Angels Among Us

Sitting in the pew on Sundays is positive input to my soul, the kind of energy that I need, especially during my pregnancy. I have been a member of First Presbyterian Church all of my life. Okay, well, I had a long standing pattern of Christmases and Easters only, over a decade, but belonging to the church for the last 4 years, being embraced by all of the people, my elders who value tradition, love and God, has been uplifting at the very least.

I joined the bell choir. I have always loved the sound of hand bells. They sound like angels to me. When I was pregnant, I thought my babies might hear them from the womb and think of heaven.
I love being in the sanctuary for bell choir practice on Wednesday nights with the orange evening sun beaming in through the stained glass. It's the same sanctuary where I sang in the children's choir, wore a robe to light the candles, said my wedding vows, and have taken communion and said The Lord's Prayer in unison with many of the same people a million times.

I am also a deacon. When the committee approached me about it, I gladly accepted. I am more than happy to help out in any way that I can. If you aren't familiar with the term, a deacon is a servant and minister of the church. By minister, I mean "serve, help, attend." Some of my duties include: greeting, passing the collection plate, tidying up the sanctuary, helping host luncheons, etc. We have monthly meetings after church to discuss the budget, The Shoe Tree, other activities or fund raisers and miscellaneous business. As a deacon, I am committed to regular church attendance and to doing my best to lead a life of service and gratitude.

After the babies were born, they gave us a baby shower. I could not believe the amount of gifts on that long table. There are very few babies at my church, so the birth of these twins had been eagerly anticipated, the event of the century. :)
There were knitted blankets, monogramed burp cloths, hand painted soap bars, handmade bibs, two personalized quilts, so many cute clothes and diapers, diapers, diapers...And so much more than I can include in this list. It was overwhelming. Everything we needed and more. One of our oldest members, a lady who sat in the pew behind me every Sunday wrote the sweetest note on her card. I cried. Something like, "I sat behind your mother in church when she was pregnant with you and she always took such good care of you and she always will." Yes, my hormones were still all over the chart, and I know I was emotional because my babies were in the hospital at the time, but that note just made me feel so special and loved...
Her words will speak to Emma and Ethan beyond the limitations of a lifetime. I hope these babies grow to feel the love that I feel when I am in my church. I wonder if Ethan one day might sit in the same pew and look up at the same scripture on the same wall...if Emma will marry her soul mate in front of the same etching of Jesus.

When we brought the babies home, Presbyterians started bringing us food. There was someone signed up for every Tuesday and Thursday for two months. I never knew how impossible it would be to cook, clean, and conduct life as usual while taking care of two newborns. It helped so much to have those two meals a week, something different to eat, and I didn't have to cook or, more likely, go get fast food...again.
When I went back to work, the Presbyterian Food Chain continued every Wednesday for the whole semester.  Thanks be to Presbyterians, and

Thanks be to God.

Heebie Jeebies!

A release nurse came to our room and gave me lots of pamphlets, instructional handouts, printed Power Points and a mental complex. She gave me a long talk on how to continue the babies' care, how preemies will develop a little differently, and other helpful things to keep in mind.  The part about the danger of the babies getting sick was what really resonated. She said that we were just beginning the big season for the flu and a horrible virus called RSV. She gave a warning that jolted my nervous system:

"RSV kills preemies," kills preemies, kills preemies, kills preemies...

She stressed her recommendation that we stay at home with few visitors for as long as possible. She went on to say that the season would be from now (September) clear until mid-April. At that moment, I was transformed into a paranoid germaphobe.
I became uncomfortable around people, small children that go to school or day care, and public places. I just wanted to make a bubble around us and stay in it until April. I was keenly aware of others' and my own
little sniffs,
face touching,
throat clearing,

knob touching,
and button pushing.
My imagination was running wild, coloring all things touched with red finger smudges: Contamination Take-Over!

