Tobias, Eleanor and Callista are now a day over three weeks old. Really? I thought being in the NICU would make time creep, but it really hasn’t. I can’t believe our sweet trio are just eight days from celebrating their one-month birthday.
Invitations are in the mail. The cake has been ordered. A clown is on standby. It’s going to be the bash of the century.
I kid, I kid. I don’t have time for that ish!
We all had a fabulous last week. All three babies showed major improvements with their breathing and general lung function, thanks in part to those devilish bubble CPAPs. As of yesterday, all three are now back on high-flow canulae (those simple, in-nose oxygen pieces). The girls have been without their CPAPs for a couple days, so they were bumped down a bit on their oxygen pressure yesterday, from 4L to 3L. All three are on room air!
Another room-air celebration came a few days ago, when the night nurse announced that it was time to start letting the babies try to regulate their own body temperatures. They’re all in pajamas now, and the nurses are slowly bumping down the beds’ temperatures. They started around 32 degrees Celsius and need to get down to 27 degrees before they can come out of their isolettes and hang out in open-air beds. Callista got her bed down to 29 point something last night!
Our big babies are doing so wonderfully. Callista is super close to reaching 3 pounds. Last night, she was only 10 grams away from 2 lbs. 15 oz. She’s going to hit 3 super soon! Toby yesterday was at 2 lbs. 14 oz., but he may have a setback due to his feeds being stopped to allow the blood transfusion he needed yesterday (his red blood cell count was too low for comfort). Eleanor is trying her hardest to catch up, and she’s hovering around 2 lbs. 8 or 9 oz. over the last two days.
Being in the NICU is hard. There’s a lot of mental balancing and rechecking of the traditional newborn experience, and with that comes a constant need to practice grace and mercy. It’s difficult to feel like others are treating our situation as a 24-hour babysitting service. Some people seem to expect us to be relaxed and enjoy as much free time away from the babies as possible.
It might feel different once we cross the threshold into post-NICU life and are desperate for a few moments of quiet alone time, but right now, being told to get away from my babies is like a slap in the face. I am away from them enough thanks to the miles that separate us and the fact that I can’t be in the NICU 24 hours a day. Many parents don’t leave their babies until they’re several months old, and it can be years before they spend the night away from them. I walked away from mine at 4 days old, and I’ve never slept a night just within feet of them.
What people don’t understand about the difficulty in that is beyond me.
And those who like to tell me (us? not sure if Rob hears it, too) that I need to just be thankful for what we have? They can kindly fuck off. If you don’t think I know how fortunate we are, if I don’t understand all that has been and all that still is at stake, then you have zero business directing any words toward me. I was there for the NICU consultation at 25 weeks, 3 days gestation. I disconnected my emotional wires their entire first day and lived only on fact.
I’m thankful for each and every breath, but if I want to grieve the difference between what I expected my whole life and what I’m experiencing now – well, I think I’m entitled to that now and then. There’s no time for it to consume my thoughts, but those thoughts have every right to creep in and attack sometimes. What’s important is that our actual experiences take over the ones history has set as expectations.
Each memory we make is infinitely greater than any expectation I’ve ever had.
Gah. I didn’t mean to get all ranty, but I guess it needed to come out.
Let’s turn this happy again, shall we?
The chickadee who did Eleanor’s echocardiogram (nothing for concern) yesterday told me I don’t look at all like I gave birth to triplets three weeks ago. I almost kissed her.
I look fluffy and have joked with Rob that I want to wear a shirt that says, “I’M NOT FAT – I JUST GAVE BIRTH TO TRIPLETS. YOU THINK I’M SKINNY NOW, DON’T YOU?”
I’m half serious. Especially during times in which my meals are on display (holy appetite while providing breastmilk for three, batman).
What do you think?
taken at 27 weeks, 6 days pregnant – just two days before giving birth
taken yesterday, 3 weeks after giving birth
Fluffy, but not terrible, right? Especially when you consider that my uterus is still giant-sized thanks to my trio. It’ll go down eventually. Or so they tell me.
