No, not THE "f" word, but in our household, any sound that Liam makes that isn't "ma" or some variation thereof is a small victory for all of us.
Liam has been working hard with his speech therapist, Miss Michelle, for 3 months now. Twice a week she comes to our house and works diligently with him to encourage him to vocalize his needs and wants. He has been rapidly expanding his ASL vocabulary, but to those who aren't familiar with the signs for "more" and "food", Liam's favorite signs BY FAR, it can be nearly impossible to understand him.
He was blessed with the gift of... well, let's call it tenacity. I see a lot of both of us in him, but Bill claims his stubborn streak is all me. Lucky us. :-) Every new sign, every attempt at a new sound, is the result of countless hours of encouragement and coaching. It's a painfully slow process... but sometimes, when the planets align just so, and Liam deems us worthy, we are rewarded for our patience.
This week, it was an "F" word.
Ask me what the exact word was that he was attempting and I'd be hard pressed to tell you - the actual sound of the letter itself has made an impression much greater than any word ever could. A new sound, a new barrier broken through, a simple "F" is all it took to bring this seasoned mother to tears.
Maybe it doesn't sound like a lot to most of you, but a few select parents reading this are nodding your heads, or remembering your child's struggle to articulate the words they so obviously understand the meanings to - and the tears that resulted from each small victory.
This week, Liam brought down the house with a simple sound. It was the smallest of accomplishments to most, but to us, a small miracle... and we have learned to never take those for granted.
Thursday, September 30, 2010
Monday, July 5, 2010
The long and winding road...
and finally... we are here. We have driven for hundreds of miles through driving rain, snow and blackest nights to arrive at this very destination. A restful spot where we can get some peace and just be. Liam's surgery, formerly "that which cannot be named" is behind us, he is healing and we can all breathe again... but the historian in me feels the need to share a bit of our journey, perhaps at some point there will be someone on the same path that needs to read it... and the mother in me needs to get some of this out so that *I* can begin to heal.
There is nothing worse in this world than to see your child in pain and be powerless to help them, or to find the words to explain why. "It's just the way God made you" doesn't cut it for a 16 month old. Let's be honest here, sometimes it doesn't cut it for this 35 year old. There are only so many things you can do or say to comfort a baby who has been through surgery. Endless rocking, soothing words whispered into their hair, a gentle hand stroking their back. For every spoken word, there are 100 questions. "Why MY baby?" "What did I do wrong?" "Will he have to watch his babies suffer like this?"... it's endless. And painful. And futile. But I digress. Pain is only part of the story, and today is a day of healing.
Day 1 - Surgery Day - June 23rd, 2010 12:24 AM
I am in bed, we have to be up in 4 hours to take Liam to the hospital. There's no way I can sleep. I am playing countless games of Rummy 500 on my phone until my eyelids close involuntarily. I am praying for sleep so that I can be a mother in the morning. What I get is a mix of bad dreams and tangled sheets. When Bill's alarm goes off at 5 I think he's going to work until the lead ball hits me in the chest. I feign sleep until I can't anymore and am forced into the shower. We get Liam ready, lock up and leave for the hospital. I am thinking how happy I am to have a husband that loves me enough to know I need support today, even though he himself is suffering. I am thinking about anything I can to NOT think about the hand-off.
We check in at the hospital and are called back to the surgical holding area almost immediately. Liam and I sit and read his favorite book and the nurse brings him some toys, which he promptly turns into projectiles for Daddy to chase all over the room. After he gets his ET toe (oxygen sensor) they take us to another holding area where the anesthesiologist is talking to us and asking if we have any questions. I ask a question about his post-surgical pain management but what I really want to do is tell him about what a funny, bright and mischivous boy our Liam is, and how he has reunited family members and healed the broken hearts of a family left behind and how he was sent from Heaven to us to be a reminder that life does indeed go on. I want him to know that he is was a wonderful, surprising and blessed gift to us, his parents, and to treat him with the utmost of care and respect... but I just have to pray that his hands will be guided by a higher power and I have to let go and trust.
Too soon it is time to walk away and leave him at the kissing corner, knowing he is surrounded by capable people and the prayers of everyone who knows him. Only a parent who has walked that path knows the heartache we felt at that moment. Leaving our smiling, happy, trusting baby - knowing that when he wakes up he will be in pain that cannot be explained, surrounded by faces he doesn't know. All we can do is walk away and pray that his angels will hold him until we can be reunited.
The minutes pass like hours. Nikki and Ava arrive and are a welcome distraction. My Mom arrives with tales of chasing dogs down a dirt road in her golf cart at 6 AM. The laughter that ensues lifts my spirits and before I know it the first surgeon, the ENT, is in the waiting room telling us that his tubes are in and Dr. Semba is with him... and he's doing great. It's a huge relief to see and talk to someone who has seen him and knows he is alright and I can breathe a little.
More time passes, maybe it's a half an hour, maybe it's 2, and Dr. Semba is in the waiting room. I can't reach her fast enough, I just want to know he's ok. I just want to hear that I can see him and touch him and feel for myself that he's ok. She explains his recovery, she answers our questions and reassures us that everything went as planned and he'll be in recovery waiting for us soon. When she leaves, we go back to our seats and wait some more.
A nurse is calling our names, only one of us can go back and I don't even wait to debate who it will be, although I feel an intense guilt that burns me to the quick, I go and leave Bill to wait some more. I have to see him. I have to touch him with my own hands and comfort him as best I can. It has to be me.
She leads me back to the recovery area, to the very last curtain, where I can hear his cries. I pull back the curtain and see my baby who doesn't understand the why's or the how's crying in the weakest, most pitiful cry and I am rendered completely helpless. I stand at the foot of the bed and sob, the pain being swept up from the deepest recess of my being, having been kept hidden since the day we discovered this path. I climb into bed with him and wrap my arms around him and do the only thing I know. Love my child. Love him. Comfort him. I sang Old MacDOnald until I ran out of animals. I sang it again. They pumped morphine into him at regular intervals. I kept singing. We both kept crying.
