To Hell and Back (Part three)

I got home that Saturday night and all I wanted to do was sleep, so I did, for two hours. My dad had very kindly offered to help clean, and perhaps I should have taken him up on his offer, but he and his wife had done more than enough by that point. I managed to clean most of the carpet and went about disinfecting every conceivable thing I could lay my hands on-a pretty pointless exercise because of my dog Garp who seems to bring in more dirt than I can take out. (he has only one toy, as everything else only lasts a few minutes with his powerful jaws. It's a solid plastic ball with holes in, about the size of a football which gives him endless entertainment. The only problem is that these holes are a perfect receptacle for any dirt, that is then released on freshly cleaned floors.)

I then went off to the hospital to fetch Michelle and the "baby with no name". (I think we wanted to be sure everything was ok before we named him, and we couldn't reach consensus on a name anyway) It was a strange feeling, after such a week of turmoil, to dare to think that everything was going to be alright. It was just such a relief that it was over. I had figured out the car seat which was a lot easier than I thought it would be, and it wouldn't be long before he had his tiny little body resting in it. I packed up all the stuff that was spread around the room and soon we were ready to leave. We thanked the nurses and there was one in particular that I so very much wanted to take home with us. It's one thing handling and feeding a baby when you know there is someone to keep a watchful eye on things, quite another when that reassuring presence is no longer there. We booked out and soon he was in the car on the way home. We still had no crib for him to sleep in (the one in the baby room being far too large) so we managed to procure one from one of Michelle's colleagues. It was exactly the same as the one he had spent his time in hospital in. Someone down the line had not returned it to the hospital it seems, but it was just the right thing for having beside the bed.

Handling a newborn for me was like handling a rare Ming Dynasty vase. What if I do something wrong? It's irreplaceable and so delicate, but I've since realised that increased confidence in such matters comes with time. He was fed, changed, and put to bed. Our beautiful boy, home at last.

The tubes are out, just the tape from the oxygen thing left over his nose.
(I didn't want to be reminded of what he looked like with everything attached, so
this was the first photo I took of him in NICU)

Last day in hospital.

    

Home at last :)

A summary of the whole saga will follow this post.

To hell and back (part 2)

The ambulance eventually arrived, almost six hours later. The paramedics transferred him to the mobile incubator and Michelle and I followed him downstairs to the ambulance. Michelle got inside with him and I returned to the ward to collect her things, stopped off home to get something, and went straight to the hospital.

I had the shock of my life when I saw my son in the neonatal ICU. I had just been told by the previous hospital  that it wasn't too serious, nothing to worry about, it happens all the time. I got there as they were sticking a feeding pipe down his throat. He was on oxygen to keep his lungs inflated. He was on a drip and had tubes and wires all over him. I was worried before and to see him like this really scared me.

I asked the specialist what he thought was wrong. He said they could not be sure, but that he may have contracted the Strep B bacteria. There was a one in four thousand chance that he might have contracted it despite the antibiotics that Michelle had been given. I asked him what might happen if he did have this, and he said that if it spread it could cause meningitis. They could only be sure once they had done various blood tests. The first blood test would deliver a 50% accuracy and would have to grow culture in about four or five days to determine if this was the case.

My family were there in an instant and I don't know what I would have done without their support. It means far more to me than they could possibly realise. I think I cried more those few days than I had my entire life. Michelle and I had experienced the best and the worst day of our lives in the space of 24 hours.

I was at the hospital most of the time and Michelle was able to feed him in ICU, which was a bit of challenge with all the tubes and wires attached to him. The nurses topped up his milk from a cup to keep his glucose levels up. I have to say that the nurses there were fantastic, chalk and cheese compared to the hospital we had just come from. I felt far more assured with them around.

My only criticism is the lack of information that one is given, but I would imagine that this is true of most medical establishments. Fortunately I was there when they poked around in his little arms, trying to find a vein. I'm sure it helped him knowing I was there, although it was so distressing to see him in such pain. No-one tells you when these procedures are going to happen or why they're doing them. Earlier the doctor mentioned him having an ultrasound. Some time later someone came in with a large machine, asking who was meant to have the brain scan. Brain scan? Tell me when and tell me why! Do they think he's brain damaged?( I later learnt that the final diagnosis could have caused damage to the back of the brain.) But I didn't know that then because no-one told me.

At some point the dreaded gynaecologist arrived and the nurses told her that I had been brave to stay there with him when they were doing all these things to them. She remarked in a sarcastic tone that I was very sensitive. She then told the nurse that she didn't know what was going on that week, that she had delivered 11 babies and 10 of them were in ICU or experiencing problems! I could have told her that it was simply down to her, but I wasn't in the mood for a fight. I will be tackling her and her attitude in a different way, at a later date. I simply ignored her.

After two days, he progressively improved, and they were able to take him off oxygen, although he was still being fed antibiotics as a precautionary measure. He looked like a voodoo doll at this point, full of needle holes. When the doctor said that he might be able to get out of there by the Monday, I was ecstatic. He had earlier said that he might have to be there for 11 days, so this came as a great relief. The following day they were able to take him off the drip and things were looking far better.

Michelle was meant to be discharged on the Friday evening and I was worried that this would make things difficult as she wouldn't have a bed to sleep in, and she would still need to feed him. A nurse said that even though she had to be discharged, she could stay there that night, and could use the room the following day, but not the bed, which meant she would have to sit around all day but have to leave by that evening.

