| We are finally getting up to date on the blog front. Nothing note worthy happened mid/late January... Nico's oxygen requirements yo-yo'd slowly up and down but nothing too drastic. He seemed to plateau. The only thing we do know about Nico's personality is that he will not be rushed, so we sat patiently and kept getting our reassurances from that doctors that all was fine. On Jan 19 he received a certificate and a cot quilt to mark his 100th day in the NICU. The nurse/ admin clerk showing me all the hand made quilts, telling me about the group that makes them said "and at 200 days, you get a full blanket". I didn't mean to but I must have given her a death stare because her face fell and she quickly said "Not that you'll be here then, I am sure..." I DON"T WANT A BLANKET! I CAN BUY A BLANKET! In saying that, it is a really cute quilt he got. I was very aware of how many more types of breathing support methods he would have to go through and the fact that he was officially still on conventional ventilation, albeit through prongs, was wearing me down. A few days after the 200-day-blanket conversation with the admin clerk/ nurse, I asked one of Nico's regular nurses whether she thought we would be here long enough to get a blanket. She looked at me in a serious but sweet way and said "Mmmm, maybe. But not in this Bay at least" Pfff. Whoever said honesty was the best policy may have needed to test the theory in multiple situations. Spirits were low. I knew she had to prepare me and not give any false hopes or expectations, but that knowledge wasn't enough to get rid of the feeling that I had just swallowed rocks. The heavy stomach lingered for days. About a week ago, I went in and found a CHANGE had been made!! His breathing rate had been reduced from being given 50 automatic breaths to 30, meaning he is given more opportunity to take his own breaths over the top of the ventilation. The next day the pressures decreased, not to a low pressure but still a step in the right direction. My early morning check in on Saturday 30 January nearly had me bouncing of the walls. "We actually changed him to CPAP at 4am and his oxygen requirement hasn't really increased, he's good" I did some silent dancing around the house, Saturdays are my husband's turn to sleep in. CPAP basically holds the lungs open a little, to make taking breaths less tiring for baby. If his lungs were to deflate fully, like ours can, it would be hard for him to get them back up. It was explained to to us like how blowing up a new balloon is harder than one with a small breath in it already. This way, the hard work is already done. This was not the only big step the day held for the wee man. When I arrived to see him, the nurse was holding up a syringe of milk for him... I think I neglected to mention this part of Nico's battle previously. He has/ had chronic reflux so to minimise this, the doctors replaced the tube to his stomach with one that the weaved through his stomach, basically straight to the intestines I suppose. They then used a drip to give him a continuous feed. The sight of the nurse holding a syringe meant one thing: no more drip feeding! No drip feeding meant no bypassing the stomach. Nico was back to "regular" feeds of 16 mls on the hour, every hour. He seems to have taken very well to his new ventilation and feeding program as he has been much more settled and sleeping a lot better. One theory is that he enjoys feeling full. I also think it must be more comfortable to take your own breath than have it forced into you with all that pressure. Whatever his reason, I am just stoked that nearly 48 hours, he is coping still just fine! |
From Little Things... Big Things Grow
Sunday, January 31, 2010
Finally Due!
Finally Due!
| We are finally getting up to date on the blog front. Nothing note worthy happened mid/late January... Nico's oxygen requirements yo-yo'd slowly up and down but nothing too drastic. He seemed to plateau. The only thing we do know about Nico's personality is that he will not be rushed, so we sat patiently and kept getting our reassurances from that doctors that all was fine. On Jan 19 he received a certificate and a cot quilt to mark his 100th day in the NICU. The nurse/ admin clerk showing me all the hand made quilts, telling me about the group that makes them said "and at 200 days, you get a full blanket". I didn't mean to but I must have given her a death stare because her face fell and she quickly said "Not that you'll be here then, I am sure..." I DON"T WANT A BLANKET! I CAN BUY A BLANKET! In saying that, it is a really cute quilt he got. I was very aware of how many more types of breathing support methods he would have to go through and the fact that he was officially still on conventional ventilation, albeit through prongs, was wearing me down. A few days after the 200-day-blanket conversation with the admin clerk/ nurse, I asked one of Nico's regular nurses whether she thought we would be here long enough to get a blanket. She looked at me in a serious but sweet way and said "Mmmm, maybe. But not in this Bay at least" Pfff. Whoever said honesty was the best policy may have needed to test the theory in multiple situations. Spirits were low. I knew she had to prepare me and not give any false hopes or expectations, but that knowledge wasn't enough to get rid of the feeling that I had just swallowed rocks. The heavy stomach lingered for days. About a week ago, I went in and found a CHANGE had been made!! His breathing rate had been reduced from being given 50 automatic breaths to 30, meaning he is given more opportunity to take his own breaths over the top of the ventilation. The next day the pressures decreased, not to a low pressure but still a step in the right direction. My early morning check in on Saturday 30 January nearly had me bouncing of the walls. "We actually changed him to CPAP at 4am and his oxygen requirement hasn't really increased, he's good" I did some silent dancing around the house, Saturdays are my husband's turn to sleep in. CPAP basically holds the lungs open a little, to make taking breaths less tiring for baby. If his lungs were to deflate fully, like ours can, it would be hard for him to get them back up. It was explained to to us like how blowing up a new balloon is harder than one with a small breath in it already. This way, the hard work is already done. This was not the only big step the day held for the wee man. When I arrived to see him, the nurse was holding up a syringe of milk for him... I think I neglected to mention this part of Nico's battle previously. He has/ had chronic reflux so to minimise this, the doctors replaced the tube to his stomach with one that the weaved through his stomach, basically straight to the intestines I suppose. They then used a drip to give him a continuous feed. The sight of the nurse holding a syringe meant one thing: no more drip feeding! No drip feeding meant no bypassing the stomach. Nico was back to "regular" feeds of 16 mls on the hour, every hour. He seems to have taken very well to his new ventilation and feeding program as he has been much more settled and sleeping a lot better. One theory is that he enjoys feeling full. I also think it must be more comfortable to take your own breath than have it forced into you with all that pressure. Whatever his reason, I am just stoked that nearly 48 hours, he is coping still just fine! |
Monday, January 25, 2010
Mini Milestones
Beginning of January, apart from Nico's "episodes", also brought with it some fabulous, tangible progress, or at least token signs interpreted as progress.
Until 4 months ago, I never would have thought dressing my baby would have been called a milestone. Surely it is a given: have baby, dress baby. Obviously not. I walked into the Bay and saw an open cot squeezed in between Nico and his neighbour ... I thought "Hmm.. obvioulsy tight for space!" which had I thought about it, would have realised was a ridiculous assumption. A NICU is not somewhere you can just squeeze in extra beds. Each station has so much built in equipment, if it was to be full, new babies have to get moved to another hospital. The open cot was for Nico!
I was so excited. Not only would this make touching him and seeing him so much easier, I also knew it meant CLOTHES!! He was in hospital clothes the first day since no one had told me he was moving, but the next day I couldn't wait to fill his litte drawers with his tiny clothes. I couldn't believe he almost fitted shop bought clothes! 00000 were almost the right length although they swam around his middle.
