Quinn loves mama's milk. Every 12 hours he gets one milliliter more per feeding. He's 1210 g, or about 2 lbs 11 oz. At that rate he'll be 3 lbs by Sunday or so. And with each increase in feed, his TPN is decreased slightly. So that's good news. There is still concern about his lung capacity. When I got there, he was being poked for an IV. That was a horrifyingly fascinating process to watch. I asked if they gave him anything to keep him so still and they said no, he really was just lying there while a comparatively giant needle went into his tiny hand. It made me shudder. I've had three IV's in my life, and all three hurt like you-know-what. Anyway, the IV was for a blood transfusion, his 4th. His hemoglobin and hematocrit had been low, and that could account from some of his oxygen issues. After the blood transfusion, he would get a dose of Lasix, a diuretic. The nurse asked if I was familiar with the drug, and I said yes, because it's very often given to racehorses, hence the saying "piss like a racehorse." I asked if that was for the fluid in his lungs, and she said no, it's common with a transfusion to get rid of the extra fluid in the donor blood. But it might also help his lungs, as will the extra blood. I'll call later tonight and see if they can see any of the good effects yet. I didn't get to hold him today. The nurse said he can't be held while the blood transfusion is going on, and she couldn't put off starting it. I was there for over an hour, and by the time I left, the blood still hadn't even arrived yet. She apologized for that, that I could have been holding him all that time, but it was time for me to pick up the other kids, and once again, we were victims to hospital schedules, which vary by the minute it seems.

I also met the nurse manager while I was there and had an absolutely maddening conversation with her. She came and introduced herself and asked if I was the mom. She didn't know because she couldn't see my purple ID bracelet which was under my sleeve. She said that system works well. I told her it works well for them, but I find the bracelet a total annoyance, since I only need it one hour out of every 24, and the rest of the time it gets in the way. To that she said "Yeah, it works well for us." totally oblivious. I said it work well for you, but she didn't seem to hear me. She went on to say that the nurse managers like to get to know the NICU families. I didn't point out to her that we've been there nearly four weeks now. She gave me her card and said she was there to answer any questions I had. I asked what sort of questions and she basically told me not to interrupt her spiel. Alrighty then. She said if we have concerns about the quality of care, or interactions with nurses, that's something the nurse manager would deal with. But the daily questions about how Quinn is doing would be better addressed to his nurse. Of course, having been there several weeks now, I already knew that, but I nodded and then asked her a question about Quinn's primary nurses. At the very beginning, two nurses introduced themselves as his primary nurses. They were Sheila and Samantha. I told her I hadn't seen either nurse since, and in the last week or so, it's been a different person almost every time, and had his primary nurses changed. After glance at his chart, she said his primary nurses were Lorrie and Linda. I asked if that had changed, because Linda had introduced herself to Kurt the previous day and told him that was her first day caring for Quinn. I said this three times over the course of this conversation before this nurse manager finally seemed to understand that there must have been a change, and she didn't know when it had happened, and would talk to Linda about this. So much for continuity of care.

Overall, an okay day. I hope Quinn starts breathing better soon.

Kurt went down by himself today. I've had a very rough couple of days physically and wanted to take the day off. Last night I was in so much pain I was sure my incision was splitting open again, on the left side, which has consistently hurt more than the right, the side the obnoxious attending doctor whom I tried to evict from my surgical team was standing. Three and a half weeks. When will it end?
There's good news, and there's bad news. The good news is Quinn if back on his feeds. His stomach has deflated and they just started him back at 3 ml every 3 hours. The bad news is the concern has shifted from his belly to his lungs. Apparently it wasn't just compression. There might be fluid building up in there. Either way, he isn't absorbing oxygen like he should. He has a new breathing apparatus. I'm not sure what it's called, but instead of a mask over his nose, there are long thin prongs that go deep into his nostrils. No, it's not pleasant, but it seems to be working. He also does better when he's on his belly instead of on his back. Right now the course of action is wait and see. The NP had the audacity to suggest she's worried he might need supplemental oxygen beyond 36 weeks. Hello! He's 30 weeks as of yesterday. Why are you worried about something 6 weeks down the road? Can we concentrate on today's problems? Isn't that enough worry? I have a hard enough time doing that without painting doom and gloom pictures of the future. Kurt was annoyed too that she kept referring to how small he is, that all this is because he's just so small. Duh. He wasn't supposed to be born until July. Small compared to what anyway? A full-term baby? Once again, duh. Others his age? Possibly, but there are factors beyond size that matter. I'm just annoyed, frustrated, and yes, a little scared by it all.

