Twenty years ago, I was a 12 year old. A sixth grader at East Middle School in Plymouth, MI.
Twenty years ago, my oldest niece was just 5 months old. She was just starting to crawl.
Twenty years ago, Whitney Houston's cover of "I Will Always Love You" was #1 on the Billboard Hot 100. For fun, #3 was "Rump Shaker".
Twenty years ago yesterday, it was a Saturday, and there was nothing weird in my life whatsoever. Except my brothers.
Twenty years ago today, I was suddenly paralyzed. (missed the post on that?)
Every year, as December 20th approaches, I always feel sort of odd. Its always been just a normal pre-Christmas day, but with this little gray raincloud in my head. Not that I've always been sad or depressed about it, rarely is that the case, but it just has that somber sense of importance; like a holiday that nobody gets the day off for. You know something happened, and it was important enough, but the only people who take note are the people who were affected.
That was a horribly stupid analogy. Sorry.
When I was first paralyzed, the doctors told me that if after six months, I wasn't walking "like normal", I never would again. I never really let that bother me, because long after six months had passed, even in more recent years, I've had changes in sensation or movement or strength. You just don't say "never", because how could they ever know "never" is a certainty? They don't.
But, twenty years have passed now, and I can't help but hear that "never" knocking around in my head, with an image of my old neurologist, Dr. Nelson, wearing a sour "I told you so" face. When I was 16, ON my birthday, I went into her office for an annual check up. I grabbed her desk, stood up and beamed. She sat there, smug, and said that it didn't mean anything. Well, maybe it didn't mean anything to her, but it meant something to me. I never saw her again after that. And she sucks, so I don't ever want to think about her again. Ever.
Just after Thanksgiving, I turned 32. It seems so strange when I think about the fact that I've been in a wheelchair longer than I was ever not in one. Maybe the time of year, and the 20th anniversary is why the whole house-hunt seems to be hitting me so much harder. Maybe it has nothing to do with it.
This post doesn't really have a point, mostly just reflection, I guess. If I could change things, if I could go back 20 years ago and have it never happen, would I? That's the loaded question. I think there are a lot of things in my life that wouldn't have ever happened if I'd not been paralyzed. I'm pretty well certain that Matt and I wouldn't have met, which means Travis wouldn't be here either. There are people I'd have never had in my life, experiences I wouldn't trade, so no, I probably wouldn't change it. I might change some other things that might make things a little easier for my future-self, but it is what it is. I still believe that God doesn't give us more than we can handle. So I guess I just keep on handling things the way I have been for 20 years. I've made it this far, anyway.
Thursday, December 20, 2012
Sunday, December 16, 2012
The NICU: Part Three - Coming Home
My first Mother's Day was not the way you think a first Mother's Day should go. There was no champagne brunch, no flowers, no extra cuddles. We came home from the NICU exhausted, napped most of the afternoon away, and then went back to the NICU. We clung tightly to the notion that very soon, within the next few days, Travis would be coming home with us, but we still didn't know exactly when.
Monday, Mom and I went to lunch before heading up to the hospital, and I was on edge, checking my phone every ten seconds, in case the hospital called to say "Today is the day!" They did not, but we came home Monday night knowing that Tuesday would be the day Travis would finally come home.
I'm not really sure how we got any sleep that night. We arrived at the NICU Tuesday, mid-morning, and discovered that Travis wasn't where we left him Monday night.When Travis was born, he was in the "E" room, all the way on the far end. As far as I could ever tell, that was one of the two rooms with the babies who needed the most care. About 10 days after he was born, he was moved to the "B" room, which was much closer to the door and a lot less restrictive. Now, on the day he was coming home, he was back in the "E" room. For a moment, I was nervous. Had something happened in the night? Were we not taking him home after all?
Thankfully, it turned out to be a space issue. Someone else needed the "B" room, and since he was only going to be in the NICU a short time that day, Travis was moved where there was room for him. Thank goodness. We changed him into his coming home outfit and then...we waited. The nurses and doctors were going through their morning meeting, notes on all the patients. In the meantime, a few nurses emptied the freezer of my breast milk stash. I don't know why, to this day, I felt embarrassed by how much there was in that freezer. It took up almost the entire little red wagon. It would have filled it, but that's where the car seat had to go for our walk-out. After what seemed like ages, we signed a few pieces of paper and were walked out of the hospital. FINALLY.
I'm sure I'm not the first person to notice how bumpy every road seems to be, until there is a newborn in the car, right?
I feel sad to say that a lot of his first few weeks are kind of a blur. I remember bits and pieces. Unnecessary diaper changes, totally overdressing the baby. Sleeping the first few days with the bedroom fan off, the A/C set warmer than we were used to and, believe it or not, with the light on. All we knew was that it was a comfortable, consistent 78 in the NICU and it never seemed to be very dark. We didn't know better, we just wanted to make our home HIS home, and make him as comfortable as he seemed to be in the NICU. We got over that phase within the first week, we were tired and it was already hot.
NICU parents are given a lot of instructions when leaving the hospital. We were lucky that the only things Travis had to deal with when we came home was a stuffy nose and prescription nose drops and the (very expensive) formula that he was still on. No equipment or major health issues, we were (and are!) very blessed. Something else that the NICU staff recommends is to limit travel. With any newborn, but with preemies especially. With RSV, whooping cough, colds, flus and you name it, limiting exposure to germs is pretty important. Some parents are urged to not travel anywhere for a year. The only trips out of the house Travis made in his first month home were trips to the pediatrician for more frequent-than-normal checkups. Matt or Mom would go grocery shopping at first, since I wasn't cleared to drive until about 8 weeks after delivery. Socializing was cut down to nothing. If you invited me somewhere, I'm sorry, but I'm staying home with my son. I spent too long just trying to get him BORN safely, then long enough with him living somewhere else, to just up and leave, and I wasn't about to bring him out to a noisy shop, restaurant or bar. What kind of parent does that? And a friend who would expect someone to do this is not a friend at all.
Travis was home for a month before I was able to start nursing. That was hard. The formula he was on was very expensive and only sold by the case. At $140 per case, it was really digging into our budget. There was a reason I had hoped to breastfeed: beyond the many health benefits, formula is expensive, and the only one he'd been able to tolerate was more than double the cost per can than the store-bought stuff. It still hurt to know that the ONLY thing I'd felt able to provide for him - breast milk - this whole time, when he was in the NICU, when he came home - was something he couldn't have. Around 4 weeks after bringing him home, we had our first visit from the Neonatal Intensive Care Program nurse. The NICP is a program offered in the state of Arizona for any child who spends more than 2 weeks in the NICU. The nurse helps with the transition from the NICU to home, and helps track infants in a number of areas (growth/health, development, etc) to make sure things are going well, and if not, to refer the parents to the proper care.
Our nurse, Jackie, is amazing. She's also a certified lactation consultant, and she helped me immensely. Her first visit was on a Friday. By Monday, Travis was nursing exclusively. No more $140 cases of formula! Which was great, because around this time, he started eating a LOT more. We'd have been going through multiple cases per week, and our insurance only reimbursed us for approximately ONE CAN. Gee. Thanks. Travis doesn't see Jackie very much anymore, but he knows her by name and loves when she comes over "to play". She was really a Godsend, and it was great to have someone to call on when I had a quick question, without feeling like I was driving my pediatrician up the wall.
I would say it took all summer to really feel like we'd gotten into a good, regular groove with Travis. By the end of July, he was tipping the scales at almost 11lbs. I'd had to figure out how to carry Travis on my lap or in my arms and still push my chair around one handed. Until he was able to sit up on his own, it took me a good while to get that under control. If I went anywhere with him on my own, even to the mailbox, it meant putting him in his car seat, then on his stroller. Sometimes, that was the only way I could even get to the bathroom. He didn't much appreciate being left in a room alone for a potty break. He still seems to think he has to help me in the bathroom, but at least he's already learned that we ALWAYS wash our hands after we go potty, lol.
