Visitors

Winston and Lizzie coming to visit Henry was always a little stressful, but always very meaningful.  Winston would share his cars with Henry.  Lizzie would plaster him in stickers.  They both always wanted to hold him, look at him, poke at him, and take pictures with him.  Lizzie also wanted to put hand sanitizer on about 1,000 times per visit.  She probably single-handedly went through a couple of bottles of that stuff throughout the hospital.  

Visitors would break up the monotony of each day.  Barry and Debbie Koenemann and Gloria stopped by.  Briana Larson came.  Crystalyn and Rob came by, too.  Of course Steve and Sherry were regulars, along with aunt Diane and Kristine Moore.  I am so thankful for all of the people who came to see Henry, but also to support me and Dave and our kids.  We are so, so lucky to have so much support.    

"Mom, will you take a picture of me with the baby?  Did he smile?"

Photo Series: Life at SLCH

{I think we set that darn pulse-ox foot monitor off ALL the time!}

After several days under the UV lights, Henry (he finally had a name!) was able to get his billirubin under control.  The numbers were still steady, but the number of new blood cells he was having to make in order to compensate for those my blood was attacking in his body was declining.  Good news! We were scheduled to go home on Friday, Sept. 27.  I thought the timing couldn't be any better.  My parents were scheduled to fly home the following day (Saturday), so we would have one day home together.  

That Friday, I spent the morning feeding Henry and getting him ready to go.  I had to watch a series of videos before we could leave, so I watched those and just hung around.  We were waiting until about 1:00 to do his car seat test (2 hours long!) and then we could go home.  Around 11:30 I ordered lunch.  I was in and out of the NICU waiting for my lunch to show up.  It was taking forever!  At one point I went out into the lobby and lunch room to wait.  And wait.  And wait.  When my lunch didn't show up, I went back in to wait by Henry's bedside.  When I returned to the NICU, I came around the corner and saw all of his doctors (probably 4 of them) hovered over Henry.  Dr. Colvin came to me with a concerned look on her face and let me know what was going on.  Henry's alarms had gone off, and when his nurse came to see what was happening, she saw that Henry wasn't breathing.  With a little jostling, he began breathing again on his own.  The nurse notified the doctors of what had happened, and just minutes later he did it again.  Fortunately, many of the doctors were right there and watched it all happen.  Within several seconds, Henry began breathing again on his own.  

As a mom, I think we all feel like our job is to protect and care for our children.  Not only was I concerned and upset by the news of Henry's breathing episodes, but I was so upset by the fact that I wasn't there to protect him.  I wasn't there to care for him when he needed me to be there.  Instead I was out waiting for my lunch!  It's almost embarrassing.  It crushed me.  I felt so selfish and incredibly helpless.  I now knew what it felt like to be completely powerless over this situation.  I know I couldn't have done anything to prevent this from happening.  But I still felt sick about the fact that I wasn't there when it happened, and Henry's recovery and eventual discharge from the hospital wasn't up to me.  

Because of these two apnea episodes, Henry would not be going home that Friday.  Dave and I went home devastated that night.  Winston and Lizzie were so looking forward to having their baby home.  I was, too, as was Dave.  We were crushed. Lots of tears were shed.  

Through all of this, it was easy for me to compare our situation with others' and feel ashamed or ungrateful.  Our baby was strong.  He was robust.  He was growing.  He was eating.  He wasn't sick.  Why should we complain?  Sometimes I wondered why we were even there!  But those feelings of helplessness, the aching heart, the wanting to be home as a family, the search for answers from doctors/nurses/anyone -- those were all real, raw feelings.  I knew that our situation may not have been as severe, but it was still serious.  Our baby was just as important and our feelings were, too.  To this day, those feelings still surface when I see or hear of another baby and family at the NICU.  Those feelings are still fresh, and I appreciate and have greater empathy for those families in that situation.   

