local doctors. He also read that I had started kangaroo care in the other hospital and recommended that I continue this as much as I'd like. Once everything was settled and the nurses and pediatrician had gone back to the nursing station I suddenly felt lonely. I was with my little guy but compared to the bustle of the other hospital, this one was eerily quiet.
I asked if I could use the pump room and the nurse helped me check out a pumping kit. The pumping room turned out to be even more depressing as it was a small dark room with a few chairs lined up beside pumps and a few old posters on the wall. I sat and pumped one side at a time, 20 minutes each, cleaned up and returned to the NICU. Not long after my family arrived.
We reached the unit and the nursing staff appeared surprised to see us. I was pretty sure I'd seen the staff in the previous hospital contact this one to let them know we were on our way, but I guess there was miscommunication somewhere. Thankfully one of the younger nurses jumped up and pulled in an incubator to start warming it in one of the open slots. It was a much brighter NICU, but with only a few spaces for incubators compared to the couple of dozen in the hospital we had been in. Once the incubator had warmed, my baby was transferred from the travel one to his more permanent one up against a wall, under a new whiteboard. There was just one other incubator at the time, in the space beside him. A little girl who looked as though she'd been in hospital for some time with a number of personal belongings surrounding her.
The nurse briefly spoke to me and the pediatrician came by to let me know he would only be there the one day as it was the weekend and he was from out of town, just covering for the local doctors. He also read that I had started kangaroo care in the other hospital and recommended that I continue this as much as I'd like. Once everything was settled and the nurses and pediatrician had gone back to the nursing station I suddenly felt lonely. I was with my little guy but compared to the bustle of the other hospital, this one was eerily quiet.
I asked if I could use the pump room and the nurse helped me check out a pumping kit. The pumping room turned out to be even more depressing as it was a small dark room with a few chairs lined up beside pumps and a few old posters on the wall. I sat and pumped one side at a time, 20 minutes each, cleaned up and returned to the NICU. Not long after my family arrived.
Thursday, November 11, 2010
The Board
Beside each incubator is a whiteboard that can be used to write your baby's name, parents names and contact info., date of birth, feeding schedule, etc. When I was first presented with this board I looked at the one next to us and saw it elaborately decorated with different colour markers. The date of birth of the baby was more than a month prior and I immediately had a sinking feeling. We were going to have to visit our baby in the hospital for a long time. They told us that we should aim for his original due date, which was more than 9 weeks later, but I couldn't imagine even a day ahead. So I decided that 36 weeks sounded reasonable, which was still more than a month away. I looked again at the baby next door that was quite a bit bigger than the other babies who had been born more recently. The baby was settled in as though it were their home, with personal blankets, sleepers, pictures, and memorabilia surrounding their little area. I then looked at my little guy and at the whiteboard and carefully wrote his name, our names and phone numbers, and his date of birth. One colour, simple text, no elaboration. I didn't want my baby ever thinking that this was his home- or I suppose, I didn't want to ever think that...
First Picture
Rewinding a bit, in the rush to throw a few things in a bag prior to being transferred to another city following my water breaking, my husband had forgotten to include a camera. So the first, and only, picture we have of our son in the early days was on the second day after he was born. One of the nurses took one picture of him, and one of him, myself, and my husband. Both were on a digital camera and were printed on postcard paper.
Tuesday, November 9, 2010
Transferred
Almost a week after arriving in this other city by ambulance, we received a call first thing in the morning at the place we were staying to say that our baby was being transferred to the hospital in our hometown. They told me I had to arrive within 30 minutes to ensure that I could travel with the baby. Only one parent was allowed to go because of the minimal space and my husband didn't hesitate to say that it should be me. My parents were thankfully still there so my dad quickly got dressed and drove me to the hospital. My husband would take care of the packing, paying for the room, and returning the pump. I was worried we would miss the ambulance so my dad drove like a maniac to make sure I arrived on time. He dropped me off at the entrance with my little bag of pumped milk and packsack of water and granola bars. They would drive back home as soon as they finished packing and would meet us at the hospital.
