Due Date

At the end of January, the thing that kept me going was thinking, "surely, by the end of February, Ainsley will be home."  Because the canned answer around here about going home is, "right around their due date."  Not that I've ever asked.  I'm afraid to hear their answer.

Now I don't really know what to fool myself with to get through March.  Because I have no idea when this little drama nugget is going to come  home, but it sure doesn't feel like it's going to be any time soon.



Breathe normally?
No, thanks.  But I appreciate the offer.

 February 24 was my due date for Ainsley and Evelyn.  Actually, it was Olivia's due date, too, except two years earlier.  We all knew that I would never carry the girls to their due date.  We knew they'd be early, and we knew that we'd be in the NICU for some time. 

You expect me to come home in this crap weather?
Winter blows a fatty.  I think I'll wait for spring.

We are past our due date, now.  We've been here longer than I ever imagined if I'm being quite honest.  It seems like we're in a constant holding pattern.  First, it was waiting and watching the PDA.  And then the PDA was repaired and things seemed to look up.  She was breathing fast but not as fast as before, and her sats were great.*

But now, we are in this cul-de-sac of breathing drama that just seems endless.  The past few days, her sats are still OK, but she's working harder to get them there by breathing super fast.  I'm sitting in the NICU right now, watching her head bob up and down as she works for every breath.

I just told the nurses this morning: if she's here in June, they are going to have to get me an adult-sized isolette.




You'd breathe fast too if your mom was asking nurses for adult-sized isolettes.
Or if someone shaved random spots on your head in order to poke you with needles.
Get off my tiny back.

 I went back to work on Thursday.  My eight weeks of paid disability is up, and I could either burn my vacation days and then take unpaid time when Ainsley comes home, or I could go back to work and save my precious month of vacation for when Ainsley comes home.  So, back to work.  It's strange.  It's almost like nothing ever happened. 

If you didn't know what happened, you'd think that I was sitting at home for the past three months stuffing my face full of Taco Bell and getting fat and slovenly while watching sophisticated television.  (Keeping Up With The Kardashians?)  Which, honestly, isn't far off, sadly, and also I don't really care if the meat in a beef supreme chalupa isn't really beef because that shit tastes good.  I may not get to bring two babies home, but I do look like I'm having two food babies. **

Sometimes I like to cover my food babies with my real baby.
I wonder if I could cover my awful hairdo with a baby, too?
Or maybe one of those hats with the crocheted ball on top.
"Hello, volunteer lady.  Do you have a free hat that would cover an adult head?  No?
Well, you're useless."

All of her tests are normal.  We are back to the ever-frustrating, "well, she's just got to get bigger."  I suggested beef supreme chalupas, because they seem to work for me, but apparently they are not healthy for preemies and also cannot fit down an NG tube.  She weighs just under 4 pounds, 8 ounces.  Maybe when she hits 5 pounds we can revisit the chalupa suggestion.

I brought her some of her own clothes.
Looking fah-bulous, dahling.

The NICU, obviously, is the Neonatal Intensive Care Unit.  But some babies don't need as much care as others, so as your baby "gets better" it is moved to rooms with other babies who don't require as intensive care.  We've been down the hall for a while now - with a week revisit up the hall after the PDA ligation. 

But last week, we were moved to the intensive side for staffing reasons.  And also for a much-appreciated reminder of just how far Ainsley has come.  I almost forget sometimes. 

While I was there, a mom fresh from the delivery room came in to see her baby.  You're technically not supposed to know things about the other babies, but it's impossible since you're sardined in the room together.  As soon as her husband wheeled her in she started sobbing.  I'm not a hugger, but I've never wanted to hug someone so much in my whole life.  Because GOD if it isn't fucking hard having a baby in the NICU.  Unless it's happened to you, you just don't understand at all.



Well, she's the least dramatic baby in the intensive rooms.  So there's that!

Today, the nurse asked me about my baby B.  "How's she doing?" I've been waiting for Evelyn's autopsy for a long time.  (Captain Obvious, reporting for duty!)  First, the preliminary report was in...but it was lost.  But hey!  Buck up!  The full report will be done any day now!  Which, I guess any day now = in 3-4 weeks, because I haven't heard anything since the very beginning of February.  I asked about it today, but the doctor who is supposed to get it is out of town, and so I have to wait for her to get back...Tuesday.   So there's that to look forward to?  Or whatever. 

It would be nice (or whatever) to have some information about what happened so that we can stop wondering.


* Sats...Oxygen saturation level.  Should be mid-90's.  If it drops below mid-80's-ish, it's called a desat.  And desat = asshat.  Sats tell us if she is getting enough oxygen/breathing effectively.

**You can really go thoroughly fuck yourself if you want to leave me a rude comment over me complaining about being fat.  That's all I'm going to say about that.
--

One Year Ago:  Panera's Wi-Fi Loss Prevention Owes Olivia
Two Years Ago:  That's A Real Thing
Three Years Ago:  Hey, It's Cheaper Than Therapy