At some point they determined he was stable enough to move to a regular room and we met Bill in the hall. I could see the relief and sadness on his face and it was still so comforting to just have him there. Once we were in the room, we were able to rock him in a rocking chair and after 5 doses of morphine he was finally able to rest. He slept on and off in the rocking chair with us, and later, next to me in the bed and at 6 AM the next morning he was taken off of the morphine. He was started on Tylenol with Codeine with an apple juice chaser (to stop the burn) and did well on that. His fever, which we were told was normal and due to micro-aspirations during surgery, came and went.
All morning he was lethargic and grouchy and we were pretty convinced we would be spending another night at the hospital... but again he surprised us. Seemingly out of the blue, at noon, he ate a half of a container of yogurt, some apple sauce and chocolate pudding followed by some juice. He discovered he could make us laugh and clap if he threw an egg filled with beads. Our laughter made HIM laugh, and his laughter filled us with hope and joy. He began doing so much better that by 3 PM they started the discharge process and by 4 PM we were... headed home!
Angels (Aunt Sherry, then Erin and Don) bring us food so we don't have to think about cooking, and we settle in to see where the night is going to go.
That night we slept on the couch and we were up by 5 AM.
Day 3 - June 25th, 2010 - First full day at home
Time is irrelevant and punctuated with dosing schedules and unproductive feeding attempts. Pediasure becomes the food of choice. Everything that was opened and rejected throughout the day goes into the blender at 5 PM and becomes a "smoothie". He is sleeping 45 minutes at a time and is not very happy when he's awake. We are spending a lot of time in the rocking chair.
Day 4 - June 26th, 2010
Still grouchy, still rocking, still watching the clock for the 4 hour dosing intervals. It's strangely comforting as it's the only thing that we have control over.
Day 5 - June 27th, 2010 - Codeine is NOT Liam's friend
Liam wakes up at 5 AM and starts to rock immediately. He sits up against the back of the couch and rocks back onto it with force - continuously.
By noon, I'm thinking he has to be getting tired, but the rocking doesn't stop. He starts to fall asleep sitting up but jerks awake and begins to rock again. Papa Butch arrives from Sterling and while initially grouchy, Liam finally settles into his arms in the rocking chair and sleeps for half an hour. He wakes up and begins to rock again. Papa thinks it might be the codeine and I'm getting a nagging suspicion that he's right. The rocking continues until 10 PM when Liam finally succumbs to sleep.
Day 6 - June 28th, 2010 - Just plain Tylenol
I decide to reduce the codeine Liam is getting to 1/4 of the dose and he is instantly better. The rocking is still going on, but he's able to sleep throughout the day and seems to be in a better mood altogether. We are going through Pediasure like it's going out of style. He is refusing all solids.
Day 7 - June 29th, 2010 - Finally eating
Liam is doing better on the reduced codeine and is walking around for longer periods. He's still pretty tired, he's not eating solids yet, but his mood is visibly improved, as is mine! He is sleeping about 5 hours at night and taking an hour to 2 hour nap in the afternoon. Although the schedule isn't what it was, it's still getting back to some semblance of normal.
Day 8 - June 30th, 2010 - Off to the park!
Liam starts eating solids again. Albeit Stage 1, but solids, nonetheless! I figure out that if I sit in front of him on the ottoman and let him take short breaks in between bites, he will finish the entire thing. We are going broke on Pediasure.
Day 9 - July 1st, 2010
Liam is completely off of Codeine and is doing great on a reduced schedule of plain Tylenol. He is eating more solids and is getting back to himself more and more every day. He is interacting with the kids and even running around for a little bit! He takes a long nap and I am able to put away 2 weeks worth of laundry and clean the upstairs. When Bill comes home from work, Liam's Pack N Play is not in the living room anymore... Liam slept in his own room tonight... and so did Mommy! We both slept clear through the night in our own beds.
Day 10 - July 2nd, 2010 - Aunt Cait comes to visit
Liam has a great day playing with Aunt Cait and going for a walk outside. He takes a late nap and sleep for 3 hours! I came home to a fridge full of half-eaten everything, but into the blender it went that night. I think if I ever smell Pediasure again it will be too soon.
Day 11 - July 3rd, 2010 - Party at Great Aunt Sheila's!
Liam's first day with no pain meds... and he does great! He spends the entire afternoon running around Great Aunt Sheila's and Uncle Joe's backyard, playing with his cousins and eating baby food peaches and Pediasure (gag). He falls asleep a happy boy and I go to bed thanking God for healing our baby so quickly.
Day 12 - July 4th, 2010 - Happy 4th of July!!
We spend a wonderful day outdoors, grilling and enjoying one another's company. The pain and uncertainty are fading and we are starting to feel like a normal family again. The extra sleep definitely helps!
Day 13 - July 5th, 2010 - Today
Fitting that I should be writing this today, the 13th day of this particular journey. Liam is almost completely back to normal. He'd beg to differ, I'm sure, because he's just about had it with pureed whatnot and what he'd really like is whatever it is WE are eating, but he's healing. His mouth looks like the aftermath of a warzone, but he's getting better every day. He's being a little silly. A little playful, a little naughty. Bill is finally again finding 17 new tabs opened on his laptop when he walks out of the room for a second. I am again picking up 216 separated wipes from the family room floor. I am plucking cloth diapers from the powder room toilet and keys from the trash. We are thrilled to be doing so.
We never would have chosen this for our son. We wouldn't choose this for ANYONE'S child. It has taken some time but I'm reaching a point where I'm not so angry. I still have questions, but someday, I know, they'll be answered and I will finally understand. Liam is a gift, he was sent to us for a reason and he will live a long purposeful life surrounded by the love of family and guided by the angels who knew him first. My job in this is to love him unconditionally, to teach him to be loving and faithful and when all else fails, to curl around him and sing until I have no voice.