We learned that he loved Elvis and most of the pop/rock from the 50's. He hated classical music. He loved to cuddle and loved his bath. He was generally a happy baby, and we were certainly enjoying every second of every day. More than anything, Matt and I were just thrilled to finally feel like a family, when "touch time" was whenever WE wanted to. When looking into his crib meant only sitting up in my own bed. When he was home.
Monday, Mom and I went to lunch before heading up to the hospital, and I was on edge, checking my phone every ten seconds, in case the hospital called to say "Today is the day!" They did not, but we came home Monday night knowing that Tuesday would be the day Travis would finally come home.
I'm not really sure how we got any sleep that night. We arrived at the NICU Tuesday, mid-morning, and discovered that Travis wasn't where we left him Monday night.When Travis was born, he was in the "E" room, all the way on the far end. As far as I could ever tell, that was one of the two rooms with the babies who needed the most care. About 10 days after he was born, he was moved to the "B" room, which was much closer to the door and a lot less restrictive. Now, on the day he was coming home, he was back in the "E" room. For a moment, I was nervous. Had something happened in the night? Were we not taking him home after all?
Thankfully, it turned out to be a space issue. Someone else needed the "B" room, and since he was only going to be in the NICU a short time that day, Travis was moved where there was room for him. Thank goodness. We changed him into his coming home outfit and then...we waited. The nurses and doctors were going through their morning meeting, notes on all the patients. In the meantime, a few nurses emptied the freezer of my breast milk stash. I don't know why, to this day, I felt embarrassed by how much there was in that freezer. It took up almost the entire little red wagon. It would have filled it, but that's where the car seat had to go for our walk-out. After what seemed like ages, we signed a few pieces of paper and were walked out of the hospital. FINALLY.
I'm sure I'm not the first person to notice how bumpy every road seems to be, until there is a newborn in the car, right?
I feel sad to say that a lot of his first few weeks are kind of a blur. I remember bits and pieces. Unnecessary diaper changes, totally overdressing the baby. Sleeping the first few days with the bedroom fan off, the A/C set warmer than we were used to and, believe it or not, with the light on. All we knew was that it was a comfortable, consistent 78 in the NICU and it never seemed to be very dark. We didn't know better, we just wanted to make our home HIS home, and make him as comfortable as he seemed to be in the NICU. We got over that phase within the first week, we were tired and it was already hot.
NICU parents are given a lot of instructions when leaving the hospital. We were lucky that the only things Travis had to deal with when we came home was a stuffy nose and prescription nose drops and the (very expensive) formula that he was still on. No equipment or major health issues, we were (and are!) very blessed. Something else that the NICU staff recommends is to limit travel. With any newborn, but with preemies especially. With RSV, whooping cough, colds, flus and you name it, limiting exposure to germs is pretty important. Some parents are urged to not travel anywhere for a year. The only trips out of the house Travis made in his first month home were trips to the pediatrician for more frequent-than-normal checkups. Matt or Mom would go grocery shopping at first, since I wasn't cleared to drive until about 8 weeks after delivery. Socializing was cut down to nothing. If you invited me somewhere, I'm sorry, but I'm staying home with my son. I spent too long just trying to get him BORN safely, then long enough with him living somewhere else, to just up and leave, and I wasn't about to bring him out to a noisy shop, restaurant or bar. What kind of parent does that? And a friend who would expect someone to do this is not a friend at all.
Travis was home for a month before I was able to start nursing. That was hard. The formula he was on was very expensive and only sold by the case. At $140 per case, it was really digging into our budget. There was a reason I had hoped to breastfeed: beyond the many health benefits, formula is expensive, and the only one he'd been able to tolerate was more than double the cost per can than the store-bought stuff. It still hurt to know that the ONLY thing I'd felt able to provide for him - breast milk - this whole time, when he was in the NICU, when he came home - was something he couldn't have. Around 4 weeks after bringing him home, we had our first visit from the Neonatal Intensive Care Program nurse. The NICP is a program offered in the state of Arizona for any child who spends more than 2 weeks in the NICU. The nurse helps with the transition from the NICU to home, and helps track infants in a number of areas (growth/health, development, etc) to make sure things are going well, and if not, to refer the parents to the proper care.
Our nurse, Jackie, is amazing. She's also a certified lactation consultant, and she helped me immensely. Her first visit was on a Friday. By Monday, Travis was nursing exclusively. No more $140 cases of formula! Which was great, because around this time, he started eating a LOT more. We'd have been going through multiple cases per week, and our insurance only reimbursed us for approximately ONE CAN. Gee. Thanks. Travis doesn't see Jackie very much anymore, but he knows her by name and loves when she comes over "to play". She was really a Godsend, and it was great to have someone to call on when I had a quick question, without feeling like I was driving my pediatrician up the wall.
I would say it took all summer to really feel like we'd gotten into a good, regular groove with Travis. By the end of July, he was tipping the scales at almost 11lbs. I'd had to figure out how to carry Travis on my lap or in my arms and still push my chair around one handed. Until he was able to sit up on his own, it took me a good while to get that under control. If I went anywhere with him on my own, even to the mailbox, it meant putting him in his car seat, then on his stroller. Sometimes, that was the only way I could even get to the bathroom. He didn't much appreciate being left in a room alone for a potty break. He still seems to think he has to help me in the bathroom, but at least he's already learned that we ALWAYS wash our hands after we go potty, lol.
We learned that he loved Elvis and most of the pop/rock from the 50's. He hated classical music. He loved to cuddle and loved his bath. He was generally a happy baby, and we were certainly enjoying every second of every day. More than anything, Matt and I were just thrilled to finally feel like a family, when "touch time" was whenever WE wanted to. When looking into his crib meant only sitting up in my own bed. When he was home.
Wednesday, December 12, 2012
On the move. Again.
A few months after Travis was born, my mom and step-dad moved from Michigan out to Arizona. Mom wanted to be close by to help with Travis when we needed her (and boy did we need her, thanks Mom!) After living in our Scottsdale apartment for almost five years, we were ready to move, and we decided to all move in together as one large household. Seemed like a way for everyone to save a little, to be more available to help out. We started house hunting, with an unusual set of parameters - it needed to be big enough for all of us, which meant 4 bedrooms at least, it needed to have something at least a little like a second master bedroom, it needed to have a little separation of some kind, and most importantly, it needed to be accessible.
There were a few houses that fit almost every aspect. One, not too far from where we lived at that time, was a nice decrease in rent, had a separate apartment built where the garage once had been, with a kitchenette and a separate entrance. But it wasn't accessible. Not even close, and the homeowner was not willing to allow us to make changes to the house. (we have since learned that they HAVE to allow us to make changes, but well, you know what they say about hindsight.)
After two months, I was frustrated. You drive out to house after house after house, walk in, love everything you see, and can't get into the bathrooms. Eventually, we started checking the bathrooms before even looking at the rest of the house. Listings that were flagged "disability features" usually were wrong; that can mean anything from fully handicap accessible to just simply a single story home. Rarely do I feel dragged down my by disability, but by this point, I felt defeated. My mom, when she was in real estate, sometimes had buyers who spent months looking for the "perfect" home, with problems like "that kitchen is too small" or "but I don't want a carport" or "the feng shui just isn't right here". I know a lot of my own friends who have had lengthy searches for houses to rent or to buy, but sorry, I'm not about to feel any sympathy. You can bitch up and down about not finding a house you LIKE, but talk to me when you find houses with bathrooms and closets that are completely off limits to you. The bathrooms may as well have four solid walls with no doors and no way in. Let me tell you, it sucks, a lot.