It's a good thing our house is made of brick. Very often I find I need a good solid wall to bang my head against.

An NP at the NICU just called. Guess who is NPO again? Quinn has a belly full of air again, and this time it's interfering with his lungs and causing him to need far more oxygen than he's ever needed. An x-ray showed how compressed the lungs were. The NP said the attending doctor tomorrow may want to do a barium enema to see if there is any obstruction that might not show up on x-ray, and that may also be therapeutic and get things moving again. The NP also said that she thinks this problem is related to his surgery, which was two weeks ago today. I agreed, and had few kind words for the team that overdosed him with anesthetic. After I hung up, I was thinking just how thoroughly frustrating it is that Quinn hasn't recovered from that surgery. Then I looked at myself lying on the couch, three and a half weeks after my own surgery, and still in significant pain. Maybe I shouldn't expect him to heal faster than I am. Doesn't ease my frustration much, though.

We're up to 2.5 pounds! Quinn weighs 1130 g, which translates to 2 lbs 8 oz. So he's gained nearly a pound in three and half weeks of life. So he's gained more than half his birth weight. Try that on for size. I got to kangaroo him for an hour today. At one point he was obviously uncomfortable, and his oxygen monitor showed that. He picked up his head and turned it the other way. Now, you think a normal newborn's head is enormous. The ratio of head to body in a preemie is even bigger. So something must be going right if he can pick his head up on that tiny little neck. And I watched him get fed, which is nothing more exciting than about half a teaspoon of milk being pushed veeeerrry sloooowly through his feeding tube.

I was also there when the attending doctor made rounds, with residents in tow. The main concern was his electrolyte level, because he seems to be excreting an awful lot. All a part of being premature. It wasn't overly concering, he just needs s little extra for now, and supposedly within 2 to 3 weeks he'll be able to regulate all these levels by himself.

I'm trying to keep a perspective of his long stay in the NICU so that I don't completely lose my mind. Most of the time I accomplish this by simply not thinking too hard. But every once in a while I get sort of an epiphany that helps a great deal. I had one yesterday. Kurt told me he tries not to get to discouraged that Quinn is the smallest baby in that particular nursery. It occurred to me that yes, he is small, but that is his number one problem, and all the other peripheral things are because of that. But it's something he will literally outgrow. Two of the other babies in there have bigger problems. One has a heart defect and one has cleft palate. Those aren't simply outgrown. Growing is a passive process. Surgery is a lot more involved.

So here we are in all our glory. It actually turned out okay that the picture was today instead. We went to church directly afterward, so we were all dressed up, and when we got there, Quinn had a onesie on. That's the first time he's worn any clothing. Of course he was drowning in it, but still, it's a step.

He's still doing well with feeds, which is such a relief to me. But his oxygen level is up. They constantly monitor his oxygen saturation level, and an alarm goes off when it dips below 85%. That often happens when we hold him just because something gets knocked out of alignment or something like that. But it was happening more often last night, so the oxygen going through the CPAP isn now 35%, where he had been at 25%. Atmospheric air is about 21% oxygen, so that was only a little above. Hopefully he can get back on track soon.