About 4 or 5 days later, I was in for my second surprise "Are we going to bath him today with his weigh?" the nurse asked me. I grinned and told her he had not had a bath before... I thnk she was almost going to say "Well we won't do one, maybe there is a reason" but the ecstatic look on my face must have persuaded her otherwise. I was too scared to actually hold him in the bath so two nurses did that part, and I washed him. Again, who knew this would be a milestone? He did so well...he didn't have any big desat's, he didn't require any higher oxygen and when we put him back in bed, apart from a bit of a grump as I dried him off... he was a happy lil man.
The next bath, 2 days later, I held him and washed him while the nurse held his prings in... and the 3rd bath, I did all on my own. Finally I felt like a parent! Saying that sounds like I hadn't yet bonded with Nico, but that would be far fromthe truth, I had bonded, but felt entirely useless and like a bystander in my baby's life. I'd gotten to change nappies and check temperatures regularly and give him cuddles of course, but nothing had felt quite as "he's really my baby and he WILL come home with us!" as that moment.
- He reached 1.5kg
- He got to wear clothes
- He moved to cot
- He had his first bath
Until 4 months ago, I never would have thought dressing my baby would have been called a milestone. Surely it is a given: have baby, dress baby. Obviously not. I walked into the Bay and saw an open cot squeezed in between Nico and his neighbour ... I thought "Hmm.. obvioulsy tight for space!" which had I thought about it, would have realised was a ridiculous assumption. A NICU is not somewhere you can just squeeze in extra beds. Each station has so much built in equipment, if it was to be full, new babies have to get moved to another hospital. The open cot was for Nico!
I was so excited. Not only would this make touching him and seeing him so much easier, I also knew it meant CLOTHES!! He was in hospital clothes the first day since no one had told me he was moving, but the next day I couldn't wait to fill his litte drawers with his tiny clothes. I couldn't believe he almost fitted shop bought clothes! 00000 were almost the right length although they swam around his middle.
About 4 or 5 days later, I was in for my second surprise "Are we going to bath him today with his weigh?" the nurse asked me. I grinned and told her he had not had a bath before... I thnk she was almost going to say "Well we won't do one, maybe there is a reason" but the ecstatic look on my face must have persuaded her otherwise. I was too scared to actually hold him in the bath so two nurses did that part, and I washed him. Again, who knew this would be a milestone? He did so well...he didn't have any big desat's, he didn't require any higher oxygen and when we put him back in bed, apart from a bit of a grump as I dried him off... he was a happy lil man.
The next bath, 2 days later, I held him and washed him while the nurse held his prings in... and the 3rd bath, I did all on my own. Finally I felt like a parent! Saying that sounds like I hadn't yet bonded with Nico, but that would be far fromthe truth, I had bonded, but felt entirely useless and like a bystander in my baby's life. I'd gotten to change nappies and check temperatures regularly and give him cuddles of course, but nothing had felt quite as "he's really my baby and he WILL come home with us!" as that moment.
Mini Milestones
Beginning of January, apart from Nico's "episodes", also brought with it some fabulous, tangible progress, or at least token signs interpreted as progress.
Until 4 months ago, I never would have thought dressing my baby would have been called a milestone. Surely it is a given: have baby, dress baby. Obviously not. I walked into the Bay and saw an open cot squeezed in between Nico and his neighbour ... I thought "Hmm.. obvioulsy tight for space!" which had I thought about it, would have realised was a ridiculous assumption. A NICU is not somewhere you can just squeeze in extra beds. Each station has so much built in equipment, if it was to be full, new babies have to get moved to another hospital. The open cot was for Nico!
I was so excited. Not only would this make touching him and seeing him so much easier, I also knew it meant CLOTHES!! He was in hospital clothes the first day since no one had told me he was moving, but the next day I couldn't wait to fill his litte drawers with his tiny clothes. I couldn't believe he almost fitted shop bought clothes! 00000 were almost the right length although they swam around his middle.
About 4 or 5 days later, I was in for my second surprise "Are we going to bath him today with his weigh?" the nurse asked me. I grinned and told her he had not had a bath before... I thnk she was almost going to say "Well we won't do one, maybe there is a reason" but the ecstatic look on my face must have persuaded her otherwise. I was too scared to actually hold him in the bath so two nurses did that part, and I washed him. Again, who knew this would be a milestone? He did so well...he didn't have any big desat's, he didn't require any higher oxygen and when we put him back in bed, apart from a bit of a grump as I dried him off... he was a happy lil man.
The next bath, 2 days later, I held him and washed him while the nurse held his prings in... and the 3rd bath, I did all on my own. Finally I felt like a parent! Saying that sounds like I hadn't yet bonded with Nico, but that would be far fromthe truth, I had bonded, but felt entirely useless and like a bystander in my baby's life. I'd gotten to change nappies and check temperatures regularly and give him cuddles of course, but nothing had felt quite as "he's really my baby and he WILL come home with us!" as that moment.
- He reached 1.5kg
- He got to wear clothes
- He moved to cot
- He had his first bath
Until 4 months ago, I never would have thought dressing my baby would have been called a milestone. Surely it is a given: have baby, dress baby. Obviously not. I walked into the Bay and saw an open cot squeezed in between Nico and his neighbour ... I thought "Hmm.. obvioulsy tight for space!" which had I thought about it, would have realised was a ridiculous assumption. A NICU is not somewhere you can just squeeze in extra beds. Each station has so much built in equipment, if it was to be full, new babies have to get moved to another hospital. The open cot was for Nico!
I was so excited. Not only would this make touching him and seeing him so much easier, I also knew it meant CLOTHES!! He was in hospital clothes the first day since no one had told me he was moving, but the next day I couldn't wait to fill his litte drawers with his tiny clothes. I couldn't believe he almost fitted shop bought clothes! 00000 were almost the right length although they swam around his middle.
About 4 or 5 days later, I was in for my second surprise "Are we going to bath him today with his weigh?" the nurse asked me. I grinned and told her he had not had a bath before... I thnk she was almost going to say "Well we won't do one, maybe there is a reason" but the ecstatic look on my face must have persuaded her otherwise. I was too scared to actually hold him in the bath so two nurses did that part, and I washed him. Again, who knew this would be a milestone? He did so well...he didn't have any big desat's, he didn't require any higher oxygen and when we put him back in bed, apart from a bit of a grump as I dried him off... he was a happy lil man.
The next bath, 2 days later, I held him and washed him while the nurse held his prings in... and the 3rd bath, I did all on my own. Finally I felt like a parent! Saying that sounds like I hadn't yet bonded with Nico, but that would be far fromthe truth, I had bonded, but felt entirely useless and like a bystander in my baby's life. I'd gotten to change nappies and check temperatures regularly and give him cuddles of course, but nothing had felt quite as "he's really my baby and he WILL come home with us!" as that moment.
Saturday, January 23, 2010
I don't like Thursdays
The steroids got weaned down over the course of 7 days, His oxygen requirement had come down well... it wasn't at the perfect 21% but it came down to low 30's, his lowest since the honeymoon first week he was born. One fact about oxygen I forgot in a previous blog is this "Parent's mood and attitude to the world directly correlates to their neonate's oxygen requirements" Low 30's therefore made us see beauty in the weeds growing along the freeway.
I also neglected to mention that Christmas fell during this time. If I were a psychologist, I would think the fact that I neglected to mention it may also be a reflection of my guilt. Our 21 month old got a few presents and a big girl bed etc etc but she didn't get a Christmas. She got breakfast with our new neighbours, a trip to see her brother and some ham for dinner, but she didn't get a Christmas. Ok, she is not even two, she will not be scarred for life, I know this. If I was in a less woe-is-me frame of mind I would even realise that it was never going to be a big traditional Christmas as I was meant to be 7 months pregnant so we were not going to visit our family in NZ, it was always going to be just the 3 of us.