There is nothing worse in this world than to see your child in pain and be powerless to help them, or to find the words to explain why. "It's just the way God made you" doesn't cut it for a 16 month old. Let's be honest here, sometimes it doesn't cut it for this 35 year old. There are only so many things you can do or say to comfort a baby who has been through surgery. Endless rocking, soothing words whispered into their hair, a gentle hand stroking their back. For every spoken word, there are 100 questions. "Why MY baby?" "What did I do wrong?" "Will he have to watch his babies suffer like this?"... it's endless. And painful. And futile. But I digress. Pain is only part of the story, and today is a day of healing.
Day 1 - Surgery Day - June 23rd, 2010 12:24 AM
I am in bed, we have to be up in 4 hours to take Liam to the hospital. There's no way I can sleep. I am playing countless games of Rummy 500 on my phone until my eyelids close involuntarily. I am praying for sleep so that I can be a mother in the morning. What I get is a mix of bad dreams and tangled sheets. When Bill's alarm goes off at 5 I think he's going to work until the lead ball hits me in the chest. I feign sleep until I can't anymore and am forced into the shower. We get Liam ready, lock up and leave for the hospital. I am thinking how happy I am to have a husband that loves me enough to know I need support today, even though he himself is suffering. I am thinking about anything I can to NOT think about the hand-off.
We check in at the hospital and are called back to the surgical holding area almost immediately. Liam and I sit and read his favorite book and the nurse brings him some toys, which he promptly turns into projectiles for Daddy to chase all over the room. After he gets his ET toe (oxygen sensor) they take us to another holding area where the anesthesiologist is talking to us and asking if we have any questions. I ask a question about his post-surgical pain management but what I really want to do is tell him about what a funny, bright and mischivous boy our Liam is, and how he has reunited family members and healed the broken hearts of a family left behind and how he was sent from Heaven to us to be a reminder that life does indeed go on. I want him to know that he is was a wonderful, surprising and blessed gift to us, his parents, and to treat him with the utmost of care and respect... but I just have to pray that his hands will be guided by a higher power and I have to let go and trust.
Too soon it is time to walk away and leave him at the kissing corner, knowing he is surrounded by capable people and the prayers of everyone who knows him. Only a parent who has walked that path knows the heartache we felt at that moment. Leaving our smiling, happy, trusting baby - knowing that when he wakes up he will be in pain that cannot be explained, surrounded by faces he doesn't know. All we can do is walk away and pray that his angels will hold him until we can be reunited.
The minutes pass like hours. Nikki and Ava arrive and are a welcome distraction. My Mom arrives with tales of chasing dogs down a dirt road in her golf cart at 6 AM. The laughter that ensues lifts my spirits and before I know it the first surgeon, the ENT, is in the waiting room telling us that his tubes are in and Dr. Semba is with him... and he's doing great. It's a huge relief to see and talk to someone who has seen him and knows he is alright and I can breathe a little.
More time passes, maybe it's a half an hour, maybe it's 2, and Dr. Semba is in the waiting room. I can't reach her fast enough, I just want to know he's ok. I just want to hear that I can see him and touch him and feel for myself that he's ok. She explains his recovery, she answers our questions and reassures us that everything went as planned and he'll be in recovery waiting for us soon. When she leaves, we go back to our seats and wait some more.
A nurse is calling our names, only one of us can go back and I don't even wait to debate who it will be, although I feel an intense guilt that burns me to the quick, I go and leave Bill to wait some more. I have to see him. I have to touch him with my own hands and comfort him as best I can. It has to be me.
She leads me back to the recovery area, to the very last curtain, where I can hear his cries. I pull back the curtain and see my baby who doesn't understand the why's or the how's crying in the weakest, most pitiful cry and I am rendered completely helpless. I stand at the foot of the bed and sob, the pain being swept up from the deepest recess of my being, having been kept hidden since the day we discovered this path. I climb into bed with him and wrap my arms around him and do the only thing I know. Love my child. Love him. Comfort him. I sang Old MacDOnald until I ran out of animals. I sang it again. They pumped morphine into him at regular intervals. I kept singing. We both kept crying.
At some point they determined he was stable enough to move to a regular room and we met Bill in the hall. I could see the relief and sadness on his face and it was still so comforting to just have him there. Once we were in the room, we were able to rock him in a rocking chair and after 5 doses of morphine he was finally able to rest. He slept on and off in the rocking chair with us, and later, next to me in the bed and at 6 AM the next morning he was taken off of the morphine. He was started on Tylenol with Codeine with an apple juice chaser (to stop the burn) and did well on that. His fever, which we were told was normal and due to micro-aspirations during surgery, came and went.
All morning he was lethargic and grouchy and we were pretty convinced we would be spending another night at the hospital... but again he surprised us. Seemingly out of the blue, at noon, he ate a half of a container of yogurt, some apple sauce and chocolate pudding followed by some juice. He discovered he could make us laugh and clap if he threw an egg filled with beads. Our laughter made HIM laugh, and his laughter filled us with hope and joy. He began doing so much better that by 3 PM they started the discharge process and by 4 PM we were... headed home!
Angels (Aunt Sherry, then Erin and Don) bring us food so we don't have to think about cooking, and we settle in to see where the night is going to go.
That night we slept on the couch and we were up by 5 AM.
Day 3 - June 25th, 2010 - First full day at home
Time is irrelevant and punctuated with dosing schedules and unproductive feeding attempts. Pediasure becomes the food of choice. Everything that was opened and rejected throughout the day goes into the blender at 5 PM and becomes a "smoothie". He is sleeping 45 minutes at a time and is not very happy when he's awake. We are spending a lot of time in the rocking chair.
Day 4 - June 26th, 2010
Still grouchy, still rocking, still watching the clock for the 4 hour dosing intervals. It's strangely comforting as it's the only thing that we have control over.
Day 5 - June 27th, 2010 - Codeine is NOT Liam's friend
Liam wakes up at 5 AM and starts to rock immediately. He sits up against the back of the couch and rocks back onto it with force - continuously.