There were sick people everywhere! Schools were even closing because of so many out with the flu.
I felt cornered and paralyzed. I wiped all the frequently touched things in our house with Clorox wipes at least once a day. When I got home from an errand, I changed clothes and washed my hands immediately. I was washing my hands so frequently that they started cracking and bleeding. I avoided touching anything. If my nose itched, I would just tough it out or use my shoulder or my knee. We still have gel all over the house. When people came over, I requested, insisted, that they use it. Some people refused....Some people got offended.
"So you think I'm dirty?"

I really didn't think anyone was dirty, I swear. I just know that people, we, live and thrive among germs, good germs and bad germs. We can carry viruses that we are immune to, or we could be getting sick and not know it. I might think it's just allergies, but what if I'm wrong? What shows up as mild sniffles or a cold in an adult can be RSV for a baby. I was so afraid.
Once in the NICU, I felt a sore throat coming on. This was before the grim reaper nurse. I was afraid to tell anyone. I thought they might kick me out. So I just wouldn't touch the babies as much, tried not to get too close. I cleaned our rooms frequently with the wipes and kept my hands clean. I finally confessed to one of the doctors and he said it is probably a virus, but it's ok. "Just use the gel like crazy and don't touch your face, and don't breathe on them. That's what I do when I get something like that and I have to be around the babies."
So even germ conscious medical professionals are not above a viral infection. I started feeling like they were closing in on me--germs, viruses.

This fear was very intense until the babies were able to receive an RSV vaccine. My fears started to ease even more when they got the flu shot at 6 months.
Going back to work helped me fully face my fear. Germ immersion. It seemed like a lot of my students sniffed excessively, coughed, and their hands were all over their faces while they were writing. The sounds of sniffing and coughing were magnified a million times in my head--everywhere I looked. Collecting papers made me a little nervous. I waited two days before I graded essays because Dr. Oz said that's how long a bug can live on a surface. I didn't want to use anyone's pencil or touch elevator buttons.
........................................................................

Every day that I didn't get sick, the babies didn't get sick, and I was able to slowly release my tension and focus on other things... I had to focus on other things. My job was just the thing I needed to occupy my mind.
When April passed, I would call myself a normal person again. I still wash my hands a lot and try to keep things clean, but I am thankfully no longer fixated on germs and getting sick.

Dear Ethan

Today you are almost 9 months old. You sit up very proudly with your back very straight, chest out, and a look on your face that says, "I am Ethan. I am very strong." You like to bounce while you sit there. Maybe you'll be musical, or play the drums like your dad. You crawl like an army man, and you can really move! I can't turn my back on you for a second. If I do, you're sure to be wherever there is potential for danger. Maybe when you get big, you'll be like your daddy, who can put together, take apart, fix and figure out any electronic thing there is. You are very curious and you have an instinctive attraction to things that possess some kind of power: electrical outlets, wires, cords, Daddy's laptop, the DVR, the Playstation, the remotes and the Ipod. Maybe you will like to master a challenge when you grow up, or maybe you will surround yourself with smart and powerful people.
You love to be lightly swung or quickly lifted so you can feel little butterflies in your belly and view the world from higher up. Now you are showing a desire to pull up on things to see what else you can get into. You have the cutest little open mouthed giggle. Your two bottom teeth show only when you are very happy. You respond to smiles with a little grin most of the time, but you reserve big smiles and laughs for truly happy moments.
You have a cute little habit of putting your hand up to your mouth and acting like your sucking it. I say you are eating an imaginary hamburger. Lately, you've been pulling your shirt up below the collar and nibbling it when you're hungry or sleepy. I can hear you in your crib on the monitor smacking your lips on your t-shirt hamburger.
You eat very well. I make all of your food myself, so I know that you and Emma are getting nothing but the good stuff. New foods take a day or two to grow on you. You make the funniest yucky faces when you encounter a new texture or new taste. Your favorite foods seem to be avocado, peas, and sweet potato. You have yet to reject a food entirely though. So far you and Emma are vegetarians: Avocado, sweet potato, zucchini, yellow squash, butternut squash, beets, peas, green beans, asparagus, cauliflower, broccoli, potatoes, carrots, cantaloupe, bananas, apples, pears, cereal, and lentils. I'm new to this whole vegetable world. My eating habits are more inclined to carbs and protein. I am really hoping to enter into a new eating chapter.
You love to jump in your Johnny Jump-Up. You get so excited and let out loud emphatic screeches. You run around and around, lift up your legs and swing back and forth. Your Mimi says you are flying like Peter Pan.
I have a feeling you'll keep me on my toes, little man. I'm loving you and everything you're teaching me. I'm new at this, so take it easy on me, ok, Ethan Dempsey Doo?
Love,
Mommy