Church was hard. It was a long day, but with church starting at 1 p.m. there wasn't a really good time to go to the hospital with any sort of restful break. I'm in a lot of pain again. When oh when will I be well? But it was sort of nice to have some semblance of what my life used to be like. I led the music in sacrament meeting and played the piano in primary, just as if I were a capable person again.

Today's list:
1. I'm grateful for the literally hundreds of people who are praying for Quinn and for our family. We need and appreciate them all.
2. I'm grateful to finally have a family photo. It had been weighing on my heavily how splintered I feel we are.
3. I'm grateful for those who continue to serve our family and help us through this trial.
4. I'm grateful Dorian and Faith enjoy their little brother. Hopefully that continues to when he joins our family for good.
5. I'm grateful we got to go to church as a family today.

I forgot my camera. (Insert irked face here.) But we're going back tomorrow morning before we go to church, and I will be bringing it then. Tomorrow will be my first day at church since Easter. That's exciting.

Quinn is doing well. He started last night getting 4 ml of breastmilk every 8 hours. He apparently did well with that so now he's up to every 6 hours. They decrease the interval before they increase the amount. I'm so excited! He can finally make a dent in all his stored milk. Of course, I'd rather he take it directly from me. A pump just doesn't have the same appeal as a baby. I talked to the nurse for a long time, and she said babies can usually start trying to nurse at about 32 weeks, or whenever they can figure out sucking and breathing at the same time. So roughly 2 more weeks before we can try that. He's gained 20 g, so up to 1040 g. The kids came in to see him as we were getting him out to kangaroo. They hadn't seen him outside before and Dorian kept saying "He's so cute!" And Faith contributed "That's baby Quinn!" I wonder when they will add up he'll be living with us someday?

We haven't been to the hospital yet today. We're taking the kids, and I'm hoping we'll be able to get our first family photo after 3 weeks of having 3 kids. It hardly seems possible.

Kurt's favorite music group is Depeche Mode. While he was playing their music the other day, the song "Precious" came on and it so reminded me of Quinn and his situation.

Precious and fragile things
Need special handling
My God what have we done to you
We always tried to share
The tenderest of care
Now look what we have put you through

Things get damaged
Things get broken
I thought we'd manage
But words left unspoken
Left us so brittle
There was so little left to give

Angels with silver wings
Shouldn't know suffering
I wish I could take the pain for you
If God has a master plan
That only He understands
I hope it's your eyes He's seeing through

Things get damaged
Things get broken
I thought we'd manage
But words left unspoken
Left us so brittle
There was so little left to give

I pray you learn to trust
Have faith in both of us
And keep room in your hearts for two

Things get damaged
Things get broken
I thought we'd manage
But words left unspoken
Left us so brittle
There was so little left to give

I haven't done my gratitude list for a couple of days.

1. I'm grateful I'm healing, and finally able to get out of bed without significant pain
2. I'm grateful Quinn is able to eat again
3. I'm grateful for music in my life, that it provides a way to communicate with my children
4. I'm grateful for the time Kurt and I have had alone to talk on our way to the hospital. It's almost like a date.
5. I'm grateful to spend time outside on a beautiful spring day.

It has come to my attention that I've used an acronym some aren't familiar with. And probably others too, and I'm learning new ones all the time. Just a couple that come up most often:
NPO: nil per os, Latin for nothing by mouth. This state is possible because of-
TPN: total parenteral nutrition, meaning you get everything through an IV.
CPAP: continuous positive air pressure, helping immature lungs stay inflated.

And speaking of NPO, as of right now, Quinn is eating again. 4 ml every 8 hours and the interval will decrease as he shows he can digest well. I'm so relieved he can eat again. It's been a frustrating week without it but it looks like he is improving on all fronts. Kurt got a turn holding him today and he squawked a bit as we were trying to get him and all of his accoutrements out of the incubator. In general, babies get rid of tubes and wires little by little, but over the last week he has been gaining them, another frustration. Someday... He weighs 1020 g, about 2 lbs 4 oz.

