Declan Patrick: Part Three

As if I wasn't tired and depressed enough, it started to snow on Thursday, April 28th. And I mean snow. It was blizzarding outside by the time I arrived at the hospital. Brian dropped me off (I still can't drive for another week) and he and Paisley waved to me as I carried my nursing pillow into the hospital. I was getting to know the doctors, the nurses and the drill pretty well and while I wanted to bring him home more than anything, I knew Declan was where he needed to be.

Until he wasn't. I walked into the NICU that morning, over to bed 19 only to find a very sick little boy. This boy was on a ventilator and I could tell from his heaving chest that he was very ill. I grabbed his wrist to read his bracelet and saw another name. Not West - not my child. But someone's. Maybe it was the exhaustion, or the snow or the very real fear that gripped my heart when I first walked over to his bed but I lost it. I made it outside the NICU doors and started to cry. Declan's doctor came rushing over, "They moved him but they didn't tell me" I cried, "I thought that little boy was him. I thought he had taken a bad turn overnight." She apologized profusely and took me to where they had moved my son. He was fine. He was lying there, all wrapped up, pinker than ever and on the low-risk side of the nursery. I was so happy to see him. All the machines that only yesterday looked so imposing now looked like nothing compared to what that other baby had been hooked up to. Despite my relief, I couldn't help thinking of that other boy and the mother who would be by his side today. For her there would be no mistaken identity...that was her baby.



Because Declan was responding so well to the antibiotics, the Foothills hospital transferred him to the Peter Lougheed in the North East quadrant of Calgary. It was far less convenient for us but we knew it meant we were in the clear. The Foothills is where the very sick babies go and they had had two emergency twin deliveries overnight. Our little guy wasn't a worry to them anymore and that was great news.



The next few days were a blur of driving across town, being dropped off, nursing pillow in hand while I waved good-bye to the other half of my family. I hated it. I cried every morning because I had to leave Paisley and every night because I had to leave Declan. I sat by his side all day and held him and nursed him. I had an awful headache and when I did go home and manage to sleep, my dreams were punctuated with the ringing and beeping of NICU machines. I was hearing the same noises as Declan except I was at home in my bed. Paisley was not handling things well and was having a hard time understanding where her brother was and why she hadn't yet met him. Mom was leaving her every day and the tension in the house was palpable I'm sure. Brian was great and took the whole week off to watch Paisley. The only positive in all of this was that the two of them got a chance to hang out and I know they both really enjoyed that.

On Sunday, May 1, 8 days after he was born (and three days ahead of schedule!), Declan came home with his family. Brian and Paisley came to pick us up and as I dressed him for the the first time and put him in his car seat I was shaking. I was excited and exhausted and a part of me felt guilty. I was leaving behind other Moms I had gotten to know and other babies who would not be leaving for a long time, if ever. I still think of them all and wonder if they are still there - waiting to go home.

I walked out of the elevator and watched as Paisley came running up to us. She saw her brother for the first time and I cried. She thought he was cute and was clearly overjoyed to meet him. By that time, the blizzard had passed and the sun was shining and both my kids were with me. It was one of the best moments of my life. That night I still woke up every three hours to feed but instead of a machine, I held the warm, healthy and strong body of my perfect little boy. Patchy head and all.



By the time we got Declan home, this is what the poor little guy had been through:

- IV's in each of his limbs and in his head,
- Heel pokes to draw blood over 40 times. His heels were shredded and eventually at the hospital, they would just squueze a heel and blood would come out of one of the holes,
- A lumbar puncture,
- Nasal tube and stomach aerated numerous times,
- A central line placed in his arm and up into his chest cavity.

Declan Patrick: Part Two

By day two in the NICU, Declan's sugars weren't getting any better. Also, I was fed up with my nurses and having to waddle (and I do mean waddle - a c-section on day 2/3 is NOT a pretty thing) across the postpartum unit and over to NICU every three hours and through the middle of the night. (Also, did I mention how much I hate hospital food? Ugh.) But mostly, I was starting to feel frustrated and concerned about my little guy. Every time they tried to pull back on his sugar solution, he dropped and they had to put it up again. The IV in his hand had already gone and the one on his foot looked like it was about to go as well. I just wanted him out of there.



On the Monday night, Declan had a few regurgs (NICU speak for huge puke) and the doctors weren't happy about it. He was throwing up what looked like bile and his jaundice was getting worse. They decided to pull his feedings and start doing tests to see what was going on. By Tuesday things had gotten worse. All that day he never opened his eyes and never looked to feed. Not once. I knew that was not good and was becoming more and more alarmed each time I saw a doctor's face, because they too were getting worried. They started testing him for infections in his blood, urine and even CSF. This involved a lumbar puncture. I insisted on staying while they did it and helped to hold him still. I knew things were bad when he never flinched and didn't make a sound as they stuck the huge needle into his spine. I was worried sick. The cultures wouldn't come back for a few days but the doctors decided to start him on two different antibiotics right away.