By noon, I'm thinking he has to be getting tired, but the rocking doesn't stop. He starts to fall asleep sitting up but jerks awake and begins to rock again. Papa Butch arrives from Sterling and while initially grouchy, Liam finally settles into his arms in the rocking chair and sleeps for half an hour. He wakes up and begins to rock again. Papa thinks it might be the codeine and I'm getting a nagging suspicion that he's right. The rocking continues until 10 PM when Liam finally succumbs to sleep.
Day 6 - June 28th, 2010 - Just plain Tylenol
I decide to reduce the codeine Liam is getting to 1/4 of the dose and he is instantly better. The rocking is still going on, but he's able to sleep throughout the day and seems to be in a better mood altogether. We are going through Pediasure like it's going out of style. He is refusing all solids.
Day 7 - June 29th, 2010 - Finally eating
Liam is doing better on the reduced codeine and is walking around for longer periods. He's still pretty tired, he's not eating solids yet, but his mood is visibly improved, as is mine! He is sleeping about 5 hours at night and taking an hour to 2 hour nap in the afternoon. Although the schedule isn't what it was, it's still getting back to some semblance of normal.
Day 8 - June 30th, 2010 - Off to the park!
Liam starts eating solids again. Albeit Stage 1, but solids, nonetheless! I figure out that if I sit in front of him on the ottoman and let him take short breaks in between bites, he will finish the entire thing. We are going broke on Pediasure.
Day 9 - July 1st, 2010
Liam is completely off of Codeine and is doing great on a reduced schedule of plain Tylenol. He is eating more solids and is getting back to himself more and more every day. He is interacting with the kids and even running around for a little bit! He takes a long nap and I am able to put away 2 weeks worth of laundry and clean the upstairs. When Bill comes home from work, Liam's Pack N Play is not in the living room anymore... Liam slept in his own room tonight... and so did Mommy! We both slept clear through the night in our own beds.
Day 10 - July 2nd, 2010 - Aunt Cait comes to visit
Liam has a great day playing with Aunt Cait and going for a walk outside. He takes a late nap and sleep for 3 hours! I came home to a fridge full of half-eaten everything, but into the blender it went that night. I think if I ever smell Pediasure again it will be too soon.
Day 11 - July 3rd, 2010 - Party at Great Aunt Sheila's!
Liam's first day with no pain meds... and he does great! He spends the entire afternoon running around Great Aunt Sheila's and Uncle Joe's backyard, playing with his cousins and eating baby food peaches and Pediasure (gag). He falls asleep a happy boy and I go to bed thanking God for healing our baby so quickly.
Day 12 - July 4th, 2010 - Happy 4th of July!!
We spend a wonderful day outdoors, grilling and enjoying one another's company. The pain and uncertainty are fading and we are starting to feel like a normal family again. The extra sleep definitely helps!
Day 13 - July 5th, 2010 - Today
Fitting that I should be writing this today, the 13th day of this particular journey. Liam is almost completely back to normal. He'd beg to differ, I'm sure, because he's just about had it with pureed whatnot and what he'd really like is whatever it is WE are eating, but he's healing. His mouth looks like the aftermath of a warzone, but he's getting better every day. He's being a little silly. A little playful, a little naughty. Bill is finally again finding 17 new tabs opened on his laptop when he walks out of the room for a second. I am again picking up 216 separated wipes from the family room floor. I am plucking cloth diapers from the powder room toilet and keys from the trash. We are thrilled to be doing so.
We never would have chosen this for our son. We wouldn't choose this for ANYONE'S child. It has taken some time but I'm reaching a point where I'm not so angry. I still have questions, but someday, I know, they'll be answered and I will finally understand. Liam is a gift, he was sent to us for a reason and he will live a long purposeful life surrounded by the love of family and guided by the angels who knew him first. My job in this is to love him unconditionally, to teach him to be loving and faithful and when all else fails, to curl around him and sing until I have no voice.
Monday, January 11, 2010
He's an eating machine...
Last night I did something I haven't done in a long time. It made me want to jump for joy and cry at the same time. I went to bed... without pumping. It's true. I did it, and damnit, it felt great. Sort of.
Our little man is an eating machine. He eats anything that isn't nailed down and asks (no, screams) for more. He even tries to eat the stuff that IS nailed down. He's constantly on the move and trying to get him to stop for a bottle has been... well... a challenge. He's been flat out refusing his bottles, no matter what is in them. I tried when he's really hungry, when he's really sleepy, when I think he might be thirsty. He takes a couple sips and he's done. I can get him to take about 1.5 bottles a day if I'm creative. And I am. ;-)
So, what does this mean for me? Well, it means that I am not a slave to my pump at midnight when I really just want to go to sleep and I'm hating every second of being stuck to that thing. It means that I can get ready for bed... and GO to bed. It means a little more freedom from the machine that I have loved to hate for almost a year. But it means something else... and that's the part that has been difficult for me. It means my baby is growing up and quite honestly, doesn't need me the way he used to.
You'd think that this being my 5th baby I'd be a pro at these transitions, but I'm going to be frank here. I'm a wuss. I'm not the Mom who looks forward to my babies growing up and going to school. I'm the crazy Mom in a housecoat and fuzzy slippers chasing the school bus down the road waving maniacally and blowing kisses to my mortfied children trying to hide in their seats. I'm the Mom who tucks my kids in every night and then stands outside their door wondering if they'll always want just one more kiss. I'm the Mom who nurses my babies for 2 yearsm through the night, while they're sick, while I'm sick, while I'm pregnant with the next baby... and sick. I'm the Mom who has to be and do everything for my babies... and this baby has taught me to let go a little.
So, I'm doing just that. I'm letting go of that nighttime pump. I'm letting my baby decide that he wants to grow up faster than I want him to. I'm giving myself a little break... until tomorrow morning!