Finally, we found our needle in a haystack. The owners of the home have a son in a wheelchair, and so much of the house was accessible. Sure, some of the doors are snug, I've smashed my fingers a number of times, but I still fit. There's a separate suite with a bath and a half for Mom, with a front and back door, plus the garage. It was a little higher than our hoped-for price, but considering that it fit everything else, we figured we would make it work, and we moved in at the end of February (well, everyone else moved. i rested, having a horrible case of pneumonia, and more than a week of temperatures over 103.)
And now, 10 months later, we're likely moving again. The household, it would seem, just doesn't appear to be functioning together the way it should. Nobody helps each other. Everybody points the finger at everyone else. Nobody accepts any responsibility for anything. A lot of "pot calling the kettle black" situations. Mom and my step-dad found a place to rent, and Matt and I have started apartment hunting again. We won't bother looking for another house; I just don't have it in me to waste another two months, and over the holidays again. To be honest, I'm still a little resentful about the situation and the fact that I have to move again. Its not the apartment hunting or the packing or the unpacking or the cleaning that bothers me. Its that I feel like nobody seems to understand what it all means.
To Matt, it's the annoyance of packing and all that other stuff I just said, but also having his own space a little more like he's used to.
To Mom and Jim, it's having more space, feeling more able to spread out and be comfortable.
To me, it means I lose.
This house is practically perfect. Hardwood floors almost throughout, mean that I don't wear down the carpet or wear out my shoulders pushing through padding. Doors I can get through mean none of the spaces I need are off limits to me. Lots of cabinets and built in shelves/storage mean that the things I want to access quickly - my pantry, my books, etc - are all easy for me to get to. Everyone else gets what they want, and I get to give up that feeling of freedom and independence that this house has afforded me where other apartments have fallen short.
It doesn't help matters much that, when apartment hunting, we still have to be so specific. Because of the ADA laws, any building built after 1990 has to be accessible. Great, but that doesn't mean it has to be available, does it? We've found two apartments we like quite a lot. Trouble is, they don't have a three bedroom available yet. Or if they do, its on the second or third floor. I lose again. If you run an apartment search in Mesa (with a 10 mile radius) for our preferred rent/bedrooms, you come up with somewhere around 350 communities. If you add in "accessible" as a feature, it cuts down to 37. The same search for houses for rent comes up with about 170 homes. Add in "single story", it brings it down to 120 homes. Add in "disability features" (which again, is very vague), and that number whittles down to exactly ZERO. Where am I supposed to live?
I'm sure you're thinking I'm being overly dramatic, but I can't help the way I feel. I'm the only one who still thinks the house situation can work IF the other people in the house pitch in more and everyone stops bitching at each other. I don't want to lose the house we worked so freaking hard to find, because to me, it is much more than a house.
There were a few houses that fit almost every aspect. One, not too far from where we lived at that time, was a nice decrease in rent, had a separate apartment built where the garage once had been, with a kitchenette and a separate entrance. But it wasn't accessible. Not even close, and the homeowner was not willing to allow us to make changes to the house. (we have since learned that they HAVE to allow us to make changes, but well, you know what they say about hindsight.)
After two months, I was frustrated. You drive out to house after house after house, walk in, love everything you see, and can't get into the bathrooms. Eventually, we started checking the bathrooms before even looking at the rest of the house. Listings that were flagged "disability features" usually were wrong; that can mean anything from fully handicap accessible to just simply a single story home. Rarely do I feel dragged down my by disability, but by this point, I felt defeated. My mom, when she was in real estate, sometimes had buyers who spent months looking for the "perfect" home, with problems like "that kitchen is too small" or "but I don't want a carport" or "the feng shui just isn't right here". I know a lot of my own friends who have had lengthy searches for houses to rent or to buy, but sorry, I'm not about to feel any sympathy. You can bitch up and down about not finding a house you LIKE, but talk to me when you find houses with bathrooms and closets that are completely off limits to you. The bathrooms may as well have four solid walls with no doors and no way in. Let me tell you, it sucks, a lot.
Finally, we found our needle in a haystack. The owners of the home have a son in a wheelchair, and so much of the house was accessible. Sure, some of the doors are snug, I've smashed my fingers a number of times, but I still fit. There's a separate suite with a bath and a half for Mom, with a front and back door, plus the garage. It was a little higher than our hoped-for price, but considering that it fit everything else, we figured we would make it work, and we moved in at the end of February (well, everyone else moved. i rested, having a horrible case of pneumonia, and more than a week of temperatures over 103.)
And now, 10 months later, we're likely moving again. The household, it would seem, just doesn't appear to be functioning together the way it should. Nobody helps each other. Everybody points the finger at everyone else. Nobody accepts any responsibility for anything. A lot of "pot calling the kettle black" situations. Mom and my step-dad found a place to rent, and Matt and I have started apartment hunting again. We won't bother looking for another house; I just don't have it in me to waste another two months, and over the holidays again. To be honest, I'm still a little resentful about the situation and the fact that I have to move again. Its not the apartment hunting or the packing or the unpacking or the cleaning that bothers me. Its that I feel like nobody seems to understand what it all means.
To Matt, it's the annoyance of packing and all that other stuff I just said, but also having his own space a little more like he's used to.
To Mom and Jim, it's having more space, feeling more able to spread out and be comfortable.
To me, it means I lose.
This house is practically perfect. Hardwood floors almost throughout, mean that I don't wear down the carpet or wear out my shoulders pushing through padding. Doors I can get through mean none of the spaces I need are off limits to me. Lots of cabinets and built in shelves/storage mean that the things I want to access quickly - my pantry, my books, etc - are all easy for me to get to. Everyone else gets what they want, and I get to give up that feeling of freedom and independence that this house has afforded me where other apartments have fallen short.
It doesn't help matters much that, when apartment hunting, we still have to be so specific. Because of the ADA laws, any building built after 1990 has to be accessible. Great, but that doesn't mean it has to be available, does it? We've found two apartments we like quite a lot. Trouble is, they don't have a three bedroom available yet. Or if they do, its on the second or third floor. I lose again. If you run an apartment search in Mesa (with a 10 mile radius) for our preferred rent/bedrooms, you come up with somewhere around 350 communities. If you add in "accessible" as a feature, it cuts down to 37. The same search for houses for rent comes up with about 170 homes. Add in "single story", it brings it down to 120 homes. Add in "disability features" (which again, is very vague), and that number whittles down to exactly ZERO. Where am I supposed to live?
I'm sure you're thinking I'm being overly dramatic, but I can't help the way I feel. I'm the only one who still thinks the house situation can work IF the other people in the house pitch in more and everyone stops bitching at each other. I don't want to lose the house we worked so freaking hard to find, because to me, it is much more than a house.
Tuesday, December 4, 2012
Whoops
I bet you thought I forgot this blog existed :)
Holidays. Gotta love 'em, right? My last post was the day before we drove to New Mexico. We left on Wednesday, drove home on Saturday, arrived home around 11pm Saturday night. We were out all day Sunday (and happy birthday to Matt and me!). Monday, Matt started working an event in downtown Phoenix, so Travis and I stayed at the hotel with him Monday and Tuesday. Wednesday was just plain busy, Thursday was trying to get Travis back on some sort of schedule. Matt was home Friday-Sunday. We were out all day yesterday, and that brings us to today, except only just, because I only had time enough to post just this short "hello!"
I will be finishing up the NICU - Coming Home post, hopefully this week, and getting that published, and I have LOTS to say about Thanksgiving and our visit to the Phoenix Children's Museum, so please stay tuned!