I was so excited and nervous at the same time. We were all going to get to go home but the nursing staff and pediatrician warned me that my baby would likely take a step or two back because of the journey. Soon after I arrived at the NICU, 2 paramedics came with a travel incubator. They carefully loaded my son in and made sure all the little machines were working properly. As they started to cart him away I looked at the 2 older nurses beside me as tears started welling up. They both gave me a hug and told me that they had not nicknamed him 'mighty mouse' for nothing- he was a fighter and would do very well. I then quickly joined my son and the paramedics and followed them through the hospital halls and out to the ambulance. They asked if I wanted to sit up front but I requested to sit in the back beside my son which they were happy to accommodate. Once everyone was loaded, we were off.
If you haven't ridden in an ambulance before, I can tell you that it is extremely bumpy and feels as though there are no shocks on the vehicle. I couldn't believe when I was transferred the week prior when I was pregnant as I felt as though I was going to bounce of the gurney whenever we went over a pebble in the road. I worried about my son doing such a drive as there was no way he wouldn't be able to feel the effects of it.
The paramedic travelling in the back of the ambulance with me kept a close eye on my son which made me happy. He kept smiling and telling me how awake he was; just staring back at him. Apparently the majority of babies sleep through the whole trip but my little guy was awake for nearly the whole ride. I think it's because he was just as choked about all the bumps in the road as I was...
After travelling on the highway for nearly an hour we made it to the airport where a little prop plane was waiting for us. The pilot mentioned to me that he had also been a preemie and was now over 6'3" and 250 lbs. The paramedics then told me to get in first before loading my son and themselves into the back of the plane. The prop plane was incredibly loud, and there was quite a bit of turbulence, which caused me great anxiety. I kept thinking how it might all effect his ears and other development. I also second-guessed myself at agreeing to have him transferred when he was so little- maybe we should have waited longer... always the guilt creeping up.
We finally arrived at the airport in our hometown and were loaded back into a ground ambulance, this time with different paramedics. Another bumpy ride and we were at the hospital where my son would reside for the next several weeks.
I was so excited and nervous at the same time. We were all going to get to go home but the nursing staff and pediatrician warned me that my baby would likely take a step or two back because of the journey. Soon after I arrived at the NICU, 2 paramedics came with a travel incubator. They carefully loaded my son in and made sure all the little machines were working properly. As they started to cart him away I looked at the 2 older nurses beside me as tears started welling up. They both gave me a hug and told me that they had not nicknamed him 'mighty mouse' for nothing- he was a fighter and would do very well. I then quickly joined my son and the paramedics and followed them through the hospital halls and out to the ambulance. They asked if I wanted to sit up front but I requested to sit in the back beside my son which they were happy to accommodate. Once everyone was loaded, we were off.
If you haven't ridden in an ambulance before, I can tell you that it is extremely bumpy and feels as though there are no shocks on the vehicle. I couldn't believe when I was transferred the week prior when I was pregnant as I felt as though I was going to bounce of the gurney whenever we went over a pebble in the road. I worried about my son doing such a drive as there was no way he wouldn't be able to feel the effects of it.
The paramedic travelling in the back of the ambulance with me kept a close eye on my son which made me happy. He kept smiling and telling me how awake he was; just staring back at him. Apparently the majority of babies sleep through the whole trip but my little guy was awake for nearly the whole ride. I think it's because he was just as choked about all the bumps in the road as I was...
After travelling on the highway for nearly an hour we made it to the airport where a little prop plane was waiting for us. The pilot mentioned to me that he had also been a preemie and was now over 6'3" and 250 lbs. The paramedics then told me to get in first before loading my son and themselves into the back of the plane. The prop plane was incredibly loud, and there was quite a bit of turbulence, which caused me great anxiety. I kept thinking how it might all effect his ears and other development. I also second-guessed myself at agreeing to have him transferred when he was so little- maybe we should have waited longer... always the guilt creeping up.
We finally arrived at the airport in our hometown and were loaded back into a ground ambulance, this time with different paramedics. Another bumpy ride and we were at the hospital where my son would reside for the next several weeks.
Monday, November 8, 2010
Bonding
According to the nurse who taught my prenatal class, it was important to bond with your baby right away following delivery. It was also important to breastfeed early on and not introduce your baby to a pacifier or a bottle as it would supposedly confuse them and make breastfeeding more difficult.
Fast forward to having delivered a tiny little baby who lay in an incubator, completely separated from me. I could barely touch him as he was unable to regulate his temperature so could not be out of his little home for very long. And there was no breastfeeding. He also received a tiny little pacifier from day one and I was told he would likely be bottle feeding prior to breastfeeding. So of course I assumed that my little baby and I would be unable to bond...