Our little man is an eating machine. He eats anything that isn't nailed down and asks (no, screams) for more. He even tries to eat the stuff that IS nailed down. He's constantly on the move and trying to get him to stop for a bottle has been... well... a challenge. He's been flat out refusing his bottles, no matter what is in them. I tried when he's really hungry, when he's really sleepy, when I think he might be thirsty. He takes a couple sips and he's done. I can get him to take about 1.5 bottles a day if I'm creative. And I am. ;-)
So, what does this mean for me? Well, it means that I am not a slave to my pump at midnight when I really just want to go to sleep and I'm hating every second of being stuck to that thing. It means that I can get ready for bed... and GO to bed. It means a little more freedom from the machine that I have loved to hate for almost a year. But it means something else... and that's the part that has been difficult for me. It means my baby is growing up and quite honestly, doesn't need me the way he used to.
You'd think that this being my 5th baby I'd be a pro at these transitions, but I'm going to be frank here. I'm a wuss. I'm not the Mom who looks forward to my babies growing up and going to school. I'm the crazy Mom in a housecoat and fuzzy slippers chasing the school bus down the road waving maniacally and blowing kisses to my mortfied children trying to hide in their seats. I'm the Mom who tucks my kids in every night and then stands outside their door wondering if they'll always want just one more kiss. I'm the Mom who nurses my babies for 2 yearsm through the night, while they're sick, while I'm sick, while I'm pregnant with the next baby... and sick. I'm the Mom who has to be and do everything for my babies... and this baby has taught me to let go a little.
So, I'm doing just that. I'm letting go of that nighttime pump. I'm letting my baby decide that he wants to grow up faster than I want him to. I'm giving myself a little break... until tomorrow morning!
Thursday, December 10, 2009
Liam's Birth Story Part 2
… so you know how during certain places in your life your mind takes a mental snapshot, and it’s so vivid you feel like you’re sitting right there all over again… experiencing the sounds, smells, emotions all over again? You never forget your wedding day (or wedding days, if that’s path you’re on), you can see your husband’s face looking down at you, you can see your family beaming at you, hear the music, smell the flowers, feel the wind in your hair, ruining all of your stylist’s hard work… all it takes is a quick flash of a stored mental image. You never forget the births of your children, the rush of delivery, of the last few moments that you hold their lives within you, and the longing for them to be out and to cradle them in your arms. And when your child is finally in your arms and you see their precious little faces and feel their slippery skin against you and the sound of their first cry fills your ears… you realize you are forever changed.
There are many mental images that I have cataloged over the years, some good, some not so good… but there is one that just doesn’t fit in any category previously held – the moment I saw Liam for the first time. It doesn’t matter how many children you have, you spend your pregnancy wondering what your baby looks like. Does he have Dad’s ears? Does she have my nose? Will he have my crazy fang? We hope upon hope that they are born perfect and whole and healthy and because we live in America and eat bread fortified with Folic Acid and take our prenatal vitamins and abstain from drugs and alcohol, we assume that this will be the case. But I digress… Here’s the picture - The moment our son is placed on my chest, I am concerned. He is purple. Dark Purple. He is hard-core screaming and his face is incredibly swollen. My mind is already beginning the process of folding in on itself and at this point I see his lip. Something doesn’t look right. I look closer and sure enough, my fears are not unfounded. I immediately think of my husband and feel enormous guilt. Did he see? Was he blaming me? What had I done? What had I not done? A hundred questions race through my mind in the blink of an eye. After what seems to be an eternity I finally work up the courage to look at Bill. He hasn’t moved, he is still just over my left shoulder. I look at him without really seeing him and hear 2 words I desperately need to hear. “It’s ok”. I hear other voices and slip back enough into the real world to realize that the midwife and the nurse are in the room with us. I hear the midwife whispering about how swollen he is without sounding offensive, just commenting, really. I hear the nurse whisper something to her and I hear Noreen say, “what? Ohhhh… awwww…”. I can’t look at any of them.
After a few minutes it is apparent that he is cold so we get out of the tub and into the bed. I hold Liam while they wrap us in warm blankets and begin the post-birth process. The entire time I’m trying to wrap my mind around everything. I can’t stop asking myself what I had done wrong. I feel Bill next to me, I feel his strength, I feel like he’s protecting us. That feeling never went away. I sweep my finger across the roof of his mouth when no one is looking. It feels ok. Noreen asks me if I thought it was his palate, too and I tell her I don’t think it is. They call the Neonatologist. I try to nurse Liam before I have to allow him to be examined, but he’s having trouble latching on. The nurse takes him and starts looking him over and starts making loud observations about how wide-set his eyes are, how far apart his nipples are. She starts listing syndromes. I want to grab my baby and punch her in the face. I don’t want to think about all the could-be’s right now, I want to get back in the tub with my baby and do the whole thing over. I want the picture I had painted while I was pregnant, of me and Bill looking down at him as he’s born, me lifting him to my chest, of us both seeing the baby we created in love, of him seeing us. I don’t know whose nightmare I’m in.
My Mom arrives and I send Bill out to the hall to “prepare” her. She comes in and stands right next to me and strokes my hair. I can tell she’s trying not to cry. Bill is standing by Liam, taking pictures. The Neonatologist comes in and examines Liam and says he has a cleft lip and palate. So many things are going through my mind and I can’t stop my brain for a second to try to get a handle on any of it. I hear my Mom tell me it’s going to be ok. That she’ll be there if I need her to go to appointments. I hear the midwife and nurse and Neonatologist talking and I feel myself fading in and out. I hear Bill’s voice, he’s telling me something, I look at my Mom, she repeats it. “He looks good. He thinks it’s just his lip and palate.” I’m not sure. His eyes ARE very wide-set. His neck is really thick, his face is so swollen we haven’t even seen his eyes yet, other than a quick flash when we could see that they were completely bloodshot. I am praying like I have never prayed before. I am praying for this to be all that’s wrong. I am praying for forgiveness for whatever I have done to cause this, and I am praying for my baby.