Holidays. Gotta love 'em, right? My last post was the day before we drove to New Mexico. We left on Wednesday, drove home on Saturday, arrived home around 11pm Saturday night. We were out all day Sunday (and happy birthday to Matt and me!). Monday, Matt started working an event in downtown Phoenix, so Travis and I stayed at the hotel with him Monday and Tuesday. Wednesday was just plain busy, Thursday was trying to get Travis back on some sort of schedule. Matt was home Friday-Sunday. We were out all day yesterday, and that brings us to today, except only just, because I only had time enough to post just this short "hello!"
I will be finishing up the NICU - Coming Home post, hopefully this week, and getting that published, and I have LOTS to say about Thanksgiving and our visit to the Phoenix Children's Museum, so please stay tuned!
Tuesday, November 20, 2012
Happy Thanksgiving!
Happy Thanksgiving! I hope you get to enjoy it with the people you love the most! I am working on the NICU: Coming Home post, or at least, I'm trying to, Travis has been a little nap resistant lately, and with all the stuff we've had going on, its been hard to get it typed out!
Time to get back to packing! Happy Thanksgiving!
Time to get back to packing! Happy Thanksgiving!
Monday, November 19, 2012
Five Things You Probably Didn't Know About Me
1. Biggest pet peeve regarding talking about my disability? People
hitting me in the leg and asking "did you feel that?" Yeah. It happens.
Yes. I felt it.
2. I went to show choir camp in 1994.
Complete with jazz hands. I think I was the first person in a wheelchair
to ever attend, but don't quote me on that. Our choreographer, Kye
Brackett was awesome. I think he had to change almost ALL of the
choreography to better include me and feature more arm movements, and I
loved every minute of it. I'd go back now if they'd let me!
3.
When I was around 11 years old, I got a letter back from one of those
magazine art school ads. They said if I'd been 18, I would have been
accepted. They should probably know that I traced the picture of the
turtle.
4. Matt and I met online, in an AOL chat room
called "Disaffected" (ha!), in 1997. We didn't meet in person until
1999, in Disneyland. The first thing I thought when I saw him? "He's
shorter than I thought he would be."
5.
I am allergic to rum. This is very sad, many delicious sounding drinks
are made with rum. It is entirely too painful of a reaction to just
suffer through it.
Aren't you so glad to know these things?
Friday, November 16, 2012
Poetry. I write it.
I thought I might share a
poem or two that I've written once in a while. Some of them are fairly obvious in subject. Others require an explanation you will not find here. Sorry. Some are newish. Some
are old. Ancient even. I wrote a lot more in my late teens. Probably
because the internet was so boring then.
So here you go. Please enjoy and do not judge. Or copy ;)
Fun fact: You'll notice that I wrote these two exactly 14 years apart.
Untitled 8.16.98
I wondered what it was
about you that made me nervous
but I let you kiss me
anyway.
I just closed my eyes
and let it all happen.
Now, you glance at me,
only when you think
she can’t see you.
"New Shoes" 8.16.12
The way you held my hand
was not tender or even kind.
But full of malice
and you would not
let me go.
I poured my heart out
to you, but it spilled
and sloshed
and splashed
and made a mess of things.
You were upset;
it had soiled your new shoes.
shiny and black.
The ones you bought
just to walk all over me.
So here you go. Please enjoy and do not judge. Or copy ;)
Fun fact: You'll notice that I wrote these two exactly 14 years apart.
Untitled 8.16.98
I wondered what it was
about you that made me nervous
but I let you kiss me
anyway.
I just closed my eyes
and let it all happen.
Now, you glance at me,
only when you think
she can’t see you.
"New Shoes" 8.16.12
The way you held my hand
was not tender or even kind.
But full of malice
and you would not
let me go.
I poured my heart out
to you, but it spilled
and sloshed
and splashed
and made a mess of things.
You were upset;
it had soiled your new shoes.
shiny and black.
The ones you bought
just to walk all over me.
Wednesday, November 14, 2012
Doses of Reality
You know that feeling you have when you're a little kid, when your parents are the center of the universe and you know they're always going to be there for you? It sucks when you realize that that feeling is about the farthest thing from reality. Obviously, in my early 30's, I know that nobody lives forever and that at some point in our lives, we all lose our parents. Thankfully, that hasn't happened yet, but in the last three weeks, and in the last two hours, reality has pretty much clocked me on the head.
At the beginning of November, my "healthy as a horse" (yet longtime smoker. Figure that out.) father was admitted to the hospital. Thought he had a touch of the flu, felt rotten. Turns out his appendix had ruptured and his abdomen was filled with toxins. He spent a little more than a week in the ICU. He's still in the hospital recovering, and is doing much better, but does not yet have discharge plans. By the way, he's in Chicago. From my door to the hospital, he is 1,742 miles away. I struggled with the decision on going up there or not. Actually, I'm still struggling with this decision. Obviously, I have not yet made the trip. If I get there when he is home, I can't do a thing. I can't even get in his house. OK fine, I know me. I can get in his house, by myself, but it wouldn't be the easiest thing to do, and while there is no snow on the ground now, I don't think I need to tell you that cement steps in Chicago in November are COLD. Do I go while he's in ICU? How dire is this situation? The nurses told me "Not dire. You don't need to come up right away." But then when? What exactly can I do when I get there? Not much. Just a lot of sitting, and probably getting my ear chewed off by Dad about how I shouldn't have spent the money to come visit. Matt can't get time off for work, so it would just be me. Or would I have to take Travis? No, I'm not ready to fly by myself with him. I need help on the plane when I'm alone, I can't carry my own stupid suitcase when I'm alone, so how in the heck do I wrangle a 19 month old, a car seat, a suitcase, etc? So my mom offered to come and help, should I decide to go.
Today, my mom is AT the hospital. She hasn't been admitted, they're just running some tests. Mom has a pretty painful nerve disorder and it has been causing her some problems lately, and her doctor preferred to send her to the hospital for testing. Now I'm sure she'll be fine, certainly in the short term, but this afternoon, I felt like I was hit by the Reality Truck. Both of my parents in the hospital at the same time? No thank you. This evening, before Matt came home from work, when it was just Travis, Mommy and The Little Mermaid for the second time this afternoon, I broke down. Everything about it sucks. Do I go to Chicago to be with my dad? Do I stay here so I can help my mom? Can I just run away somewhere and be on a tropical island, with a very large vodka-based drink in my hand?
I don't even have a point to this post at all, but if you read this, maybe just say a prayer or two for my family, and if they're near, hug your own parents. And kids. And siblings. And if they're not near, pick up the phone and call them to say "I love you." Yes, you even have to call your annoying brother and say "I love you, doofus."
At the beginning of November, my "healthy as a horse" (yet longtime smoker. Figure that out.) father was admitted to the hospital. Thought he had a touch of the flu, felt rotten. Turns out his appendix had ruptured and his abdomen was filled with toxins. He spent a little more than a week in the ICU. He's still in the hospital recovering, and is doing much better, but does not yet have discharge plans. By the way, he's in Chicago. From my door to the hospital, he is 1,742 miles away. I struggled with the decision on going up there or not. Actually, I'm still struggling with this decision. Obviously, I have not yet made the trip. If I get there when he is home, I can't do a thing. I can't even get in his house. OK fine, I know me. I can get in his house, by myself, but it wouldn't be the easiest thing to do, and while there is no snow on the ground now, I don't think I need to tell you that cement steps in Chicago in November are COLD. Do I go while he's in ICU? How dire is this situation? The nurses told me "Not dire. You don't need to come up right away." But then when? What exactly can I do when I get there? Not much. Just a lot of sitting, and probably getting my ear chewed off by Dad about how I shouldn't have spent the money to come visit. Matt can't get time off for work, so it would just be me. Or would I have to take Travis? No, I'm not ready to fly by myself with him. I need help on the plane when I'm alone, I can't carry my own stupid suitcase when I'm alone, so how in the heck do I wrangle a 19 month old, a car seat, a suitcase, etc? So my mom offered to come and help, should I decide to go.