So here's some more medical bill fun. The weekend before I checked into the hospital, I was bleeding heavily and decided to get checked out and went to the hospital where the midwives I was seeing practice. It was the weekend, otherwise I would have gone to their office. That's where it was determined my membranes had ruptured and so forth. They wanted to admit me and transfer me downtown, but I said no and went home again. For the record, no, the midwife on call was not comfortable with that, but it wasn't her decision. It was mine, and I was comfortable with it. I received the first dose of steroid shot, then went back the next day to receive the second shot and went home again. Both days, when it came time to discuss the decisions to be made, the midwife on call wasn't actually in the hospital and called me via the room phone. At no other time did I use this room phone, nor did I turn on the TV. Yesterday I received two statements in the mail, one for each day I went in, charging me $17.50 for each day for phone and/or TV use. They are charging $35 for me to receive two phone calls because the midwife wasn't actually in the hospital while I was there. Yeah, someone will be hearing about this.

I had a pretty good visit today. I kangarooed Quinn for about an hour. He kept having some issues with his O2 saturation. It was dipping below 80%. Then I noticed the CPAP was pushed up against his nostrils and the top digging into the bridge of his nose. After I adjusted it, the saturation went up to the uppper 90's and stayed there for the rest of the time. He's done with antibiotics, as his cultures came back negative, so it truly was the breathing issues. He just wasn't ready to do more on his own yet. He had an x-ray while I was there, and apparently still has some gas issues, although immediately after the x-ray while I was holding him, I felt him get rid of a lot of it. Maybe they should have done it again after that. You know, a little more radiation can't hurt. Anyway, he is still NPO, and will be until at least tomorrow. That would be almost a full week. I really hope that will be the end of it. He had been doing so well...I'll just try not to dwell on that. Overall, he is still doing well.

I made another stop while I was at the hospital, and that was a mistake. I went to the office of health information and asked about seeing my records from when I was a patient there. I started filling out the form, and the receptionist said "That will be $25." Uh, excuse me? $25 just to look at my own records? What sort of highway robbery is that? She said it was a handling fee. So someone gets $25 to handle a three-ring binder and stand there while I look at it and then hand it back. I said forget it and walked out fuming. All I want is a clearer picture and understanding of everything that was done to me during me lovely week long stay there. I was told my placenta was sent to pathology to see what went wrong with it. It's been nearly 3 weeks and I haven't heard what happened with it. Apparently I have to pay a fee to find out. Our health care system is so broken.

Kurt went to the hospital alone today. Dorian and Faith went to playgroup without me, so I had a very restful day.

Kurt reports that Quinn is his old vigorous self again. Apparently he nearly flopped himself out of his bed. Kurt got to kangaroo him today, so things are looking up. He is STILL NPO, and I'm so frustrated by that, but they are hearing gut sounds now, which they hadn't before, so maybe soon. I think I will decrease my milk supply. I've done that before and brought it back up to full force, so I know it's possible. I'm just having a hard time picturing Quinn ever consuming as much as I've produced, when hopefully someday soon he'll be taking it directly from me. And in the mean time, I'm really running out of freezer space. It's amazing how people can subsist on IV nutrition. Yesterday the nurse told us Quinn is a little over a kilo now, so about 2.2 pounds. And we're coming up on three weeks now. In some ways it seems like an eternity. But occasionally I wonder where the last 10 years or so have gone. Aren't I still 17? And if so, where did all these kids come from? Time is a funny thing.

Today's list:
1. I'm grateful Quinn is acting like his old self again.
2. I'm grateful I got a long rest today.
3. I'm grateful Kurt has a good job that allows him flexible hours so that he can take the time he needs for our family.
4. I'm grateful I can stay connected with people through the internet.
5. I'm grateful for the beautiful spring weather and the flowering trees. We really do live in a pretty place.

