I meant to post this on Friday, but Friday was crazy.
I have a five year old. That is, WE have a five year old.
For five years now, my life has more or less been about keeping this small person (and the subsequent small person) alive. And healthy. And happy.
For 25 years, life was about us. Then March 7 came.
We had celebrated our 3rd anniversary on Wednesday with a dinner at Carrabba's. I had another 3 weeks to go, we thought. At my weekly appointment on Thursday, the doctor had different news. Better news.
"You're SURE you're not feeling any contractions or anything? Because you're between 3 and 4 centimeters...Go home, start timing, and I'll see you soon."
We checked in at 4:30 the next morning and our first daughter was born by 11. I don't know if you've had the experience of being the main player of an attraction who is treated as if she isn't in the room, but it's pretty weird. I wasn't with it enough to ask a lot of questions but I heard things like "prolapse" and "fever" and "heart rate" and "I'm taking the baby on the next push."
She was born with a temperature, which meant that I got to hold her for about 3 minutes before she was whisked away to the NICU for testing and antibiotics. It took about 24 hours for me to realize that we were not in charge here. These people in scrubs were holding my baby hostage until they couldn't think of anything else to test. Her little heel looked like a pin cushion from the repeated bloodwork, her arms were bruised from the IV. It would be five days before we were allowed to bring her home and begin life as we'd planned it.
It would be 10 days before we had to bring her back.
It was like God saying, "those five days weren't enough to show you that you have no control here?"
One Saturday morning she slept and slept and slept. I had been working on scheduling her using BabyWise, so I felt pretty strongly about waking her up during the day to eat. But I couldn't wake her. And not only could I not wake her, but when I picked her up I could feel the heat radiating through her little sleeper.
Ignorantly, I called around to find out how much Tylenol to give a newborn with a fever. I called the doctor's answering service who said, "Oh, you're probably going to have to take her to the emergency room, but I'll call the doctor right now and call you back."
"Hospital" hadn't even crossed my mind.
We packed a diaper bag and went back to the ER where we had checked in 2 weeks earlier, this time with a listless baby in my arms rather than in my belly.
"This must be Baby Wright," was the greeting. Note: Being greeted at the emergency room by name is never a good thing.
We were hastened through triage where the nurse DID administer some Tylenol but immediately admitted us back to NICU.
This time the words were "very ill," "septic," "spinal tap," "isolation room," "several days before we know if the antibiotics are working."
For a few days we were politely - and compassionately - danced around until the staff relaxed with: "Good news, the white blood cell count is down, the antibiotics are working." And then, every day for two weeks: "It is SUCH a good thing that you brought her in when you did." She'd contracted a rare "late onset" Group B-Strep infection that often ends fatally.
But God is good. He kept us in ignorance for the duration of her stay. My job was to nurse that baby and I was going to do it - every three hours for 2 weeks. I couldn't process anything, outside of that. We didn't know that "fatal" was an option, so we just kept going, as if everyone's life starts out this way. God gave us loving nurses who capably distracted me while IV's were being changed. God gave us good friends, starting with the ones who recommended BabyWise (otherwise, I'd have let her continue to sleep), and continuing on through the ones who faithfully brought meals, came to visit and prayed victoriously.
And God is still good. She turned 5 on Friday. She is healthy, hilarious, and happy - if a bit mouthy. We thank Him every day for these precious gifts, but we are quickly reminded that they are only ours to take care of - and His to control.
--------
*Jim's daughter shares the same birthday, and he posted a beautiful story of the day of her birth which is actually what prompted me to write this post.
For five years now, my life has more or less been about keeping this small person (and the subsequent small person) alive. And healthy. And happy.
For 25 years, life was about us. Then March 7 came.
We had celebrated our 3rd anniversary on Wednesday with a dinner at Carrabba's. I had another 3 weeks to go, we thought. At my weekly appointment on Thursday, the doctor had different news. Better news.
"You're SURE you're not feeling any contractions or anything? Because you're between 3 and 4 centimeters...Go home, start timing, and I'll see you soon."
We checked in at 4:30 the next morning and our first daughter was born by 11. I don't know if you've had the experience of being the main player of an attraction who is treated as if she isn't in the room, but it's pretty weird. I wasn't with it enough to ask a lot of questions but I heard things like "prolapse" and "fever" and "heart rate" and "I'm taking the baby on the next push."
She was born with a temperature, which meant that I got to hold her for about 3 minutes before she was whisked away to the NICU for testing and antibiotics. It took about 24 hours for me to realize that we were not in charge here. These people in scrubs were holding my baby hostage until they couldn't think of anything else to test. Her little heel looked like a pin cushion from the repeated bloodwork, her arms were bruised from the IV. It would be five days before we were allowed to bring her home and begin life as we'd planned it.
It would be 10 days before we had to bring her back.
It was like God saying, "those five days weren't enough to show you that you have no control here?"
One Saturday morning she slept and slept and slept. I had been working on scheduling her using BabyWise, so I felt pretty strongly about waking her up during the day to eat. But I couldn't wake her. And not only could I not wake her, but when I picked her up I could feel the heat radiating through her little sleeper.
Ignorantly, I called around to find out how much Tylenol to give a newborn with a fever. I called the doctor's answering service who said, "Oh, you're probably going to have to take her to the emergency room, but I'll call the doctor right now and call you back."
"Hospital" hadn't even crossed my mind.
We packed a diaper bag and went back to the ER where we had checked in 2 weeks earlier, this time with a listless baby in my arms rather than in my belly.
"This must be Baby Wright," was the greeting. Note: Being greeted at the emergency room by name is never a good thing.
We were hastened through triage where the nurse DID administer some Tylenol but immediately admitted us back to NICU.
This time the words were "very ill," "septic," "spinal tap," "isolation room," "several days before we know if the antibiotics are working."
For a few days we were politely - and compassionately - danced around until the staff relaxed with: "Good news, the white blood cell count is down, the antibiotics are working." And then, every day for two weeks: "It is SUCH a good thing that you brought her in when you did." She'd contracted a rare "late onset" Group B-Strep infection that often ends fatally.
But God is good. He kept us in ignorance for the duration of her stay. My job was to nurse that baby and I was going to do it - every three hours for 2 weeks. I couldn't process anything, outside of that. We didn't know that "fatal" was an option, so we just kept going, as if everyone's life starts out this way. God gave us loving nurses who capably distracted me while IV's were being changed. God gave us good friends, starting with the ones who recommended BabyWise (otherwise, I'd have let her continue to sleep), and continuing on through the ones who faithfully brought meals, came to visit and prayed victoriously.
And God is still good. She turned 5 on Friday. She is healthy, hilarious, and happy - if a bit mouthy. We thank Him every day for these precious gifts, but we are quickly reminded that they are only ours to take care of - and His to control.
--------
*Jim's daughter shares the same birthday, and he posted a beautiful story of the day of her birth which is actually what prompted me to write this post.
Comments
So True
p.s. she got a fishing pole.
Loren - I'm very glad you made it. :)
:)