I also neglected to mention that Christmas fell during this time. If I were a psychologist, I would think the fact that I neglected to mention it may also be a reflection of my guilt. Our 21 month old got a few presents and a big girl bed etc etc but she didn't get a Christmas. She got breakfast with our new neighbours, a trip to see her brother and some ham for dinner, but she didn't get a Christmas. Ok, she is not even two, she will not be scarred for life, I know this. If I was in a less woe-is-me frame of mind I would even realise that it was never going to be a big traditional Christmas as I was meant to be 7 months pregnant so we were not going to visit our family in NZ, it was always going to be just the 3 of us.
Anyway... boxing day, at 11 weeks old, my husband had his first cuddle and things were looking pretty good. Pop quiz : What happens when roller coasters go up?
New Years Eve. Thursday. We are having a barbecue at our place with 4 couples and their toddlers. I called the hospital for my update and although Nico was fine, the nurse told me that 2 hours ago they had had to resuscitate him! I asked if I should come in but she said that there was really nothing to worry about, he was doing fine until it happened and he was doing fine again now so it must have just been something in his airway. I hung up not feeling fantastic but I also knew I needed a night with good company so I tried on my happy face mask and made it fit. I called the hospital every 1 or 2 hours and got the same report, he was settled and well. To state the obvious, it played on my mind all night and even when we went to the hospital at 10am the next day I couldn't shake it. All i was thinking was "Did he actually die?" I couldn't talk to my husband about that kind of thing, he would tell me to stop being melodramatic and secretly go into a darker place than he (we) already was. It took about 3 days til I just had to tell someone what I was thinking. I chose carefully as the 'wrong' answer (ie the one I was not fishing for) could have made me feel worse, but also not someone who would just go "Of course not honey" just to appease me. I asked a wonderful person via Facebook chat, she had been here on NYE so knew what I was talking about. She took a moment to think, talked to her husband about it and came back with the perfect answer
Q If you get resuscitated, does that mean you died? A: No. It just means you could have if they hadn't intervened.
When we did go in the next day, it was the same nurse looking after him who had been there when it happened. She said it was actually quite amazing because usually they are slow to pick up after something like that but her words were "Once he came back, he opened his eyes and looked at us as if saying 'Umm... excuse me. What are you doing? Back off' and was back to his normal self"
I approached the doctors to ask if I should be concerned and they explained it was 'purely mechanical' and there was no problem with him, he must have just had some secretions blocking an airway.
The fact that that happened then, in hind sight, was the best thing that could have happened. If it didn't happen, there would have been chaos the following Thursday. The whole hospital would have heard a call over the PA "Adult Code Blue, NICU Bay 8. Adult Code Blue, NICU Bay 8" as I had went into cardiac arrest.
After arriving at the hospital at 6am (as I usually do on Tuesdays and Thursdays to have a full day with our almost 2 y/o) I was elated. His oxygen was great, he was really settled and looked fabulous. While his nurse was doing handover at her other crib, I watched his SpO2 (blood oxygen saturation) drop and drop and not climb up like it should. When it got to 50% I motioned quietly for one of the nurses waiting her turn to come over and check him. She looked, said he was ok and we both watched. Next thing his heart rate plummets from his usual 170 to 40 and still dropping. Docs are called and come running. Around a crib that can hardly fit 3 people around it, there are 2 doctors and 4 nurses. Needless to say, I was not in the huddle. I was pacing around reminding myself of last Thursday and how it had been perfectly fine, so fine they hadn't even bothered to call me to tell me it happened, just waited til I rung.
5 -10 minutes later, I was beside him again, he had slightly high oxygen requirements but was settled and behaving normally. When I called that afternoon, his oxygen was even better than it had been pre-episode. The nurse and I concluded that the doctors hypothesis was incorrect, there was no blocked airway, Nico simply did not like Thursdays.
I don't like Thursdays
The steroids got weaned down over the course of 7 days, His oxygen requirement had come down well... it wasn't at the perfect 21% but it came down to low 30's, his lowest since the honeymoon first week he was born. One fact about oxygen I forgot in a previous blog is this "Parent's mood and attitude to the world directly correlates to their neonate's oxygen requirements" Low 30's therefore made us see beauty in the weeds growing along the freeway.
I also neglected to mention that Christmas fell during this time. If I were a psychologist, I would think the fact that I neglected to mention it may also be a reflection of my guilt. Our 21 month old got a few presents and a big girl bed etc etc but she didn't get a Christmas. She got breakfast with our new neighbours, a trip to see her brother and some ham for dinner, but she didn't get a Christmas. Ok, she is not even two, she will not be scarred for life, I know this. If I was in a less woe-is-me frame of mind I would even realise that it was never going to be a big traditional Christmas as I was meant to be 7 months pregnant so we were not going to visit our family in NZ, it was always going to be just the 3 of us.
I also neglected to mention that Christmas fell during this time. If I were a psychologist, I would think the fact that I neglected to mention it may also be a reflection of my guilt. Our 21 month old got a few presents and a big girl bed etc etc but she didn't get a Christmas. She got breakfast with our new neighbours, a trip to see her brother and some ham for dinner, but she didn't get a Christmas. Ok, she is not even two, she will not be scarred for life, I know this. If I was in a less woe-is-me frame of mind I would even realise that it was never going to be a big traditional Christmas as I was meant to be 7 months pregnant so we were not going to visit our family in NZ, it was always going to be just the 3 of us.
Anyway... boxing day, at 11 weeks old, my husband had his first cuddle and things were looking pretty good. Pop quiz : What happens when roller coasters go up?
New Years Eve. Thursday. We are having a barbecue at our place with 4 couples and their toddlers. I called the hospital for my update and although Nico was fine, the nurse told me that 2 hours ago they had had to resuscitate him! I asked if I should come in but she said that there was really nothing to worry about, he was doing fine until it happened and he was doing fine again now so it must have just been something in his airway. I hung up not feeling fantastic but I also knew I needed a night with good company so I tried on my happy face mask and made it fit. I called the hospital every 1 or 2 hours and got the same report, he was settled and well. To state the obvious, it played on my mind all night and even when we went to the hospital at 10am the next day I couldn't shake it. All i was thinking was "Did he actually die?" I couldn't talk to my husband about that kind of thing, he would tell me to stop being melodramatic and secretly go into a darker place than he (we) already was. It took about 3 days til I just had to tell someone what I was thinking. I chose carefully as the 'wrong' answer (ie the one I was not fishing for) could have made me feel worse, but also not someone who would just go "Of course not honey" just to appease me. I asked a wonderful person via Facebook chat, she had been here on NYE so knew what I was talking about. She took a moment to think, talked to her husband about it and came back with the perfect answer
Q If you get resuscitated, does that mean you died? A: No. It just means you could have if they hadn't intervened.
When we did go in the next day, it was the same nurse looking after him who had been there when it happened. She said it was actually quite amazing because usually they are slow to pick up after something like that but her words were "Once he came back, he opened his eyes and looked at us as if saying 'Umm... excuse me. What are you doing? Back off' and was back to his normal self"
I approached the doctors to ask if I should be concerned and they explained it was 'purely mechanical' and there was no problem with him, he must have just had some secretions blocking an airway.