Just got back from the hospital. When we got there, Quinn had had the CPAP back in place for an hour and the nurse told us he was looking so much better already. We talked with the NP, who agreed with that assessment, and said his color has improved and he seems to be a bit more active, although he looked pretty limp to me. She said she remembers my description of how active he was in the womb, and in general he's been active since then, but today he just seemed tired, and she thought that he needed the extra help the CPAP gave. Kurt asked about the CPAP causing the gas issues and she said it's an issue of robbing Peter to pay Paul, and we may be trading back and forth. We looked at his x-rays from today and he definitely looks full of air, so he's still NPO. The spinal tap was apparently very easy. The concern with infection at this point is meningitis, hence the spinal tap. He got a round of gentamycin while we were there, and will get ampicillin later tonight, but it's looking like it was the breathing issue all along, so we're not as worried about the infection anymore. The culture will come back in 48 hours, and he'll have antibiotics at least until then, but things are looking up again. The NP then told us that even though it might not seem like it, for his age and size, he is still having a relatively mild NICU journey, and if it weren't for patient confidentiality, she would show us some other babies to help us gain that perspective. She also told us that she would try her best to keep us abreast of his treatment and help us be involved, but that we need to let them do their jobs in taking care of him. I realize there needs to b a balance between my wanting to be a control freak and letting them make all the decisions without our involvement at all, and I don't know where exactly that balance is. Neither does the NICU staff evidently. The NP admitted most of them do not have first hand experience in giving up any parental influence the way NICU parents are expected to do, so this is something we all need to work on together.

On the way home I heard on the radio about a new study showing gratitude improving the recovery rate of organ transplant patients. They were asked to keep a gratitude journal and record 5 things every day they were grateful for. I've done this in the past, and now seemed as good a time as any to start up again.

1. I'm grateful Quinn is looking better.
2. I'm grateful to the people who so willingly watch our older children so we can spend time with him.
3. I'm grateful to the people who brought us dinner the last two nights so I don't have to cook.
4. I'm grateful it was Olive Garden's donation night at the Ronald McDonald house at the hospital. Fetuccine Alfredo. Mmmm.
5. I'm grateful I got some laundry done today. Not only did it need to be done, it's a sign I'm improving that I can do these things again.

The fun continues. The NICU just called. I was trying to nap, and let the machine get it. Then it rang again, and it was Kurt saying the NICU had called him. They think Quinn has some sort of infection. He's been relatively inert, and has had a few apnea episodes. The NP who talked to Kurt said they want to put the CPAP back in place, do a spinal tap, and start antibiotics. And no, he still hasn't eaten since Saturday. She told him "I got the impression you guys wanted to be asked before we do this sort of thing." I'm so glad Kurt got to handle this instead of me. I would have gone ballistic on the woman. Why is it so unusual that I want to know what's going on with my child, and have a say in what happens to him? Do they other parents they deal with just give them free rein and say whatever? Anyway, the plan is CPAP, antibiotics for a week, unless the culture is negative, and otherwise watch and see. I can't help but wonder if all the problems he's had in the last week are directly related to his overdose in the OR. He had been fine up until that point. One thing is for sure: whatever team did that surgery won't be touching him again.

WARNING: not a happy post. And not directly about Quinn, but definitely related.

It's nearly midnight and I can't sleep. That's really nothing new to me. I've had trouble sleeping most of my life. It's one of the reasons I list thinking as a hobby. What else would I do when I'm just lying there? Unfortunately, at this point, there is an awful lot that I really ought not to dwell on. One of those things is the fact that I am really mourning my uterus. Yes, I still have it, but it is permanently damaged. The primary female organ that identifies me as a woman is now scarred. It's amazing how within seconds injuries can break something that was perfectly functional. With just a few strokes of a knife, I was broken. I'm not getting into whether or not the cesarean was necessary. That's a discussion for another time. The bald fact is, I feel damaged, physically, mentally, and spiritually by this surgery. I had been an excellent candidate for homebirth. I had two uncomplicated births under my belt. Both labors were on the long side, but not exhaustingly so. And then my body failed me. And adding insult to injury, or vice versa in this case, I had to be gutted and my baby extracted, in what I can only conceive of as the dead opposite of the birth I had pictured. And I'm not willing to do it again. I don't ever want to have another surgery. Even though I've been told a planned c-section is infinitely better than an emergency surgery, the recovery would be the same. And as if I didn't feel broken enough by the surgery itself, every day of my recovery so far has only served to make me feel like a complete invalid, incapable of doing most things I once took for granted.

