...to my NICU baby. This didn't occur to me until Owen was having his VCUG for his renal appointment, and the nurse said "he looks so good, I would have never known he was a NICU graduate". But, yes, Owen is a NICU graduate. On the day we left, Oct. 12, 2007, nothing was certain. But, it seemed almost certain that he would end up back in the NICU. We had waited for 121 horrible days to take him home, and from the looks on the doctors faces, and the nurses "don't blame yourself if you have to come back" speech, our joy and relief turned to panic. I had planned to take so many pictures; all of our nurses, the 3 of us together, holding him...I barely took any I was so scared. I wanted to cry. Why did they even decide it was time for him to come home? Still, we loaded up into the car (after installing the car seat - which took at least an hour, and looking at both the car seat instructions and the Vibe's instruction manual - WAY harder than I thought it would be) and we made our way home.
So, in response to that (and probably with lots of help from my Czech stubbornness), I decided I was NOT going to let him get re-admitted to the NICU. Jason made a spreadsheet and we tracked everything - every med, how many ounces in each bottle, even diapers. Looking back, it was pretty obsessive (oh me? no way!). But, it was the only way we could feel in control. I was still pretty sick, and no one could figure out why my blood pressure wasn't correcting, and I just wanted to sleep. Thankfully, Owen did sleep quite a bit, but I still felt completely overwhelmed and frustrated every day. He wasn't growing as fast as I expected, and the incredible amount of appointments and home visits seemed to be more than I could handle. Somehow, it happened though. He wasn't re-admitted, and he managed to avoid getting sick at all. His growth has been slow compared to other babies (which is my current obsession), but he has come so incredibly far. And, he did graduate. Today, we are talking about crawling, and teething, and speech instead of lung surgery, and the isolette, and MRSA. Jason and I have graduated too. Into real parents. From despair and fear to hope and laughter. From barely knowing the little boy in the red puppy-dog snuggly to waking up to get him from his crib every day.
We still walk by the NICU sometimes when we are at the hospital for appointments, and it still sort of feels like home (and I still hate that painting of all the twins). I feel so proud, and I hope that one of our old nurses will come out and see the boy that was once "the sickest baby in the NICU", and how he's transformed to our happy, crazy, teething, almost toddler. Maybe it doesn't feel like home....maybe more like our alma mater.
So, in response to that (and probably with lots of help from my Czech stubbornness), I decided I was NOT going to let him get re-admitted to the NICU. Jason made a spreadsheet and we tracked everything - every med, how many ounces in each bottle, even diapers. Looking back, it was pretty obsessive (oh me? no way!). But, it was the only way we could feel in control. I was still pretty sick, and no one could figure out why my blood pressure wasn't correcting, and I just wanted to sleep. Thankfully, Owen did sleep quite a bit, but I still felt completely overwhelmed and frustrated every day. He wasn't growing as fast as I expected, and the incredible amount of appointments and home visits seemed to be more than I could handle. Somehow, it happened though. He wasn't re-admitted, and he managed to avoid getting sick at all. His growth has been slow compared to other babies (which is my current obsession), but he has come so incredibly far. And, he did graduate. Today, we are talking about crawling, and teething, and speech instead of lung surgery, and the isolette, and MRSA. Jason and I have graduated too. Into real parents. From despair and fear to hope and laughter. From barely knowing the little boy in the red puppy-dog snuggly to waking up to get him from his crib every day.
We still walk by the NICU sometimes when we are at the hospital for appointments, and it still sort of feels like home (and I still hate that painting of all the twins). I feel so proud, and I hope that one of our old nurses will come out and see the boy that was once "the sickest baby in the NICU", and how he's transformed to our happy, crazy, teething, almost toddler. Maybe it doesn't feel like home....maybe more like our alma mater.
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