The fact that that happened then, in hind sight, was the best thing that could have happened. If it didn't happen, there would have been chaos the following Thursday. The whole hospital would have heard a call over the PA "Adult Code Blue, NICU Bay 8. Adult Code Blue, NICU Bay 8" as I had went into cardiac arrest.
After arriving at the hospital at 6am (as I usually do on Tuesdays and Thursdays to have a full day with our almost 2 y/o) I was elated. His oxygen was great, he was really settled and looked fabulous. While his nurse was doing handover at her other crib, I watched his SpO2 (blood oxygen saturation) drop and drop and not climb up like it should. When it got to 50% I motioned quietly for one of the nurses waiting her turn to come over and check him. She looked, said he was ok and we both watched. Next thing his heart rate plummets from his usual 170 to 40 and still dropping. Docs are called and come running. Around a crib that can hardly fit 3 people around it, there are 2 doctors and 4 nurses. Needless to say, I was not in the huddle. I was pacing around reminding myself of last Thursday and how it had been perfectly fine, so fine they hadn't even bothered to call me to tell me it happened, just waited til I rung.
5 -10 minutes later, I was beside him again, he had slightly high oxygen requirements but was settled and behaving normally. When I called that afternoon, his oxygen was even better than it had been pre-episode. The nurse and I concluded that the doctors hypothesis was incorrect, there was no blocked airway, Nico simply did not like Thursdays.
Can we go just go home ... I am so over it!!
So the steriods were given... little Nico and his failing lungs needed to grab on to this opportunity and grab it quickly as there was no Plan B. I was calling every few hours and the oxygen requirements were coming down but oh-so-very-slowly. From all accounts, it was possible that he could show marked progress after 24 hours, by 12 hours he was better than ever and still improving.
I was on the top of the world and decided that I would be starting the nursery. Obviously this had not been something we were in a hurry to do before his early arrival and not something we wanted to do the first few weeks in case it served as a permanent reminder should all not go so well. The rollercoaster was on rapid climb... unfortunately there are rules known by all roller coaster fanatics. There is only one reason for a climb and that is to plummet somewhere twice as fast.
A side effect of steriods, and one we were well aware of, is that it lowers the immune system. Giving Nico steriods when he wasn't even finished antibiotics was not optimum. The next phone call we got was to advise me Nico had a cold and " we have put him in a box." It was pretty obvious that this was not a literal term but it still didn't paint pretty pictures in my mind. A "box" is simply a tape square on the floor around his isolette where nurses and visitors must wear mask and gloves when opening his little portholes. It was more for the other babies in his Bay than for him. The steroids were stopped after 2 days of a 5 day course. A cold was not a big deal but it would be unwise to continue. Another slow 3 weeks ensued and he remained in the box. No cuddles. Barely any skin to skin touch. They did allow me to not wear gloves after a few days but it was limited.
So many times I fantasised on walking in, putting him in a car seat capsule hidden perfectly in an oversized bag and walking out. I was done. I could look after him at home, I had watched them long enough. SpO2 goes down, turn O2 up. Simple. We'd be fine. Then I would reprimand myself for even implying that these absolutely inspirational miracle workers in the NICU had such an easy job.
His oxygen requirements climbed slowly but steadily and I was anxious to get the steriod course done again. He finally got 3 negative test results in a row and the steroids were allowed to be reattempted. 3 days later he was extubated (tubes out) at 10 weeks old and put onto CPAP - basically allowing him to breath on his own by keeping his lungs slightly inflated to make it easier for him, like a balloon that has already had a breath put in. It is given through nasal prongs and therefore much less invasive. The CPAP didn't last long but thankfully they were able to avoid reintubation and be ventilated through the prongs.
I was on the top of the world and decided that I would be starting the nursery. Obviously this had not been something we were in a hurry to do before his early arrival and not something we wanted to do the first few weeks in case it served as a permanent reminder should all not go so well. The rollercoaster was on rapid climb... unfortunately there are rules known by all roller coaster fanatics. There is only one reason for a climb and that is to plummet somewhere twice as fast.
A side effect of steriods, and one we were well aware of, is that it lowers the immune system. Giving Nico steriods when he wasn't even finished antibiotics was not optimum. The next phone call we got was to advise me Nico had a cold and " we have put him in a box." It was pretty obvious that this was not a literal term but it still didn't paint pretty pictures in my mind. A "box" is simply a tape square on the floor around his isolette where nurses and visitors must wear mask and gloves when opening his little portholes. It was more for the other babies in his Bay than for him. The steroids were stopped after 2 days of a 5 day course. A cold was not a big deal but it would be unwise to continue. Another slow 3 weeks ensued and he remained in the box. No cuddles. Barely any skin to skin touch. They did allow me to not wear gloves after a few days but it was limited.
So many times I fantasised on walking in, putting him in a car seat capsule hidden perfectly in an oversized bag and walking out. I was done. I could look after him at home, I had watched them long enough. SpO2 goes down, turn O2 up. Simple. We'd be fine. Then I would reprimand myself for even implying that these absolutely inspirational miracle workers in the NICU had such an easy job.
His oxygen requirements climbed slowly but steadily and I was anxious to get the steriod course done again. He finally got 3 negative test results in a row and the steroids were allowed to be reattempted. 3 days later he was extubated (tubes out) at 10 weeks old and put onto CPAP - basically allowing him to breath on his own by keeping his lungs slightly inflated to make it easier for him, like a balloon that has already had a breath put in. It is given through nasal prongs and therefore much less invasive. The CPAP didn't last long but thankfully they were able to avoid reintubation and be ventilated through the prongs.
10 days went by peacefully...
Can we go just go home ... I am so over it!!
So the steriods were given... little Nico and his failing lungs needed to grab on to this opportunity and grab it quickly as there was no Plan B. I was calling every few hours and the oxygen requirements were coming down but oh-so-very-slowly. From all accounts, it was possible that he could show marked progress after 24 hours, by 12 hours he was better than ever and still improving.
I was on the top of the world and decided that I would be starting the nursery. Obviously this had not been something we were in a hurry to do before his early arrival and not something we wanted to do the first few weeks in case it served as a permanent reminder should all not go so well. The rollercoaster was on rapid climb... unfortunately there are rules known by all roller coaster fanatics. There is only one reason for a climb and that is to plummet somewhere twice as fast.
A side effect of steriods, and one we were well aware of, is that it lowers the immune system. Giving Nico steriods when he wasn't even finished antibiotics was not optimum. The next phone call we got was to advise me Nico had a cold and " we have put him in a box." It was pretty obvious that this was not a literal term but it still didn't paint pretty pictures in my mind. A "box" is simply a tape square on the floor around his isolette where nurses and visitors must wear mask and gloves when opening his little portholes. It was more for the other babies in his Bay than for him. The steroids were stopped after 2 days of a 5 day course. A cold was not a big deal but it would be unwise to continue. Another slow 3 weeks ensued and he remained in the box. No cuddles. Barely any skin to skin touch. They did allow me to not wear gloves after a few days but it was limited.
So many times I fantasised on walking in, putting him in a car seat capsule hidden perfectly in an oversized bag and walking out. I was done. I could look after him at home, I had watched them long enough. SpO2 goes down, turn O2 up. Simple. We'd be fine. Then I would reprimand myself for even implying that these absolutely inspirational miracle workers in the NICU had such an easy job.
