Tonight, the baby is not here with me. He is going to be fine.....but tonight he is in the hospital, which makes me sad and relieved all rolled up in one deep breath. On a good day, Baby is sick and oxygen dependent....maybe forever, maybe just for now. But definitely for now. And this was not a good day. When you are oxygen dependent, and you get your supplemental oxygen via nasal cannulas, those nostrils better be clear as a whistle, know what I'm sayin ? Which was definitely not the case. And I finally gave up, gave up trying to be the all-healing all-knowing momma who can handle anything.
I can't handle it. I can't handle listening to a child gasping and gurgling and struggling to breathe, and choking on his own mucus. I can't handle racing down the mountain several times a week for emergency medical treatment, and watching baby get poked 5, 6 even 8 times trying to get a good IV in place.
I did everything I could, all I knew how to do, to the best of my ability. He was fed, hydrated, rested, observed, massaged, and loved right up until they admitted him. I lay across the gurney, resting my lips on his forehead and kissing him over and over and over again as he cried and screamed and then...silence. He stared straight ahead in frozen silence, and oh, it was so hard. The team was trying to find a vein and every time they stopped for a minute, to get more supplies or give baby a break, he would become eerily silent.
It was almost a relief when he began to scream again, because he was DEFIANT. He was PISSED. If he could have, he would have kicked over tables and shaken off the nurses and stormed out. But instead, it took 3-4 adults to restrain his 11 pounds of trembling, twisting rage.
I left before they could get an IV in. I had the kids with me, and decided that since the social worker was there, and bio mom was on her way, and my kids were tired and probably frightened by the scene, I needed to go. It was a long walk to the car.
I used to be funny, on this blog. Things don't feel so funny right now.
But I am grateful. Grateful to the doctors and nurses who helped me all day long to do what was best for Baby, who cared about him, came to check on him in the car, waited for him to arrive in the ER and rushed him back for treatment. For the woman in registration who also registered us on Sunday, who remembered me and gave me a hug and asked if I was OK. For the aides who took my kids aside and got them snacks and crayons and talked with them as I tried to answer questions from medical staff.
I am grateful that tonight, professionals are watching over him, people who are not exhausted and emotional. That he is being monitored and cared for.
I hope someone knows to kiss him on the forehead over and over, and tell him how much he is loved and how strong he is. To call him bubba and little man. To warm his bottle. To mix his feed. Who knows how he hates to be cold, or alone. How he loves to be held, face to face, and talked to. I wonder if this is how I will feel when he goes back to his family. Worried, hopeful, relieved, and sad. I am a little sad tonight.
Oh, I miss my sweetie pea.
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3 days ago
1 comment:
My youngest son had a traumatic (weird-I started to type DRAMATIC-too close to the truth) birth, and there came a point when they asked me if another crisis occurred if I wanted them to use extreme measures to save him. At that point I had watched them poke him tens of times a day for a month, wrapping rubber bands around his little arms and legs trying to find a vein, giving up and tapping into veins in his head. I told them no, that he had been through enough. That was the hardest decision I've ever had to make, and thank God he improved daily from that point on. This took me straight back to that day and how ashamed I felt to have said not to 'save' him. It is horrifying to have to watch that. You were right to have left it to the professionals. It doesn't mean you love him any less, or are a bad mother.
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