Today, my mom is AT the hospital. She hasn't been admitted, they're just running some tests. Mom has a pretty painful nerve disorder and it has been causing her some problems lately, and her doctor preferred to send her to the hospital for testing. Now I'm sure she'll be fine, certainly in the short term, but this afternoon, I felt like I was hit by the Reality Truck. Both of my parents in the hospital at the same time? No thank you. This evening, before Matt came home from work, when it was just Travis, Mommy and The Little Mermaid for the second time this afternoon, I broke down. Everything about it sucks. Do I go to Chicago to be with my dad? Do I stay here so I can help my mom? Can I just run away somewhere and be on a tropical island, with a very large vodka-based drink in my hand?
I don't even have a point to this post at all, but if you read this, maybe just say a prayer or two for my family, and if they're near, hug your own parents. And kids. And siblings. And if they're not near, pick up the phone and call them to say "I love you." Yes, you even have to call your annoying brother and say "I love you, doofus."
Friday, November 9, 2012
The NICU: Part Two
We
learned so much from the NICU nurses. Preemies are very easily
overstimulated, so while you might be tempted to stroke your newborn’s
soft skin, the parents of a premature baby are told not to. Touch is
good, but still, almost firm, as if to say “Hey, I’m here, and that’s
all that matters.” Because of that over-stimulation, our NICU had
specific “touch times”. While we could spend all day at his bedside if
we wanted, the only time we could hold him was scheduled, and scheduled
around his feedings. Those were the times when he was checked over and
bothered a little more than normal. We were encouraged to be the ones to
care for him, taking his temperature and changing his tiny, preemie
diapers. I was blessed with a hearty supply of breast milk and quickly
filled the NICU freezer, and my own. Unfortunately, after a week or two,
Travis suddenly wasn’t tolerating my milk, and he was switched to
formula. It got worse, and he was switched to another formula.
Meanwhile, I kept pumping. And pumping. I grew bitter and resentful of
the pump, and of the nurses who gave me a hard time about how much room I
was taking up in the freezer. The hospital lactation consultant wasn’t
much help, her advice seemed to suggest I was getting TOO much milk, as
if that was a bad thing. I was frustrated and hurt.
Within his first ten days, Travis was moved to another room and to an open-air crib, which meant he was maintaining his own body temperature. This was excellent progress. Typically, there are around 3 big steps to get out of the NICU and go home: Not needing oxygen is a big one (though some babies DO come home on oxygen), maintaining his own body temperature, and learning how to eat. The Suck/Swallow/Breathe process is a difficult one for preemies! First two steps were completed fairly quickly, so it should be any day now to bring Travis home, right? Unfortunately, feeding was a challenge. Travis was still not tolerating my breast milk, which was causing some upset stomach issues that had to be resolved first. He kept pulling his own feeding tube out. There were a few nurses who were more conservative in their care, and were hesitant to let Travis try to bottle feed. Pairing that with the stuffy nose he developed, many of the nurses seemed content in just using his feeding tube, and wouldn’t hear us when we said “but he’s showing signs of readiness! Please just let us try!” When Travis was around three weeks old, I called for a progress report, as I did every morning before coming in each afternoon, I learned that he’d taken most of his overnight feed by bottle. I was ELATED. I couldn’t get there fast enough that afternoon, and that evening, Matt filmed as I fed Travis a bottle for the first time.
It seemed like every time we would take a step forward, we took two steps back. Travis would do really well with bottle feeding, but his stuffy nose would get worse, and then he wouldn’t take a bottle at all. They would start slowly reintroducing breast milk, and his stomach would get worse. It was a long process. We loved being able to give him a bottle, it finally seemed like we were able to be parents, versus just sitting in a room with a baby. Going home was disorienting. I still hated leaving him every night, but it was never a sad feeling. All of our nurses would tell us he was really quite healthy, as far as preemies usually go, he was just born early. We were told that once his feeding tube came out, most babies would go home within about 48 hours, so just in case, we tried to get everything as ready as possible when we weren’t at the hospital.
On Saturday, May 7th, we started our day early, with a very long list of errands we wanted to get done. Matt, Mom and I went to Village Coffee Roastery for breakfast before heading to the hospital. We’d heard about them on a local radio show, and were anxious to try the John Wayne - a double espresso shot layered with heavy cream and a vanilla syrup. It was amazing. Matt and I each had two, (you read that right. We each had TWO double espresso shots. Please remember this.) and then went up to the hospital. Upon our arrival, we noticed something different about Travis.
His feeding tube was gone!!
My beautiful baby boy, no longer tangled in tubes and wires and sensors and tape. I felt like I was seeing him for the first time, and it was incredible. I wiped tears from my eyes and wanted to sing at the top of my lungs, I was so excited. The nurse sat down with us and started giving us instructions. We were given the option to stay overnight in the suite they had in the NICU - two very hotel-like rooms at the end of the hall. Its sort of a “trial run” before you take your baby home. The nurses are there at the push of a button if you need help (again, some babies go home just fine, but some go home with medications, on oxygen or other medical equipment) and you are fully responsible - finally - for all of baby’s needs before you go home. Our nurse needed us to bring in his car seat for the “car seat test”, to make sure none of his vital stats dropped once he was strapped in. Some situations can cause a newborn’s chest to become compressed, or his airway blocked, and this is just one final step out the NICU door. Pass the 60 minute car seat challenge, and you’ve pretty much got a green light to go home. (Review car seat safety here!) We also needed to go home and pack an overnight bag to stay at the hospital.
Now, you may recall the two double espresso shots Matt and I had at breakfast. I sat in front of the nurse, trying hard to listen to all of her instructions, and realized that I was hearing a muffled buzzing sound. I looked over at Matt, and he was actually bouncing, from one foot to the other, back and forth. Neither of us could sit still, we were both so hopped up on caffeine and excitement. We stayed for his lunch feeding, then left to get everything we needed done, done. We rushed through every errand, none of them seemed terribly important anymore, and by late afternoon, we were headed back to the hospital. After getting a few more instructions, Melva, one of our favorite nurses, led us down the hall with Travis in his bed. No more monitors, no more tubes, no more beeping anything. Just Travis and his parents.
And collectively, I think we all got about forty-five minutes of sleep that night.
What an experience!! Matt and I were so elated to finally have Travis, even if we were still in the hospital. But as all new parents learn, that first night with the baby is not a peaceful, slumbering, cozy night. Travis, like most babies, was a very noisy sleeper. Lots of sighs, little cries, and he still had a stuffy nose. Travis was still on formula, which had to be kept with the nurses, so any time he needed to eat, we had to call the nurse. The formula had to be used within an hour, any longer and it had to be thrown away. I think, unfortunately, we wasted a lot of formula that night, and poor Melva walked up and down that hall about fifteen times. Travis just wouldn't sleep, but he wasn't wet and he didn't seem to want anything we could offer him, so we figured he must have been hungry, but he wasn't. It was a very long and exhausting night. Matt and I dozed in shifts, and by dawn, we were both completely spent.
We were allowed to stay in the suite all day if we wanted, but we were both so tired, there was just no way it could happen. And while I knew the next morning wasn't the day Travis was coming home, after having him to ourselves all night, taking him back to his room and to the care of the nurses didn't feel right. I felt like a failure. He should have had a better night. We should have had a better night. I should have known what I was doing. I knew that most of my emotions were from exhaustion, but my heart was heavy. We arrived home at lunch time, and fell fast asleep. The last thing Matt said to me before we drifted off was "Happy Mother's Day."