His oxygen requirements climbed slowly but steadily and I was anxious to get the steriod course done again. He finally got 3 negative test results in a row and the steroids were allowed to be reattempted. 3 days later he was extubated (tubes out) at 10 weeks old and put onto CPAP - basically allowing him to breath on his own by keeping his lungs slightly inflated to make it easier for him, like a balloon that has already had a breath put in. It is given through nasal prongs and therefore much less invasive. The CPAP didn't last long but thankfully they were able to avoid reintubation and be ventilated through the prongs.
I was on the top of the world and decided that I would be starting the nursery. Obviously this had not been something we were in a hurry to do before his early arrival and not something we wanted to do the first few weeks in case it served as a permanent reminder should all not go so well. The rollercoaster was on rapid climb... unfortunately there are rules known by all roller coaster fanatics. There is only one reason for a climb and that is to plummet somewhere twice as fast.
A side effect of steriods, and one we were well aware of, is that it lowers the immune system. Giving Nico steriods when he wasn't even finished antibiotics was not optimum. The next phone call we got was to advise me Nico had a cold and " we have put him in a box." It was pretty obvious that this was not a literal term but it still didn't paint pretty pictures in my mind. A "box" is simply a tape square on the floor around his isolette where nurses and visitors must wear mask and gloves when opening his little portholes. It was more for the other babies in his Bay than for him. The steroids were stopped after 2 days of a 5 day course. A cold was not a big deal but it would be unwise to continue. Another slow 3 weeks ensued and he remained in the box. No cuddles. Barely any skin to skin touch. They did allow me to not wear gloves after a few days but it was limited.
So many times I fantasised on walking in, putting him in a car seat capsule hidden perfectly in an oversized bag and walking out. I was done. I could look after him at home, I had watched them long enough. SpO2 goes down, turn O2 up. Simple. We'd be fine. Then I would reprimand myself for even implying that these absolutely inspirational miracle workers in the NICU had such an easy job.
His oxygen requirements climbed slowly but steadily and I was anxious to get the steriod course done again. He finally got 3 negative test results in a row and the steroids were allowed to be reattempted. 3 days later he was extubated (tubes out) at 10 weeks old and put onto CPAP - basically allowing him to breath on his own by keeping his lungs slightly inflated to make it easier for him, like a balloon that has already had a breath put in. It is given through nasal prongs and therefore much less invasive. The CPAP didn't last long but thankfully they were able to avoid reintubation and be ventilated through the prongs.
10 days went by peacefully...
Wednesday, January 20, 2010
The worlds longest rollercoaster begins
The change to HFO ventilation felt like a huge, horrible step backwards... a sign things were not going well. Then came the next hit, knocking our spirits for 6 - the heart duct had to be surgically closed. Our little man, not even a kilo in weight, was having an operation. This time I didn't need to be prompted to ask questions. I had a million of them. How often does this op get done? What are the risks and side effects? What will they do? Could it not work? What if they didn't do it?
The PDA ligation was one of the most common operations on prem babies and involved keyhole surgery to put a little clip on the duct. It was as risk free as any operation could be and had no side effects. If I had have gone with my heart, I would have been an emotional wreck, so I put on my pragmatist hat and sucked it in. I sent Geoff along on the morning of the operation to sign the consent forms. There was no way I could go in today, all I would have thought as I looked at his tiny face would have been "Is this the last time...?"
I pottered around home playing with Brooklyn (20 months) watching the clock, waiting for the phone to ring... it didn't ring til 3 or 4 in the afternoon. Success, he did well but I was advised - for my own sanity - to wait an hour or 2 for him to really settle and not need so much monitoring. I was also warned he had a 'drain' in his side as there was a leak in his lung which would close on its own but the leaking air had to be diverted for obvious reasons.
From weeks 4 to 7 things were fairly slow, his oxygen requirements were up and down and his saturations were swinging all over the place still. There was an attempt to change him to regular ventilation again but it failed. He had several infections and was on and off antibiotics so often I couldn not keep up.
The 'novelty' had worn off and I was ready to walk in there, pack him into a car seat and take him home, I was so over it. The frustration was driving me insane. I had really thought that in 7 weeks we would have seen some progress but apart from weight gain... nothing. We had a family meeting with the doctors and I expressed my concerns. They assured me it was common and it was not neccesarily a bad sign. We talked about steroids and they said once the antibiotics had finished, if were happy to start, they would commence. The aim was to get his lungs stong enough to extubate (take out tubes) and have him on CPAP which is a form of nasal ventilation.
Side swiped once again, we got a call at 7pm, just 5 hours after the meeting, saying Nico had been in 100% oxygen and still not coping for the last 2 hours. They were starting the steroids immediately as an emergency intervention. There went another night's sleep.
The worlds longest rollercoaster begins
The change to HFO ventilation felt like a huge, horrible step backwards... a sign things were not going well. Then came the next hit, knocking our spirits for 6 - the heart duct had to be surgically closed. Our little man, not even a kilo in weight, was having an operation. This time I didn't need to be prompted to ask questions. I had a million of them. How often does this op get done? What are the risks and side effects? What will they do? Could it not work? What if they didn't do it?
The PDA ligation was one of the most common operations on prem babies and involved keyhole surgery to put a little clip on the duct. It was as risk free as any operation could be and had no side effects. If I had have gone with my heart, I would have been an emotional wreck, so I put on my pragmatist hat and sucked it in. I sent Geoff along on the morning of the operation to sign the consent forms. There was no way I could go in today, all I would have thought as I looked at his tiny face would have been "Is this the last time...?"
I pottered around home playing with Brooklyn (20 months) watching the clock, waiting for the phone to ring... it didn't ring til 3 or 4 in the afternoon. Success, he did well but I was advised - for my own sanity - to wait an hour or 2 for him to really settle and not need so much monitoring. I was also warned he had a 'drain' in his side as there was a leak in his lung which would close on its own but the leaking air had to be diverted for obvious reasons.
From weeks 4 to 7 things were fairly slow, his oxygen requirements were up and down and his saturations were swinging all over the place still. There was an attempt to change him to regular ventilation again but it failed. He had several infections and was on and off antibiotics so often I couldn not keep up.
The 'novelty' had worn off and I was ready to walk in there, pack him into a car seat and take him home, I was so over it. The frustration was driving me insane. I had really thought that in 7 weeks we would have seen some progress but apart from weight gain... nothing. We had a family meeting with the doctors and I expressed my concerns. They assured me it was common and it was not neccesarily a bad sign. We talked about steroids and they said once the antibiotics had finished, if were happy to start, they would commence. The aim was to get his lungs stong enough to extubate (take out tubes) and have him on CPAP which is a form of nasal ventilation.
Side swiped once again, we got a call at 7pm, just 5 hours after the meeting, saying Nico had been in 100% oxygen and still not coping for the last 2 hours. They were starting the steroids immediately as an emergency intervention. There went another night's sleep.
Monday, January 18, 2010
Going home without my baby
The previous blogs were all written 3.5 months ago, when I came home from hospital and our son remained. I did not sleep more than 3 hours a night for 3 nights so stayed up and wrote it as therapy. It worked.