Fast forward to having delivered a tiny little baby who lay in an incubator, completely separated from me. I could barely touch him as he was unable to regulate his temperature so could not be out of his little home for very long. And there was no breastfeeding. He also received a tiny little pacifier from day one and I was told he would likely be bottle feeding prior to breastfeeding. So of course I assumed that my little baby and I would be unable to bond...
Sunday, November 7, 2010
'Where is your Baby?'
One of the most difficult parts to handle while being out in the community when my baby was in the NICU was being asked 'where is your baby?' The first time this happened was the day after I was discharged from the hospital. We were still in this other city so were trying to get the minimal things we needed. One of these included a couple of nursing bras since we didn't know how long we would be there and I was pumping every 3 hours around the clock. We were directed by hospital staff to a nearby mall and found a maternity store. I tried on many, and was able to find a couple that fit, not believing how much bigger they were than my pre-pregnancy bras. As I went up to the counter to pay, the woman asked me when I was due. I told her I had just had my baby and she looked at me as though I was crazy and asked 'well where is your baby?' I struggled to hold back tears before explaining that he came early and was in the hospital. That ended the conversation and we finished the transaction in silence. As soon as I stepped outside I broke down, feeling completely heartbroken.
The second time this happened was that night when we went out for a quick dinner. It was mentioned to the server that we had just had a baby and again I was given an accusatory stare and asked 'well where were they?' This time I didn't even explain, I just started crying and went to hide in the washroom. It was explained to the server the situation while I was gone and when I came back to the table briefly before asking to leave, the server apologized awkwardly. From that moment on, until my baby was discharged several weeks later from the hospital, I barely went out in public. Even going to the baby stores in order to get the supplies we didn't yet have was hard when surrounded by little people and always asked at the counter if I needed a gift receipt on everything. In my head I couldn't help but think that it was because I didn't have a baby with me, so it was assumed I must not be a parent.
The second time this happened was that night when we went out for a quick dinner. It was mentioned to the server that we had just had a baby and again I was given an accusatory stare and asked 'well where were they?' This time I didn't even explain, I just started crying and went to hide in the washroom. It was explained to the server the situation while I was gone and when I came back to the table briefly before asking to leave, the server apologized awkwardly. From that moment on, until my baby was discharged several weeks later from the hospital, I barely went out in public. Even going to the baby stores in order to get the supplies we didn't yet have was hard when surrounded by little people and always asked at the counter if I needed a gift receipt on everything. In my head I couldn't help but think that it was because I didn't have a baby with me, so it was assumed I must not be a parent.
Saturday, November 6, 2010
My Discharge
For some reason I assumed that I would stay in the hospital for the length of time that my baby was admitted. At least I thought this would be the case while being in a different city than my hometown. But later in the evening, the same day as going through the trauma of the unexpected premature delivery of my baby, I was told I would likely be discharged the following day. I didn't know whether to panic or cry as I quietly responded that I had nowhere to stay. The nurse suggested that I could return to my hometown and wait for my baby to be transferred back which completely blew my mind. I would curl up and sleep in the lobby of the hospital, or on a park bench outside in the rain, before I would go home and leave my baby in another city. So they called the social worker.
The woman was very nice and told us that she would look into possible housing options for the duration that our baby was at their hospital. Unfortunately she returned not long after to say that there was nothing available and was not sure what other options there were. She told me that she did have a chat with the doctor though who was willing to delay my discharge an extra day.
I called home and told my parents what was going on. Thankfully they are extremely resourceful and immediately started making phone calls to people they knew, once knew, or had a brief encounter with at one time, in the city where we were. It resulted in at least a couple of options and we picked the one that was the closest. Even that resulted in us having to pay for a room we couldn't afford at a place that was a 25 minute drive away. But we made it work, and we paid for a lot of taxis to take us the same route back and forth several times a day. I rented a pump and had it set up in our little rented room and we bought some groceries that could keep in the little fridge we luckily had. And so we lived in our makeshift home until our baby boy could be transferred back.
The woman was very nice and told us that she would look into possible housing options for the duration that our baby was at their hospital. Unfortunately she returned not long after to say that there was nothing available and was not sure what other options there were. She told me that she did have a chat with the doctor though who was willing to delay my discharge an extra day.