Check back soon for The NICU: Part 3 - Bringing Travis HOME!
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| Hanging out with Daddy |
Within his first ten days, Travis was moved to another room and to an open-air crib, which meant he was maintaining his own body temperature. This was excellent progress. Typically, there are around 3 big steps to get out of the NICU and go home: Not needing oxygen is a big one (though some babies DO come home on oxygen), maintaining his own body temperature, and learning how to eat. The Suck/Swallow/Breathe process is a difficult one for preemies! First two steps were completed fairly quickly, so it should be any day now to bring Travis home, right? Unfortunately, feeding was a challenge. Travis was still not tolerating my breast milk, which was causing some upset stomach issues that had to be resolved first. He kept pulling his own feeding tube out. There were a few nurses who were more conservative in their care, and were hesitant to let Travis try to bottle feed. Pairing that with the stuffy nose he developed, many of the nurses seemed content in just using his feeding tube, and wouldn’t hear us when we said “but he’s showing signs of readiness! Please just let us try!” When Travis was around three weeks old, I called for a progress report, as I did every morning before coming in each afternoon, I learned that he’d taken most of his overnight feed by bottle. I was ELATED. I couldn’t get there fast enough that afternoon, and that evening, Matt filmed as I fed Travis a bottle for the first time.
 |
| Um, the VIDEO of this feeding goes here, but I can't get it to upload properly :( |
It seemed like every time we would take a step forward, we took two steps back. Travis would do really well with bottle feeding, but his stuffy nose would get worse, and then he wouldn’t take a bottle at all. They would start slowly reintroducing breast milk, and his stomach would get worse. It was a long process. We loved being able to give him a bottle, it finally seemed like we were able to be parents, versus just sitting in a room with a baby. Going home was disorienting. I still hated leaving him every night, but it was never a sad feeling. All of our nurses would tell us he was really quite healthy, as far as preemies usually go, he was just born early. We were told that once his feeding tube came out, most babies would go home within about 48 hours, so just in case, we tried to get everything as ready as possible when we weren’t at the hospital.
On Saturday, May 7th, we started our day early, with a very long list of errands we wanted to get done. Matt, Mom and I went to Village Coffee Roastery for breakfast before heading to the hospital. We’d heard about them on a local radio show, and were anxious to try the John Wayne - a double espresso shot layered with heavy cream and a vanilla syrup. It was amazing. Matt and I each had two, (you read that right. We each had TWO double espresso shots. Please remember this.) and then went up to the hospital. Upon our arrival, we noticed something different about Travis.
His feeding tube was gone!!
My beautiful baby boy, no longer tangled in tubes and wires and sensors and tape. I felt like I was seeing him for the first time, and it was incredible. I wiped tears from my eyes and wanted to sing at the top of my lungs, I was so excited. The nurse sat down with us and started giving us instructions. We were given the option to stay overnight in the suite they had in the NICU - two very hotel-like rooms at the end of the hall. Its sort of a “trial run” before you take your baby home. The nurses are there at the push of a button if you need help (again, some babies go home just fine, but some go home with medications, on oxygen or other medical equipment) and you are fully responsible - finally - for all of baby’s needs before you go home. Our nurse needed us to bring in his car seat for the “car seat test”, to make sure none of his vital stats dropped once he was strapped in. Some situations can cause a newborn’s chest to become compressed, or his airway blocked, and this is just one final step out the NICU door. Pass the 60 minute car seat challenge, and you’ve pretty much got a green light to go home. (Review car seat safety here!) We also needed to go home and pack an overnight bag to stay at the hospital.
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| Car Seat Challenge |
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| This is what Travis thinks of the Car Seat Challenge. |
Now, you may recall the two double espresso shots Matt and I had at breakfast. I sat in front of the nurse, trying hard to listen to all of her instructions, and realized that I was hearing a muffled buzzing sound. I looked over at Matt, and he was actually bouncing, from one foot to the other, back and forth. Neither of us could sit still, we were both so hopped up on caffeine and excitement. We stayed for his lunch feeding, then left to get everything we needed done, done. We rushed through every errand, none of them seemed terribly important anymore, and by late afternoon, we were headed back to the hospital. After getting a few more instructions, Melva, one of our favorite nurses, led us down the hall with Travis in his bed. No more monitors, no more tubes, no more beeping anything. Just Travis and his parents.
And collectively, I think we all got about forty-five minutes of sleep that night.
What an experience!! Matt and I were so elated to finally have Travis, even if we were still in the hospital. But as all new parents learn, that first night with the baby is not a peaceful, slumbering, cozy night. Travis, like most babies, was a very noisy sleeper. Lots of sighs, little cries, and he still had a stuffy nose. Travis was still on formula, which had to be kept with the nurses, so any time he needed to eat, we had to call the nurse. The formula had to be used within an hour, any longer and it had to be thrown away. I think, unfortunately, we wasted a lot of formula that night, and poor Melva walked up and down that hall about fifteen times. Travis just wouldn't sleep, but he wasn't wet and he didn't seem to want anything we could offer him, so we figured he must have been hungry, but he wasn't. It was a very long and exhausting night. Matt and I dozed in shifts, and by dawn, we were both completely spent.
We were allowed to stay in the suite all day if we wanted, but we were both so tired, there was just no way it could happen. And while I knew the next morning wasn't the day Travis was coming home, after having him to ourselves all night, taking him back to his room and to the care of the nurses didn't feel right. I felt like a failure. He should have had a better night. We should have had a better night. I should have known what I was doing. I knew that most of my emotions were from exhaustion, but my heart was heavy. We arrived home at lunch time, and fell fast asleep. The last thing Matt said to me before we drifted off was "Happy Mother's Day."
Check back soon for The NICU: Part 3 - Bringing Travis HOME!
Friday, November 2, 2012
The Park
Travis, like most little boys, LOVES to be outside. Now that the weather in Arizona is finally a cool and comfortable 80 degrees, we finally have a chance to go to the park! Our very family friendly neighborhood has both an elementary school and a park, both within a five minute walk. Most weeks, we try to walk to the park at least once.
Though Travis is still a little small for most of the playground equipment, he's learning to enjoy playing in the sand, yelling "dirt!" as it slips through his fingers. So far, the few times we've been to the park, he's stayed pretty close to me, a little tentative of his surroundings and just happy to be outside.
In the last week or so, Travis has very definitely entered The Terrible Twos. He has become more defiant, challenging everything we say, running away giggling and hiding at the simplest of requests - diapers, dinner, you name it. I know that in the past, when Travis is acting out and is very frustrated, its usually because he's bored; less stimulated by his toys, less interested in his surroundings, and these are prime times to head to the park. We get some fresh air, he gets to run his little legs off until he passes out on the walk home, and I get a few hours of quiet time while he naps.
And that's where I'm stuck. I want so badly to take him to the park right now, but I feel like I can't take him alone. If he runs into the grass, I can't get to him easily. If he runs into the sand, I can't get to him at all. He can't climb the playground equipment (yet!) so that's still safe, but if something were to happen - if he fell, if he got stuck - we're both stranded.
This is just one of the frustrations I've encountered, being a mom on wheels. There are places I would love to take him, things I would love to do, that are just plain off limits for me. We can go to the park as a family, and I feel much more comfortable having Matt there to help corral a toddler, but they play on the slide and I watch the diaper bag.
