The Journey: Part 2, or "How I Got Sick at the Hospital"

They said we'd get "NICU-itis" before we were through with Caleb's extended hospital stay.  At the time, I wasn't sure I could picture what this terrible-sounding condition would feel like, or for that matter, why I could catch anything threatening in a hospital.  That's like hearing about a man making the news for getting locked inside a bakery and starving to death, right?  Then again, NICU-itis couldn't be that bad, judging by the way every nurse who warned us about it smiled as the words came out. 

The three of us faced a gauntlet of challenges in the following two months, any of which might have weakened us to the point of contracting this mysterious malady.  The first and heaviest for me was the range of fears and emotions we went through when our "girl" became a "hmm", and then a "we don't know" and finally, on the wings of a saint named Doctor Wallis, the news that we had a very normal and completely treatable little boy. 

8/22/12 - Forever grateful for modern medicine

 Then came the rest of the tests: eye exams, blood draws, PICC lines, karyotype tests, cranial ultrasounds, and an anxious, prayer-filled wait for two holes in Caleb's heart to resolve themselves.  The twenty minute drive from Capitol Hill to Murray became almost automatic for Kaylee, especially when the physicians enlisted her in a feeding regimen twice a day.  The hour-long wait for Kaylee to come home each night became almost automatic for me (who really knows, until one finds one's soul mate, how hard it can be to fall asleep alone at night?).  Then the bills started coming in the mail, and I wondered whether we'd have to take out a mortgage on our baby.  Through it all, we held out strong against NICU-itis. 

8/24/12 - Angel Ruby let us do "kangaroo care"

Of course, there were so many little rays of light scattered throughout the long days of limbo.  Caleb's grandmothers and aunts came to the rescue early with food, mops, and so much encouragement.  The Capitol Hill 1st Ward showed its charity in spades as sisters came with dinners and drove Kaylee to the hospital before she could take herself.  Ward members shouldered the burdens of our callings for weeks.  So many cheered on the little superman, and many prayers were sent up on our behalf.  Dear Margaret Bury is still praying for him every day, she assures us every chance she gets.  And Caleb charmed nurses and wowed doctors with his steady growth and development.  A handful of angel nurses took a particular interest in his well-being and would stop by even when they were not assigned to his bed, just to check in.  They went out of their way to help mom and baby bond early and often; they did so much to explain terms and clarify confusing signals from so many caregivers; and they brought peace of mind to a couple of anxious new parents. 

 

* * *

One day, about five weeks in, Kaylee went to visit as usual and found an unusually passive little boy.  His eyes hardly opened at her voice and he took the armpit thermometer without a fuss; but when he didn't squawk or bicycle-kick his way through getting his pants clean, we knew there was something wrong.  Doctors threw around words like "anemia" and "meningitis" and we were genuinely scared for the third time in his life.  Bishop Garbett and I gave him a blessing, and oh! we prayed that night.  Somewhere, someone figured we passed the test, because within 4 days the alert was lowered to "Rhinovirus", and while the whole corner of the NICU pod was on glove-and-gown lockdown thereafter, at least we knew our boy would get better.

Yes, even after all this we thought we were doing rather well and that maybe we had escaped the NICU-itis.

All these thoughts were playing in and out of my head on the night of October 12.  We had just said goodbye to Bryan, Karen, and Jackson, who traded us a box of orange-frosted sugar cookies for a long-overdue visit with Caleb.  We had been shown to our "stay-in" room, which looked like a much more antiseptic Days Inn.  Later they wheeled Caleb's hospital bed into our room, largely unplugged and ready for his first and only test-run.  It was a lot to handle for our still-unwell little boy, and the three of us endured a very long night in our presidential suite.  Still, the elation of being so close to going home eased the weight of exhaustion, and by early morning he had been wheeled back to his room and we were left to assume we had passed the test. 

10/13/12 - A different sort of day: sunrise over Twin Peaks

That beautiful Saturday morning, as I drove to the fairgrounds to pick up our veggie co-op and back to the hospital, the dawn sky seemed to reflect the relief I felt.  But oh, the weight that settled on me as I walked back into the Gardner Women's Center at 7:30.  I stopped off at the suite to hear the plans (of which there were none concrete), then was sent upstairs to the cafeteria for breakfast.  As I walked that basement hallway, punched my code, and climbed into the elevator up to the main level, my back hit the elevator wall and the words came out loud: I... never... want... to... see... this place... again.

So, that's what it feels like.  I don't remember what I got for breakfast (oatmeal, maybe?), or how I found my way back downstairs.  The admins and nurses were suddenly strangers to me, rather cold and business-like.  Even the sweet grandmother-nurse who handled our discharge was no longer our friend, because she stood between my family and freedom.

So, I guess I finally caught NICU-itis on Caleb's last day.  Don't worry folks!  It's not contagious.  I can even say that a smile crosses my face when I think of Building 7 with its roundabout, and the long basement hallway to the door with the camera, and the little room with a plastic tub for a bed that was once labeled "Gwilliam Baby Boy" but is now empty. 

10/13/12 - could be a scene from Shawshank Redemption...

Yeah, I can smile because even though nothing happened as we expected, our family is home together at last and all is well.

 Peace out, IMC!  And look out, you big bad world... Caleb Taylor Gwilliam is free!

10/13/12 - Leaving for the last time, this time with our missing piece

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8/27/12 - They say preemies are most comfortable when they're confined?

9/2/12 - "Guess what, mom?  I grew this much today!"

10/13/12 - Mr. Bones is finally getting ready to hit the road