I called home and told my parents what was going on. Thankfully they are extremely resourceful and immediately started making phone calls to people they knew, once knew, or had a brief encounter with at one time, in the city where we were. It resulted in at least a couple of options and we picked the one that was the closest. Even that resulted in us having to pay for a room we couldn't afford at a place that was a 25 minute drive away. But we made it work, and we paid for a lot of taxis to take us the same route back and forth several times a day. I rented a pump and had it set up in our little rented room and we bought some groceries that could keep in the little fridge we luckily had. And so we lived in our makeshift home until our baby boy could be transferred back.
Friday, November 5, 2010
Breastfeeding (or more accurately- Pumping)
Just after delivering my tiny little baby I was asked if I planned to breastfeed. Again, this was something I had thought I wanted to do but under the circumstances I had no idea what I wanted anymore. I first asked if it was possible to breastfeed and it was quickly explained to me that the baby would likely not be able to start trying to breastfeed until at least 34 weeks gestation, more than 3 weeks from that point. I would have to pump in the meantime in order to increase my milk supply and provide the food for my baby which would be fed through a tube inserted in his nose that went to his stomach. I asked if formula would be better for a premature baby since it was scientifically developed so must include everything he would need to grow and develop properly. This was quickly shut down and the nurse who had been quite pleasant suddenly told me that in the best interest of my baby I needed to pump and if I wanted to give formula that was a decision to be made once he was discharged from the hospital. I had thought she had asked me what I wanted but apparently it was not a question at all.
I later talked to the pediatrician who assured me that either breastmilk or formula would help my baby to grow and develop, although breastmilk was indeed considered the better choice. So with that, I asked for an introduction to the 'pump'. It's a strange thing the pumping machine. Something that I imagined to be an intimate and bonding experience with my baby in breastfeeding had become a strange event where my bare breasts were exposed and attached to this awkward and cold contraption. Nevermind the fact that my baby wasn't even in the same room as I sat on the bed as this machine pumped away.
It was an exciting moment when the first few drops finally fell into the waiting bottle. My husband did not feel it was worth taking to the NICU but I insisted that they could make use of it. When we got to the NICU I handed the nurse my few drops at the same time as another woman, just out of the pumping room, handed over a giant bottle of pumped breastmilk. At that point I did feel a little embarrassed but the nurse insisted that my few drops would be used.
So my son was given his first try at my breastmilk- 1 cc. We were so excited when we found out that it seemed to sit with him okay and couldn't believe that within a few days he was up to several cc every couple of hours.
So the pumping room and a rented 'double' pump because my closest friends for the next several weeks. Every 3 hours I would attach my bare breasts to the same strange contraption and pump away. It was definitely not what I had imagined 'breastfeeding' to be...
I later talked to the pediatrician who assured me that either breastmilk or formula would help my baby to grow and develop, although breastmilk was indeed considered the better choice. So with that, I asked for an introduction to the 'pump'. It's a strange thing the pumping machine. Something that I imagined to be an intimate and bonding experience with my baby in breastfeeding had become a strange event where my bare breasts were exposed and attached to this awkward and cold contraption. Nevermind the fact that my baby wasn't even in the same room as I sat on the bed as this machine pumped away.
It was an exciting moment when the first few drops finally fell into the waiting bottle. My husband did not feel it was worth taking to the NICU but I insisted that they could make use of it. When we got to the NICU I handed the nurse my few drops at the same time as another woman, just out of the pumping room, handed over a giant bottle of pumped breastmilk. At that point I did feel a little embarrassed but the nurse insisted that my few drops would be used.
So my son was given his first try at my breastmilk- 1 cc. We were so excited when we found out that it seemed to sit with him okay and couldn't believe that within a few days he was up to several cc every couple of hours.
So the pumping room and a rented 'double' pump because my closest friends for the next several weeks. Every 3 hours I would attach my bare breasts to the same strange contraption and pump away. It was definitely not what I had imagined 'breastfeeding' to be...
Thursday, November 4, 2010
Feelings of Guilt
Giving birth to a child early brings on a load of guilt. I was told that the chances were that there was nothing I could have done to prevent the early delivery, but I couldn't help but feel responsible. It could have been the result of so many things: diet, exercise, job stress...