Dear Emma

Today you are almost nine months old. You have two bottom teeth. You just started working on your consonant sounds. I love to hear you babble. Lately you've been working on your yoga moves, doing "Downward Facing Dog" quite a bit.  You are on the move. You crawl like a soldier, pulling with your elbows and pushing with your feet, but you usually only get moving when you see something of particular interest, like a toy you haven't seen in a while, Daddy's open laptop, the t.v. remote, or one of our dogs, Fabian or Daisy. Otherwise, you're quite happy where you are, on your back playing with your feet or one of your toys. You don't get into much trouble at all. You usually don't go after all of the dangerous wires and cords that Ethan is such a fan of. I love watching you sit up and dig through your toy box.
You are the happiest baby I've ever met. When you first learned to smile, it was over for me. You melt my heart. You smile so brightly anytime someone smiles at you. Every morning when I come to get you out of your crib, you turn over and give me that million dollar smile. All I have to do is get the camera out and you know it's time to work it! Even if you're crying, I can get the camera out and you start laughing and smiling. You know you're on. :) I love it!
You like sleeping on your belly. Sometimes you curl your knees under your body. When we first brought you home, you slept on your back, but when you learned to turn over, you slept no other way, side or belly, just like your momma.
You hardly ever get fussy. When you were about two or three months old, you had "fussy hours" where you would cry inconsolably for several hours. I would hold you and sing to you until you finally felt better. I walked you around the house, patted your back and tried to exude calmness. We did this every evening  for a while, from about 6:00-8:00 (See your 1st Christmas photo). You look so cute even when you are crying. You can really get loud and shrill. Your top lip comes to a point and your little bottom lip quivers. It's so cute.
You are a fantastic eater! You hardly ever make a yucky face when you try new foods. You are inspiring me to eat better too. You make me want to be healthy and strong so I can live long enough to watch you grow into a little girl, a young lady, and a woman. I wonder what you'll do and who you'll be.
You love to take naps with your daddy and your daddy loves taking naps with you.
We call you by your first and middle name most of the time, Emma Lynn. Some of your nick names are Em-Lynn, Emma Lynny-Lou, or just Lynny.
I like to sing to you. To the tune of Skip to my Lou, "Lou-Lou, Emma Lynny Lou, Lou-Lou, Emma Lynny Lou, Lou-Lou, Emma Lynny Lou, Emma Lynny Lou my darlin'!"
I rock you to sleep every night. Sometimes you cry just a little before you fall asleep or you talk quietly to yourself, practicing your English. I think you might be an expressive and highly verbal communicator someday. Keep practicing. :)
Love,
Mommy

Three-Oh!

Rodney's birthday was right around the corner. It's his Big Three Oh...in the hospital. I needed to be resourceful somehow. I was racking my brain about how to make it special. Going shopping was pretty much out of the question. I sent out an SOS to my Facebook friends. I talked to a few of the nurses. Nothing really said the kind of "special" I was looking for. I finally just ordered a few "twin dad" items online and prayed that they would make it in by the 23rd. I reminded myself that no matter what, this would be a special birthday he could never forget. And after all, I did just give him a miracle boy and a miracle girl.

When Rodney and I came back from our dinner date, one of the nurses told us that Emma had pulled out her feeding tube. Instead of replacing it right away, she was going to wait to see how her feeding went. I love you, Nurse. At that moment, my chest swelled with excitement because I knew a Higher Power was at work. I was not going to beg God for a rush on Emma's progress. He knows what I'm hoping for. He needs no interruptions, no distractions right now from me. God, You know what You're doing.

