Been a While

right? Griffin is home now, and he's gained almost 12 ounces since we left the NICU. The doc is happy, Griffin is happy, and we are all very... tired.

Juggling all the normal life chores and the added newborn bottle and swaddle routine every three hours is proving to be a bit tricky. We have to keep a log of every single feed we give to the wee man - not that we are worried about his eating habits, but we might just up and forget when he last ate.

The 3 AM meal I can take, but his occasional indigestion at 4 AM and then again at 5 AM is a bit rough on the wife and me. Simethicone to the rescue! If that doesn't improve things, then we'll try gripe water next.

But this natter is not why you came. You want pix. Okay.

Yes! No! Well, maybe.

Griffin should be home by tomorrow! We shouldn't expect Griffin's homecoming before Sunday if he continues to struggle with feeding. Griffin ate 47 mL of milk at a go! Griffin is only eating 25 mL at a time. Every visit brings us closer to being a family again, except when it doesn't.

His Smallness is confusing the nursing staff, that's all I can assume. Over the past few days each successive nurse has contradicted the previous one and used Griffin's chart data to justify their optimism/pessimism.

This morning, our resident doctor assured us that Griffin was doing everything right and we were to expect an early homecoming. At the early afternoon feeding, S was told that the little guy was simply not eating like a full-term baby and this was a sign that he was not ready. This evening session, we were told that his appetite was fine and there shouldn't be any reason to keep him past the morning rounds. I am beginning to think that they just make this stuff up.

I also think that Griffin is a bit mercurial. He is not really interested in arbitrary expectations, and he isn't going to fit inside your convenient little box (unless it's a shoebox; he's pretty small). Maybe he just isn't hungry every three hours like clockwork. Maybe being slightly off normal is normal. Just like his dad.

Just Like a Normal Baby

Yesterday, due to the snow, we only made it to two feedings (9AM and 9PM). In between, the doctor called and said that he was doing so well with his line removed, they wanted him to start breastfeeding and getting a supplement bottle after that. This sounded like great news, but after the nursing debacle of the other day, I was terrified.

He did great. He nursed like a pro on one side and nursed like a sleepy pro on the other side, then took only a few mL from his bottle. It was fun to watch his heart rate zoom up when he started nursing, then drop as he became fuller and sleepier. I need to get more confident in his ability to feed himself, because I was nervous about ending the feeding, in case he hadn't had enough and his glucose dropped and he got put back on the IV.

The nurse--one we hadn't met before--was pleased, and seemed optimistic about what we'd find in the morning. She left us, however, by saying that usually babies need another week in NICU after their lines are removed.

A week. We'd been thinking a few days. A week.

Back again this morning for the 9AM. Overnight, his glucose levels were steady and high enough. His doctor was very pleased, pleased enough to graduate him from an isolette to an open crib. The goal, she said, from here on, is to treat him just like a normal baby. His job is to communicate when he's hungry, eat well, and regulate his body temperature. If he does that, he can come home.

I asked about what last night's nurse said. A week?, she said, anything is possible, but assuming he does what he should, he could go home tomorrow, or possibly Friday. So even if he needs a bit longer, you're likely looking at having a baby home by the weekend.

Happy Valentine's Day, says Mark.

He nursed well again on both sides, took 15 mL from his bottle, then the nurse wheeled in his crib and took his bedding out of the isolette. We lay him in and kissed his head, something we hadn't been able to do since he started living in a breadbox. He promptly urped due to an unburped burp. We changed his clothes, his diaper, and the bandage on his heel (which he'd stuck into his full diaper)--just like a normal baby.

Live without a Net

Just made it in to see the wee man this morning. Snow made the road treacherous, and the weather is not improving. S and I are wondering if that is the last visit we make today. Snowed in.

Griffin had his umbilical IV removed last night, and he is running entirely on the food he eats. Glucose levels were slightly lower than desired, and he ate slightly less than the goal of 40 ml this morning, but I couldn't be more happy. He's got two major hurdles left: keeping the glucose levels up, and keeping his temperature up as well. C'mon buddy, you can do it!

If he clears these, then he will be home as soon as Thursday. Wish us luck.

Jiggety-Jig

We're home.

Last night, after the 6PM feeding (which actually starts at 5:15), we kissed our boy's soft head, piled our souvenirs from this strange vacation into the car, and headed for home in a similar condition to how we arrived.

With my daughter, I arrived at the hospital on a night of witchy weather, in full-blown labor, had a baby just three hours later, and left after a couple of days with my little girl in the back seat. This time, I went to the hospital without even a twinge of pain and everything happened--blizzards, contractions, surgery, birth--while we were cocooned there. Days later, in just enough of a soft druggy haze to give a Vaseline-smear effect to everything, I came home to a warm dinner in a clean house, dry roads, and with an empty car seat in back. I might as well have been out running errands.

Every kid who has come home from college, a summer abroad, or even a lost weekend knows the feeling of no longer quite fitting into the space they left behind. It couldn't be much easier for me here: my daughter and pets are overjoyed to see me, my stepmother is keeping everything running brilliantly, friends are helpful and supportive, but it's all strange.

I don't miss the hospital, certainly, but the hospital existed to house Griffin. I saw his face as I walked to the bathroom and could smell him on my clothes. This house doesn't know him and has no memory of him. Even his room hasn't had to make space for him yet, doesn't have to acknowledge that he exists. There was no chance of forgetting Kendall while we were at the hospital, but what if we forget Griffin while we're home?

Four times a day, we will climb into the car and head back there. We've gone once already and I was relieved that I didn't just dream the last few days. He's there; the nurses recognized us--clearly this happened. We held him, fed him, smelled his head, and tickled his philtrum to make him squint his eyes, purse his lips, and turn away. And then we left again, back out in the bright, cold day.

Mistakes were Made

This morning confirmed our discoveries last night. We were informed by the pediatrician on staff that there was nothing in Griffin's chart that allowed for breastfeeding. She explicitly told us that this was counter to their need for accurate measurement of fluid intake, and that she had "no idea" how that could have been misinterpreted.

So much for the bad news, now on to the good news. Griffin is eating well (23 ml this AM), his glucose levels are back to a good level, and he is perking up during lunch. All this implies progress, and the prognosis has not changed: complete recovery expected. The date of his release did shift to possibly Thursday next, and that's somewhat annoying, but we are still very lucky to have the best care for our little bean.

Shift Change

There is nothing quite as maddening as being a Cassandra in a room filled with optimists. Especially if you let yourself be convinced.

This afternoon went well enough, but we were not really on the best of terms with our assigned nurse. Perhaps that was due to my telling her, frankly, that my wife and I "look tired" because we are worried about the wee man's dining habits, and that using the former as an excuse for not telling us about the upgrade to the latter was a bit counterproductive.

She solved that miscommunication by trying not to communicate anything at all from there on out. We got to participate in two good feedings with S starting the show and a bottle of expressed milk to follow. By the second feeding, S was starting to worry that the reliance on breast feeding was going to make hash out of their carefully calibrated balance between the ingested food and the glucose IV. The nurse assured us that the glucose readings were all that was necessary to maintain an even keel. Then she disappeared until we were ready to leave the NICU.

Fast forward to shift change, when the night nurse informed us that they were only going to let us feed Griffin by bottle, and we were to try for exactly 15 ml of expressed milk. His glucose readings, which had been holding steady at 60 plus or minus, at 8:30 PM dropped down to a 51. Then, three hours later, they measured in at 114. Hash, anyone?