The July 4th Turn

Way back in August, I left you hanging with Shiloh’s birth story. It was not my intention, but life with three littles got the best of me. On that last account, I left you, Shiloh having just been born, me desperate to be with her. And I did make it to her room in the NICU that night, and after a few moments alone with her and Daddy, the girls came by to meet their sister. I put on a brave face, stuffed my fear for their sake. Next were grandparents, and then a short while after they departed Jenni insisted I head up to the floor to pump, eat and get some much needed sleep.

I had no doubt Jenni was absolutely correct – and yet, letting her wheel me away was one of the most difficult things I’ve ever had to do. In my head I knew the best thing I could do for Shiloh in that moment was to take care of myself, to ensure I could take care of her. And so I was deposited on the postpartum floor. Empty bassinet. A pump instead of a baby to draw milk from me. My husband a floor and a courtyard – seemingly hundreds of miles – away. In that moment it was all too much. Just thinking of that night in that room sends shivers of emotions down my spine.

But I also recall an inner stepping up to the plate. There were so many unknowns, so many scary possibilities in front of me, so many roads I didn’t know how to traverse. But I distinctly remember a decisive moment, an inner pep talk – just do the next thing. Don’t worry about anything else. What is the one next thing you need to do. And so, though my stomach churned with fear, and my mouth ran dry with emotion, I forced food down my throat. I knew the two key things to liquid gold for my daughter were sleep and food. And so after eating as much as I could bear, I closed my eyes and willed myself to sleep.

I was woken just an hour or so later by the night attending from the NICU. They had been trying unsuccessfully to place a line in Shiloh and wanted permission to place an umbilical line. Foggy brained I nodded my assent. I went ahead and pumped some more, and headed for one more middle of the night brief visit to my daughter. The next morning I asked the nurse what my check boxes were for discharge. I was eager to be by my daughter’s side, and not have to be in my room at certain times for vitals and other necessities of being a patient. I was able to get myself “discharged” by early afternoon, and spent a lot of the morning before that time with Shiloh. I was there for rounds and we started getting our NICU footing.

A rhythm of eating, pumping, resting quickly was established and I was amazed by the steadiness focusing on just “the very next thing” brought. The NICU warned us that we would be there at least a week, and I mentally settled into that framework. Jeff? He was rather committed to breaking us out as soon as humanly possible.

July 3rd brought the very best gift – in the afternoon, about 20 hours after she was born, I got to hold Shiloh for the first time. I do not think I will ever be able to adequately pen what that felt like. But Shiloh was clearly happy as well, as her oxygen sats shot up as soon as she was nuzzled into my chest. Things were definitely looking up.

But…the NICU is a rollercoaster. During evening rounds with the night attending, all holding of Shiloh was indefinitely put on hold. The attending had been there the night before when they struggled to place a line, and she was concerned that holding Shiloh could put in jeopardy that critical umbilical line, their only access. I understood her concern for the well-being of my daughter, but it was still tough news to take.

Later that evening Jeff took off to get some sleep at Ronald McDonald, and then things just went further downhill. Shiloh could not get comfortable, and refused to be comforted by my voice, the paci, gentle strokes of her arms…anything. I have a vivid memory, a year later now, of sitting next to her bassinet, pump attached, shushing her and trying to soothe a crying baby. I felt entirely helpless. All of my newborn soothing techniques I had honed with my first two were not possible in this situation. And yet I had to sit and watch my daughter so upset, and so uncomfortable. It tore at my heart and my postpartum emotions got the best of me. I no longer knew if I was up for the challenge of the very next thing.

But then.

I’m so glad God puts “but”s in stories.

Sometime in the wee hours of the July 4th morning things began to turn.

Shiloh’s name was finally hung on her door at some point during that night. Lovingly crafted by the nurses. The room had been named Peace. A place of peace where the presence of the Lord rested.

And around that same time, Shiloh was finally able to rest. Her night nurse got her swaddled tight around all those wires and off peacefully to sleep she went. She would continue to love that tight swaddle for many months to come. Sleep for Shiloh meant much needed sleep for mama as well.

At morning rounds the doctors discussed trying out a nose cannula for oxygen instead of the CPAP later that afternoon. With nothing on the docket for Shiloh that morning, I headed off for a quick trip to the Ronald McDonald house for a much needed shower and brief exposure to the outside world.