Our pumpkin patch trip was similarly frustrating. Thankfully, it hadn't rained recently, so the ground was hard and dusty and I was able to get around in the dirt, but the mini hay maze? Off limits to Mom. The Petting Zoo? Not accessible. (And covered in animal poo, so that one was OK by me). The owners were really accommodating as far as getting me on the hayride and to the pumpkins, but our planned day of fun on the farm was pretty much "pick a pumpkin, go home" because there just wasn't anything else I could do too.
I know there are things to do around here that are more inclusive - the zoo, the splash pads, the railroad park, etc. But when the things Travis loves are things I can't participate in as easily, it makes it hard to sit on the sidelines.
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| The swings at sunrise |
In the last week or so, Travis has very definitely entered The Terrible Twos. He has become more defiant, challenging everything we say, running away giggling and hiding at the simplest of requests - diapers, dinner, you name it. I know that in the past, when Travis is acting out and is very frustrated, its usually because he's bored; less stimulated by his toys, less interested in his surroundings, and these are prime times to head to the park. We get some fresh air, he gets to run his little legs off until he passes out on the walk home, and I get a few hours of quiet time while he naps.
And that's where I'm stuck. I want so badly to take him to the park right now, but I feel like I can't take him alone. If he runs into the grass, I can't get to him easily. If he runs into the sand, I can't get to him at all. He can't climb the playground equipment (yet!) so that's still safe, but if something were to happen - if he fell, if he got stuck - we're both stranded.
This is just one of the frustrations I've encountered, being a mom on wheels. There are places I would love to take him, things I would love to do, that are just plain off limits for me. We can go to the park as a family, and I feel much more comfortable having Matt there to help corral a toddler, but they play on the slide and I watch the diaper bag.
Our pumpkin patch trip was similarly frustrating. Thankfully, it hadn't rained recently, so the ground was hard and dusty and I was able to get around in the dirt, but the mini hay maze? Off limits to Mom. The Petting Zoo? Not accessible. (And covered in animal poo, so that one was OK by me). The owners were really accommodating as far as getting me on the hayride and to the pumpkins, but our planned day of fun on the farm was pretty much "pick a pumpkin, go home" because there just wasn't anything else I could do too.
I know there are things to do around here that are more inclusive - the zoo, the splash pads, the railroad park, etc. But when the things Travis loves are things I can't participate in as easily, it makes it hard to sit on the sidelines.
Wednesday, October 31, 2012
The NICU: Part One
Unfortunately,
due to circumstances we’ll never know or understand, I wasn’t able to
make it full term, and Travis was born at 31 weeks, 5 days. According to the March of Dimes, in the
United States, 1 in 8 babies is born prematurely. In Arizona, 12.7% of
babies born in 2011 were born before 37 weeks, and Travis was among
them. It definitely wasn’t something we’d planned for, but given my
turbulent pregnancy, we were told to expect it and forced to accept it.
Most women have a picture in their minds about delivering their first babies. Hearing the sweet little cry and being handed a warm, cozy little bundle almost instantly. Getting to nurse as soon as possible. Staring lovingly into the bassinet with your husband by your side. You imagine something like what you’ve seen on TV or in the movies, because that’s all you really know to expect. My experience was nothing like a Hollywood birth. Travis squeaked when he was born, and it was all I could handle, just knowing he was even breathing. He was held up to me, but barely, and only for a moment, before the NICU team, about six people, doctors and nurses, took over. I didn’t know what he weighed, how long he was, if he looked like Matt. I barely knew he was OK. As they prepared to take him out of my room and down the hall to the NICU, Matt and I agreed that he would go with Travis. I obviously wasn’t going anywhere, covered in blood and goodness knows what else. I was cleaned up, stitched up, and lay there recovering, wondering if all of that had really just happened. After a while, Mom went home, and the nurses left the room to tend to other patients. I was alone. Just as quickly as Travis had come into this world, my room emptied, and I was alone. It was just after midnight. I could do nothing, and I felt very helpless. “I should be doing something”, I thought. “I need to know what’s going on.”, but all I could do was wait for someone to come back, with news, with photos. The longer I lay in that room alone, the more worried I became.
Finally, Matt came in and told me Travis was fine. He didn’t need oxygen, thanks in large part to the rounds of steroid shots I’d received to help boost his lung function. He had a feeding tube and needed an IV. Once I was moved to the recovery room, I would be able to see him - briefly. My belongings were gathered and I transferred carefully out of the bed and into my wheelchair. Oooh, that was tender. I moved slowly. Or at least, as slowly as I could manage, nothing would keep me from him for very long. We entered the NICU and walked down to the end of the hall to the room he shared with three other very tiny babies. Once our hands were washed and sanitized, I could see him, but again, just barely. He was surrounded by nurses. One was holding a small flashlight to his arm so that they could try and find a vein to start an IV. You could nearly see through him. The staff struggled to get his IV started. He has his Mommy’s veins, difficult to stick, and his tiny size made finding them even more challenging. There was that helpless feeling again. I still couldn’t even see his face, and I reached over and picked up the photo that the hospital had taken and printed. I lingered briefly on the thought that so many other people, Matt and my Mom included, had already seen more of my son than I had.
There was nothing else we could do that night, and so it was upstairs to my tiny recovery room for us. I ate a very late, cold cheeseburger at 2am, absolutely famished, having not eaten in around 18 hours or so, and we passed out soon after; me, uncomfortable and still hooked up to too many things, and Matt, uncomfortable in a weird recliner-cot. The next morning, after brunch and an uncomfortable shower, and a lesson in using a breast pump, we went downstairs to the NICU. Finally, after about twelve hours, I was able to hold my son, for the first time. They call this skin-to-skin time "Kangaroo Care", and it is absolutely vital to Preemies. It can help regulate their body temperature, it can help regulate their breathing, and so much more. The nurse placed him on my chest, covered us with a warmed blanket, and left the three of us alone. It was so still, so quiet. Travis seemed lighter than air, weighed down only by the cords and cables and tubes and wires. Again, this was not your Hollywood Newborn. No flowers, no balloons or stuffed animals. Visitors were to be very limited and everyone, including the parents, must sign a release every day stating that they are healthy. Matt and I just sat, enjoying the first real moments with our son, for as long as we were allowed. Even with all of the medical stuff all over the place, in that moment, it was just the three of us, in our own world.
Eventually, I ran out of energy, tired and sore, and the nurse came and put Travis back in his pod. We went back upstairs, probably ate lunch, though I couldn’t tell you for certain, and rested. I hurt in ways and places I didn’t know were possible. Nothing that Ibuprofen couldn’t handle, but my whole body felt different. And why wouldn’t it? 24 hours earlier, I was pregnant, and now I wasn’t. My body had grown to accommodate someone else, and now there was a vacancy. I felt empty, and in more ways than I was able to recognize at that point.
By late afternoon, we went back downstairs and sat with Travis. Too nervous to disturb him for Kangaroo Care a second time (I think one of the nurses was against it, having already “had a turn” that day, though in the next day or two, another nurse would encourage it as much as we were willing to do), we just sat, talking quietly about the things that had happened, the things we needed to do. We were both so surprised to see blonde hair and blue eyes, having assumed that my brown eyes would dominate and the dark hair in Matt’s family and in most of mine, would as well. We stared at his perfect, pink skin and tiny, features. I wondered how I would ever trim such tiny fingernails. A while later, I needed to pump again and was beyond exhausted, and we said goodnight. I hated the thought of leaving him for the night, it felt like I was turning my back on him, and for a brief moment, I sank into Matt’s arms with tears in my eyes. To go through so much to make sure Travis arrived in this world at all, and then have to walk away from him each night made my heart ache. We fell asleep watching a movie on the tiny, hard to hear and hard to see ceiling mounted television, and so ended our Thursday.
