(no subject)
Brain dump. Heart dump.
I'm being a good mom in a kind of circular way tonight. Pretty exhausted from the day's events, I'm staying back in our room to rest and recuperate rather than make the final nightly trip back to the NICU to visit Ella. Resting means I'll be able to prevent myself from getting the cold that Maurie's managed to catch (despite not exposing ourselves to ANYONE, almost never leaving the hospital campus, and spending half the day either scrubbing our skin until it's raw or drowning it in an alcohol-based cleaning solution). Taking care of me means being able to take care of Ella.
Ella had her eye surgery this morning. Best case scenario: Ella will be left with "useful" vision (gee, that's not scary sounding at all). Worst case scenario: She'll suffer from severe vision loss (but not from the surgery -- if it ends this way it'll only be after several surgeries, the last of which might send us down to the Lower 48). We still have to wait at least a week before finding out the results. As if we didn't have enough to worry about every day.
It is extremely hard to focus on the little advances that Ella makes. Every day is a reminder of how much of a struggle it is to do simple things like continue breathing. I hold my breath every time she doesn't breathe, wondering if the NICU has ever had to give oxygen to anyone larger than ten pounds. Ella breathes again, and I get to breathe.
But Ella does make advances, and we celebrate each one of them. Ella has gone up in from her birth weight of 1lb, 7oz to 4lbs, 10oz. Also, Ella was moved from her incubator to an open air crib (meeting one of three minimal requirements to leaving the NICU: Maintaining her own body temperature in room air). And the day before her surgery, Ella was weaned down on her oxygen flow to 4L/min, making her only 3L away from changing to the low-flow nasal cannulae that she can eventually go home on.
At a breastfeeding group meeting this week, a speaker talked to us about staying healthy -- mentally and physically -- when involved in any length of stay at the NICU. One of the things that really resonated with me was a bit of her talk about keeping your objectivity. The speaker said that it's important to remember that your emotions are always justified. Parents of NICU babies have enough to stress about without haranguing ourselves about how we ought to feel one way or another. How true! All this time I've told myself that I ought to feel happier or I ought not feel so tired. But it's true what she said about how a day or even a week of constantly being stressed is okay -- and in fact is the fuel your body needs to survive sometimes -- but weeks on end (or months, in our case) is very unhealthy. No need to add to that stress.
So now I feel justified. Or I do, somewhat.
What about those feelings I'm always beating back? I feel fear and despair that Ella was born so early (nearly 4 months early). I feel jealousy when I see all the babies leaving the NICU without us. I feel (oh, can I admit it?) disdain towards parents in happier circumstances that worry about their babies. Everyone is entitled to how they feel? Then even parents with perfectly healthy babies can worry about their babies' little sniffles. Then even parents with babies born at 34 weeks can worry about the two weeks they'll spend at the NICU. Then even I can feel disdain towards all their worry?? Hmm.
I find myself seeking out the stories of other 24-weekers. I carefully tune out the stories from more developed, healthier babies. Oh, a baby born at 27 weeks? Only one blood transfusion? Only on the ventilator for a week? Only stayed at the NICU for 100 days? (Ella: 24 weeks, 9 blood transfusions -- so far, and on a ventilator for about 6 weeks.)
When did I become this person? Only, ONLY? I disgust myself; I feel ashamed.
I say to myself, They couldn't possibly understand. But of course not! No one perfectly understands your unique situation. But they do understand. Over and over again I am reminded of how the NICU experience seems to be the same, no matter if the stay is 2 days, 2 weeks, or 2 months.
One of the last women I know that found out she was pregnant before I did had her babies this week. I didn't find out I was pregnant until I was nearly 12 weeks along. A mere 12 weeks later and Ella was born (the passive tense, how perfect! Ella was certainly born from me). In some ways, I feel gypped out of a pregnancy, having missed the entire first and third semesters. (Gypped out of Western cultures main celebrations of life's passage: College graduation, marriage, birth.)
Suffering from so-called NICU-itis, hearing about the passage of time outside of the NICU always comes as a shock. Thanksgiving whipped by us. As did Christmas. New Year's was celebrated by the bedside, nurses sharing plastic cups of sparkling apple cider with us. We'll see Valentine's Day and possibly St. Patrick's Day before we go home. News of others' births come as a shock. Someone from work was suffering from morning sickness months before I knew I was pregnant. Now she has a 1-week-old baby at home. I have a 2.5 month old still in the hospital. How can this be?
I am only justified in how I feel in terms of my feelings being steps towards feeling normal. This is not normal. None of this is normal. I didn't get my natural childbirth. I won't ever get my natural childbirth. I can't stand hearing about even VBAC these days. Nothing but a Caesarean, unless I want to die during childbirth. You can't imagine how much I cried, terrified and all alone, leading up to Ella's birth. I cried for my loss. I cried for Ella's loss. I will never know a normal pregnancy. Ella can only hope to live without bearing the label of premie.
What I wouldn't have given to have kept Maurie in Pakistan until Christmas like the rest of the troops; a little bit of extra loneliness at what cost? What I wouldn't have given to be complaining even now about how big I am at almost 36 weeks; oh man, how hard it is to move around and how much my back aches. What I wouldn't have given just to have gained even an extra day at keeping Ella safe inside of me. What a difference just one day is to the development of a baby.
I wish for a lot of things. I would wish that wishes could come true retroactively, but I'm smart enough to know that that's a waste of one wish. So rather I will focus my wish on one thing for the future. I know part of my last wish already came true. So hopefully this next one will too. It only took a few years for the last one, so I'll let you know about this one in a few more. In the meantime, here's hoping for all your wishes.