The next day or so was a whirlwind. By about 6 AM I was able to nurse him and he continued to nurse until they came in to check his bilirubin levels. This would become a common occurrence in our hospital room. I wanted to check out AMA like I usually did, but his bilirubin was so high from his excessive bruising that we needed to stay until it was under control. We had a constant stream of medical personnel “visiting” us, and a lactation consultant that basically set up camp in our room for the entire day. Nurses and patient advocates brought us countless internet printouts and pamphlets. I nursed him as much as I could, but he was so sleepy. It was such a challenge to get him to wake up enough to even latch on and once he did he fell asleep. I consider myself a nursing pro. I’m borderline militant. I have nursed 4 children and have helped dozens of other women nurse their babies. I got him to stay latched and listened for the swallowing and when they came in to weigh him I was not concerned. I was in for another surprise… he had lost almost a full pound. I doubled my efforts and begin pumping just in case.
Wednesday came and we were due to go home. They checked his bilirubin levels and they had skyrocketed to 17. They wrapped him in a biliblanket and told us it should work. He looked like a glo-worm. I continued to hold him and nurse him as much as possible. By Wednesday evening it became apparent that Liam’s bilirubin levels were not declining and due to the breakdown of his excessive bruising, his levels were only getting worse. Our nurse, an angel sent straight from heaven to our room that day, held me while she told us that our baby was being admitted into the NICU and that we would have to leave. Without him. I completely lost it at that point. “I’m not the kind of mother that just LEAVES her baby!” I told them. “There’s just no way I can do that!” I begged them to find another option, but when faced with the reality of the true danger of high bilirubin levels, I had to relent, under the condition that they allowed me to sit next to him in the NICU. After a few conversations with the patient’s advocate and some string-pulling from our angel-nurse, they agreed.
At 11 PM I walked Liam into the NICU and Bill had to leave us at the door. Bill had stayed by my side almost constantly, leaving only to eat and shower. Without needing to be asked he became our shield and my filter. He greeted visitors at the door, he made phone calls, he held my hand and wiped my countless tears. Having to leave his wife and new baby at the hospital after all we had already been through had to have been heart-wrenching. Watching him kiss Liam good-bye that night tore my heart in two. Had we not suffered enough?
That night in the NICU was rough. I wasn’t allowed to sleep so I stayed awake reading magazines and counting the hours until the doctor came to release Liam to go home. 7 AM, I can make it that long. 7 AM came and I was asked to leave so they could do rounds. When I came back at 8 I learned that the pediatrician had already come and gone and said that Liam’s levels were still too high and he would have to stay until the evening. I literally collapsed. At this point, I hadn’t slept more than 45 minutes since Saturday night. I was emotionally drained and this was just too much for me to take! I thought we’d be finally taking him home that morning!
Bill showed up minutes later and we decided it was best if I went home to get some sleep. I hadn’t seen my kids since Sunday evening and I knew they were worried. We went home and showered and I tried to lay down, but my sister and my stepmom were there taking care of the kids and I really wanted to visit with them. We had some good laughs, which I REALLY needed and soon after we left to go get Liam. When we arrived at the hospital they told us the doctor had been by and again did not clear him to be discharged, he’d have to stay another night. At this point, I was SO numb. I still hadn’t slept and I just gave in and accepted it, realizing there wasn’t a whole heck of a lot I could do. Let go and let God, right? We stayed to give Liam a bottle, since being introduced to the Haberman in the NICU, he was refusing to nurse, I pumped so he’d have food for the night and we went home to bed.
The next morning, we received the call we’d been waiting for – Liam was going to be discharged that day! We showered and dressed as quickly as possible and made it to the hospital in record time. We were told Liam had one more blood draw at 1 PM and then he’d be cleared. It was the loooongest 3 hours of our lives! At one point while we waited for the results we realized we hadn’t eaten since sometime the day before so we ran down to the cafeteria to get some food and when we returned we were greeted by the most wonderful sentence I have ever heard… “Daddy, get the carseat, baby’s going home.” After being there for 5 days, Liam was finally being released!
Once we arrived home, Liam met Isaac, Gabe, Jack and Hannah and Bill went to pick up Van and Logan… they all gathered around him on the floor and took turns holding him… they were so gentle and loving… I had been so worried about how they would react to their still puffy, red-eyed, purple baby brother, but each one cradled him with love and affection, each one kissed him tenderly and told him they loved him. They accepted him readily into our fold… it was if we had all, banded together as a family, side by side, holding hands, opened our circle and pulled him right into the center…
Wednesday, July 29, 2009
An ounce at a time... how I came to let go of my anger and embrace my pump.
My pumping journey began because Liam was born with a cleft lip and palate and couldn’t nurse effectively. We tried at the hospital, the LC lived in our room for 3 days. He wasn't transferring well at all. He lost a full pound in 3 days. I had already started pumping so they could show us how to use the Haberman bottle. I pumped and pumped the entire time we were there. I pumped while I sat next to his isolette in the NICU. I pumped when I went home to shower and change. Every time I turned the pump on it broke my heart. It hurt to the very core of my soul just as much as it hurt physically. I had breastfed each of my babies for 2+ years and this was my LAST baby and I felt like something had been stolen from me. I was devastated by the loss of that bond and the experience I had anticipated for 9 months. I felt cheated. I was angry.
I kept pumping. We brought Liam home from the NICU after 5 days and settled in at home. I spent an entire weekend trying, unsuccessfully, to get him to latch. I kept pumping. I pumped while we watched TV, I pumped while Liam slept, while Bill slept, while I felt *I* should have been sleeping. I pumped while Bill fed him. I pumped while I fed him. I felt like I was pumping ALL the time. I started having terrible dreams, I started getting angry and snapping over insignificant things. I cried in the shower. I kept pumping.