Emma took her whole bottle at the next feeding. I talked to her while she was eating, kept shifting her position, anything to keep her awake. I gave her a little extra time when she needed it...which kind of felt like cheating. I felt like I needed a look-out. The nurses would frown on a feeding taking longer than 30 minutes. I felt Emma's sweet little soul fighting so hard to catch up. Her spirit seemed to know it was time to work: "Okay, I've had enough of this tube. Bring it on! I need to be with Brother and Mom and Dad." She took her next six bottles like a champion. Her seventh bottle, however, was too much for her. She was too tired. I felt somewhat defeated. The doctor will want to see "24 hours on the bottle" when she comes to read the chart.  I tried to push out any negative thoughts I was having, let them out in deep breaths and remember how far she'd come and how amazing she was, this gorgeous child. She looked so relaxed. She had no idea she was such a strong little warrior princess.

You know what You're doing.

Ethan was going strong without his feeding tube. He made short work of every bottle. His little face was starting to fill out. I was so proud of our little boy and head over heels in love with that little face. He always made the cutest little expression with his little furrowed brow. He looked like he was thinking very hard about something very serious. I found myself calling him "brother," the nurses' nickname for him.
None of the nurses were talking about Ethan's upcoming release, and I wasn't asking. The only thing I thought we could cling to, to keep him admitted until Emma was ready, was the incline of his crib. Both babies had some reflux issues. I think I remember hearing that the beds would be gradually leveled over time. Maybe they'll let us wait just a little longer for her.

The doctor came in to our room every morning to evaluate the charts and make new assessments. On this day, she didn't come as usual. I asked the nurse if I'd missed her. "No, she hasn't made it here yet." I waited there instead of going to get breakfast. I could feel that things were about to happen. Would she say Ethan is ready for release? What would she think about Emma missing a few mls of her feedings? Would she re-order the feeding tube?

I cannot take this. After an hour, I decided to go ahead and go get breakfast. When I came back, of course, the doctor had come and gone. Where is our nurse??
The nurse finally came in and reported that our doctor ordered both babies to undergo a 24 hour apnea test. The nurse told me that this meant the doctor was considering releasing both babies if the tests went well! After the apnea tests were finished, they both had to take a 4 hour car seat test. Then, the doctor called me on the nurse's phone to give me her evaluation of the tests:

"Ethan had a few minor events on the apnea test. He will be released tomorrow with an apnea monitor." She explained her recommendation and the monitor we would be taking home.

My heart was beating out of my chest....

"Emma had several minor events on the apnea test...but she will also be released tomorrow with an apnea monitor."
I could not help but scream out down the hallway, "YAY!!!"
"And I hear that tomorrow is Dad's birthday. Happy birthday to him."

This is the most amazing birthday present I could ever have imagined!
"Rodney, guess what?" :)

Land on the Horizon

There were two other sets of twins admitted in the NICU before us, so the twin rooms were taken. I saw one set of twins being pushed down the hallway in their double stroller on the day they were released. Those parents looked so happy. I joined in the clapping and smiling from the door of one of our rooms, wishing the family well. Bet that's nice. Bet that feels pretty good.

We got to move into the twin room they left behind on our last week. At the time, I didn't know how much longer we'd be there. It crossed my mind that one baby could be released and the other baby would have to stay. Emma was still just a little behind Ethan in her eating. The feeding schedule was one of my irritations. The feedings were to happen at 8, 11, 2, and 5, etc. If a nurse was running late for a feeding, we had to wait. The next nurse on duty would have to get back on the exact time. This sometimes interfered with the babies' progress. They weren't hungry yet. Then they wouldn't eat it all. The doctor kept raising the minimum for milk. What will we do if Emma is not released at the same time? This became my new anxious fear.

Meanwhile, I got a text message from my substitute at work saying that she would not be able to finish the semester, and "your students miss you." Her last day would be on some rapidly approaching day. "See you when you get back!" Awesome. Because I was just thinking that I needed another source of anxiety, another new worry for a situation that I can do nothing about. I spoke to the chair of my department and she confirmed that the sub was quitting for unexplained reasons, and she didn't yet know what would be done. Thankfully, after a few days, my courageous, problem-solving leader convinced the sub to see it through. Whew. My mind was able to focus again on my most important role, mother to these sweet angels.