Friday was filled with paperwork and packing, knowing that I would be discharged later in the day. We spent the day back and forth to the NICU and Travis’ bedside, talking to family and filling them in on the last few days, and around 8pm, after a busy day, we left the hospital and brought home instructions and paperwork instead of a snuggly, healthy baby boy. For the next six weeks, I spent every SINGLE day at the NICU. I wasn’t cleared to drive, so my mom and I usually spent the day there together. I went from bed rest to unstoppable, nothing was going to keep me from spending the day at the hospital. My son needed me there, and I didn’t want to miss a moment. I missed work events, time with friends, time for myself, time with my husband, but none of it mattered. There was still a lot left to do before the apartment was ready for Travis, and it all needed to get done, having no idea when he would be ready to come home. I was tired of bed rest and being told I couldn’t do anything, and now I felt the need to do it all. Three days after being discharged from the hospital, after a whirlwind weekend of shuttling back and forth, our Skyped baby shower, and tons of errands, I collapsed. We walked in the door that evening, after spending the day with Travis, and I immediately burst into tears. I was overwhelmed and exhausted. I needed a break, but how could I stay home? I couldn’t. I knew where I needed to be. I gave in to the exhaustion in the slightest way, allowing myself the morning, sleeping in a little, getting some work done, but by lunchtime, I was in the NICU.
Stay tuned for The NICU Part Two!
Most women have a picture in their minds about delivering their first babies. Hearing the sweet little cry and being handed a warm, cozy little bundle almost instantly. Getting to nurse as soon as possible. Staring lovingly into the bassinet with your husband by your side. You imagine something like what you’ve seen on TV or in the movies, because that’s all you really know to expect. My experience was nothing like a Hollywood birth. Travis squeaked when he was born, and it was all I could handle, just knowing he was even breathing. He was held up to me, but barely, and only for a moment, before the NICU team, about six people, doctors and nurses, took over. I didn’t know what he weighed, how long he was, if he looked like Matt. I barely knew he was OK. As they prepared to take him out of my room and down the hall to the NICU, Matt and I agreed that he would go with Travis. I obviously wasn’t going anywhere, covered in blood and goodness knows what else. I was cleaned up, stitched up, and lay there recovering, wondering if all of that had really just happened. After a while, Mom went home, and the nurses left the room to tend to other patients. I was alone. Just as quickly as Travis had come into this world, my room emptied, and I was alone. It was just after midnight. I could do nothing, and I felt very helpless. “I should be doing something”, I thought. “I need to know what’s going on.”, but all I could do was wait for someone to come back, with news, with photos. The longer I lay in that room alone, the more worried I became.
Finally, Matt came in and told me Travis was fine. He didn’t need oxygen, thanks in large part to the rounds of steroid shots I’d received to help boost his lung function. He had a feeding tube and needed an IV. Once I was moved to the recovery room, I would be able to see him - briefly. My belongings were gathered and I transferred carefully out of the bed and into my wheelchair. Oooh, that was tender. I moved slowly. Or at least, as slowly as I could manage, nothing would keep me from him for very long. We entered the NICU and walked down to the end of the hall to the room he shared with three other very tiny babies. Once our hands were washed and sanitized, I could see him, but again, just barely. He was surrounded by nurses. One was holding a small flashlight to his arm so that they could try and find a vein to start an IV. You could nearly see through him. The staff struggled to get his IV started. He has his Mommy’s veins, difficult to stick, and his tiny size made finding them even more challenging. There was that helpless feeling again. I still couldn’t even see his face, and I reached over and picked up the photo that the hospital had taken and printed. I lingered briefly on the thought that so many other people, Matt and my Mom included, had already seen more of my son than I had.
There was nothing else we could do that night, and so it was upstairs to my tiny recovery room for us. I ate a very late, cold cheeseburger at 2am, absolutely famished, having not eaten in around 18 hours or so, and we passed out soon after; me, uncomfortable and still hooked up to too many things, and Matt, uncomfortable in a weird recliner-cot. The next morning, after brunch and an uncomfortable shower, and a lesson in using a breast pump, we went downstairs to the NICU. Finally, after about twelve hours, I was able to hold my son, for the first time. They call this skin-to-skin time "Kangaroo Care", and it is absolutely vital to Preemies. It can help regulate their body temperature, it can help regulate their breathing, and so much more. The nurse placed him on my chest, covered us with a warmed blanket, and left the three of us alone. It was so still, so quiet. Travis seemed lighter than air, weighed down only by the cords and cables and tubes and wires. Again, this was not your Hollywood Newborn. No flowers, no balloons or stuffed animals. Visitors were to be very limited and everyone, including the parents, must sign a release every day stating that they are healthy. Matt and I just sat, enjoying the first real moments with our son, for as long as we were allowed. Even with all of the medical stuff all over the place, in that moment, it was just the three of us, in our own world.
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| Our first family photo, 3/31/11. Not yet 24 hours old. |
Eventually, I ran out of energy, tired and sore, and the nurse came and put Travis back in his pod. We went back upstairs, probably ate lunch, though I couldn’t tell you for certain, and rested. I hurt in ways and places I didn’t know were possible. Nothing that Ibuprofen couldn’t handle, but my whole body felt different. And why wouldn’t it? 24 hours earlier, I was pregnant, and now I wasn’t. My body had grown to accommodate someone else, and now there was a vacancy. I felt empty, and in more ways than I was able to recognize at that point.
By late afternoon, we went back downstairs and sat with Travis. Too nervous to disturb him for Kangaroo Care a second time (I think one of the nurses was against it, having already “had a turn” that day, though in the next day or two, another nurse would encourage it as much as we were willing to do), we just sat, talking quietly about the things that had happened, the things we needed to do. We were both so surprised to see blonde hair and blue eyes, having assumed that my brown eyes would dominate and the dark hair in Matt’s family and in most of mine, would as well. We stared at his perfect, pink skin and tiny, features. I wondered how I would ever trim such tiny fingernails. A while later, I needed to pump again and was beyond exhausted, and we said goodnight. I hated the thought of leaving him for the night, it felt like I was turning my back on him, and for a brief moment, I sank into Matt’s arms with tears in my eyes. To go through so much to make sure Travis arrived in this world at all, and then have to walk away from him each night made my heart ache. We fell asleep watching a movie on the tiny, hard to hear and hard to see ceiling mounted television, and so ended our Thursday.
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| Tiny, tiny Travis |
Friday was filled with paperwork and packing, knowing that I would be discharged later in the day. We spent the day back and forth to the NICU and Travis’ bedside, talking to family and filling them in on the last few days, and around 8pm, after a busy day, we left the hospital and brought home instructions and paperwork instead of a snuggly, healthy baby boy. For the next six weeks, I spent every SINGLE day at the NICU. I wasn’t cleared to drive, so my mom and I usually spent the day there together. I went from bed rest to unstoppable, nothing was going to keep me from spending the day at the hospital. My son needed me there, and I didn’t want to miss a moment. I missed work events, time with friends, time for myself, time with my husband, but none of it mattered. There was still a lot left to do before the apartment was ready for Travis, and it all needed to get done, having no idea when he would be ready to come home. I was tired of bed rest and being told I couldn’t do anything, and now I felt the need to do it all. Three days after being discharged from the hospital, after a whirlwind weekend of shuttling back and forth, our Skyped baby shower, and tons of errands, I collapsed. We walked in the door that evening, after spending the day with Travis, and I immediately burst into tears. I was overwhelmed and exhausted. I needed a break, but how could I stay home? I couldn’t. I knew where I needed to be. I gave in to the exhaustion in the slightest way, allowing myself the morning, sleeping in a little, getting some work done, but by lunchtime, I was in the NICU.
Stay tuned for The NICU Part Two!
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