Ahhh, I have no appropriate segue and am running out of blogging time, so here goes a transition fit for people with short attention spans. Look! Something shiny!
Not shiny, really, but definitely cute: Babies in jammies! (17 days old, the trio’s first clothes)
Toby
Eleanor
Callista
And the pièce de résistance, Rob and I got to hold the babies in our arms, standing up, snuggled in blankets – just like regular parents – during the Sunday night bath routine.
It was AMAZING to get real face-to-face, not-through-a-plastic-box time. We both hold the babies for skin-to-skin (kangaroo care) sessions, but the babies are always snuggled into our chests, not really ever in a position for us to stare and enjoy.
Amazing really doesn’t cover how it felt.
Mommy and Toby (and portable oxygen tube thing since his bubble CPAP was removed for the bath)
Mommy and Eleanor (on high flow! no more CPAP!)
Daddy and Callista
On that note, I’m off to vacuum, dust, do some laundry and head up to the hospital. Maybe not quite in that order, but one can hope for plans to play out, right?
As always, thank you for the continued thoughts, well wishes and prayers!
Since Tobias, Eleanor and Callista all needed their bubble CPAPs back on, we’ve had few glimpses of their sweet faces when they aren’t all scrunched and Popeye-looking because of the contraptions.
Bath time is one of the few times they have the CPAP removed for long enough for some admiring and, of course, lots of photos.
Toby’s up first:
(Toby wants one million dollars)
(it’s blurry, but it’s too cute to pass up)
Eleanor had her bath next. In the first photo, you can see how uncomfy they look with the CPAPs. All three, but Eleanor especially, love to hold (or push away) the devices:
(she needed to hold Mommy’s hand because baths are the devil!)
Callista is last in the rotation:
(Callista shakes her fist at bath time)
(caught mid-yawn)
(almost too tired to open her eyes)
(back on CPAP, but too tired to care much)
Tobias, Eleanor and Callista turned two weeks old yesterday. Two weeks! Can you believe it? On one hand, I can. On the other, not at all.
It’s been the longest, most difficult, most stressful, most heartbreaking, most joyful, most amazing, most wonderful two weeks of my life – yes, that includes the two weeks I’ve spent on Caribbean beaches.
I still haven’t done anything with their areas for Christmas, but the NICU staff decorated the very day I wrote about wanting Christmas decorations with the babies, so they have given me a bit of a break. All three have their own mini stocking with their names on them and three ornaments. I want to do more, but I’ve been busy sitting and staring.
I don’t have any new photos of the babies because I thought you couldn’t really see much difference in their features. That thought was due in part to them having squished-up faces that are hidden by their bubble CPAP contraptions and little cloth helmets that hold the beastly things in place. The other part of that thought came from my jaded mommy mind. It wasn’t until Toby needed me to stay near and soothe him last night that I really, REALLY looked and saw that our trio are definitely changing.
And then I felt awful about not taking more photos over the last few days.
I’ll remedy that today.
So, how are they changing? They’re plumping up, for starters. I noticed last night that their cheeks are getting squishier and less, well, tiny-baby looking. Rob and I are so very proud of our big babies. All three have either reached or passed birth weight, though their actual weights right now are up for debate because all the nurses weigh them differently – some with their gear on, some without. One thing’s for sure, they had their gear on two nights ago and off last night. Last night, all three babies had weight gains despite being free of their extra weight.
Also as of last night, all three are getting all their nutrition from breastmilk. They’re no longer getting nutritional additives pumped through their IVs. They’re growing up! I think they’ll hit their current maximum feeding amount either today or tomorrow. They had a long climb to this point, as their little bellies needed to slowly get used to this whole digestion idea, but they’ve all three done amazingly well, and they have the diapers to prove it. They have a ways to go before they learn to suck, swallow and breathe at the same time, so, for now, they’re receiving their snackies through a tube that runs down their throats into their little stomachs. All three babies are already smacking their lips while getting their feedings, though, so they know what’s going on to some extent.