{Finally off the lights and happy as a clam all swaddled up.}

{Wearing stickers from Lizzie}

{On oxygen during the sleep study to determine why Henry was having those pesky apnea episodes.}

Baby boy's change of plans

The pediatrician came into my room and said that when my nurse had wheeled Henry down to the NICU, the nurse who was in the OR when he was delivered saw him and instantly said, "That baby looks orange.  Check his blood type and his billirubin."  Within minutes they were monitoring baby boy's billi and discovered it was not only too high, but it was rising rapidly.  The pediatrician came to tell me that they were monitoring this closely and would keep me posted.  She said they would keep him in the NICU instead of bringing him down for feedings.  This was so they could regulate his blood sugar (which was too low (or too high? I forget), but also to closely monitor the billi.  Basically, I would just pump through the night and he could come back to me in the morning.  A couple of hours later (around 3:00 a.m.), the pediatrician came back in (again, no baby) and said the billi was still rising quickly and it was becoming a more serious situation.  I couldn't do anything to help and all they could do is help him eat, pee and poop and hope the billi would slow down.  Around 4:30 a.m. the pediatrician came back in and said the billi was climbing too rapidly.  Basically, the amount of billirubin a baby can tolerate is dictated by how old the baby is -- in hours.  So a baby who is 4 hours old can tolerate X amount of billirubin.  A baby who is 8 hour old can tolerate a little more billirubin.  Baby boy's billi was climbing rapidly, more than his body was able to tolerate.  Plus, he was able to tolerate even less because of his premature arrival.  The pediatrician told me that they had put St. Louis Children's Hospital on alert.  If the billi continued to climb, he would have to have a total blood transfusion.  The doctor's had determined that baby boy had A+ blood.  I have O+ blood.  Because our blood is incompatible (similar to W's and Lizzie's), my blood cells are basically attacking and killing off his blood cells.  A blood transfusion would clear out all of my "killer" blood and give him new, clean blood.  This procedure is not performed at Missouri Baptist Hospital, so that's why we would have to go down to Children's.  The procedure basically entails two doctors, one who slowly pumps blood in and one who slowly pulls blood out of the baby.  This happens through the umbilical cord (vein and artery).  It is relatively painless for the baby, but it is a slow, tedious process -- a little in, a little out -- which lasts about two hours.  Risks include bad blood or the baby not tolerating the procedure.  But the risk of the billirubin getting too high include brain damage.  

Getting this news in the middle of the night after an already whirlwind day was a little upsetting.  Well, a lot upsetting.  I called Dave and told him he needed to come back to the hospital right away and bring someone with him who could assist in a blessing.  I was wheeled down to the NICU (I was still hooked up and couldn't walk) and saw my little baby boy under his glowing blue light in his little box-bed.  It was heart breaking.  Cue Another meltdown.  The neonatologist walked me through what was happening; they were concerned that if a transfusion would be needed, it would have to happen quickly  Being at the Children's Hospital would ensure that baby boy would be in a place where that could happen. Dave arrived along with his dad and the transport team (dressed in what looked like space suits) arrived minutes later.  They were so kind and sweet.  I was crying my eyes out and one of the guys on the transport team kneeled down next to me and told me they would take really good care of him and he would be fine.  Dave put his hand in the incubator and gave the baby a quick father's blessing.  Dave followed the transport team (in the most enormous, state-of-the-art ambulance you've ever seen) down to Children's, which would soon become his second/third home.  

Later that day (Saturday), Winston and Lizzie came to see me at the hospital.  I hadn't seen them in more than 24 hours.  Poor kids thought I was just headed to the doctor the day before.  Their world had turned upside down, too.  I was so excited to see them.  Dave had been at Children's all morning.  His mom had come to the house during the night and Steve came to MoBap.  Then Steven went to the house and Sherry went down to Children's.  Then Dave went home to relieve Steve, and Dave brought the kids by.  This juggling act was going to become our new normal.  The kids came in and were so excited...and so confused.  They squealed for me, then sort of looked at me funny.  They wanted to know where the baby was.  Lizzie lifted up my gown and asked to see the baby.  Winston was asking where my belly was because the baby wasn't there.  It was a hard sell trying to explain to them that in fact the baby had been born, but was at a different hospital.  Their visit was short (too many buttons to push, cords to pull, and a super sore mama to jump on) with the promise that I would see them again very soon.  

Finally getting to meet

While I was stuck at MoBap recovering, baby boy was hanging out at Children's.  I pumped like it was my job, and family and kind friends would take milk down to Children's so baby boy could eat that instead of formula.  Four days later, I was able to get out of the hospital and head down to Children's and finally get my hands on this baby boy.  