I know I'm not alone in these sentiments. But the psychological aspects of cesarean birth are so often shoved into the corner, and down-played by well-meaning comments like "At least you got a healthy baby." or "At least yours was truly necessary." It doesn't change the feelings, and in fact might just make the whole situation worse, because then I add guilt to my feelings of violation, that I'm not grateful enough for this debilitating, life-altering, permanently-scarring surgery. Yes, I'm grateful my son is alive, but that doesn't totally negate the feelings I associate with the day he was born, which honestly was easily the worst day of my life. There was so much worry, and I couldn't process it all as I came out of the drug haze, having only had the barest glimpse of Quinn before he was taken away, and then going for hours on end without hearing a word about him, while people around told me I needed to rest, all the while poking me to see if I was still alive and recovering at the expected rate. I didn't have the energy to tell them to go to hell and for the love of all that is holy, tell me what happened to my baby.

And then there's the impact on potential future pregnancies. VBAC does exist, but the mere fact that a woman has had one c-section increases her odds of another. The most commonly thought of complication is uterine rupture, which according to most sources occurs less than 1% of the time with a low transverse scar, and between 1 and 7% with a low vertical scar like mine, although those numbers are far shakier, with less research to back them up. But there are other complications worth knowing about. Placenta previa, where the placenta partially or completely covers the cervix, is 50% more common in pregnancies after c-section. Placenta accreta, where the placenta attaches to the scar tissue, making it very difficult to detach after birth and possibly ripping the scar open, is rapidly on the rise as the c-section rates climb. One reported rate was 1 in 533 births in 2005, up from 1 in 19000 in 1970. And then there are the hospitals that ban VBAC altogether. Guess what folks, if that's the case, that hospital as much as admits it can't handle any emergency, and you aren't getting what you went to the hospital for in the first place. The current c-section rate in this country is around 30%, nearly one third. I was chilled to realize that corresponds to my children, two of whom were born vaginally and one surgically. I'm now part of the national statistic, and part of me is physically sick over it.

Just for fun.

It's rare I get to use any of the knowledge I gained in school anymore. So I was thinking about this on the long drive to and from the hospital. Kurt and I are both type O+. Kurt only knows that his parents are also both O+. Mine are O+ and A+, but I also know I have an O- sister. That gives me a 67% plausibility of being heterozygous, a carrier for the negative gene (25% probability my parents would produce a -- child, 25% probability of ++, and 50% probability of +-, for a total of 75% phenotypically +. We know I'm positive, so of the 75%, 67% are heterozygous.) Since Kurt doesn't know of any Rh- types in his family, I used the probability for the population. Roughly 15% of the US population is Rh-. I rounded to 16% because it makes the math infinitely easier. We can assume Hardy-Weinberg equilibrium for the population with regard to blood type, so the frequency of the + and - alleles are .6 and .4 respectively (square root of .16 is .4, 1-.4=.6) Frequency of heterozygotes would be 2*.4*.6=.48. We know Kurt is phenotypically +, so the plausibility of his being heterozygous is .48/(.48+.36)=.57. Sooooooo, with what we know, the probability of our having an Rh- child would be .57*.67*.5=.19, 19%, only a little bit more likely than the population at large. It turns out Quinn is O-, which was a bit unexpected, but now we know for sure that we are both heterozygous, and we now have a 25% probability of producing an Rh- child. I'm not sure if I did that all right. I got home and looked up in one of my text books, but couldn't find exactly what I was looking for. Anyone want to check my math?