If there’s one thing I’ve learned about hospital life, it’s this. Nothing happens when anticipated. It either happens much later or much earlier. And so, to my great shock, as I was walking back into the hospital smelling and looking quite a bit better, my husband texted me a picture of Shiloh. With nothing on her face. No CPAP mask. No cannula. I don’t think I have ever willed an elevator to move faster.

Turns out they decided to try the cannula that morning, since the mask was irritating Shiloh’s face a little bit. Well, turns out that mask wasn’t nearly as irritating to her as the nose cannula. That thing? She flipped. She HATED it. And she told everyone about it, to the extent that her sats started to drop. And so they decided to take it off, just to see what would happen for a few minutes. Just a day and a half earlier, after birth, Shiloh had been on almost the highest level of the CPAP. As in intubation was the next step of support. But July 4th? She showed the doctors that she would breathe just fine on her own, thank you very much.

The doctors, needless to say, were quite surprised. They weren’t accustomed to seeing babies go from the level of support she was on to absolutely no support. But Shiloh had just decided that it was her turn to drive the ship. From here on out, she was going to determine the pace of things.

We had been warned that in the NICU, they only allow one big step a day. It seemed like we had just taken our one step. But Shiloh. But God.

She seemed to be tolerating feeds through her NG tube well, so our nurse decided to ask if she could try drinking from a bottle. Drinking mama’s milk from a bottle.

Because there’s our other side miracle that was happening on July 4th. My colostrum started producing like crazy. They were quickly upping the amount Shiloh was getting. They warned me there was no way I could keep up exclusively pumping, so soon after giving birth. They didn’t know my Jesus is kind of a pro at multiplying food when need be. And so, I watched as each time I pumped, I pumped a little more than what was needed for the next feed increase. They increased the amount? My supply increased.

But back to Shiloh. Jeff had yet to hold his daughter, so I let him give her this first bottle. The nurse got her carefully positioned in Jeff’s lap, and she promptly like a pro took the entire bottle. Soon after? She went ahead and pulled out the NG tube. She decided she was done with that thing and would take all feeds orally from then on – thank you very much. They never had to put that NG tube back in.

Since Shiloh was already out of her isolette, I asked permission for a special visitor. Nobuko had been the nurse Jenni had chosen for us for Bella’s birth. Jenni knew my desire to have Bella’s footprint placed by Psalm 139 in my Bible, and Nobuko just happened to be the nurse most skilled at getting beautiful footprints. And so Nobuko was woven into Bella’s story – astounded by what she witnessed that day, she followed on instagram as Bella’s story continued. She knew we were pregnant with another EVC warrior, and in fact had a vivid dream that she was doing the footprints for her as well. However, she was preparing for a move and wasn’t scheduled to be on shift around my induction. But…she was working the 4th. Early that morning she stopped by with Jenni to say hi and I asked if there was anyway, if the NICU would let her, she could do Shiloh’s print in my Bible as well. I hadn’t been around for the footprints in the NICU, so had missed that opportunity. Nobuko took one look at the prints on Shiloh’s birth announcement and said she would redo those as well. And so that evening, Nobuko’s dream came to fruition as she did the prints on another warm, wiggling, very much alive warrior girl’s feet.

After the prints, basking in the events of the day, I left Shiloh snoozing in a very content daddy’s lap and headed out to find a late dinner at the cafeteria. I got there only to discover that they wouldn’t open for service until 8:30pm. I had about 10 minutes to kill, so I decided to head out the back doors and walk toward the water. I sat on a bench watching boat after boat head out for fireworks. I sat musing on the day’s events, astounded. The day before we had asked people to pray for two specific things – that Shiloh could come off of CPAP and that my milk supply would increase. The answers had come, above and beyond.

Still basking, I turned around to go grab food. Only to realize that those back doors were now locked. And so, I got a nice 30 minute power walk in as I walked all the way around the very large hospital to find an entrance I could actually enter through.

Food in hand – and just having given birth lady parts a little more sore, I finally headed back to Jeff and my little lady. With Shiloh snug and snoozing in her isolette, we headed to the NICU parents lounge to watch some fireworks in the distance. And we knew that this was a July 4th that we would never forget. Two days later, on the morning of the sixth, we brought our girlie home. But the fourth? The fourth would remain the day it all turned around.