I had been eating relatively well, but I still had sandwich meat on occasion which is apparently something you're supposed to avoid. I had also gained a considerable amount of weight during the first trimester so was watching what I ate quite carefully- maybe too carefully? And maybe I was drinking too much water as the last ultrasound showed my amniotic fluid was a little high- not that I really knew what that meant.
The exercise was what I focused most on. I had always been a competitive athlete so it can be hard to 'slow down'. Feeling so nauseous during the first trimester definitely helped me do just that however. So when the second trimester rolled around and I started feeling better, I naturally got back into exercising. I don't think I did anything excessive- to me, it was quite moderate. But again, maybe it was too much? I think my baby's head had been in the downward position for some time so maybe my exercising had just increased the pressure which led to my water breaking? I've been told it's unlikely, but again, the thoughts are still there.
Lastly, job stress. My job is very stressful and as much as I tried to not let it get to me, especially while I was pregnant, there were times that it was a bit overwhelming. The reason I wonder if it had something to do with the premature birth is because of how stressful it had really been the few days leading up to the early labour and delivery. But then I question how being stressed could cause the early rupture of membranes?
My support system continually told me that there was probably nothing I could have done to prevent the premature delivery. It's hard to believe that's the case, and in a way I don't want to. If there was a reason for the premature delivery than there's a chance it can be prevented in the future; otherwise it means it's totally out of my control and I'm at higher risk for another premature delivery down the line.
The doctors and my support system were quite adamant that I should not be feeling guilty and responsible for the early delivery. Some of the nurses in the NICU on the other hand... I was told that it was likely the cause of any of the reasons I had mentioned earlier and there was definitely direct blaming by a few. It seemed like a few were also fishing for possible reasons; ie. was my risk increased because I smoked, drank, did drugs, etc. None of which I do, but the inquiries, as subtle as they sometimes were, remained.
Many months have passed since I gave birth to my little baby boy and the feelings of guilt remain. They have dimmed considerably since those first few weeks, but they are still there. I question whether they will ever really go away, especially when I look back at that time in our lives.
I had been eating relatively well, but I still had sandwich meat on occasion which is apparently something you're supposed to avoid. I had also gained a considerable amount of weight during the first trimester so was watching what I ate quite carefully- maybe too carefully? And maybe I was drinking too much water as the last ultrasound showed my amniotic fluid was a little high- not that I really knew what that meant.
The exercise was what I focused most on. I had always been a competitive athlete so it can be hard to 'slow down'. Feeling so nauseous during the first trimester definitely helped me do just that however. So when the second trimester rolled around and I started feeling better, I naturally got back into exercising. I don't think I did anything excessive- to me, it was quite moderate. But again, maybe it was too much? I think my baby's head had been in the downward position for some time so maybe my exercising had just increased the pressure which led to my water breaking? I've been told it's unlikely, but again, the thoughts are still there.
Lastly, job stress. My job is very stressful and as much as I tried to not let it get to me, especially while I was pregnant, there were times that it was a bit overwhelming. The reason I wonder if it had something to do with the premature birth is because of how stressful it had really been the few days leading up to the early labour and delivery. But then I question how being stressed could cause the early rupture of membranes?
My support system continually told me that there was probably nothing I could have done to prevent the premature delivery. It's hard to believe that's the case, and in a way I don't want to. If there was a reason for the premature delivery than there's a chance it can be prevented in the future; otherwise it means it's totally out of my control and I'm at higher risk for another premature delivery down the line.
The doctors and my support system were quite adamant that I should not be feeling guilty and responsible for the early delivery. Some of the nurses in the NICU on the other hand... I was told that it was likely the cause of any of the reasons I had mentioned earlier and there was definitely direct blaming by a few. It seemed like a few were also fishing for possible reasons; ie. was my risk increased because I smoked, drank, did drugs, etc. None of which I do, but the inquiries, as subtle as they sometimes were, remained.
Many months have passed since I gave birth to my little baby boy and the feelings of guilt remain. They have dimmed considerably since those first few weeks, but they are still there. I question whether they will ever really go away, especially when I look back at that time in our lives.
