Welcome to Holland
Part 1
Part 2
Part 3
Matthew ended up staying in the hospital for 18 days after his birth. Some premature babies, the doctors explained, arrive acting like full term babies, until the reality of life outside the womb catches up with them. So it was with Matthew. He needed time to adjust. His only medical issue was that he was not gaining weight quickly enough. Nursing him required so much of his energy that he was expending more calories than he was taking in, which made him very sleepy. The frustration of feeling like I was not able to nourish my baby was a familiar one, as was the stress of having to vary his methods of feeding. Within the first few days, Matthew went from being nursed exclusively, to alternating between nursing and bottle feeding, to having to be gavage fed (milk was pushed through a tube that went up through his nose and down into his stomach). I often felt that the length or our stay at the hospital would ultimately be determined by my ability to feed Matthew, but the wonderful doctors and nurses reminded me otherwise. It was all about his readiness to face the world.
Looking back (now 6 months later!) I am still in awe at what a gift it truly was to have that time in the hospital with Matthew. It was often grueling and difficult to be away from home, especially from Isabella, who had been my constant companion for the previous 3 and half years. The bonding time with Matthew, however, was invaluable. The first 18 days of his life were slow, quiet, and had few distractions.
Although I was discharged 3 days after having Matthew, I was allowed to stay on hospitality for the entire time. I lived my life in 3 hour cycles: I would feed Matthew (which could take up to an hour), run to the cafeteria to grab some food, make a few phone calls to coordinate schedules and future doctors appointments for Matthew, and then it was back to the nursery to feed again. Mark and Isabella or Isabella and my mom would come almost daily to visit and share a meal.
In addition to his work of eating and sleeping, Matthew was kept busy with visits from various doctors to monitor his progress. A physical therapist came daily to massage his legs and feet, and to do various exercises with him to improve his muscle tone. A team of podiatrists came to examine his feet, and he had to have an ultrasound done of his kidneys. A pediatric cardiologist lugged a huge machine across the hospital and into the nursery to do an echocaridogram of his heart. And then there was his social schedule. I would often walk into the nursery for a feeding and a nurse would be holding Matthew. I would ask if he’d been fussy. "Oh no," she would tell me. "I just couldn’t resist picking him up." A baby can get used to that kind of attention.
Although fairly monotonous in routine, life in the hospital was far from uneventful. A few days after Matthew was born, a water main broke in a construction mishap, flooding the maternity floor and disabling the security system. Our wing was filled with construction workers, security officers, and hospital administration, who stopped by several times to apologize for the inconvenience. On another night, while I was in my room eating dinner and watching bad TV, a small earthquake jolted our side of the hospital. And then there was the incident where the nurse assigned to Matthew forgot to disable his security tag when moving him from one area of the hospital to another, causing a "Code Green" alert. All exits were blocked by security and the floor was closed down until the situation was resolved. (At the time I was eating lunch in my room and overheard the code being called over the PA system. Hmmm... I thought to myself, as I munched on my salad. Haven’t heard that one called before. Hope everything’s ok... )
One of the more enjoyable parts of my experience in the hospital was interacting with the team of professionals who took care of Matthew. The doctors met with me daily and provided advice and reassurance. It was the nurses, though, who kept me sane. There is a kind of sisterhood that exists among them (especially the night crew) and I got to be a part of that to some degree, simply because I was always around. They slipped me the code to the nurses’ kitchen, and when the halls were empty, (because I checked) I would briskly punch in the numbers on the keypad and enter unseen to refill my water pitcher or get some Saltines. In exchange, I became a bit of an informant, keeping track of their whereabouts and reporting back any findings: “You looking for Chris? Oh yeah, she left for the CPR training about a half an hour ago and was going to look for you there. She couldn’t find you so she went home.”
The nurses also taught me how to be self sufficient in the nursery so I could come and go with little interruption. I would unhook Matthew from his monitors, take his temperature, report his diaper, (they measure everything in and everything out) warm his milk, and feed him. I would then report the ounces he took in, hook him back up to his monitors, re-swaddle him, and check out. The nurses generously took over some of the night feedings so I could get some sleep and even granted me a few nights off to go home and be with the rest of my family. While I know they are trained to do what they do in their profession, I also know that it must take a special kind of person to care for others, especially babies. The nurses were kind, supportive, and thorough, and their concern was genuine.
Lori was my favorite instructor. She never seemed too busy to sit with me and help me with nursing techniques.
Nancy was from the Midwest (I could tell by her accent) and wore Grey's Anatomy scrubs, which I thought was funny-a real nurse outfitted in scrubs from a TV show about fake doctors. She said they were the most comfortable of all of them, so I guess the fake doctors know something useful. Nancy was so kind, always smiling, and set me up to give Matthew his first bath.