Now to get up to speed... I will likely miss a lot but I hope I can remember most things since I am doing this for myself so in years to come, I can remember how far we have come
Seeing Nico for the first time since delivery was a mix of emotions. I actually felt that I was going to pass out. I am not sure whether it was from being overcome by Nico's tiny little body covered in foil, the NICU environment (my dad describes it as walking into a space ship) or simply from getting up and having a shower less than an hour after delivery, cold corridor and then into the hot NICU bay.
He was in an open crib with a foil blanket (see previous post picture). A tube down his throat for ventilation, a line in his belly button for blood pressure I think, two IV lines, a sat probe around his foot, 3 pads on his chest for heart and breathing monitoring and possibly a tube down his nose for feeds but that may have been the next day or 2. His skin was transluscent and had no fat underneath making him quite a frightening dark red colour. I immediately became grateful for the time I had to ask all my questions before birth so it was not such a huge shock. I clearly remembered feeling so wrong asking "What will he look like? Like what do we need to be prepared for?" before he was born, as if I was worried he would be deformed or something. I was discharged 36 hours after Nico's birth. I was glad to go in some ways. After nearly a month, my own bed and real food was my idea of heaven. I hated leaving without my litle man though. It just happened that we went down the lift with a couple taking their baby home... and a pregnant women coming in the door as we left. I felt a bit jealous but I thought it would be worse. I had 2 friends due to give birth within the same week as me so it was nice to know I wouldn't crumble at the sight. And so began the transition to our new home/hospital life. The first few weeks I had the same emotions every visit.
The first week was fabulous. He did so well. He dropped the standard 10% of weight (down to 640g!!) and although not breathing himself, was not needing much extra oxygen. The world revolves around oxygen requirements in this land and the lower the better. He had a Grade 2 bleed on the brain, this was fine and would likely resolve itself. He also had a duct to his heart that hadn't closed, again, this would probably resolve itself in time. Things you learn quickly about oxygen in NICU
Nappies were changed 6 hourly along with taking his temperature. Meds were given at their various intervals. We felt useless at first but then Geoff changed his nappy at 3 days old.. I was more hesitant and waited til day 6. Feeds started after a few days at 1 ml per hour. At about a week old we got a call at 10pm telling us he was not really coping on the standard ventilation and had to be changed to a High Frequency Oscillator. HFO. I just said "Ok...", hung up and wondered what it all meant. I didn't think to ask any questions and the next morning the nurse laughed and told me the doctor thought I must have been a bit bewildered since I didn't say much. The machine made his chest, and therefore his whole body, shake as it gave him 900 breaths per minute. Not a typo. 900. It also made a constant rattling noise. It was not until seeing him that I understood why they called. Not for permission but to stop parental heart attacks. Note to self: when hospitals call to tell you stuff, ask questions. |
Going home without my baby
The previous blogs were all written 3.5 months ago, when I came home from hospital and our son remained. I did not sleep more than 3 hours a night for 3 nights so stayed up and wrote it as therapy. It worked.
Now to get up to speed... I will likely miss a lot but I hope I can remember most things since I am doing this for myself so in years to come, I can remember how far we have come
Seeing Nico for the first time since delivery was a mix of emotions. I actually felt that I was going to pass out. I am not sure whether it was from being overcome by Nico's tiny little body covered in foil, the NICU environment (my dad describes it as walking into a space ship) or simply from getting up and having a shower less than an hour after delivery, cold corridor and then into the hot NICU bay.
He was in an open crib with a foil blanket (see previous post picture). A tube down his throat for ventilation, a line in his belly button for blood pressure I think, two IV lines, a sat probe around his foot, 3 pads on his chest for heart and breathing monitoring and possibly a tube down his nose for feeds but that may have been the next day or 2. His skin was transluscent and had no fat underneath making him quite a frightening dark red colour. I immediately became grateful for the time I had to ask all my questions before birth so it was not such a huge shock. I clearly remembered feeling so wrong asking "What will he look like? Like what do we need to be prepared for?" before he was born, as if I was worried he would be deformed or something. I was discharged 36 hours after Nico's birth. I was glad to go in some ways. After nearly a month, my own bed and real food was my idea of heaven. I hated leaving without my litle man though. It just happened that we went down the lift with a couple taking their baby home... and a pregnant women coming in the door as we left. I felt a bit jealous but I thought it would be worse. I had 2 friends due to give birth within the same week as me so it was nice to know I wouldn't crumble at the sight. And so began the transition to our new home/hospital life. The first few weeks I had the same emotions every visit.
The first week was fabulous. He did so well. He dropped the standard 10% of weight (down to 640g!!) and although not breathing himself, was not needing much extra oxygen. The world revolves around oxygen requirements in this land and the lower the better. He had a Grade 2 bleed on the brain, this was fine and would likely resolve itself. He also had a duct to his heart that hadn't closed, again, this would probably resolve itself in time. Things you learn quickly about oxygen in NICU
Nappies were changed 6 hourly along with taking his temperature. Meds were given at their various intervals. We felt useless at first but then Geoff changed his nappy at 3 days old.. I was more hesitant and waited til day 6. Feeds started after a few days at 1 ml per hour.
At about a week old we got a call at 10pm telling us he was not really coping on the standard ventilation and had to be changed to a High Frequency Oscillator. HFO. I just said "Ok...", hung up and wondered what it all meant. I didn't think to ask any questions and the next morning the nurse laughed and told me the doctor thought I must have been a bit bewildered since I didn't say much. The machine made his chest, and therefore his whole body, shake as it gave him 900 breaths per minute. Not a typo. 900. It also made a constant rattling noise. It was not until seeing him that I understood why they called. Not for permission but to stop parental heart attacks.
Note to self: when hospitals call to tell you stuff, ask questions.
|
My miracle arrives (Birth story, too much information!!)
When we got there they told us they would organise the paeds to speak to us again and then start. I was thankful that they took hours as I just was not ready. Not that I would ever be. We talked to the paeds about what to expect when bub was born in terms of what would the room be doing. How many people, what noises etc. I did not want to be stressing that there were suddenly 10 people in the room and think that meant it was all going wrong. I asked if we should expect a scream (No) and how soon he would be whisked out of the room. I told anyone who would listen that I wanted an epidual ASAP as although I had a good labour with Brooklyn, it was only due to the epidural. The induction made me vomit between every 2 or 3 contractions and I did not want to add that to the stress. The anaesitist (sp?) refused to do it as my infection meant the risks were too high. Obviously I didn't want one either once he said that, but we agreed if my temp came down for a significant time, the antibiotics were woorking and I could have one. I felt as ready as ever and told the midwife to get things going.
About 5 the drip was started. At 7 we watched Home and Away...then Highway Patrol until we realised we were missing Top Gear. I am sure the midwife thought we were nuts. I just needed to pretend this was a regular night in hospital. At 8.30 she said "Well, nothings happened yet so I think you should not be expecting this bub tonight, this is going to take a while" 10 minutes later the TV was off and by 9pm I asked if we could now call it Established Labour. I went from nothing but slight tightenings to 2 minute contractions within that 30 minutes. I lay on the bed for the first 20 or so then whilst up for a toilet break, I found I much prefered standing. They were now a minute apart at 9.30pm. Standing became rocking, with DH pushing against my lower back. I was pretty happy with how it was all going and with a temp of 38.3 the epi was not an option anyway... little did I know what was about to come and how silly I had been to think I may still ask for one later in the night/ morning.
|
My miracle arrives (Birth story, too much information!!)