Tuesday, November 2, 2010
The Tiny Baby in the Incubator
My husband went with the baby, and the multiple professionals, to the NICU. I then lay there with the OB, resident, and nurse and waited for the placenta to be delivered. I felt so much relief that the pushing was finally over and my baby was alive that I just laid back and stared at the ceiling. I half-heartedly gave a couple of more pushes as requested by the OB in order to deliver the placenta. However, after a few minutes the OB literally pushed the resident out of the way and told her that it had to be quick as my cervix was closing. I felt her reach in and a bit of a tug and then she told me it was over. I watched her look at the placenta and say that it was healthy and intact, although on the smaller size. This triggered me as I had never been told that my placenta was on the smaller side during any of the ultrasound check-ups, but I trusted that she had gotten it all out. This would turn out to not be the case... I received one stitch and the placenta was sent to the lab to see if there was an infection or something else that could explain the premature delivery.
I was thankful that they did not end up doing an episiotomy. The OB had told me that they often did with preemies because their heads are so delicate. I found this very interesting after being told the week earlier in my prenatal class that no one did episiotomies anymore. Then again, the prenatal class really didn't prepare me for anything that had or was happening.
My husband returned shortly after to check on me. Apparently the baby was doing very well considering, having scored 9/10 on the apgar test and was breathing on his own. I was told that once I felt up to it, I could go see him in a wheelchair. It did not take long for me to get into the wheelchair with the IV at my side and have my husband wheel me down to the NICU.
There were about a dozen incubators lined up against the walls and my baby was placed in the one in the farthest corner. I pulled up to him and the few nurses surrounding him backed away so I could see him. He looked much smaller in the incubator than he had when he first popped out on my chest and I suddenly became very scared again. He was wearing a tiny diaper and had a number of wires hooked up to him. The alarms kept going off and the nurses kept surrounding him and then backing away while reassuring me that it was all very normal. I could feel tears welling up in my eyes but much of me was in complete shock.
I did get to touch his little hands and gently stroke his skin, although all of this was frightening to me. I didn't want to hurt him and I was so scared he would suddenly just stop breathing. I didn't know anything about preemies, including the survival rate. But I couldn't bring myself to ask if my baby would survive...
I was thankful that they did not end up doing an episiotomy. The OB had told me that they often did with preemies because their heads are so delicate. I found this very interesting after being told the week earlier in my prenatal class that no one did episiotomies anymore. Then again, the prenatal class really didn't prepare me for anything that had or was happening.
My husband returned shortly after to check on me. Apparently the baby was doing very well considering, having scored 9/10 on the apgar test and was breathing on his own. I was told that once I felt up to it, I could go see him in a wheelchair. It did not take long for me to get into the wheelchair with the IV at my side and have my husband wheel me down to the NICU.
There were about a dozen incubators lined up against the walls and my baby was placed in the one in the farthest corner. I pulled up to him and the few nurses surrounding him backed away so I could see him. He looked much smaller in the incubator than he had when he first popped out on my chest and I suddenly became very scared again. He was wearing a tiny diaper and had a number of wires hooked up to him. The alarms kept going off and the nurses kept surrounding him and then backing away while reassuring me that it was all very normal. I could feel tears welling up in my eyes but much of me was in complete shock.
I did get to touch his little hands and gently stroke his skin, although all of this was frightening to me. I didn't want to hurt him and I was so scared he would suddenly just stop breathing. I didn't know anything about preemies, including the survival rate. But I couldn't bring myself to ask if my baby would survive...
Sunday, October 31, 2010
The Delivery
The contractions started coming quickly and I knew I would soon deliver this tiny baby. My husband was sleeping on the pull-out chair in the corner and a nurse was periodically checking on me. Once it became clear that things were truly happening, the nurse asked about an epidural. I told her it had been in my original birth plan but I was expecting a full-term baby so no longer knew what I wanted. She told me she would call the anesthesiologist for a consult as it would take some time for him to arrive anyway. Instead he came almost immediately and told me to sit up and get into position for the epidural. I was still confused but did as he suggested. It seemed to take forever and the only words that were muttered was whether I had a spinal curvature as he was struggling to get it in. I had never been told I had one...