If it weren't for Bill reminding me that no matter how he got it, he was still getting my breastmilk, I don't know how I would have let go of that anger. My anger morphed into a strong determination... yes this SUCKED. This wasn't at all what I had signed up for, but it wasn't ABOUT me. It was about Liam... and he hadn't signed up for any of this either. I was going to do what I could for him, to give him the best possible start. It was the only thing I felt like I could control. It took some soul-searching and perspective altering but I turned my anger around. I kept pumping.
3 months went by and I was pumping in the car, at parties, in bathrooms. I was proud of every ounce. Bill became my own personal cheering section and he still never fails to recognize a really productive pumping session. I still had twinges of frustration, bouts of panic when I wasn't producing enough and my husband was feeding him and ounce at a time as fast as I was pumping them. I still cried in the shower from time to time... but as each day passed I tried to put yesterday behind me. I had to adopt a day-by-day mentality, similar to the last days of pregnancy or the one contraction at a time mindset that gets me through the toughest stage of labor. After 3 months I knew I had made it through the hardest part. No matter what, I knew all along I was going to get to a year at the very least... I just didn't know how! But alas... I kept pumping.
Now we are at 5.25 months. I am (magically!) down to 4 pumps a day. Liam is sleeping through the night. I am sleeping through the night. I am one with my pump. We are a team, providing Liam with my breastmilk. I didn't expect to have a teammate, albeit a mechanical one, but this is the path we are on. I can look back and through the haze of my anger and frustration and shower-tears I see the positive aspects of this unexpected journey. Bill gets to enjoy the bond of feeding his son, Liam gets to enjoy that bond as well. I am sleeping much more than I ever did when I was nursing my other 4 (probably combined!). I feel SUCH a huge sense of accomplishment. Yes, I could have thrown in the towel. I could have decided that it was just too much, I could have come up with 2 dozen valid "excuses". But my parents gave me many wonderful gifts and the one that I called to action in this circumstance has gotten me through quite a few hairy ordeals. Stubbornness. I put it in my mind that I wasn't going to quit. Yes, I still have days that I hate pumping. Yes, I'm still gut-wrenchingly sad that I didn't get to nurse Liam and I'll never have that experience again. But until that single candle is blown out on his cake in February, I'm going to keep right on pumping...
I kept pumping. We brought Liam home from the NICU after 5 days and settled in at home. I spent an entire weekend trying, unsuccessfully, to get him to latch. I kept pumping. I pumped while we watched TV, I pumped while Liam slept, while Bill slept, while I felt *I* should have been sleeping. I pumped while Bill fed him. I pumped while I fed him. I felt like I was pumping ALL the time. I started having terrible dreams, I started getting angry and snapping over insignificant things. I cried in the shower. I kept pumping.
If it weren't for Bill reminding me that no matter how he got it, he was still getting my breastmilk, I don't know how I would have let go of that anger. My anger morphed into a strong determination... yes this SUCKED. This wasn't at all what I had signed up for, but it wasn't ABOUT me. It was about Liam... and he hadn't signed up for any of this either. I was going to do what I could for him, to give him the best possible start. It was the only thing I felt like I could control. It took some soul-searching and perspective altering but I turned my anger around. I kept pumping.
3 months went by and I was pumping in the car, at parties, in bathrooms. I was proud of every ounce. Bill became my own personal cheering section and he still never fails to recognize a really productive pumping session. I still had twinges of frustration, bouts of panic when I wasn't producing enough and my husband was feeding him and ounce at a time as fast as I was pumping them. I still cried in the shower from time to time... but as each day passed I tried to put yesterday behind me. I had to adopt a day-by-day mentality, similar to the last days of pregnancy or the one contraction at a time mindset that gets me through the toughest stage of labor. After 3 months I knew I had made it through the hardest part. No matter what, I knew all along I was going to get to a year at the very least... I just didn't know how! But alas... I kept pumping.
Now we are at 5.25 months. I am (magically!) down to 4 pumps a day. Liam is sleeping through the night. I am sleeping through the night. I am one with my pump. We are a team, providing Liam with my breastmilk. I didn't expect to have a teammate, albeit a mechanical one, but this is the path we are on. I can look back and through the haze of my anger and frustration and shower-tears I see the positive aspects of this unexpected journey. Bill gets to enjoy the bond of feeding his son, Liam gets to enjoy that bond as well. I am sleeping much more than I ever did when I was nursing my other 4 (probably combined!). I feel SUCH a huge sense of accomplishment. Yes, I could have thrown in the towel. I could have decided that it was just too much, I could have come up with 2 dozen valid "excuses". But my parents gave me many wonderful gifts and the one that I called to action in this circumstance has gotten me through quite a few hairy ordeals. Stubbornness. I put it in my mind that I wasn't going to quit. Yes, I still have days that I hate pumping. Yes, I'm still gut-wrenchingly sad that I didn't get to nurse Liam and I'll never have that experience again. But until that single candle is blown out on his cake in February, I'm going to keep right on pumping...
Wednesday, April 29, 2009
Liam's Birth
Liam’s Birth Story
Liam “Shoeshine” Hannan made his grand entrance into our lives at 11:44 PM on his Grandma Jan’s Birthday, February 22nd, 2009.
We had been receiving texts and phone calls throughout much of the day asking how I was feeling. My original due date of 2/14 had come and gone and we were now operating under the assumption that he would arrive somewhere around the second date they had given us during all three ultrasounds – 2/22. That day had arrived and it being his Grandma’s Birthday, the whole family was hoping he would decide to join us. The afternoon passed and while I was having a few contractions, there wasn’t anything going on that would lead me to believe that he would be here anytime soon. At 6:00 we sat down to watch the Academy Awards and during the host’s opening act my contractions started to pick up. I began timing them and noticed they were about 6 minutes apart. They quickly became closer and were suddenly 3 minutes apart and fairly strong. At about 7:36 I had one very long, relatively strong contraction and felt my water break. I immediately looked at Bill and told him what had happened and realizing that I was sitting on a leather couch he ran and got some towels.
