[I started this post on Thursday afternoon.]
I really tried.
Yesterday, I was supposed to write and post my final pregnancy post.
The plan was to get up Monday morning, send M off to work, spend one final morning with just Butter, and arrive at the hospital around two hours before my scheduled c-section.
Obviously Little Bear had other plans.
This past week has been . . . a rollercoaster. M said today that it sems like a month has past since Little Bear was born. And it really has.
So much has happened since I last wrote about our experience. Forgive me if I ramble, because it really has been A LOT.
As we approached the 48 hour initial deadline the doctors had given us for Little Bear’s release from the NICU, I got really anxious. I was desperate to take my baby home with me. In my last post, I mentioned how I was going to get some food and head down to see Little Bear and what the doctors had to say about him.
That visit? Was not a good visit.
When I got downstairs, I saw a team of doctors huddled around my little boy. I didn’t even get to say good morning to Little Bear before they were explaining to me that he’d be going on a ventilator, and the best case scenario they could give us was that we’d be able to take him home after he finished a 7 day course of antibiotics.
It got worse from there. Mid-Friday, they realized he was trying to breathe over the vent, so they switched him to an oscillating ventilator. I think that was the day he was put on morphine to sedate him, too. I really feel like I should have written these things down as I went along.
Saturday, I was discharged. Without my baby. The fact that I made it out of the hospital without crying was a miracle. Maybe that was the day he was put on versed to keep him more sedated than usual; I don’t remember. My mother in law picked me up when I was discharged and took me to fill my prescription for Percocet, then to her house so we could all take naps. M picked me up around 5 p.m. We went back to the hospital to see Little Bear, then home.
Sunday, we wanted a family day. I was home with 2/3 of my boys. We spent a few hours at the hospital with Little Bear. My mom arrived that afternoon. At this point, we still thought Little Bear might come home as soon as Wednesday.
Sunday night/Monday morning, I got a phone call at 3:15 am that scared the crap out of me. It was one of the attendings from the hospital asking permission to put Little Bear on nitric oxide. I gave the okay [because what else could I do?] and when I hung up, I absolutely lost it. I think that’s when it hit me that things could be far more serious than I realized and we could definitely lose the little boy who’d tortured me with kicks to the ribs for so many months. I cried. I asked M what I’d done wrong during my pregnancy that caused Little Bear to be so sick. I said I didn’t even know what to say when I prayed anymore, other than to beg God to please keep my baby safe and get him home to me as soon as possible. With the nitric, things weren’t looking so good.
Monday and Tuesday were a blur of running to the hospital and being with Butter as much as I could. Until Tuesday afternoon, when I finally heard back from my OB’s office about being short of breath [seriously, walking across the garage to take the trash out winded me] and the nurse requested that I go to L&D triage, because there is always a concern that a blood clot might develop after major surgery like the one I’d just had the week before.
To be continued, because this is getting long . . . and the really good news starts late Wednesday/early Thursday. If I ever had a reason to be thankful, this was it.