Emma and Ethan graduated from their isolates into big boy
and big girl cribs on separate sides of the twin room.

For the first time, we were able to briefly unplug a few wires
and lay the babies down in the same crib. I don't
know what I expected, but they didn't really seem
to notice each other. Hmm.

And I was finally able to hold them at the same time! It made me feel so...complete. It would have been better if my back wasn't killing me. I also hated that my first time double holding felt so awkward. I felt like I could not adjust them at all if they were to slip. It was kind of scary to be honest. But the most wonderful scary I've ever felt!

Ethan's feeding tube came out a few days later, and I was so happy for him. What a strong boy! It was the first time I'd seen his face without medical tape. So happy...
Little Emma was asleep in her crib with her feeding tube still taped to her face. It was a mixed pot of emotions. I needed to have a little talk with her.

Emma, please, honey. If you eat all of your bottles, we get to go home. But if you need a little more time, I understand. I will stay by your side until you're ready. I will not leave you. Ethan will have to go home to be with Daddy, but they'll be just fine.  Emma, did you know this is not your home? You have a pretty house waiting for you...with a yard and 3 dogs waiting to meet you...and your own room, and your own clothes and your own toys. When we get home, you can eat however much you want whenever you want. But now I really need you to try to eat all you can, ok? Sweet angel.

OU football was in full-swing. It seemed like so much time had passed. I missed my cousin's bridal luncheon. We missed her wedding. I was supposed to do a reading during the ceremony. I felt such a loss that I couldn't watch her walk down the aisle. I couldn't be there on that happy day. I had been looking so forward to it for months. The world was still turning out there...and ours was standing still in here.

Rodney's 30th birthday was in just a few days.... I'm not sure how I expected life to be after their birth. I guess I was expecting nothing but joy. Instead of sending out birth announcements, we were sending out a prayer chain. But I had to count my blessings. The babies were doing so well. Ethan's feeding tube was out! and I think Emma and I had come to an understanding.

Resident

The 5th floor of St. Francis Children's Hospital became my new home. For Rodney, it was his home base. He drove to Tulsa after work every night to hold and feed the babies, take me out to dinner, stay the night, and rise early for work the next morning. Rodney was the best part of my day. He is very high on my list of angels, for sure. He was so tired. I knew I was tired, but I could not imagine having to go to work during this, having that desperate, removed feeling, unable to concentrate, having to drive so much, and sleep so little. Sometimes he drove back home late at night and went to sleep in our bed. He would call me on the phone and tell me how amazing he thought I was and how he wished he could be there with us every second. I never loved him more.

They had sheets and pillows, so I could bed the couch. I had my book and my laptop....oh, and my new best friend, the pump.

Every morning before the eight o'clock feeding, I'd get up and make the long journey to the hospital's cafeteria. I'd get in my wheel chair and wheel myself all the way there. I was on a strict schedule with my new best friend, so there was no time for the C-section Shuffle. I could only walk with about a 2 inch pace for maybe...10 feet with a strained look on my face the whole time, and then I needed to sit down and rest through the pain. So this is what it feels like to be 90. After about a week, I graduated to a wheelchair with no foot pedals and I would "Flintstone" myself all the way to the elevator, all the way down the looooong and jagged corridor that connected the Children's Hospital to the main hospital. And I was gettin' some good speed on that thing. Kids I saw on the way got a big kick out of it. Yabba-dabba-doo! 
Then maybe a week after that, I graduated again to just walking behind the wheelchair part of the way until I could go the whole way.  I will try to think of this the next time I'm feeling sorry for myself or if I revert back to taking the simple things in life for granted.