I'm being a good mom in a kind of circular way tonight. Pretty exhausted from the day's events, I'm staying back in our room to rest and recuperate rather than make the final nightly trip back to the NICU to visit Ella. Resting means I'll be able to prevent myself from getting the cold that Maurie's managed to catch (despite not exposing ourselves to ANYONE, almost never leaving the hospital campus, and spending half the day either scrubbing our skin until it's raw or drowning it in an alcohol-based cleaning solution). Taking care of me means being able to take care of Ella.
Ella had her eye surgery this morning. Best case scenario: Ella will be left with "useful" vision (gee, that's not scary sounding at all). Worst case scenario: She'll suffer from severe vision loss (but not from the surgery -- if it ends this way it'll only be after several surgeries, the last of which might send us down to the Lower 48). We still have to wait at least a week before finding out the results. As if we didn't have enough to worry about every day.
It is extremely hard to focus on the little advances that Ella makes. Every day is a reminder of how much of a struggle it is to do simple things like continue breathing. I hold my breath every time she doesn't breathe, wondering if the NICU has ever had to give oxygen to anyone larger than ten pounds. Ella breathes again, and I get to breathe.
But Ella does make advances, and we celebrate each one of them. Ella has gone up in from her birth weight of 1lb, 7oz to 4lbs, 10oz. Also, Ella was moved from her incubator to an open air crib (meeting one of three minimal requirements to leaving the NICU: Maintaining her own body temperature in room air). And the day before her surgery, Ella was weaned down on her oxygen flow to 4L/min, making her only 3L away from changing to the low-flow nasal cannulae that she can eventually go home on.
At a breastfeeding group meeting this week, a speaker talked to us about staying healthy -- mentally and physically -- when involved in any length of stay at the NICU. One of the things that really resonated with me was a bit of her talk about keeping your objectivity. The speaker said that it's important to remember that your emotions are always justified. Parents of NICU babies have enough to stress about without haranguing ourselves about how we ought to feel one way or another. How true! All this time I've told myself that I ought to feel happier or I ought not feel so tired. But it's true what she said about how a day or even a week of constantly being stressed is okay -- and in fact is the fuel your body needs to survive sometimes -- but weeks on end (or months, in our case) is very unhealthy. No need to add to that stress.
So now I feel justified. Or I do, somewhat.
What about those feelings I'm always beating back? I feel fear and despair that Ella was born so early (nearly 4 months early). I feel jealousy when I see all the babies leaving the NICU without us. I feel (oh, can I admit it?) disdain towards parents in happier circumstances that worry about their babies. Everyone is entitled to how they feel? Then even parents with perfectly healthy babies can worry about their babies' little sniffles. Then even parents with babies born at 34 weeks can worry about the two weeks they'll spend at the NICU. Then even I can feel disdain towards all their worry?? Hmm.
I find myself seeking out the stories of other 24-weekers. I carefully tune out the stories from more developed, healthier babies. Oh, a baby born at 27 weeks? Only one blood transfusion? Only on the ventilator for a week? Only stayed at the NICU for 100 days? (Ella: 24 weeks, 9 blood transfusions -- so far, and on a ventilator for about 6 weeks.)
When did I become this person? Only, ONLY? I disgust myself; I feel ashamed.
I say to myself, They couldn't possibly understand. But of course not! No one perfectly understands your unique situation. But they do understand. Over and over again I am reminded of how the NICU experience seems to be the same, no matter if the stay is 2 days, 2 weeks, or 2 months.
One of the last women I know that found out she was pregnant before I did had her babies this week. I didn't find out I was pregnant until I was nearly 12 weeks along. A mere 12 weeks later and Ella was born (the passive tense, how perfect! Ella was certainly born from me). In some ways, I feel gypped out of a pregnancy, having missed the entire first and third semesters. (Gypped out of Western cultures main celebrations of life's passage: College graduation, marriage, birth.)
Suffering from so-called NICU-itis, hearing about the passage of time outside of the NICU always comes as a shock. Thanksgiving whipped by us. As did Christmas. New Year's was celebrated by the bedside, nurses sharing plastic cups of sparkling apple cider with us. We'll see Valentine's Day and possibly St. Patrick's Day before we go home. News of others' births come as a shock. Someone from work was suffering from morning sickness months before I knew I was pregnant. Now she has a 1-week-old baby at home. I have a 2.5 month old still in the hospital. How can this be?
I am only justified in how I feel in terms of my feelings being steps towards feeling normal. This is not normal. None of this is normal. I didn't get my natural childbirth. I won't ever get my natural childbirth. I can't stand hearing about even VBAC these days. Nothing but a Caesarean, unless I want to die during childbirth. You can't imagine how much I cried, terrified and all alone, leading up to Ella's birth. I cried for my loss. I cried for Ella's loss. I will never know a normal pregnancy. Ella can only hope to live without bearing the label of premie.
What I wouldn't have given to have kept Maurie in Pakistan until Christmas like the rest of the troops; a little bit of extra loneliness at what cost? What I wouldn't have given to be complaining even now about how big I am at almost 36 weeks; oh man, how hard it is to move around and how much my back aches. What I wouldn't have given just to have gained even an extra day at keeping Ella safe inside of me. What a difference just one day is to the development of a baby.
I wish for a lot of things. I would wish that wishes could come true retroactively, but I'm smart enough to know that that's a waste of one wish. So rather I will focus my wish on one thing for the future. I know part of my last wish already came true. So hopefully this next one will too. It only took a few years for the last one, so I'll let you know about this one in a few more. In the meantime, here's hoping for all your wishes.