We made it into the bedroom and my water continued to leak out. I started to panic remembering that all of my kids were born within minutes of my water breaking. Bill started making phone calls to ensure that someone would be with the kids when we needed to leave for the hospital. He then phoned the midwife to let her know what was going on. She told him we had about 2 hours and while I was slightly reassured by this I knew we were still at home with 4 kids and no one there at that moment to watch them should we need to leave post haste. I lay on the bed while Bill ran around collecting all of our last minute necessities and as my contractions started to pick up again, the kids all came in one by one and held my hand through them. It was such a moving experience to have them trying to help me as I worked hard to bring (or at that point NOT bring) their brother into the world.
At some point Bill’s sister Nikki arrived, followed closely by my sister who must have driven like the wind! I was able to relax a little and within a few minutes we were ready to leave. We laughed and joked on our way out the door, but quickly got into the car and started on our way. The ride there was a little rough. Through every contraction I tried to keep Bill informed of what was happening and what I was feeling because I needed his reassurance. I just kept thinking over and over that I didn’t want to have the baby in the car on the side of the road! At one point I told him, “I feel pressure!” to which he responded, “You don’t feel any pressure! No pressure!” Now I can laugh about it, but at the time I wanted to hit him. I KNEW what I was feeling, and it was a LOT of pressure!!!
Within 25 minutes we arrived at Rush Copley and went straight upstairs to Labor and Delivery. We were checked in immediately and were told which room to go to. I immediately panicked when we walked in and there was no pool set up for me. I had had 3 waterbirths and wasn’t about to do it any other way. Just looking at the table loaded with cold shiny instruments put me into a cold sweat. My contractions were coming a little slower now but were gaining in intensity and I knew I was reaching a point where I was going to need to be IN that water and it wasn’t even ready for me!
The nurse came in and told us that Noreen, our midwife, would be there soon. When we asked about the pool, inquiring when it would be set up, she told us it was broken and wouldn’t be usable to me. I immediately became very upset and told her, “I’m not dealing with this shit! We’re going home, I’ll have this baby in the tub!” Luckily Bill stepped in and told me,”We’re not going anywhere” and asked the nurse to please call Noreen to tell her what was going on. Noreen arrived a few minutes later and investigated the problem with the pool. When told that it wouldn’t drain she informed the nurse that that simply wasn’t our problem, to fill the pool and if need be, she’d go to the hardware store herself at 2 AM to get the necessary part. Within ten minutes the pool was set up and being filled.
In the meantime I was checked and found to be about 5 cm. It was about ten PM. While I waited for the tub, I got into the shower and Bill called his sister to check on the kids and give her an update. She could hear me screaming in the background. ☺ He came in every minute or so to rub my back and tell me what a good job I was doing, but for the most part I felt like I needed to be alone. I felt myself slipping into transition, and felt the need to really focus not only during the contractions, but in between as well.
After what seemed an eternity I was checked again and told I was at 7 cm. I slipped into the tub, which was scalding hot, but at that point I just needed to be in it. I knelt and periodically dipped my lower half into the water. Realizing how warm it actually was in the pool, Bill and Noreen ran back and forth with buckets of ice and cold water from the shower to try to cool it down some. After about 30 trips it was finally bearable and I was able to completely relax in between contractions. I went from vocalizing during the peak of my contractions to completely silent. I felt like I was about 3,000 miles inside of myself and while I knew that they were there with me and found comfort in that I needed to be exactly where I was mentally in order to stay on top of the contractions.
At some point my contractions flipped and I was starting to feel a little pushy at the end. I reached down and checked myself (I was in the driver’s seat at this point, I needed to feel completely in control of the entire thing) and felt the baby’s wrinkly head and a little lip of cervix. I informed Noreen where I was and she told me, “Listen to your body, what is it telling you to do?” to which I replied, “RUN!” She and Bill laughed at this but I was completely serious. I was terrified! I knew what was next, I knew that baby was coming out and I was going to have to push him out and I knew all of the sensations that went along with that and I was NOT happy about it.
I fought that push. I fought it to the bitter end, but at one point I knew my fight was over and I was not the victor. I reached down again and felt the baby’s head, felt the hair of the baby that we had grown to love over the past 9 months and felt him move against my hand. I remembered how badly I wanted to meet him and hold him and see the face that my husband and I had created together, in love. I felt the life that was given to us to cherish, the gift placed in our care when we least expected it and looking up I saw the clock. 11:30 ish, I could only see the hour hand from where I was and I knew the 22nd was ending soon. I wanted so badly for our baby to share his Grandma’s Birthday, I knew what it meant to Bill and his entire family, and because of that, what it meant to me. My body was the vehicle for making that happen and I had to get over my fear and bring this baby into the world to meet us.
I, reaching down still, pushed a little and felt him moved down. I felt the cervix slide out of the way and I felt his head move past it. The entire time Bill and Noreen were encouraging me, cheering me on. I felt their support and I knew I could get through the end. They reminded me to change positions so that I could watch his birth, never having been able to do that before. I turned and rested my back against the side of the pool and pushed again. I felt him move down and as his head grew closer I kept both hands there to feel his progress. I, being a doula, and seeing the effects of over-zealous pushing, slowed down my efforts in order to allow him to pave the way for himself. With my eye on the clock above me and a constant prayer in my heart I pushed until his head emerged. I waited as Noreen told me to let his head rotate around and began again as soon as that process was finished. Soon it was evident that he was a little stuck and I needed to push with everything I had. Noreen told me if I didn’t get him out in one push I was going to have to get out of the tub and finish delivering him on the bed. I knew there was no way THAT was going to happen.
I gathered every ounce of strength from the bottom of my very soul, and at 11:44 PM, with his Daddy next to me cheering me on, surrounded by the love of an entire family eagerly awaiting his arrival, and under the protection his Guardian Angel whose Birthday he would always share, our precious son was born, his body left mine and was placed tenderly against my chest. From that moment on our lives would never be the same. We were more than just husband and wife. We were the parents of this beautiful, perfect, screaming, purple baby…
(…to be continued)
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