Reflections from Griffin's first week.

First off, I owe a fact based post about how everything happened. I owe a post that will probably end up being one of my favorites about Griffin meeting his big brother for the first time. But for now, I need to just reflect on my emotions. The roller coaster I rode this last week has been the rockiest of all rides. One that I knew would end, but was scary nonetheless. 

We have had some pretty intense weeks in the last year. Between Cooper's respiratory issues and my brain troubles, we just can't seem to catch a break.

I am not angry about it. I choose not to be. I choose to look at it in such a way that gives me strength to overcome it, in a way that I take it as a compliment because God sure wouldn't be giving us these situations if we couldn't handle it.

But that does not make it easy. Phew! This has been the week of all weeks.

When Cooper was sick as a newborn and as a 2 year old it sucked. It really sucked. I hate that word but it really is in the only word that fits how I feel. I had to go through those things with Cooper to be able to halfway handle what has gone on this past week. I do know that to be true. But the difference is that I was with Cooper every second. I slept in his room, I was there for almost every nurse assessment and every doctor visit. I was there for the breathing treatments, the lab work, the iv changes, the tests upon test upon tests, the incident where Cooper stopped breathing and had to get a nasal piece with oxygen, I was there for all of it. I didn't have to fill in the idle time with mindless tasks and I was able to hold Cooper when he was scared and take a break from it all when I was too scared. (My wonderful husband and father would swap out so I could run home to grab a shower, usually to melt down, so I could be strong at the hospital and grab clean clothes for Cooper and I.)

This past week I had my own healing to do. I had just had a major surgery to deliver my littlest man 4 weeks early in order to figure out what the heck is going on in my head. My sweet baby Griffin was in the NICU hooked up to so many machines, I couldn't even hold him. When I first met him after delivery, I had to be pushed in a wheelchair and sitting up made me dizzy. They weren't going to let me go if I told them the room was spinning so I had to lie. I had to learn to be away from my sweet baby. I sat in the hospital room and cried because I felt like I was in the Antepartum unit 4 weeks prior except now I didn't have my sweet baby safe in my belly. He was out and was gone. 

The day after delivery was when the flood gates opened. I didn't even see it coming, I just kind of lost it. I was crying because I was overwhelmed and sad and frustrated and sad and EXHAUSTED, (I hadn't slept AT ALL on Tuesday night) and sad and so worried that I would be one of those crazy mothers that never connected to her baby.

Here I am in a hospital room, without the baby I just delivered, without any more answers regarding my brain... the whole reason we delivered early, my 35w 6d old baby struggling to breath in the NICU and a wonderfully, finally healthy 2.5 year old son I felt so far away from. It was awful.

Rick didn't know what to do, the nurses didn't know what to do. I couldn't even talk I was crying so hard. Mollie Anderson, oh the wonderful Ms. Mollie as we call her (Coop's pulmonary CPNP) had come to visit and she knew what to do. She said you go see that baby. You go see him as much as you can. 

So I did. Every chance I got. The nurses started joking about how much I was walking. ("We always see you coming and going!") A few times, the nurses called the NICU to let me know I was due for a medicine or that someone was here to visit. Every morning I would go see him the second I woke up and really only went back to my room to pump or  eat. I tried to nap at least once a day as well.

The walking helped my pain from surgery. It helped me get the air out of my abdomen and helped me keep from getting too sore. The visits helped me connect with that beautiful boy. Each day was a little bit better. Each day Griffin had turned another corner.
I used my middle of the night pumping to pray. I prayed for every single baby in the NICU. Every single parent that was feeling the same things I was, and many were feeling worse. When Cooper visited I tried to interact with him as much as I could. I hugged him and kissed him and held him and talked with him. Each passing hour was a little bit easier. I found taking each hour by hour was easier than each day by day. 

I got proactive. I had my OB call the neurologist and move my MRI up and get it out of the way. I asked questions of the nurses and doctors and tried to understand everything. I advocated for my son and learned the goals he had and helped him reach them. I pointed it out when he was maintaining a pulsox of 99 and he could probably stand to turn his oxygen down. I asked about baths and nursing and holding him until they agreed. Giving Griff a bath was so wonderful. I felt better just seeing him clean and refreshed and knew he had to as well. 

Above all I continued to tell myself that we could handle this. My sweet little family was going to be together soon enough and we had this covered. We just got through news of spots on my brain for crying out loud, we could handle two tiny premature lungs and the complications that come with them. We had learned the lesson many times before and this situation was no different. Leave it in God's hands. Trust that he's got it and let go.

The next day, everything turned around. Friday was Griffin's day. He turned the corner and each hour was just a bit brighter. Each time I came back to visit, there was good news to share.Each passing moment was a testament that we could get through this just like everything before it with God's help. We just had to trust him and like always let go.