Once the epidural was in I just lay there and waited. Time passed and I went from closing my eyes to staring at the ceiling to chatting with the nurses. My husband was standing next to me early on but I sent him back to get some rest as there was nothing he could do, and nothing really happening, at least that I could feel. When I was next checked I was 8 cm. dilated and things started to move. I was introduced to a number of different professionals that would be looking after the baby once he arrived, but they all just blended together to me. Once I was fully dilated I was told to start pushing. The problem was, I literally couldn't feel anything so had no urge to push. My husband was back beside me, and two nurses were trying to help me push things along. The OB came in to check on the progress regularly but I wasn't getting very far with the pushing, as hard as I was trying to figure out how to do it with no feeling. The first OB's night shift ended early the next morning and I was introduced to the next OB. She in turn introduced me to the resident that was with her. The OB quickly lessened the epidural and increased the oxytocin so I could start feeling the pressure. I still did not have an urge to push but the contractions became almost unbearable. It took four hours of pushing before the little boy finally popped out.
I was worried that he would fit in the palm of my hand but he actually looked like a normal baby, just mini size. I only got to see him for a second before they whisked him over to have him checked out prior to taking him to the NICU. I didn't know or understand anything that was going on, but I did hear him cry so I knew he was at least alive...
Once the epidural was in I just lay there and waited. Time passed and I went from closing my eyes to staring at the ceiling to chatting with the nurses. My husband was standing next to me early on but I sent him back to get some rest as there was nothing he could do, and nothing really happening, at least that I could feel. When I was next checked I was 8 cm. dilated and things started to move. I was introduced to a number of different professionals that would be looking after the baby once he arrived, but they all just blended together to me. Once I was fully dilated I was told to start pushing. The problem was, I literally couldn't feel anything so had no urge to push. My husband was back beside me, and two nurses were trying to help me push things along. The OB came in to check on the progress regularly but I wasn't getting very far with the pushing, as hard as I was trying to figure out how to do it with no feeling. The first OB's night shift ended early the next morning and I was introduced to the next OB. She in turn introduced me to the resident that was with her. The OB quickly lessened the epidural and increased the oxytocin so I could start feeling the pressure. I still did not have an urge to push but the contractions became almost unbearable. It took four hours of pushing before the little boy finally popped out.
I was worried that he would fit in the palm of my hand but he actually looked like a normal baby, just mini size. I only got to see him for a second before they whisked him over to have him checked out prior to taking him to the NICU. I didn't know or understand anything that was going on, but I did hear him cry so I knew he was at least alive...
Saturday, October 30, 2010
Labour Begins
I was going to be very prepared for the labour and delivery of my first child. I was planning to take a month off of work prior to the due date and during that time I would get the nursery set-up, prepare my bags for the hospital, and read everything I could about how to be a parent. Never would I have guessed that prior to my prenatal classes even being done, I would be in the position that I was.
As I'm sure is the case with everyone, you can't imagine what delivering a baby is going to be like. I didn't know if I would scream, pass out, cry, or be relatively okay during the process. I was pretty sure I would get an epidural but even that was thrown out the window knowing my baby was going to be much smaller than I had expected. I had so many questions but did not know what or who to ask. As I lay on a hospital bed in an unfamiliar city wearing nothing but a pale blue gown, I felt completely unprepared.
As I'm sure is the case with everyone, you can't imagine what delivering a baby is going to be like. I didn't know if I would scream, pass out, cry, or be relatively okay during the process. I was pretty sure I would get an epidural but even that was thrown out the window knowing my baby was going to be much smaller than I had expected. I had so many questions but did not know what or who to ask. As I lay on a hospital bed in an unfamiliar city wearing nothing but a pale blue gown, I felt completely unprepared.
Friday, October 29, 2010
And so the premature journey began...
I wasn't even 31 weeks and my water broke.
That afternoon, prior to leaving for a scheduled doctor's appointment, I had thrown a load of laundry in the wash, grabbed a granola bar for the road, and kissed my dog on her head, reassuring her that I would soon be back. I jumped in my car and zipped to the office, only a few minutes away. Everything was going great with the pregnancy, especially after a nauseous first trimester. However, there had been some mild bleeding over the weekend that I asked the doctor to take a look at.
Midway through the exam, the doctor raised her head and looked at me strangely. As she got up and looked at some sort of strip, she asked if I had just felt a gush of fluid. I hadn't, but was suddenly very scared as the doctor started to look worried. She told me my water may have broke and asked that I return to the waiting room while she contacted the OB-GYN on-call.
