The Reunion

It’s 3:00 a.m. Abigail’s lungs are proving to be fully recovered, as she shrieks for food or comfort—which one, at this point, we're no loner certain. In a semi-conscious state of delerium, we reach for the nurse’s call button . . . yet no one comes . . .

Shouldn't hospitals offer the following special?  For every $100,000 you spend with them, you get one week free of night-shift nursing.  What a perfect way to help the parents of NICU patients to recover?  I think we would sign it into law with all of the healthcare reform that's going on right now :). Would someone get President Obama on the line?

Such is the story of our first three nights at home. We’re now in the newborn phase—you know, the part that Abigail skipped, sedated and hooked up to machines for four weeks. Lisa and I take turns sleeping. We both handled Saturday night, then I took Sunday, and she took Monday. I forgot how much fun this part of child-rearing was. Having said that, we seem to be more patient than we were the previous four times we went through this phase—actually, the previous three times we went through this. Daphne slept through the first night she was born and never looked back. Lisa woke up the first monring after Daphne’s birth, surprisingly rested yet panicked, wondering where her baby was, and what might possibly be wrong.  “Where’s my baby? Is there anything wrong?” Lisa asked the nurse over the intercom attached to her hospital bed.

“She’s still asleep in the nursery. Hasn’t made a peep since we put her in here, so we figured we wouldn’t bother you,” said the nurse. Despite some of the physical resemblances to Daphne, Abigail's sleep habits bear no resemblance to our third child.

Even with the sleepless nights, we are thrilled to be at home, and to be able to acclimate the baby to a normal, tubeless, monitor beeping-less environment.  Allow me to share some of the reunion details.

As I mentioned in my last post, no one except for Lisa's parents knew in advance of our surprise arrival.  With the speed and various mediums for the flow of information these days and the risk of the news leaking out to the kids, we were afraid tell anyone other than our kids' primary care-giver for the last four weeks (Lisa's Mom, LaRae) and the chauffeur who needed to pick us up from the airport (Lisa's Dad, Darrell).  I did call my parents while we we were at that airport and told them, and asked them to join us for the reunion.

On the way home from the airport, Lisa got a somewhat indignant text from Samantha, "Mom, Grandma Stoddard won't let us sleep over with Grandma Reeves tonight!"  The kids had gone over to watch the BYU and then the Utah football games with my side of the family at my sister's house. During the games, Grandma Reeves asked the kids if they wanted to sleep over with her that night (at this point, even Grandma Reeves didn't know that we were coming home).  Poor Grandma Stoddard had to play the mean grandma and reject the request of Grandma Reeves to make sure that the kids were home, as she made up some story about her needing the kids' help that night.  I'm sure Grandma Reeves thought, "You need their help on Saturday night at 9:00 p.m.??" but she was kind enough not to say anything.  Lisa texted Samantha back, telling her it was ok, and that she needed to do whatever grandma thought was best.

We beat the kids home by five minutes. During that five minutes, I was frantically searching the hard drive of my video camera for footage that I didn't want. I had finally consumed all of its memory with about 400 pictures of Abigail and several hours of video from the morning we went to the hospital for delivery to the time    that we loaded Abigail into the car at Lucile Packard.  I was now completely out of memory, and needed to clear up about five minutes worth of space to shoot both their surprised faces as they walked through the door as well as each of their first holding of the baby.  I was erasing the last unwanted scene as they walked through the door.

Some of you are familiar with our house.  The kids walked in the front door with Grandma and Grandpa Reeves.  There is a wall that separates the entry way from the family room, where Lisa and I were with the baby.  Abigail was making "baby sounds" and a slight whimper was just becoming a faint cry, as the kids walked in.  I heard Grandma Reeves ask the kids, "What's that sound?"  A moment later, Jeffrey, followed by his sisters, entered the family room and saw their sister for the first time--that is, they saw her unobstructed for the first time, detached from tubes and without the protective plastic casing of a life flight transport bed.  They were able to really hold her this time, touch her face, kiss her, and feel her tiny, infant body swaddled in blankets.  A tender moment for sure. In fact, emotions bubble to the surface a bit as I write this.

Ahh, together at last!