Best.  Day.  Ever. 

St. Louis Children's Hospital

{W meeting baby boy for the first time}

{SheShe feeding baby boy}

{Lizzie meeting baby brother}

{Little glow worm}

Happy birthday! Baby #3

I had arrived at MoBap Hospital around 10:30 a.m.  By noon, they said I would be going home.  Around 2:00...they wanted to watch me a bit longer.  By 4:00, things really started to get going.  And by 6:00...in the words of hospital doctor, "I looked like a lady who was going to have a baby."  

"When?" I asked.  "Like, next week?"

"No," Dr. McCarthy responded.  "Tonight.  We have a 8:00 p.m. appointment in the operating room.  We're just waiting for Dr. Knight to get here."  

Say what?!  Cue emotional meltdown.  

I wasn't supposed to be having a baby today.  Or even this month!  I was supposed to be having dinner with my family.  I was supposed to be going on with friends tonight.  My mom wasn't here yet.  We didn't even have the baby's space put together in my room at home.  Nothing was ready, especially me.  

Something to keep in mind; I had sent Dave off to have dinner with the kids and his parents.  Again, I thought I'd be checking out.  Winst and Lizzie thought I had just gone to the doctor that morning to listen to the baby's heartbeat.  They were clueless and I didn't want to give them any cause for alarm.  In trying to keep things normal, I found myself alone in a hospital triage room having a complete breakdown.  I believe my text to Dave went something like this:  "Where are you?!  Hello!  I'm having a baby!"

Dave got back to the hospital shortly after 6:00. A little frazzled himself, but holding it together because, well, someone had to and it wasn't me.  He called our bishop who detoured his whole evening to come to the hospital and assist in giving me a blessing. In my beautiful hospital gown, monitor-strapped belly, and swollen crying eyes, the words I remember from the blessing were that I would feel calm and peaceful.  That was hardly how I felt in that moment.  Not even close to it.  I was scared out of my mind.  And that's when they started to happen.  Miracles, that is.  Call them coincidences.  Or tender mercies.  Or whatever.  The following hours and days were filled with miracles, one after another.  

Near the end of the priesthood blessing Dave was giving me, my doctor-on-call walked into the room.  She couldn't really see what was going on, so she just announced herself, "Hi, this is Dr. Knight."  I had my eyes closed, so I just stuck my hand out with my finger up, indicating her to wait just a minute.  When the blessing was over, she quickly apologized, saying, "I see there was some laying on of hands there.  I'm so sorry to have interrupted."   I introduced her to Dave and to my bishop.  She asked, "Oh, are you LDS?  What ward do you go to?"  We were all a little caught off guard.  You typically don't ask those questions if you aren't LDS yourself.  I said, yes, we are.  We attend the Frontenac ward.  Then I slowly asked if she was LDS or which ward she attended.  She said she lived in the Pagedale Branch area.  That's even my stake!  Small world, I'd say.  But more than that, I felt immediately that Dr. Knight "got me."  I say that in the sense that she knows where I'm coming from.  To some degree she knows my core.  She knows what I value.  She gets me.  I had never seen her before in any church setting.  I had no idea of her activity in the church -- or lack thereof.  But it didn't matter.  Her calm voice reassured me that I would be OK, that I was strong, and that Heavenly Father would be there with us through the whole procedure.  Everything would be OK.  

That was just what I needed.  That was the calm, the peace, the reassurance that I needed. And from there, it was go time.  

I quickly got cleaned up and changed into my surgical attire.  Dave was making a bazillion phone calls trying to get a hold of my parents (at CHOICE gala and shortly thereafter heading to Seattle), his parents (Katie needs some things at the hospital...oh, and the kids), and Briana Larson (dropped out of her family activity for the night to come to my house and watch kids so Steve and Sherry could meet the new baby).  

I walked back to the OR and hopped up on the table.  Just like before, I hunched over the pillow and waited for the anesthesiologist to do his work.  This time, though, Dr. Knight was there to wrap her arms around me (I was shivering cold) and calmly talk to me while the anesthesia zinged down my legs.  That pillow hug part is sort of where I mentally prepare, and I was easily able to do that without even a hint of fear.  