Another thing I've been thinking a lot about lately is whether Quinn came at his original due date or not. I was briefly pregnant last summer, and miscarried just before 6 weeks. My due date would have been April 6. Quinn was born April 4. That's a bit creepy to me. I wonder if some part of him has been with me for 9 months afterall. What's even creepier is that we had really been hoping for a spring baby. Dorian's birthday is July 2, so we already had a summer baby. I didn't want to be pregnant in summer again. Faith's birthday is February 26, and where we are, that is still deep winter. It was hard to bundle up 2 kids to do anything, so I didn't want another winter baby. We thought spring would be ideal. Be careful what you wish for.

These pictures are from Saturday, when Quinn still had the CPAP. I'm looking pretty pasty, but I was told today I'm looking a lot better than I have been. The abundant sunshine we've had lately sure helps.



I had a staring contest with Quinn today. It's much more fun to see his whole face without the encumbrance of the CPAP.


He was under the bili lights again today. Duh. He hasn't eaten anything since Saturday morning. He's slowly getting over his gas issues, and the NP said hopefully tonight he'll be able to start eating again. That's what we were told yesterday too though. We'll see.

It was fun to get a much better look at him. He has the same coloring Faith had at birth, dark hair and dark blue eyes. Faith now has red hair (and super curly!) and dark green eyes, so it will be interesting to see what he ends up with. Dorian had white-blond hair and gray eyes, and now has darker blond hair and brown eyes. Of course, if he doesn't end up looking very like Kurt, I'll be surprised. Baby pictures of the two of them are frighteningly similar.

My first day alone wasn't too bad. I woke up in a lot of pain and thought that didn't bode well for the day. But it seemed to ease a bit, and I did fine going to the hospital alone. Dorian and Faith enjoyed spending time at a friend's house, and really weren't all that anxious to leave when I came to pick them up. They know our house is boring now without grandmas and cousins. Kurt should be home in a few minutes and someone is bringing us dinner tonight, which is really nice. So all I've had to do at home is pump and hope the house doesn't fall apart while I'm doing that. The kids don't necessarily stay in the same place for the 20 or 30 minutes it takes me to do that, so I might have to pick up a few pieces when I'm done. But overall, it could be a whole lot worse. Here's hoping for continued improvement all around.

Where to begin. This is by far the strangest journey I've taken in my life, and I want to document it somehow. Though in some ways, I'm still hoping to wake up from the nightmare. Here's a short history.

I hadn't exactly been having my dream pregnancy. I was really excited about planning a homebirth, but things started going downhill with my unexplained bleeding. I started spotting at about 20 weeks. At first it was just every few days and only a little, but soon it was like the worst period I've ever had, complete with clots the size of quarters. Mulitple ultrasounds failed to show the source, and bed rest actually made things worse by increasing the flow and causing contractions. Then, at 25 weeks, the blood was irritating enough to rupture my membranes. At first I didn't notice. I just thought it was more blood. But an ultrasound showed my amniotic fluid level to be half what it had been the previous week. So, with all reluctance, it was one of the hardest things I've ever done to let go of my dream homebirth and check into the hospital at 26 weeks to await the birth of my baby. No one at the hospital thought I would last long, with ruptured membranes, but every check showed the baby to be doing very well. I continued to be pregnant for 3 days. My mom flew in on Thursday and I was finally able to quit worrying about my kids so much. I think my body was waiting for that. At midnight on Friday, April 4, I went into labor. Nothing I or the staff did could stop it, and at about 6 in the morning, I was told I would need a c-section. The baby was breech, the bleeding was increasing all the time, and the attending doctor was sure my placenta was abrupting. I called Kurt, who was at work by then, and he came, everyone left the room, and he gave me a blessing, and I went off to surgery. I sobbed through the whole thing, thinking I had failed to give my baby the peaceful pregnancy and birth he deserved. At 9:09 am Friday April 4, Quinn Douglas Fackrell was born, weighing 1 pound 10 ounces. He cried right away which is phenomenal for a baby born 3 months early, and he has a long road ahead of him in the NICU. We don't know what special needs he may have, and we dont know if this is our last child. I was given a low vertical incision because my uterus wasn't stretched enough for low-transverse, so no one will support a VBAC for me. And I can say with all authority that there is no comparison in the recovery from c-section and vaginal birth. Make no mistake: c-section is major surgery. It is not to be taken lightly. I have been in significant pain for more than two weeks. It's been a long time since I've felt well and capable and it's getting old.