As much as I hate those stupid CPAP contraptions (and the babies hate them much, much more), they are doing their jobs. All three are having a much easier time breathing, and they’re having much fewer apnea spells. We tell them every time they fuss with their CPAPs to be good, breathe lots, keep their hearts beating, and they’ll get the CPAP off. They know. They understand. Each time a CPAP comes off for a cleaning or for a nose check (the device could irritate and break down their tiny noses), all three calm down instantly, rise their stats, keep their oxygen up, and it’s like they’re saying, “SEE? I’m a big kid! I don’t need it! Don’t put it back on!”
Not yet, though, kiddos. Soon enough, though. Maybe by the end of this week.
I don’t want to admit it, but the last two days have gone well. The babies have done better, I’ve gotten some more sleep, and I think my hormones are starting to level out. All three make for easier times on this sensitive soul. Physically, I feel great. I can tie my own shoes again and put on my own socks. I drove myself to the hospital yesterday – the first time I’ve driven in more than a month. My gains in independence have helped me feel better – much more capable of caring for three little ones, now that I can care for myself without (much) assistance. My belly has gone WAY down and looks pretty decent, considering how ginormous and full of babies it was two weeks and two days ago. My incision is healing nicely, and I only have occasional pain from the inside incision when I bend too tightly or cough too hard. I’m pretty happy with how I’m healing and getting back to a functioning state.
The thoughts and prayers you all have been sending our way are so greatly appreciated. It’s been a rough two weeks, but it could have been much more difficult. All the support we’ve received has been amazing. Rob and I continue to be blown away with how many people care about our three sweet babies.
Like I said, no new photos of the Toby, Eleanor or Callista right now, but I do have this photo of our favorite branch on our Christmas tree:
On our walk to our car while we were leaving last night, Rob and I discussed how much more difficult it is to have three babies having rough NICU moments (or hours, as yesterday was) than to just have one.
Up until yesterday, each baby has had his or her cycles in which he or she keeps the nurse (and Mommy and Daddy) on her toes. Oxygen levels drop, breathing stops, heartrates drop – it’s all normal premature-baby behavior. Preemies aren’t supposed to be breathing on their own yet, so they often don’t realize they can’t just stop for a break if they’re tired or too comfy or whatnot. It’s normal, but that doesn’t mean it’s easy.
When it’s just one baby, though, as it has been pretty regularly as they switch turns between who’s called the trouble maker for the shift, it’s easy to hang out at their isolette, keep a hand on their head, let them know you’re there, soothe them, tell them to breathe deeply and occasionally pat their little butts if they need a reminder that it’s time to breathe.
Last night, all three babies had a few rough hours. One would drop, then the next, then the next. One would have a bad apnea episode, then the next. This all happens to the sights and sounds of dinging alarms and flashing lights. Rob and I hopped between isolettes, the nurses played musical babies (along with their other duties like keeping up with assessments, feeds, etc.), and when a break finally hit in the chaos, I quietly fell to pieces in the corner as I prepared my latest pumped milk for the freezer.
Minutes later, they were at it again.
Add to our own personal chaos the noises in the rest of the NICU – other babies’ monitors going off, other babies crying, other families snapping happy photos using their flash – and it’s the perfect recipe for Mama Tears.
It’s no lie when NICU veterans call the experience a rollercoaster no one will let you off of.
It isn’t my idea of a fun rollercoaster, though. Many readers may remember the rollercoaster we experienced at the beginning of my pregnancy with our sweet trio. I called that time the rollercoaster of my life. Not so much anymore. Cedar Point, I still think we should talk.
I know many of you are getting ready to comment that parenthood itself is one big rollercoaster and the range of emotions I’m feeling is akin to that of all parents, whether their babies are in the NICU or not. You can halt those comments, though, because I KNOW THAT. Those comments will only make me feel worse for having bad days and reacting in any way other than calm and cool.
Like I said, normal doesn’t mean it’s easy.