My parents brought Paisley to the hospital that morning and she was so excited to meet her little brother. Unfortunately, she also had a horrible cough and a runny nose. There was no way she could come into the NICU. I was so happy to see her though and I know she was happy to see us again. It was hard to explain to her what was going on and we could tell she was a bit thrown by the whole thing. She loves my Mum and Dad but 4 nights away from home and then a missing baby brother and a weepy Mom had taken their toll. I was discharged that evening (against my wishes) and left a very sick little boy at the hospital. While I was happy to be going home and overjoyed to see Paisley I was devastated. We still didn't know what was wrong with Declan and he had had a bad day. We all had.

Getting up every three hours to pump milk is not fun. It is far more motivating to awaken to a needy baby than an alarm clock and the whir of a machine. But I did it - I felt so powerless to help Declan but the one thing I could do was ensure he was well fed.

I headed back to the hospital on the Wednesday morning and I knew that things were going to have gotten better or much worse. After 24 hours on the antibiotics, Declan should improve and if not then it meant we were looking at something far more serious than an infection. I walked into the NICU with my breath held and when I saw him, I instantly knew he was going to be okay. He was awake and wanting food! I started to weep I was so relieved and although we still had a long haul ahead of us, I knew that we had his infection on the run. His IV had indeed gone and so that day they put one in his head. My little boy had been born with reddish brown hair and it was quickly being shaved off in patches. It's only hair and with everything else going on, you wouldn't think it would bother me but I was sad knowing that I would have to shave his wee head.




Part Three: The emotional roller-coaster continues...

Declan Patrick: Part One

So, despite my doctors assurances (she actually used the words "zero percent chance") that I would never make it to my scheduled c-section date of August 23rd, I did. It felt like forever and all of a sudden, bam!, there we were. We dropped Paisley off in Okotoks on the Friday and Brian and I went for a nice dinner and went to bed knowing that in the morning we would be having a baby. Very strange feeling. Probably like a man on death row might feel the night before his execution, except much happier. (Just the knowing part, not the dying part).

We headed to the hospital in good spirits. This was so different than when Paisley was born. I wasn't in labour, there was no need for morphine, Brian wasn't forced to sleep in a dirty corner on his coat. We laughed and I tied various medical belts around my head and pretended to be a ninja. It was jolly good fun. At about 10:30 they came in to wheel me into the operating room. Brian had to wait in a tiny cubicle while they stuck the needle in my back for the spinal. Apparently one too many Dads has hit the decks upon witnessing this sight, and so now they are no longer welcome to watch. It was as weird as it was the first time. You can't feel your body and although you know it's there, it isn't. You can't help but feel very vulnerable as they shift you around and lie you down because if someone yelled "Fire!" and everyone chose to abandon protocol, and you, you'd be screwed. The only good thing I suppose would be the lack of sensation as the flames licked at your toes.



Brian was allowed back into the room and very shortly after they started to slice me open. I had requested that they lower the drape separating me from my lower extremities (which only exacerbated the weird out of body sensation of the spinal) as soon as they started to take the baby out and they did. So, there I am, looking at my own abdomen, cut open with a new person being pulled out of it. There truly are no words to describe just how weird and wonderful and otherworldly that was. Anyhow, there he was! Our baby boy. They whisked him away to clean him up and measure him and I lay there, waiting. I also managed to look at the placenta which by that time resided in a large Ziploc bag. Again, weird. They handed the baby to Brian who brought him over, and once again, like I had only three years ago, I fell madly and deeply in love.



Declan Patrick weighed 6lbs 12oz and was so cute it hurt. He had peach fuzz hair and tiny little ears and dark eyes. I couldn't believe that after so much time and so much anticipation, he was finally here.

They whisked us off to the recovery area and he started to eat right away. I felt wonderful and was on enough drugs to be pain-free, but not enough to feel woozy or out of it. He started having troubles with his sugars right away. We knew that with my diabetes (even though it was really well controlled) this might be an issue so we weren't overly concerned. After he had fed and they still didn't come up, the neonatologist told us he would have to admit Declan to the NICU. I was upset but the doctor assured me this was pretty normal and that he would likely be out in 24 hours.



Part Two: Read how doctors are life-savers but also notoriously bad at accurate predictions.