When we got there they told us they would organise the paeds to speak to us again and then start. I was thankful that they took hours as I just was not ready. Not that I would ever be. We talked to the paeds about what to expect when bub was born in terms of what would the room be doing. How many people, what noises etc. I did not want to be stressing that there were suddenly 10 people in the room and think that meant it was all going wrong. I asked if we should expect a scream (No) and how soon he would be whisked out of the room. I told anyone who would listen that I wanted an epidual ASAP as although I had a good labour with Brooklyn, it was only due to the epidural. The induction made me vomit between every 2 or 3 contractions and I did not want to add that to the stress. The anaesitist (sp?) refused to do it as my infection meant the risks were too high. Obviously I didn't want one either once he said that, but we agreed if my temp came down for a significant time, the antibiotics were woorking and I could have one. I felt as ready as ever and told the midwife to get things going.
About 5 the drip was started. At 7 we watched Home and Away...then Highway Patrol until we realised we were missing Top Gear. I am sure the midwife thought we were nuts. I just needed to pretend this was a regular night in hospital. At 8.30 she said "Well, nothings happened yet so I think you should not be expecting this bub tonight, this is going to take a while" 10 minutes later the TV was off and by 9pm I asked if we could now call it Established Labour. I went from nothing but slight tightenings to 2 minute contractions within that 30 minutes. I lay on the bed for the first 20 or so then whilst up for a toilet break, I found I much prefered standing. They were now a minute apart at 9.30pm. Standing became rocking, with DH pushing against my lower back. I was pretty happy with how it was all going and with a temp of 38.3 the epi was not an option anyway... little did I know what was about to come and how silly I had been to think I may still ask for one later in the night/ morning.
|
The awful lead up to my marvelous Miracle
At midnight I call Geoff and tell him. His voice broke in disbelief "Ooh you are kidding?" and he made the journey in to the hospital. The doc did a scan a few hours later and the news was a bit better. I was not as dilated s he thought as my waters were 'bulging' and made an hourglass shape so in the spec exam, he was not actually seeing my cervix like he thought. Doc advised it would still be a while, days... maybe a week. Geoff slept in a bean bag next to me in the labour ward 'holding room' that night and I was moved to the ward the next day. They put me in a room with 3 new mothers. It was my lowest day and I had a hissy fit at every midwife who walked past me to get me the hell out of that room as it was just not fair. One told me it was just the way public hospitals were. Another asked if I was bothered by the noise. Did they not know what I had just been told and could they not imagine what it was like hearing all the congratulations when you think you have to prepare yourself for the death of a soon to be born child? I didn't get moved for 24 hours and I knew it wasn't their fault. I just wanted something to be angry about and I knew I had a legitimate reason there so I took advantage of it to release all I was feeling. (You can't just have a meltdown coz you're going into super prem labour you know! ) We started feeling more positive and all the docs were talking like I could still go for weeks as long as I got no infection. All was rosy again and in my new ward room, the waiting game began again. I had had my 2 steriod injections to help his lungs. They hurt like nothing else but I would have done it every day for months if I had to. It felt like someone took a big stick, jabbed it at your thigh then dragged it slowly down your leg. Dad had to go back on Sunday but Mum stayed and I told her when I got to 25 wks she could leave as I would no longer be so scared. The next day I was told I had a temperature and my heart rate was 100+ |
The awful lead up to my marvelous Miracle
At midnight I call Geoff and tell him. His voice broke in disbelief "Ooh you are kidding?" and he made the journey in to the hospital. The doc did a scan a few hours later and the news was a bit better. I was not as dilated s he thought as my waters were 'bulging' and made an hourglass shape so in the spec exam, he was not actually seeing my cervix like he thought. Doc advised it would still be a while, days... maybe a week. Geoff slept in a bean bag next to me in the labour ward 'holding room' that night and I was moved to the ward the next day. They put me in a room with 3 new mothers. It was my lowest day and I had a hissy fit at every midwife who walked past me to get me the hell out of that room as it was just not fair. One told me it was just the way public hospitals were. Another asked if I was bothered by the noise. Did they not know what I had just been told and could they not imagine what it was like hearing all the congratulations when you think you have to prepare yourself for the death of a soon to be born child? I didn't get moved for 24 hours and I knew it wasn't their fault. I just wanted something to be angry about and I knew I had a legitimate reason there so I took advantage of it to release all I was feeling. (You can't just have a meltdown coz you're going into super prem labour you know! ) We started feeling more positive and all the docs were talking like I could still go for weeks as long as I got no infection. All was rosy again and in my new ward room, the waiting game began again. I had had my 2 steriod injections to help his lungs. They hurt like nothing else but I would have done it every day for months if I had to. It felt like someone took a big stick, jabbed it at your thigh then dragged it slowly down your leg. Dad had to go back on Sunday but Mum stayed and I told her when I got to 25 wks she could leave as I would no longer be so scared. The next day I was told I had a temperature and my heart rate was 100+ |
Hospital... bedrest... surely you are exaggerating?
| Later that evening, the tertiary hospital called. I was to be admitted tomorow morning and should pack a bag as I would be there at least a few days. I told my huysband and my folks then got on the net and researched. I read about the stitches they can do and prepped myself. In hospital I am told that the stitches are probably not the best option for me, I should just be on bedrest in the hospital... until delivery!! I thought it sounded very dramatic and explained that we had no-one to look after Brooklyn so they had to be sure. They had a scan booked for the Thursday so we would know more then. "Great... 4 days in hospital" Scan showed I was not all that short after all but I was now 1.5cm dilated. Different diagnosis, same outcome, same treatment. I had to stay. We would have to get the mother in law over from NZ for 2 or 3 months as mine couldn't take that kind of time away from her business or my dad. MIL doesn't drive, I made a big fuss about how I would not get to see my daughter etc and though it was what was going through my mind, I was more wanting to see if they were really so adament it was needed. We agreed I would stay til 24 weeks, have another scan and if nothing changed I could go home for the remaining bedrest and Geoff's mum would be Brooklyn's carer. I moved to "Medihotel", a ward where you don't get harassed by nurses, have your own room and generally look after yourself but have support if required. I was allowed to go to the bathroom and get food/drink etc but that's all. It was ok, I was bored out of my mind but that was ok. I just focussed on getting my next scan so I could go home. I rang work and said I would be back in a few weeks as I work from home and could do it from bed. After a week I noticed a bit of blood, just a speck. Went to mat ward, they said it was nothing much. This continued for a day or 2. I couldn't sleep with worry so at 11pm on the Wednesday I asked them to see if a midwife could be brought across to calm me down. We had a chat and I said "I'd know if my waters broke ay?" and she said likely there would be a slight pop but maybe not. Flashback: 24 hours. Little pop. I'd gone into denial as I remembered the feeling from February when I had my DnC. I tried to block that was what it was then too, I didn't want to believe my pregnancy was ending. The midwife said that she'd talk to doc and he may want to do a speculum but only if it was really needed as they are really trying to leave my insides alone. She was back 5 minutes later with a wheelchair. The most caring man Peter, did a spec at 11.45pm. He sat at the end of my bed and said the most haunting thing: "Now, I'd ideally like Geoff to be here when I tell you this... but obviously you want to know what is happening and that would be cruel" I knew it... "You're waters have certainly broken and you are quite dilated and effaced. I see the membrane bulging." I was 23 weeks and 1 day pregnant. |
Hospital... bedrest... surely you are exaggerating?