The cashier at the cafeteria from time to time would ask, "Resident?"
Really? Look at me. You can see that I am lookin' pretty rough, weakly walking along behind this wheel chair in my pajamas. What professional shows up to work like this? 
There must be some kind of discount. I'm sure the confusion was only in the fact that I wore this little clip-tag on my shirt, my ID that got me through those heavy swinging doors of the NICU. "Mom 2010" was all it said. After about two weeks of my comings and goings, everyone at the front desk recognized me, so I didn't really need it. I wondered...what does this prove? Anyone could get a hold of one of these. They had a security illusion in my opinion.  They force all other visitors to vaguely and unofficially identify themselves with sticker name tags and room numbers. And they're all over it. Right when you walk in the door of the children's hospital, they want you to get a sticker. "Excuse me Ma'am-- where is your sticker?"

As the babies started gaining strength, we began introducing a few breast feedings a day and the rest bottles. They were so tired, bless their little baby hearts. They kept taking a few sucks and taking a little break until they were all pooped out. Whatever remained of their required intake went through the feeding tubes. We felt a small victory every time the babies had a good feeding. It was measured in milliliters. "They took 5 mls, woohoo!"--mass text to the family. I remember when the minimum per sitting was 20 mls. We could tell how much they were getting in two ways: we either weighed them before and after, or the nurse would come and syringe-pull the contents of their stomachs via the feeding tube.

Milliliter by milliliter, the babies were making progress. Ethan was usually just a smidge ahead of Emma in mills consumed by mouth. Emma was very strong and usually kept a very close second to her bigger, but one minute younger brother. The doctor said that when the babies could take all of their feedings without the tubes, they would be ready for release. "When does that usually happen? How much longer?" I wanted to know.
"When the lights come on. One day the babies just...do it. Usually about 38 weeks," he said.

I pleaded and pleaded with those babies to breastfeed. And they did so well. But they were just so tired and it was holding us back. It was much easier for them to bottle feed. And I wanted to go home. So, finally after three weeks, I let go of the dream and switched them to breast milk bottles. There was a fair amount of grief in that for me. But as soon as I did, it wasn't long before "the lights came on" just like he said they would. "...was blind, but now I see"

NICU 101

The NICU was a sad and scary place at times. I could sense the seriousness of it from the way they locked the huge, metal, automatic double doors. Then they make visitors stop before entering the room and use the cleaning station. Wash your hands and arms. Use the gel. There are no children other than siblings allowed inside and only 4 people at once. It seemed like the place was intentionally disorienting. There was a constant stereo-effect of near and far beeping. The layout was a series of identical intersections, like a house of mirrors.

Everyone who was not in a uniform looked somber. I know there were other families that weren't so lucky as we were. Now and then, I'd see red and puffy eyes on the face of a woman in the hallway, or hear crying in the stall next to mine in the bathroom. "Code Blues" called out for other babies made my heart drop, quarantines and surgeries...I can't imagine. It was all I could do to keep my mind focused on my babies and not fall apart for all of the other babies.

When the alarms sounded on one of my babies' monitors, I jolted to full attention and adrenaline rushed into my chest. "Brady," a nurse would say and note it in the file.

Brady?

The longer I was there, the more I got used to the environment. Some of the beeps were from non-emergency alarms on the feeding machines that slowly drip the babies' food. Begin feeding: beep. Quarter of a tank: beep. Feeding over: beep, beep, beep, etc. In the middle of the night,--beep--I was trying to sleep--beep--on one of my single-hour sleep streaks--beep. I learned how to shut the thing up myself when it was "being stupid" as the nurses said.

I learned that "brady" was short for bradycardia, or slowed heart rate. I learned to read the monitors and what all the numbers meant. The nurses explained that bradys are pretty normal for preemies. They even said that everyone has brief dives in heart rate when they are extremely relaxed. It usually returns to normal in a matter of seconds. The longer the brady, the bigger the concern.

I received quite the education in 4 weeks' time. A computer cart was wheeled in sometime during that first week. We were required to watch and listen to all of the video learning modules before we could be released. That really helped me get my bearings in this foreign place.

Did you know preemies' skin is super sensitive to the touch, even painful, especially if rubbed or patted?

Or that hiccupping could mean the baby is overwhelmed or over-stimulated?

They need dark, quiet, womb-like conditions.

If you want to engage your preemie, you need to be very single minded about it. If you talk, talk softly and only talk; don't talk and touch. If you want to touch, only touch; don't touch and talk.

