A Surprise Visit to Home

Mission Accomplished

I’m tired. A good, satisfied, peaceful tired. After we barely made our plane (more on that below), and I was seated cozily next to two of the five most important women in my life, Abigail Rose and Lisa Marie, the exhaustion finally started to settle in. We had nothing left to accomplish, no milestones to reach, and no more procedures to get through. We were on the runway in Oakland, aboard a tiny Sky West plane, waiting for takeoff, and it hit me: I’m tired. The kind of tired you feel after you’ve accomplished something really special, or worked hard to get (not that I done anything, because I haven’t, but I get to share in the accomplishment of so many skilled people who have fixed Abigail’s broken heart). So I set here tired--but a little giddy at the same time.

In about three hours we will walk through the front door of our home and surprise our four kids, who think that we’re coming home either Sunday or Monday. Lisa will be holding the baby and I’ll be videotaping (yes, there may be yet one more blog entry to show you that ). I grin as I think about the looks that will be on their faces. By the time you read this post, we will be home, and we will have celebrated with the kids until none of us can stay awake any longer. Tonight there will be no bed time. We’re just going to let it all happen the way it wants to. We might even order in dessert or a late night snack. All caution to the wind. Break open the Martinelli’s! I might even call in a massage for Grandma Stoddard, who filled in for Mom and Dad for four straight weeks (without, of course, a complaint or thought of pity for herself), and who slept on the living room couch for four straight weeks because she was afraid that she would contaminate our bed with the cold she had--anything to protect Abigail, she must have thought.

We purposely have told no one--expect Grandma Stoddard, who will make sure the kids are home, and Grandpa Stoddard, who is picking us up at the airport. We didn’t want to risk any word being leaked to “the press.”

We were officially discharged from Lucile Packard at about noon. We didn’t know until 9:00 a.m. that we would be leaving for sure today. The conditions for discharge were that she had to continue to gain or at least keep her same weight and one more chest x-ray had to reveal more progress on the upper left lobe of her bruised lung.

Appropriately clad in her Stanford outfit, Abby will forever be a fan of the Cardinal (or at least her Dad will)

Mom's a fan too--notice her outfit

We were told yesterday that the odds for a Saturday discharged look good, but not to book a flight because “these things often change.”

I ignored the instruction not to book a flight, and booked one yesterday anyway. I had been watching the open seats on various flights throughout the week, and by Friday I could tell that most of our good options for flying home were dwindling. So I rolled the dice, and bought two tickets for home.

We had planned to go First Class (something I’ve never been willing to spend money on) but we figured that the extra room and lack of people next to Abigail (who can’t afford to catch anyone’s cold or flu) would be worth paying the extra money for. But as of Friday morning, all of the First Class seats on the flights that made sense were gone, and coach was filling up fast. I specifically chose a Sky West flight because I knew that the plane would have four seats per row, separated by an aisle, so that there would be no chance of a sick person sitting next to the baby. I’m on the aisle and Lisa sits next to the window with baby, protected from the coughs of fellow passengers.

Hold on a moment while I check Abigail’s pulse. Ok, she’s breathing. Funny what you think about when you’re transporting your heart-patient infant back home.

Back to the discharge and the moments leading up to it. Lisa slept with Abigail last night (her upgraded room at 3 West also had a couch/bed for the parents). Yes, I did take my turn the night before, and I wanted to take it again last night, but Lisa wouldn’t let me.

I went home to Menlo Park, slept by myself, and got up at 6:30 to get everything packed up in time to be at the hospital by 8:30 to make sure that I was there when the doctor in charge of discharge made his rounds. By 9:30, the attending cardiologist came in an announced that she was going home! He chuckled as he said that she seemed to have no further problems gaining weight--she had gained more than 100 grams (more than 3 ounces) on Friday. The left lobe of her lung was not perfect, but improving, and there was really no reason to keep her.

I felt a little sheepish asking the next question, “I went ahead and booked a flight--refundable, of course, in case she wasn’t ready to go (I had to add that disclaimer to justify my disobedience). Our plane leaves Oakland at 4:30. Do you think we can be out of here by noon or so?” Fingers crossed. Please tell me we can make that flight?

“Yes, no problem.” With the exception of the statement, “The surgery went perfectly,” those three words were the best I had heard in the last four weeks. We had yet two things to accomplish, and our mission would be a success: figure out how to take 250 bottles of breast milk home, and make our flight.

“Holy Cow--No Pun Intended.”


Those were the exact words uttered (again, no pun intended) by the nurse that went to retrieve Lisa's breast milk from the deep freeze in our unit.  Apparently, Lisa  was a little more prolific than most mothers there.  "And this isn't the last of it," I smiled, "we have about half this much in the freezer at the home we're staying at."

Lisa and I very much wanted to take the milk with us for a few reasons:  (1) we have a bunch of the really good stuff from the first two weeks of milk production that is power-packed with calories, vitamins, minerals, and all kinds of immune system-enhancing stuff; (2) that production represented a whole lot of work--every three hours, night or day, rain or shine, tired or not, Lisa would hook up to the machine; (3) the hospital would just throw the milk away if we left it there.

Now, that's a milk truck. Arin Strom, fellow NICU parent, hauls the milk to our car.

After we got the final word that we were leaving, I left the hospital to figure out how we were going to get the milk home.  It had been one of the primary subjects on our minds for a few days. We looked into Fedex, which would have required a priority overnight shipping, and to ship that amount of weight overnight would have cost well over $400.  We were initially told that we couldn't bring it on the plane with us because we had to keep the milk frozen (once it thaws, you must use it within 48 hours or dispose of it), which required dry ice.  Wet Ice wouldn't keep them milk frozen because milk apparently thaws at a faster rate than most liquids.