| Later that evening, the tertiary hospital called. I was to be admitted tomorow morning and should pack a bag as I would be there at least a few days. I told my huysband and my folks then got on the net and researched. I read about the stitches they can do and prepped myself. In hospital I am told that the stitches are probably not the best option for me, I should just be on bedrest in the hospital... until delivery!! I thought it sounded very dramatic and explained that we had no-one to look after Brooklyn so they had to be sure. They had a scan booked for the Thursday so we would know more then. "Great... 4 days in hospital" Scan showed I was not all that short after all but I was now 1.5cm dilated. Different diagnosis, same outcome, same treatment. I had to stay. We would have to get the mother in law over from NZ for 2 or 3 months as mine couldn't take that kind of time away from her business or my dad. MIL doesn't drive, I made a big fuss about how I would not get to see my daughter etc and though it was what was going through my mind, I was more wanting to see if they were really so adament it was needed. We agreed I would stay til 24 weeks, have another scan and if nothing changed I could go home for the remaining bedrest and Geoff's mum would be Brooklyn's carer. I moved to "Medihotel", a ward where you don't get harassed by nurses, have your own room and generally look after yourself but have support if required. I was allowed to go to the bathroom and get food/drink etc but that's all. It was ok, I was bored out of my mind but that was ok. I just focussed on getting my next scan so I could go home. I rang work and said I would be back in a few weeks as I work from home and could do it from bed. After a week I noticed a bit of blood, just a speck. Went to mat ward, they said it was nothing much. This continued for a day or 2. I couldn't sleep with worry so at 11pm on the Wednesday I asked them to see if a midwife could be brought across to calm me down. We had a chat and I said "I'd know if my waters broke ay?" and she said likely there would be a slight pop but maybe not. Flashback: 24 hours. Little pop. I'd gone into denial as I remembered the feeling from February when I had my DnC. I tried to block that was what it was then too, I didn't want to believe my pregnancy was ending. The midwife said that she'd talk to doc and he may want to do a speculum but only if it was really needed as they are really trying to leave my insides alone. She was back 5 minutes later with a wheelchair. The most caring man Peter, did a spec at 11.45pm. He sat at the end of my bed and said the most haunting thing: "Now, I'd ideally like Geoff to be here when I tell you this... but obviously you want to know what is happening and that would be cruel" I knew it... "You're waters have certainly broken and you are quite dilated and effaced. I see the membrane bulging." I was 23 weeks and 1 day pregnant. |
Stupid cervix!!
| I went along for my 20 week ultra sound on Sept 17... so excited as we had decided to find out the sex of bub. I got through the 12 week scan perfectly this time round so what was there to worry about! The sonographer did her thing and about 5 mins later said she may do an internal scan after as well. She made it sound routine so I didn't really give it a second thought as she made her way around the bub telling us everything we needed to know. The scan was superb, or Geoff and I have gotten really good at reading them, not sure. I was elated. Then we found out it was a boy... even more good news, a pigeon pair sounded ideal. Next she brought back the internal scan idea. I was just going with it but Geoff was suspect. "Is there something wrong? Why are you doing this?" and she advised she was not getting clear measurements of the cervix. Fair enough. She advised us to wait in the waiting room while the obstetrician had a look at the measurements. It took about 15 minutes and all I could think of was "What is it with stupid scans? I am supposed to love them and now I get another one that stresss me out!" The obs came along and we were advised that my cervix was short and this generally meant I would be unlikely to make it to term, a nurse would take me through to the emergency dept. "WTF?????" Geoff and I just sat dazed as we waited in emergency hypothesising what I could possibly need to be here for. We have no family in Australia and came up with the scenario that I would be made to stay in hospital. "You'll have to live with my Mum for 3 months, she'll have to come over" "No, She couldn't do that, We'll have to send Brooklyn to her" and were interupted by someone taking us to the mat ward. I can't remember what I was thinking... it was just too unclear. A doc told us that I had 1.3cm of cervix compared to most which are over 3cm. I was also 3mm dilated but I had had a baby before so that part meant nothing much. The short cervix was an indicator but not a guarantee that I would have a prem baby. We left feeling pretty good and I was told to come back to see the Obs on Mon to discuss The Plan. Mum and Dad arrived for a holiday on Sunday and I went off to the obs alone. I would have to change to the Tertiary care hospital, I was told. They would do a management plan there. It may involve stitching me up. And this next bit: warning, not suitable for emotional people... the FEMALE obs tells me "The best thing would be if you went into labour in the next week so then it's a miscarriage. A baby between 24 and 28 weeks would just have so many issues, it would be too hard" Yes. That is pretty much verbatim. Nice work doc. I went home in a daze... Mum could see I looked a bit odd and asked if I was ok. I couldn't tell her the full story so I played it down and just said that I would probably not make it to 40 weeks. Then I cried some more |
Stupid cervix!!
| I went along for my 20 week ultra sound on Sept 17... so excited as we had decided to find out the sex of bub. I got through the 12 week scan perfectly this time round so what was there to worry about! The sonographer did her thing and about 5 mins later said she may do an internal scan after as well. She made it sound routine so I didn't really give it a second thought as she made her way around the bub telling us everything we needed to know. The scan was superb, or Geoff and I have gotten really good at reading them, not sure. I was elated. Then we found out it was a boy... even more good news, a pigeon pair sounded ideal. Next she brought back the internal scan idea. I was just going with it but Geoff was suspect. "Is there something wrong? Why are you doing this?" and she advised she was not getting clear measurements of the cervix. Fair enough. She advised us to wait in the waiting room while the obstetrician had a look at the measurements. It took about 15 minutes and all I could think of was "What is it with stupid scans? I am supposed to love them and now I get another one that stresss me out!" The obs came along and we were advised that my cervix was short and this generally meant I would be unlikely to make it to term, a nurse would take me through to the emergency dept. "WTF?????" Geoff and I just sat dazed as we waited in emergency hypothesising what I could possibly need to be here for. We have no family in Australia and came up with the scenario that I would be made to stay in hospital. "You'll have to live with my Mum for 3 months, she'll have to come over" "No, She couldn't do that, We'll have to send Brooklyn to her" and were interupted by someone taking us to the mat ward. I can't remember what I was thinking... it was just too unclear. A doc told us that I had 1.3cm of cervix compared to most which are over 3cm. I was also 3mm dilated but I had had a baby before so that part meant nothing much. The short cervix was an indicator but not a guarantee that I would have a prem baby. We left feeling pretty good and I was told to come back to see the Obs on Mon to discuss The Plan. Mum and Dad arrived for a holiday on Sunday and I went off to the obs alone. I would have to change to the Tertiary care hospital, I was told. They would do a management plan there. It may involve stitching me up. And this next bit: warning, not suitable for emotional people... the FEMALE obs tells me "The best thing would be if you went into labour in the next week so then it's a miscarriage. A baby between 24 and 28 weeks would just have so many issues, it would be too hard" Yes. That is pretty much verbatim. Nice work doc. I went home in a daze... Mum could see I looked a bit odd and asked if I was ok. I couldn't tell her the full story so I played it down and just said that I would probably not make it to 40 weeks. Then I cried some more |
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