On the Saturday morning, the doctor said that things were looking so good that our boy could leave ICU and stay in the room with his mom. It would effectively mean that she was rooming with him and not the other way round, otherwise we'd have to pay the exorbitant costs that hospitals charge. And best of all, he could return home on the Sunday! So it all worked out in the end.

I left the hospital early that night, to get things ready for his homecoming, as I hadn't had a chance to do so the whole week. I was so relieved, and cognisant of the fact that there were others who were experiencing far worse things in that very ICU. There was a baby who had been delivered prematurely in the adjacent room. At 1,2 kg, he was minute, and would have to reach a weight of around 2kg before he could leave, which they estimated would take around 8 weeks. I can't begin to imagine what that must be like for the parents.

Part 3 still to come.....

To hell and back....(The Birth and beyond) Part One

This has been the biggest emotional roller coaster of my life. In the space of 24 hours I had had the best and the worst day of my life :

We arrived at the hospital at 830 on Tuesday morning the 26th of March. Michelle needed to arrive earlier than the scheduled 1:30 C-section, so that she could have antibiotics administered for Streptococcus. (a bacteria that about 40% of women have, that can infect the baby if not dealt with)

The day did not start out too well. The nurse arrived to insert a drip in Michelle's arm. The first vein collapsed, and the second attempt was a disaster too. She then said : "I don't usually do this, I'd better go and find someone else to do it." and promptly disappeared. She returned a little while later saying she couldn't find anyone and set about trying again. Fortunately she was successful with this third attempt. She somehow managed to get one of her bar code stickers stuck on Michelle's stomach, all the while haunting me with her clumsiness.

Not long afterwards, the gynaecologist arrived. She hardly said a word to us and spoke to the nurse attending Michelle. The nurse asked how her foot was, and gynaecologist answered that it's fine because she took her medication that morning, but she could still work! I found that very reassuring.

The C-section was delayed. I asked by how long. Oh, about half an hour. More like three hours. The nurses said the gynae was busy with two other patients and said it was strange that it had been delayed as they usually are not. Michelle hadn't eaten since 730 that morning and was getting hungry.

When we eventually arrived in the operating theatre, the head of the theatre asked the same clumsy nurse why the patient was still wearing her jewellery. The anaesthetist was great, and his manner very professional. The gynae arrived and chatted to the nurse while scrolling through her sms's on her cell phone. She only spoke to me as she was holding the scalpel in her hand, asking me if it was a breach baby. My jaw dropped and I said "Excuse me?!". "Well, I can't remember all my patients!" was her reply.

I would have stopped her right there and then, but I wanted this over and there were at least a number of other medical staff around her. I still can't believe she said that. Even if she had been joking, which I doubt, it is poor taste, given the circumstances.(a week before she had said something similar) Secondly, if she had been joking, then she should have verified that she was doing so.

I watched the cut, and the blood vessels being cauterized, which made me glad I hadn't opted for a bacon breakfast that morning. The next bit happened so rapidly that it was over before I realised it had started. He came out bum first and promptly urinated all over the place. My arms instinctively reached out. (he still needed to be assessed though) It was a shock to see him. In the back of my mind I sort of imagined him coming out all squeaky clean and white, but instead I was presented with a dark red little Indian. My first thought was : Is he mine? He looks nothing like me! What has my wife been up to?

I held him after they had tested him, and contrary to what I had expected, I didn't break down in tears. His eyes were open all along and all the way in the incubator going back to the ward, he was looking around.

He was measured by the same nightmare nurse I wrote about earlier. She poured half a bottle of antibiotics down the side of his face and I just wanted to push her out the way. The Paediatrician was also great. One could see he was compassionate, unlike most of the others. I held my new son after that, doing that Australian Kangaroo thing, and this is when the tears streamed down my face. When Michelle was stitched up he was taken to her for feeding and my family  could get to see him for the first time. Later on, the rest of the family got a chance. I stayed there a while, went to have a bite to eat and returned later that evening where they showed me how to bath him. The nurse (a different one) asked what the bump on the back of his head was. She said she had never seen something like it. I said I'm sure the Paediatrician would have mentioned if it was something out of the ordinary. Then I imagined having a son that looked like a mini Jacob Zuma and how far he would go if he joined the ANC later in life. I made a note to ask the Paediatrician about it in the morning. Then I went home for pretty much the last decent sleep I would have for a while.

In the morning I returned to the  hospital to find Michelle in tears. Our son was not beside her bed any more. She told me they had taken him away to see the Paediatrician as he wasn't well. I practically ran to the ward he was in. He was in an incubator, crying, and his breathing was very shallow and rapid. They didn't know what was wrong with him and told me they were waiting for blood tests to come back. I asked how long it would take and they said twenty minutes. I still don't know the results of THAT test. The Paediatrician said that their ICU was full and that he would have to be transferred to another hospital that had available space. He was phoning around and gave me some options and I chose the one that was closest to us. It was awful, seeing my son like that, waiting for everyone to get their stuff in order. Some other cocky head of department said he may have ingested amniotic fluid when he was delivered. The gist of it is that he was infected with something.

We were waiting for the ambulance to arrive. How long? 10 minutes they said. Half an hour later they said it could be any time, as the ambulance could not find an incubator for him to travel in.(only in South Africa, said the nurse)

 Could my wife accompany him? Well, what medical plan are you on? It's just sickening to think we've come to a such a point in this world. It was ok for her to go with him in the end and they would both be transferred to the new hospital. Still waiting for the ambulance : one hour, two, three, four, five........ We are both trying to comfort him through the incubator, heartbreaking to see him like this, not knowing what is wrong, when he'll be seen to, if he'll be ok......