Because dry ice is often used in amerture bomb production, we had been told that we couldn't tote it onto a plane.  However, after doing a little research, we learned that we could take it on the plane, but that the package could not contain more than 5.5 lbs of dry ice.  So, we had planned since the middle of the week to just take it with us (and pay for extra baggage, which was a lot cheaper than shipping it Fedex).  Late on Friday evening, I called the airlines to ask another follow up question on the dry ice issue (as I was afraid of showing up at the airport with 250 bottles of milk, only to learn that we had to leave it in Oakland).  It was then that I learned that that the package which contained the dry ice had to be vented.  Vented?  How on earth was I going to find a vented cooler? Who sells a vented cooler?  And if I do find a vented cooler, will those vents cause the dry ice to vaporize.

I had bought two large coolers at Target earlier, which suddenly weren't going to work.  At that point, our plans to take the milk seemed to be in jeopardy. We then began to ask questions about whether we could donate the milk to a milk bank, but that was shot down quickly as we learned that that was a bureaucratic process that would take days that we didn't have time for.  We also asked if we could just give it to some fellow NICU friends who haven't been able to produce as much milk as Lisa.  But that isn't allowed--Lisa's milk could have an infection or other ailment that could harm another, they said.  Tragic, really.  We were about to throw away 250+ bottles of perfect "Mormon" breast milk that could be of such value to another--no nicotine, no alcohol, not even caffeine in that milk, produced from a women with no tattoos and a perfect history of monogamy, not to mention a woman who rarely takes any medicine. Probably can't find purer milk on the market. Did you know, by the way, that human breast milk sells for about $3.00 an ounce?  Each of those bottles contains two ounces, which means that we were also about to throw away $1,500 worth of Lisa's hard earned labor.

Thankfully, another Timpview grad came to the rescue (man, these Timpview people just come out of the woodwork).  A family friend, Mckay Winkel, Jr, who happens to live in Menlo Park, dropped by the hospital on Friday evening to see if he could do anything for us.  I took him up on the offer on Saturday morning.  As I mentioned earlier, I left the hospital after I learned of Abby's discharge to find some type of vented cooler.  I also left to take the car we had used to the car wash to get a mini-detail as a way to express our thanks to our wonderful hostess for opening up her home and her cars to us.

Mckay picked me up from the car wash (as the detail was going to take about 90 minutes of precious time I couldn't afford to lose).  I don't know why it took me so long to think of this, but I found our vented cooler.  Mckay and I went to Target, returned my previously purchased Coleman coolers, and bought three styrofoam coolers, which we planned to drill two 1/4" holes into for venting. We then headed to a U-haul store to pick up packing boxes (to house and protect the styrofoam cooler) and styrofoam peanuts to insulate and hold the styrofoam cooler in place.  Finally, we went to Mckay's apartment to grab a drill with which to drill venting holes into the coolers and the surrounding boxes.  I couldn't have pulled this off without that lift from Mckay--yet one more person who has come to our aid in the last four weeks.

Will We Make the Plane?


Even though we were officially discharged at around noon, we didn't get out of the hospital till just before 1:00--we had to say goodbye to friends, parade our baby around to a few of the nurses, and pack up the car.  On the way to Leslie's house in Menlo Park, we stopped by Safeway to get the dry ice.  I don't know what happened to the time, but by the time we took pictures with Leslie, packed the coolers with the milk, taped them all up, found newspaper in the house to further insulate the coolers inside their U-Haul boxes (I didn't buy enough peanuts), went online to find the mandatory dry ice label that I had to put on the boxes (and dealt with printing issues), it was 3:15 before we pulled out of Leslie's drive way.  Oakland with traffic was 45 minutes away, and our plane took off at 4:30.  We were in Leslie's car with me driving, Leslie in the passenger seat, and Lisa in back with the baby.

Leslie Neumarker, our gracious hostess for three weeks, holds Abigail.

I was now officially worried that we weren't going to make it, or that if we did, our luggage wouldn't, and our milk would go to waste, having to wait another day to arrive.  As we drove to Oakland and encountered unexpected traffic, I started to panic a bit.  I then started thinking about the possible delays at the airport, as the Delta representatives at check-in wouldn't know how to deal with they dry ice issue (every time I called them I got a different answer about it).  I also commented how unhelpful most airline employees are, and figured they would get in the way of us making it.  Oh ye of little faith!

Leslie commented that today the Delta Representatives were going to be especially helpful and kind, and that we had nothing to worry about.  When she said that, I thought to myself, "She's probably right. Every single thing has worked out--on time and on schedule and in the best way possible way--for this entire experience.  The airline just has to be helpful and efficient," I concluded.

And they were.  After rushing into the terminal with four boxes, four carry-ons, and a car seat, huffing and puffing as I walked up the ticket counter, we were greeted by the most pleasant Delta Representatives I've met.  We told them where we were going, what was in those boxes, and how desperately we needed to make sure we all made it.  One of the representatives called someone from baggage over to her desk, and said, "See those boxes right there, they have to get on the plane."

So, here we are.  Aboard the plane, exhaustion settling in.  Mission accomplished. What a mission it has been--a very humbling and spiritually rich four weeks.  And strangely, we feel a small sense of loss for the experience we are leaving behind.  More on that in a final post tomorrow.

It's now tomorrow.  We are home.  The homecoming was glorious.  Daphne just whispered to me, "Dad, I wish Abigail would never sleep. I just want to keep holding her."  The surprise worked, and Mom and Dad shed a few tears.  I'll post one last entry tonight that will contain a few concluding thoughts, pics of the homecoming, and a final video.