Peggy was my biggest advocate. She loved to talk and what she said made an impact. After two weeks of changing feeding plans for Matthew, Peggy made the sensible declaration that it was time to exclusively bottle feed him and let go of nursing for a while, something not easily surrendered by nurses. For me, it came as a welcomed relief. Matthew had had some success with a special bottle known as a Haberman bottle, designed for babies with cleft palates. Although his sucking reflex was strong, the bottle allowed Matthew to get more in him with less effort. It was also Peggy, who reminded me in my moments of stress, that there was no such thing as a bad day for Matthew, given the potential medical problems he could have faced. While some feedings were a real struggle, this particular complication was not a serious one in the scheme of things. Agreed.
My favorite shift was the night crew, a group of nurses mostly made up of women from the Philippines. All of them had grown children, which is probably why they could work the night shift. I endured the middle of the night feedings largely because of them. The nursery was quiet, the lights were dimmed, and these women would cheerfully go about their work taking care of the babies, all the while smiling and laughing--even at 3 am. Zeny (holding Matthew) had such a calmness with him. I would watch her as she was able to get Matthew to stay awake to feed him from his bottle, something I was initially not able to do. He responded to her and I felt it was because she was so soothing. Vinda (to the the left of Zeny) has some history with our family. She was one of the nurses who cared for Isabella. She is one of the reasons we settled on the name Isabella, because it is her granddaughter's name. Vinda was one of the nurses praying for Matthew on the night of his birth. One day I arrived at the nursery to see a beautiful little plaque inscribed with a prayer and a picture of a guardian angel sitting in M's bassinet. Vinda had bought it, and probably dozens more like it for all the babies she cares for, somewhere near the Vatican. I thought it was so sweet that Matthew received one. I noticed a couple days later that Matthew was gazing at that guardian angel. It is one of the most fascinating things to see a newborn begin to figure out the world around them. The smallest things are remarkable--like focusing on an image--and that was the image I saw Matthew notice for the first time.
Maria gladly took over night time feedings on occasion or watched over Matthew so I could take a break or get some food. It's so nice to be taken care of, too.
Our first family pictures: Big sis, Isabella.
When you have a baby at Kaiser hospital in Vallejo, CA, you get a big dinner of your choice brought in on a table with a white table cloth, battery operated luminaries, and a small bottle of Martinelli's . Mark thinks this is why our health insurance costs are so high. I thought it was one of the best dinners I'd ever eaten. (I was on a liquids-only diet for over 24 hours prior to having Matthew, so everything I ate after that tasted pretty darn good.)
My babies.
Isabella thinks hospitals are pretty awesome. Each time she visited, we'd go into the nurses' kitchen to get her her own pitcher of ice water (with a straw!) and some graham crackers. Then it was back to the room for drawing time or cartoons on TV. The beds came equipped with many buttons and dials, all of which fascinated and delighted her to no end. Baby? What baby? Luckily for Isabella, the world still revolved around--well, her.
Matthew will have something to say about that one day.
On B-Day + 17, Matthew was finally released from the hospital. He left weighing 6 pounds, 9 oz. and was eating from the Haberman bottle like a champ! He had a weight check done a week after arriving home and was steadily gaining almost an ounce a day. A new chapter of our family's life was finally beginning at home. HOME!!
**Post Script (and this one's important):
When I began writing these posts about Matthew, I consulted with Mark about how to go about writing them. Should it be from
our perspective? Or should it come from my experiences as a mother, etc. ? Since this blog has always been my baby, he agreed that it should come from me. In doing so, however, I have not given Mark his due credit in how he has handled this experience. Maybe one day he'll write it down, but for now I have one last story to share that is a testament to Mark's character as a husband and father.
While I was in the hospital, Isabella became sick with croup, a virus she well-acquainted with. This particular time was more severe than in the past; her cough being so forceful that she was having some trouble breathing. Mark had set her up in our bedroom, keeping an eye on her through the night, giving her water every time she woke up coughing. At one point, in the middle of the night, he got dressed in warm clothes, wrapped Isabella in a blanket, and took her out onto the porch. They sat out there snuggled up in a chair, allowing the cold air to help ease her breathing--and they looked at the stars. The following night I left Matthew in the care of the nurses so I could come home. Mark slept on the couch so I could sleep close to Isabella. Mark had carefully laid out his warm clothes and told me to wake him up at any hour if her cough worsened. When Isabella noticed his preparations, she excitedly asked him if he could take her out again that night to look at the stars. I love that she'll probably never remember how sick she was, but that she will remember the night her Daddy took her out on the porch, in the middle of the night, to look at the stars. And I love Mark.
I am one lucky girl.