***
Earlier this week, I tried to write about the babies’ birthday. Before I could even touch pen to paper, I realized I wasn’t sitting down to write about the happiest day of my life, and that made me feel awful. I should be happy about that day, right?
After talking with Rob and other preemie parents, I feel better knowing that it’s entirely normal to call the day of a premature birth the scariest day of one’s life. For me, it’s the second scariest, as the first was the day I was admitted for preterm labor when I was only 25 weeks pregnant.
So instead of writing a sweet story of love and hearts and happy feelings, I’m going to get down the (sometimes graphic) details and hope that one day I can return and fill it with happy thoughts.
I had taken three 6-hour doses of terbutaline over the last 17 hours and was due for another dose in 90 minutes when I woke up at 5 a.m. on Nov. 22. I had to pee, so I decided to heave myself up and return to bed for a little more sleep before dosing again. I had an appointment at 10:30 with our perinatologist group and hadn’t felt any more contractions, so I was just dosing and waiting.
As soon as I stood up, I felt a huge gush of warmth. Thinking I had finally peed myself, I hurried for the bathroom with my hands cupped over my crotch, hoping to not leave a huge trail of pee that I’d have to wake Rob to help clean. The gushing happened again, and I knew – before I could hit the light – that this wasn’t urine.
I turned my bathroom into a crime scene as I yelled for Rob to wake up, told him I was bleeding and that we needed to go to the hospital NOW. He was in the bathroom in a flash, and as I sat on the toilet and tried my hardest to hold back the tears and shaking, Rob rushed around to find me something clean (for a minute, at least) to wear while getting dressed and cleaning the floor so I wouldn’t slip.
Finally, after several attempts to stand without losing more fluid, I gave up, and we made our way out the door.
We’re fortunate to live close to the hospital, and we were even more fortunate that this happened at 5 a.m. Rob was able to race us to the hospital at speeds well over the limit, and we got there without anyone getting in our way – including ticket-writing police officers.
I spent the ride reclined in the backseat of our new tripletmoblie, and tried calling the hospital to let them know we were coming. Unfortunately, I didn’t have any phone numbers with me, so I tried Verizon’s 411 service.
Well, guess who needs to update their phone numbers? VERIZON. Two attempts later, I realized they never updated the new exchanges the hospital system changed to in the last year.
(Someone remind me to call and complain about that. I’ve been meaning to, but you know.)
So instead of giving a few minutes’ heads up, we did a movie-scene reenactment with Rob pulling up to the front door, running in to announce his bleeding, contracting (I started to notice those on the ride to the hospital) 28-weeks-pregnant-with-triplets wife.
And, like something in the movies, I swear the front-desk lady moseyed her way to a wheelchair and out to get me, taking her sweet time.
Finally, we got back into triage, and more moseying took place. One hour, one speculum exam and a few swab swipes later, the laborist on duty in triage announced that my membranes most likely ruptured and that he’d send the swab to the lab. We’d get definitely results in 45 minutes. The triage nurse assured me I wasn’t having “real” contractions – just an irritable uterus – but instead of waiting those 45 minutes, Rob insisted that someone tell our doctor, who just so happened to be down the hall that night.
Five minutes later, a second nurse came in while on the phone with our doctor, confirmed to her that I was having regular contractions (to which the triage nurse agreed – thanks for lying) and told me I was being admitted and prepped for a c-section in the next hour or two.
Rob called our parents and told them to come up, that the babies would be here soon.
From then, I think all that happened was fairly typical c-section preparation. The anesthesiologist came in to talk with me and explain a spinal block. Nurses weaved in and out of my room (which I had spent two nights in three weeks prior – it’s the only L&D room with a triplet monitor), and we heard about the huge team that was being assembled.
Originally set for 8:30 a.m., my surgery was pushed back to 9 to allow a second neonatologist to arrive. Finally, they came to take me into surgery, and Rob told me he’d see me soon.
People lined the hall outside my OR, and I was pretty shocked to see how stark and bright it was. I climbed up on my bed, which I remember thinking looked a lot different from the movies, and got into position for my spinal. Soon, my legs were warm and heavy, and they got me into position.