Candi, our teacup poodle, finally has someone she can pick on

Just a few minutes after the kids were reintroduced to their sister, they insisted that mom drop everything and come to the nursery, "Mom, stop talking to Grandma. You have to come see the nursery."  All of us filed into the 10X10 nursery.  I had some inkling that it had been redecorated by our close friend, Jana Lynn Kofford, who had called me privately a few weeks ago to aske me to send her some pictures of the baby's hands, feet, and face.

Time out for a commercial.  Just as I was typing that last sentence, Abby made it clear that she was ready for a diaper change.  If there is one thing that she will not put up with it is messy pants.  So I left the keyboard and took into the nursery to commence with my duty to clean up her "duty."  Just as I was holding her frog legs into the air with one hand, while I wiped some of her bottom with the "unscathed" section of her messy diaper in preparation for the final clean with the wet wipes, Abigail started to pee as if her bladder was at twice its normal capacity.  I quickly open  the messy diaper and inserted it more fully underneath her, as I tried to catch the clear urine as it left her body like the gushing water just after the Teton Dam broke.

It kept flowing and flowing.  Before long, my attempt to protect her surroundings from getting wet were completely in vain as the pee was quickly outpacing  the already saturated daiper's ability to soak it all in.  And even if the diaper would have had the material sufficient to retain it all, it wouldn't have mattered. Before long, Abigail's pee had projected straight up and out--something that I had only experienced with my little boy, Jeffrey Jr, and something I didn't think was possible for a little girl to pull off. I can her hear thoughts now:  Anything boys can do, girls can do better!  Yeah, I guess so.

The projectile pee was splattering all over the BYU sweatshirt (at shoulder level, mind you) that I was wearing (in fact, that I am still wearing--you lose all pride quickly as a parent, and you're not going to waste a load of laundry on a little pee or spit-up that winds up on your clothing, right?).  Now, before all those Utah-fan friends of mine start gloating at the desecration of my beloved Cougar sweatshirt, know that Abby's retaliation against BYU has nothing to do her allegiance to the Utes. Her team is the Stanford Cardinal, an entirely different shade of red.

Abigail's rather significant discharge of urine must have something to do with the Lasix, a diuretic that she continues to take at the doctor's orders.  Apparently, the Lasix helps her body to rid itself of swelling and excess fluids.  I believe that it also has some blood-thinning qualities to it (but don't quote me on that).

Ok, back to the nursery. I knew that Jana was up to something but I couldn't have imagined the scale of it.  The picture below doesn't do it justice.  Let's just say that it is far and away the most elegant room in our house.  I walk by the nursery several times a day and I just . . . stop and look. It is so beautiful. Yes,those curtains are made from raw silk, a material that normally costs nearly $150 a yard.  Jana, a frugal shopper, found a drapery outfit, Johnson Drapery in Provo (yes, that's a plug), that gave her the material for pennies on the dollar and tailored it to fit our room for not much more.  Apparently, the fabric was ordered by mistake or had been rejected by another customer who had changed her mind.

Anyway, the drapery, three pictures of Abigail (a foot, a hand, a close-up of the face), stenciling on the wall, lamps, a chandelier, a new comfy chair with ottoman for mom to nurse (or pump) in, decorative plates on the wall, wicker baskets for laundry and baby supplies, and an end table that belonged in the nursery of her son, Cooper, make this room a showcase suitable for a Better Homes and Gardens photo shoot.  It's a far cry from the nursery that our first, Samantha, slept in:  a cinder-block room at the Rabbit Hutches, otherwise known as Wymount Terrace, complete a single piece of furniture:  an old crib that had been donated to us by Lisa's brother Paul.  I guess that's why Sami is so practical!  Abigail, on the other hand, may grow up thinking that all bedrooms look this way (I pity her future husband).

As you can imagine, Lisa shed a few tears as she beheld the sight of her remodeled nursery--a nursery that represents all of the elegance that money can buy, but more importantly, the love of a dear friend who gave a piece of herself in providing Lisa with the perfect "Welcome Home" gift.

The world is full of such people.  My next post will  highlight another one of those people--another hero we met during our journey with Abigail. I've decided to stretch out my concluding thoughts that I've been promising into a few different posts, as you and I don't have the time to write and read all of this in one sitting. Good day.