So I'm left wondering what the hell happened and what I could have done for it. When they pulled the placenta out, there was a clot behind it almost the size of the placenta itself. So that was obviously the source of my bleeding for the last 6 weeks. But I had no risk factors for such a thing, which are usually crack addictions and the like. It just happened and no one can tell me why. But despite an environment that literally collapsed around him, I have one strong baby who never showed signs of distress. I dont really feel like he is mine yet. He lives at a hospital which is nearly an hour away. We have only been able to hold him the last couple of days, after he got a more permanent IV, although that surgery didn't go as well as expected. It shouldn't have been a surgery at all, just a procedure with narcotics to dull the pain, but apparently his veins are too small. So he needed a central IV line instead of a peripheral one. He got a bit too much anesthetic and had a scary couple of days with a blood transfusion and medication to bring his blood pressure back up. I really try not to be angry about all this and just focus on what is going well, but the fact is this whole situation sucks, massively. All I can do is pump milk for him, which I'm definitely doing, but it just feels like a token gesture. I have a hard time looking at pregnant bellies, thinking my baby should still be inside me growing big and strong so he can be born quietly and peacefully in our house. But it isn't to be.

Kurt got to hold Quinn today, after he dropped his mom off at the airport. He reports that the CPAP, which is the odd-looking contraption on Quinn's head, is gone. Now he just has tubes going to his nostrils. He had been having issues with his belly getting full of air, enough so that he couldn't eat. The CPAP was blamed for that, and so it's gone. He supposedly got to eat again tonight for the first time since yesterday morning. He needs to eat more. I've got a freezer full of milk, because I've already filled his allotted freezer space at the hospital.

I had a discussion with the nurse practitioner about consent yesterday. When we got there, the nurse told us Quinn had had an x-ray to see if there was anything besides air in his very full belly. That struck me as odd because I had thought x-rays were a big enough deal we would be asked first. But I guess I really don't have a concept of what is or isn't a big deal. Anyway, I asked to see the consent form I signed, because I was in such a haze at the time, I didn't read it carefully. Well, it turns out that doesn't make much difference. It's worded in such broad terms that it looks like anything can fit under it. "I authorize consent to examination and treatment" is as specific at it gets. So I asked whether the Hepatitis B vaccination fell under that category as well. Thankfully, no. The NP said there would be "discussion" before it was given. I didn't tell her I planned on saying no, that can wait. All in all, it was a much calmer conversation than the one I had a week ago when we got to the hospital and found Quinn was in surgery and no one told us. That really was an oversight on their part, which they fully admitted, and I admit I didn't handle it very well. I already don't deal with people well anyway. Add to that postpartum hormones, extreme pain, and emotions involved in being the mom of one tiny baby and it wasn't a pretty sight.

I'll be going down tomorrow and I'll take more pictures, now that we can see more of Quinn's face. Tomorrow is my first full day of flying solo. The church has lined people up to babysit while I go down there, so I'm not totally on my own, but I'm still recovering, and as I mentioned above, it's not going nearly as well as we had hoped it would. I haven't personally gotten Dorian and Faith up and dressed and breakfasted in more than 3 weeks. We'll see how things go.