As soon as the anesthesia gets going, the shakes come on.  I sort of expect it now.  This is the point where I start singing to myself (and sometimes out loud) to get through the several minutes of prep they have to do.  It's the only way to distract myself from the shaking and anxiety from what is to come.  This time was no different, though the prep time seemed to fly by.  I was totally alert.  Shaking.  But calm.  

After maybe 10 minutes or so, the shield was pulled and Dave come in the OR.  And within probably five minutes or less, I heard the anesthesiologist saying to Dave, "You want to see this.  Here comes baby!"  It was so quick!  I had hardly noticed all of the pulling and tugging that I associated with my first c-section.  Forget that part, the baby was coming!  As they reached in to get him out, the doctor, surprised herself, said, "Oh, there's his bum.  He's breech!"  He definitely hadn't been breech earlier that day.  And out he came.  Immediately, he let out a little cry, and then a big scream.  Music to my ears!  I cried.  I was so worried about how his lungs would or wouldn't work.  And he was able to scream right out of the gate.  Hooray!  Everyone cheered along with me.  

Dr. Knight handed the baby off and continued to work.  I looked to the side and watched the nurses and Dave get the baby cleaned up, measured, weighed, etc.  Baby cried through the whole thing.  It was great.  When it came time to weigh him, the nurses excitedly counted as the scale went up and up and up.  Six pounds, eleven ounces; 6lb 11oz!!!  They could hardly believe it themselves.  Everyone in the OR was surprised and, again, we all cheered together.  

Dr. Knight calmly guided me through the whole procedure, saying what was going on within giving too much of the yucky details.  She was surprised at how long the umbilical cord was.  Dave got a glimpse of it too.  In his words, "You could jump rope with that thing."  Gross.  

Again, the remaining surgery time flew by.  Dr. Knight was so gentle through it all.  I literally never felt any pulling, tugging, etc.  That was a miracle in itself.  Baby boy had a couple of little breathing episodes that the nurses watched, but they all cleared up on their own before we even left the OR.  In fact, both baby and I were well enough to leave the OR together and head to the recovery room.  

We spent the next hour or so in the recovery room just trying to process the fact that we were now a family of five.  Three kids!  Wow!  We had no idea what this baby's name would be.  We had no newborn clothing.  No newborn diapers.  Crib wasn't set up.  But here he was and he was perfect.  We wheeled into our new home for the next few days.  I obviously hadn't come to the hospital prepared to stay, so Sherry brought some toiletries for me and met baby boy.  Around 12:30 a.m., the nurse came in to check on me and see if I wanted to send the baby down to the nursery until it was time for him to eat.  I said yes, I would prefer for him to stay in the nursery and come to my room for feedings.  She agreed and said she would prefer that so he could be monitored through the night, as well.  I asked a few questions and just as she was walking out the door I said something like, "Oh, my other two children have been jaundice because we've had different blood types.  Will you check his blood type?"  She said they would check and also monitor his billirubin.  And off he went to the nursery.

Dave left for home and I was off to get some sleep.  I was officially on newborn time, so I wanted to get all the sleep I could.  It wasn't too long after I'd fallen asleep that the pediatrician made her first visit and this baby's new life turned a little upside down.   

Paci Princess

I knew it was time to get rid of Lizzie's beloved "paci" or pacifier.  Especially with a baby on the way, I knew we needed to get rid of it much sooner than later.  Given how much she LOVES that thing, I knew this transition could be tricky.  

For about a week, we talked about how "next week" or "In X# days," you're going to give your pacifier to the Paci Princess in exchange for something amazing.  Lizzie seemed completely on board, almost excited to give this Princess her special gift.

That morning, Lizzie specially colored an envelope, dropped her last pacifier inside, and sealed it up. We talked it out to the mailbox together and she confidently placed the envelope inside.  No crying.  No tears.  It was rather pleasant.  When she came back inside, a special Rapunzel doll was waiting for her.  Strategically, this was her pacifier replacement; something to take to bed at night instead of her pacifier.  The first night was OK; she wasn't too happy, but not too upset, either.  The following night was the same.  If I remember correctly, the third night was a little difficult, but after that, no problems.  Hooray!!!