When you open the portholes on the isolates, do it softly and quietly. What seems like a quiet click can sound like a firecracker to a preemie.

If the baby seems distressed, it may be because he needs a boundary like the womb. You can pull the arms and legs in toward the chest and gently hold them until he feels secure again.

 The outpour of information helped us communicate better with Emma and Ethan and feel more at ease in the NICU.

An infant CPR class is also required for the parents when release is near.
 Rodney and I sat in a classroom with about 6 other people. We all had our own huge baby dummy. Those babies were triple the size of Emma and Ethan. Is this the size of a normal baby?? We watched an interactive video and learned that if they should stop breathing, pump the chest between the nipples with my index and middle finger to the rhythm of "Stayin' Alive," and give breath, or if they should choke, flip the baby over onto my forearm and thrust the heel of my hand between the shoulder blades.

It was an excellent facility. There were information pamphlets tacked to the walls in the cleaning stations, stories and updates with pictures of past patients in the hallways. Even with the abundance of information, there were still moments when the pressure would rise in my chest, fear and anxiety:

Can I do this?

Related Posts:

Zero-Two-Early 

Held Without Bond

Precious Moments

The Pump and I

Behold!

Good Ol' Mickey Dee

Resident

Land on the Horizon

Release



Good Ol' Mickey Dee

When we checked in to The Ronald McDonald House (RMH), a nice lady gave us the tour. I had heard of Ronald McDonald Houses, but I had no idea what they were really for. I don't even think I realized that it was an actual house. I thought it was just the name of the charity organization. Well, newsflash: there are actual houses...not "houses," more like motels. We could name the amount we were able to pay a week. There was a community laundry room and kitchen. The nice lady said that a few local restaurants and some individuals cook and bring food for anyone who needs it. No housekeeping: DIY. I thought the whole thing was pretty nice.  I never actually stayed there, however. I left all my bags in my room and stayed in the NICU with the babies. When Mom came every day, she would give me a ride to the RMH, and I would take a shower and change clothes. When Rodney came every night, we sometimes dropped by there to get something from my bag. "Sign in, sign out."

During our tour on that first day, we were informed that we must go see our children at least "x" amount of hours per week. I remember not much else from the rules, but this line was enough to cut through my drug induced fog. I looked up from my wheelchair: "Did you just say, 'We must go see our children?'"

"Yes."

"Huh...."

In the front, there was a little gated area with a pretty statue of two small children playing in the fountain with little frogs on lily pads. There was nice landscaping and a few benches here and there. One bench was permanently occupied by The Mr. Ronald McDonald himself. More than once I came out of the building after dark and was startled by that eerie silhouette with the fire-red hair. Creepy man? Killer clown? No. It's just good ol' Mickey Dee.

There was another little court yard in the back with a playground similar to the ones at their restaurants. Once, Mom and I went to the actual McDonald's for some breakfast and brought it back to the RMH to eat out in this courtyard before my shower. There happened to be a lovely lady sitting with her feet up in the chair, smoking a cigarette and talking much louder than necessary on her cell phone.  Her regular F bombs were a nice backdrop for our brunch. We tried to ignore her and have our own conversation. Who am I to judge her? Her child must be in the NICU, I thought. It's the case for most people checked in. She might be going through hell. She might have other children to tend to along with one in the hospital. Still...I couldn't help but wonder if she'd met her quota. It was a decent place, not some ratty roach motel, like some people have indicated. But I still don't see how people could hang out there all day while their child was less than one block away in the hospital.

Now when I go through McDonald's, I try to always drop in some change in that little Ronald McDonald House drop box under the window.

Thanks, Mickey.

