I know I've let this blog fall by the wayside but I really haven't felt like writing anything. Today I do. I need to vent.
It is coming up on 1 year since the birth of my son. I was bound to a bed in a prison cell of a hospital room. I tried with all my might to hold him in to give him the best chance. Then I got tired. I couldn't do it anymore. I told myself to go to sleep and it will be a new day and we'll get through it. Little did I know I was going to be going into labor the next morning and there wasn't enough drugs to stop it. I was having my child just a couple weeks older than viability. Shit got real when they cleaned out the room and had a nicu bed out side my door. I was scared for my son. I knew I couldn't stop it and I knew there was nothing that could be done. I failed at being his mom so far and he would be in God's hands.
I think I was pretty ignorant of how things were going to be. Nobody every prepared me to see my child's heartbeat slow to almost nothing. Nobody ever prepared me to be holding my child with him fine one second and limp and blue the next second. Several times. No parent should ever feel their baby die like that. I worried about the brain damage that all these spells had. I worried about his breathing because he wasn't that great with it.
Eventually I fell into a routine of working and spending time at the nicu. Those nurses became my family and my little chicken wing was turning into a drumstick. I had had enough. I couldn't stand that I couldn't snuggle with my child while having other people around or be able to get up and grab a snack while I held him. I felt like a fish in a fishbowl. Don't get me wrong the nurses and staff were so wonderful there but I didn't have alone time with him. After 107 days of an emotional extreme rollercoaster we took our little man home. He was almost 10 pounds and looked like the oddball in the nicu. He came home on a monitor and life went nuts.
I couldn't sleep. I had troubles pumping. I didn't know what to do. He wouldn't sleep without being held. I was too scared to nap while holding him. Worrying about him stopping breathing was always there. I only had 2 weeks before I had to go back to work. I was exhausted and only wanted to get home to see him and let the hubby have a break.
Things did get better. We ditched the monitor and we were in seclusion for the winter. Then this little monster called reflux showed up and over rode the meds. This was hell on earth. He wouldn't eat and when he did he vomited. Screaming and fighting. We eventually had it under control for just a short while and then it kicked in again. Our little man grew in length and not weight. Long and skinny. The poor boy was starving and I couldn't do a damn thing about it. Finally we had a couple of different doctors help us and he's finally gaining weight.
I also can't forget about the helmet. I hate the helmet. It took him how long to kick his cpap hat when he was born and now we have this plastic thing strapped to his head. He ended up with a massive flat spot on his head because his neck muscles were way too tight on one side. The helmet lets the head grow into the flat spot area and restrict growth on the parts that stick out. We missed the optimum time to do the helmet cause the doctor was an asshat and then medicaid sat on their ass. We are still with the helmet. I don't know how long but it won't be soon enough.
That's the short story of the last year. I wanted to write because I'm looking back at when all happened in the last year. I don't know how I did it. I don't think I've processed the emotions completely and I'm having flash backs and I'm freaking out. I can't believe my active turkey was that helpless sick bean. I blame myself. I look back and see how things may have different if I reported this or pushed for that. I can't imagine life without him now.