I sat in the waiting room amongst a number of young families. A small boy sat next to me and was trying desperately to get my attention but I could not bring myself to look at him. I had been expecting a boy. I had no idea what it meant if my water had broke, it wasn't covered in my prenatal class. Do I lose the baby? Does the baby end up with severe disabilities? Are they able to stop the delivery process? I sat and waited and could see the doctor at the end of the hall talking on the phone. She then called me up to the desk and told me to go to the hospital in order to have everything checked. Since I had leaked fluid earlier they were optimistic that everything would be okay and the pregnancy would carry on as it was. So I drove myself to the hospital. I wasn't able to reach any of my family so somehow I managed to drive there, find a parking spot, get through admissions, and make it to the maternity ward amidst a stream of tears.
The ward nurses told me they didn't know I was coming in. So one of them reluctantly took me to a 3-bed room and had me sit next to a bed. I have no memory of how long I sat there but eventually a resident came by to tell me the doctor would eventually be by as well. I was then hooked up on some machines. The OB came at some point and casually checked to see what was going on. He then looked at me with similar eyes to the doctor a couple of hours earlier and told me they would check but it looked very possible that my water had actually broke.
The next several hours are a blur. At some point my dad, my husband, my mom, and my brother came. We were told my water had broke and I would be transferred by air ambulance to another hospital that were able to take pre-32 week babies. I had a steroid injection to open up my babies lungs in case I did go into early labour, and was hooked up on an IV to prevent against infection. My dad took my husband to get some clothes, take back the car, and get the dog. And then my husband and I left by ambulance and drove and flew 3-4 hours to get to another hospital.
We arrived at about midnight and the nurse put her hand on my stomach. She asked if I could feel the contractions, which of course I could, but I said I couldn't. I was not ready to deliver my little baby and all I wanted to do was sleep.
That afternoon, prior to leaving for a scheduled doctor's appointment, I had thrown a load of laundry in the wash, grabbed a granola bar for the road, and kissed my dog on her head, reassuring her that I would soon be back. I jumped in my car and zipped to the office, only a few minutes away. Everything was going great with the pregnancy, especially after a nauseous first trimester. However, there had been some mild bleeding over the weekend that I asked the doctor to take a look at.
Midway through the exam, the doctor raised her head and looked at me strangely. As she got up and looked at some sort of strip, she asked if I had just felt a gush of fluid. I hadn't, but was suddenly very scared as the doctor started to look worried. She told me my water may have broke and asked that I return to the waiting room while she contacted the OB-GYN on-call.
I sat in the waiting room amongst a number of young families. A small boy sat next to me and was trying desperately to get my attention but I could not bring myself to look at him. I had been expecting a boy. I had no idea what it meant if my water had broke, it wasn't covered in my prenatal class. Do I lose the baby? Does the baby end up with severe disabilities? Are they able to stop the delivery process? I sat and waited and could see the doctor at the end of the hall talking on the phone. She then called me up to the desk and told me to go to the hospital in order to have everything checked. Since I had leaked fluid earlier they were optimistic that everything would be okay and the pregnancy would carry on as it was. So I drove myself to the hospital. I wasn't able to reach any of my family so somehow I managed to drive there, find a parking spot, get through admissions, and make it to the maternity ward amidst a stream of tears.
The ward nurses told me they didn't know I was coming in. So one of them reluctantly took me to a 3-bed room and had me sit next to a bed. I have no memory of how long I sat there but eventually a resident came by to tell me the doctor would eventually be by as well. I was then hooked up on some machines. The OB came at some point and casually checked to see what was going on. He then looked at me with similar eyes to the doctor a couple of hours earlier and told me they would check but it looked very possible that my water had actually broke.
The next several hours are a blur. At some point my dad, my husband, my mom, and my brother came. We were told my water had broke and I would be transferred by air ambulance to another hospital that were able to take pre-32 week babies. I had a steroid injection to open up my babies lungs in case I did go into early labour, and was hooked up on an IV to prevent against infection. My dad took my husband to get some clothes, take back the car, and get the dog. And then my husband and I left by ambulance and drove and flew 3-4 hours to get to another hospital.
We arrived at about midnight and the nurse put her hand on my stomach. She asked if I could feel the contractions, which of course I could, but I said I couldn't. I was not ready to deliver my little baby and all I wanted to do was sleep.
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