I’ve never felt more exposed and vulnerable in my life. A tiny portion of my brain told me I should be embarrassed, and another portion noted that I must look like a beached whale of a crucifix impersonator (my arms were spread eagle, but I got to skip being strapped down).
The curtain went up, more voices filled the room, and they sent someone to get Rob. He had already been in the next room (we technically had two ORs – three isolettes wouldn’t fit in just one), so he was to me just seconds after the request.
Moments later, they said they were starting, and moments after that, someone announced that the first out was our only boy.
I laughed. Rob cheered. The doctors laughed. He had hoped all along that Toby would be born first so he would always know his role as big brother was to protect his sisters.
Then I heard him cry, and the tears of relief started. Our Baby A came out easy-breeze next, then Baby C – Ninja Baby – decided she wanted to hang on for dear life. I felt pressure from the outside just below my breast and a lot of pulling from the inside. Rob and my doctor tell me she had to go elbow deep to pull Callista out, but finally, they announced her birth.
I didn’t hear her cry for a few moments, then, from her corner of the room, I heard it.
Three crying babies. Three living babies. Thank God.
Sewing me back together seemed to take forever, but I got reassurance after reassurance that everything looked absolutely perfect on my end. I wasn’t hemorrhaging (another of my biggest delivery fears), and my uterus was in perfect condition.
Rob was able to get a few photos of the babies to show me before they were whisked off to the NICU for stabilization and assessment, and when I was put back together, I was sent back to L&D for my one-hour recovery.
The doctors had to make a vertical incision in my uterus, and let me tell you how much that incision hurts to have the belly-mashing they need to do post-c-section to check for bleeding. Rob swears it looked like the nurse’s arm went straight to my spine during that first critical hour of recovery. I can assure you it did.
She’s lucky I was preoccupied with thoughts of my babies. Otherwise, she would have gotten punched.
Finally, around noon, we were able to leave L&D for my room in mother-baby. On the way, we finally got to visit the NICU, and I finally laid eyes and a hand on my babies.
Each baby gripped my finger, and each looked beautiful. One nurse told Rob and I to pose and smile next to Toby’s isolette, and I remember thinking it was so very difficult to smile when all I could do was pray that they would live.
Amazingly, the picture came out well. I wish we had one with all three babies.
The rest of the day was spent from update to update, just waiting to hear more good news on each baby. Once I started pumping that afternoon, Rob took down each small bottle and returned with news. Finally, around 11 that night, when I was free of catheter and IV, I made it back down to the NICU to again see my babies.
A long, exhausting day – for body, mind and soul.
I’m not sure I had any real moments of true happiness that day, but the memory of several moments of sweet relief are going to have to be enough for now. I’m hopeful that those and each day that pass will tilt the scales on the day, from terrifying to happy.
It’s nearly 5 a.m. here, and I just finished pumping. You’d think I’d be a bleary mess, doing my best to make it back to bed before I fall asleep, but here I sit, googling my brains out.
I’m getting frustrated with it.
Why am I googling at 5 a.m. and getting frustrated? Our babies’ first Christmas is 24 days from now, and since they won’t be home for Christmas, I want to bring Christmas to them. As soon as possible. We’ll be pulling down from the attic our decorations this weekend (Why is it I’m always surprised by what I have? I can never seem to remember all the decorations!) and will see what we already have that can be used, and I’ll talk with the nurses about specific spots I can use to decorate around our wee three, but I’m googling for inspiration, and I’m coming up short.
As you can imagine, I don’t really have time to sit and sift through page after page of google images and blog posts, so I’m reaching out for a little help.
Are you a NICU parent, present or past? Can you share with me any decorating ideas and tips? Or are you a NICU nurse or doctor? I’m sure you have a lot of ideas I could pull from.
No one ever wants to spend Christmas in the hospital, let alone their babies’ very first Christmas. Of course I’d prefer to have them home, but the NICU is what they need, and I can always bring Christmas to them.
I just need some ideas.
