Day One-Mom's side

After our first time meeting Oakley, I was determined to do anything in my power to help him. We went upstairs to the Mother/Baby floor. The nurses were nice, but everyone was asking about the baby. They wanted to know if we knew if anything was wrong ahead of time, if he was our first baby, etc. I knew they meant well, but every time we heard the questions, it stung a little more. They got me a pump to express my milk for when Oakley would be able to eat, and I pumped and pumped and pumped some more. It was the only thing I could do for my baby. I couldn't cuddle him, couldn't soothe him, nothing. I had a very hard time while I was pumping, because I knew you were supposed to think about your baby while you are pumping, but all I could think of was how close to death he looked. We ate and got some sleep, and the nurses told me they would wake me every 3-4 hours to pump, as if I had a baby waking me to eat. I got woken up once. I apparently told the nurse not to wake me again, because I was too tired. What did wake me, however, was the healthy baby that was in the room next to mine. I woke up, and just bawled. There should be a law against having a healthy baby in the room next to someone whose baby might not make it out of the hospital. I couldn't stop crying, and one of my nurses came to check on me. I told her the whole story, and she told me she was a NICU nurse that was actually floating on the Mother/Baby floor. She told me she would get me hooked up with the right people in the NICU, and she even called down to my baby's room nurse to check on Oakley for me. She found out that he had been extubated (no more breathing tube down his throat!) and told me she thought I should go on down there and take another look at him and spend some time with him.
I'm so glad that I did. Seeing him without the breathing tube was like seeing a whole different baby. His chest didn't seem to move as eradically as when he was on the tube, and the nasal canula wasn't intimidating. I had to wear an isolation gown and gloves and a mask that time, he was in isolation. He was being watched for lots of different diseases and infections, and they didn't want to chance him getting any other babies sick. He also had no immune system of his own to speak of, so it was kind of a two for one kind of kickback.
I sat and stared at him for a long time. He even opened his eyes a little bit, and I could see there was a life in this listless body. I talked to him so that he could hear my voice and maybe recognize it from when he heard me from the womb. I don't know if it made him feel better, but I felt a weight lift off my heart. I realized this kid was fighting, and I wanted to fight alongside him to keep him alive. I wanted to be his accomplice in kicking whatever was holding him down. I finally had hope.
Trevor was supposed to start training for his new part-time job the next day, and we slept pretty well. I felt guilty for getting so much sleep as a new mom, since everyone was always warning me about how little sleep I'd have once the little one arrived. I still feel guilty that I can sleep 8 or 10 or even 12 hours if I want to, because someone who is trained to take care of Oakley is up with him so that I don't have to be.
That next morning the calls started, and the text messages, and the facebook messages, and the emails. Everyone and their dog wanted to know what was going on, if we had any updates, telling us they were there for us, wanting to come see the baby...it was too much almost instantly. We stopped answering our phones, and started avoiding the world. Everytime I answered the phone, I immediately regretted it, because they would sting me with all of their questions that hurt to answer. Trevor's Grandmother came to my room. I got up and told her we could go see the baby if she wanted to. She was surprised as we started heading toward the elevators instead of the nursery. She asked why the baby wasn't upstairs with me. I was internally furious at Trevor for sticking me with explaining this to his Grandma, while he was at his training. I ended up causing her to cry with all the saddening information about her Great-Grandchild. She composed herself as we scrubbed in to the NICU, and was a trooper when putting all the isolation garb on. When she saw him, I could see the terror in her eyes. I knew she was going through exactly what I had experienced only hours before. She thought he looked like he was pretty much already dead. I didn't blame her, he looked like a baby eagle at that point. He was scrawny and awkward, and had saggy skin covering his emaciated body. His hair was a fuzzy, nondescript color, and his skin was grey.
Trevor's Grandmother didn't spend a long amount of time there in the NICU that day, but I stayed for the next 4 hours. I had my hand in the porthole, with my fingers tracing his fingers and getting him to grasp mine. I was falling in love with this little bird of a person, and I wanted to assure him that I was there for him.