The Pump and I

As soon as we arrived at the NICU, my grueling regimen of pumping began. I had to pump rather than put the babies to breast because the babies were too weak to get adequate feedings. I had pumped a few times at Hastings Hospital, but I was so groggy and loopy that I really didn't form a pattern. When I arrived at the NICU, the nurses strongly encouraged me to pump, pump, pump like a mad woman if I was going to get a full supply enough for twins. I don't think I had ever even heard of a pump before. I definitely didn't think I'd ever use one. But I pumped. Ten times a day, I pumped. All around the clock, I pumped.  I set my phone alarm for every two hours and I sat on the couch behind the privacy curtain in Ethan's room (where the pump was more conveniently located). Those first two weeks are a blur for me. One of the nurses told me that getting adequate rest was better for milk production, so I took her advice and started sleeping for 4 hours at a time during the night. That helped clear my head a little. I can't explain the worry I felt over having enough milk for them. They were taking it down as fast as I could pump it. "Try to relax. It helps with production," another nurse advised. Thank goodness for those nurses. I was learning so much from all of them. What would I have done if the doctor had just said, "Here are your twins. Go home and good luck." A curse and a blessing, being in the NICU. I had mixed emotions about being in the NICU and about pumping. On one hand, I felt needed and valuable. I am the only one who can provide this necessity. There is only one thing that I alone can do for them as their mother in this NICU, and it's pump. Thank goodness I am able to do something. On the other hand, I felt like I was missing out on time with the babies, a few feedings during the day, most at night. I was pumping while nurses took care of my babies. It's kind of funny how I was working so hard, so dedicated to them, but at the same time I felt lazy...like the nurses might be judging me. What if the babies think these nurses are their mommies? But I stuck with it.

When we took the babies home, I tried to switch to breast feeding, but it was very demanding. They wanted it more frequently than when we bottle fed and I wasn't sure how much they were getting. I continued to pump instead. I put them to breast occasionally because I liked the bond and it seemed to soothe them between feedings. I finally stopped pumping after 11 months, and when I did, I felt a little sad but very relieved from the strict routine. The babies continued on formula until they were 15 months old.

And so the long road of a love/hate relationship was over:

Me and the pump, the pump and I.

Behold!

We were finally able to hold the babies when they were 4 days old. On that day, a nurse named Dede decided, "I think these babies need to be held." Just like that. No doctor's order, no official count down. Fine by me. They were so tiny in our arms. It was amazing. I felt a little awkward at first, and Rodney said he did too. Are they comfortable? Now and then a tiny arm would raise and they would streeeeeetch their little bodies. We had to hold them separately because they were in separate rooms attached to monitors and such. I wondered if the babies knew they had a sibling, if they remembered each other, if they wondered about or missed each other. I couldn't wait for that surreal moment when I could hold my two babies in each arm. How will that work? I am awkward with one! Hard to imagine.
We also began helping with the babies' care. We could change diapers, take temperatures, change clothes, and change bedding. It was a bit cumbersome working around the isolates and the wires. There were two portholes on both sides. The bed raised or lowered with an electronic pedal on the floor. We poked our hands inside and took care of business. It was a little tricky, but once you got used to it, it worked pretty well. My back ached horribly as I stood there. I asked one of the nurses once, "Does your back hurt when you hover over this thing?"
"No...Maybe it's the couch bed?"
"I sleep like a rock on that thing."
"You might not be getting as much rest as you think." It turns out she was right. The back pain disappeared as soon as we got home.
The doctor gave me the ok to start breast feeding them once a day. Any more than that was too much work for them and burned precious calories. It was so nice to feel that bond though. Rodney and I also got to bond with some skin-to-skin contact called "kangaroo care." We stripped the babies down to their diapers and put them on our bare chests, then covered with a blanket. It was supposed to make the babies feel comforted and bonded to their parents. Studies show that preemies' development and growth improve greatly when they get that skin-to-skin time with their parents a few times a day.  I think it also helped Rodney feel closer, and the studies also suggested that it even helps stimulate the hormones in the brain for fatherhood. We talked about how amazing it felt when they lifted their itty bitty heads and looked up at us with those big watery, sparkly eyes: "Hi, Dad. Hi, Mom."
After about a week and a half, other family members were allowed to hold the babies too. My mother drove up to see the babies almost every single day for the whole 4 weeks. I was overjoyed when she was finally able to hold her grandbabies in her arms. Pappy, Aunt Amy, and their Nana were finally able to hold the precious Garland Twins, too :).
Things are starting to feel a little more normal.