While I'd love to say our time in the NICU is complete, Ellis continues his recovery this week. He is entering a sort of normal newborn period--replete with all the quaint details of bottle feeding, diaper changing, screaming and crying. His lungs are still not what they should be although they are not as sick as they were. He is currently on and off CPAP (Continuous Positive Airway Pressure), a minimally invasive respiratory treatment during which he breathes air somewhat more rich in oxygen than room air. When he's on it, he's a champion at all things; off it, he tires more quickly, but he is so so much cuter (see picture below).
Much of the machinery--the oscillating respirator, the ventilator, the blood pressure medication, the TPN line, the IV, the chest tube... on and on--have been taken away. As Ellis was under a regimen of sedation at Roosevelt and Cornell--none of which continued during his stay at Columbia--I've often remarked that I've seen my son slowly wake up over these few weeks. The same could be said that, as each layer of mechanical and pharmaceutical assistance is peeled away, more of Ellis has been revealed to Joan and me.
As parents, we are both champing at the bit to take over his care and daunted by the challenge. It all seems so bizarre considering the harrowing experience of only two weeks ago. The NICU is a strange learning environment for both newborns and new parents. Our attempts taking over bottle feeding from the nurses has brought on tantrums for son, mother and father alike. My tantrum followed one of the more severe nurses taking over and criticizing my technique with the following dictum: "In the NICU, eating is not about enjoyment. It is about survival!" Despite this, we are so very lucky to be surrounded by people whose jobs are devoted to the care of newborns--all are experts from whom we can learn.
As Ellis's challenges transition from the dramatic and life-threatening to the mundane and "normal," I can never express the pride that swells within me seeing this amazing, fighting creature that Joan carried for 41 weeks and 3 days. He is tremendous at 8 pounds, 7 ounces.
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As some have asked about Joan's recent visit to the ER--causally mentioned in a recent update--here is a brief, somewhat graphic encapsulation:
Last Wednesday, as we got to the NICU for that day's visit, we were alarmed to find that Joan's C-section stitches were oozing reddish fluid--not quite bleeding, but close enough. We were eventually directed the the Emergency Room at Columbia Presbyterian where Joan waited on a hospital cot for 5 hours before being evaluated and then waited another 3 before being asked to come back later that evening. During the wait, Ellis was extubated and his chest tube was removed--all pretty monumental stuff for him and all of it we missed. We got to see Ellis during dinner and then Joan was called back to the ER to speak to the OB on call. At one point, during the next 3 hours, Joan's stitches were "explored" or, as I might put it, gouged. It was horrible, and Joan only got 3 shots of morphine. I think I would have required a boat oar to the head.
Joan exited the ER in a wheelchair with a prescription for Percocet and Keflex (an antibiotic) and a follow-up appointment. Then we raced back to the NICU to hold our son for the very first time. I don't think either of us required more trauma, but having Ellis asleep in our arms certainly made it a little easier to reflect on the day's events.
Despite the civil-war-hospital quality to the ER, Joan managed to pump breast milk behind a curtain which Joan's mom guarded while I ran bottles back to the NICU freezer. Three weeks ago, we didn't know how to use a breast pump, so I feel we've taken an AP course in Expressing Milk.
Taking a breather from CPAP
