In completely preemie-unrelated news, well, sort of, today I managed to push my car into a position where I could jump start it using my wife's VW Jetta.
For those of you who don't know--which should pretty much be everyone because I've never mentioned it--the car I usually drive/drove (Cadillac Eldorado. . . stop laughing) has been sitting dormant outside since late December when all this drama started, because the car was covered with snow and the temperatures have been cold enough to extinguish the sun--and car batteries--and I didn't have the time or energy to free it from its icy tomb, let alone push the Franken-Caddy into place to connect the electrodes and cackle "IT'S ALIVE! ALIVE!!!!"
Also, I was afraid to push the Caddy into place because it could have blocked our primary vehicle, the Jetta, from leaving the driveway if it didn't start. It's hard to explain unless you know our property/house layout, which you shouldn't unless you're stalking us, or did a Google earth search, but don't do that.
Anyway, after attaching the jumper cable leads--and protecting my face from exploding battery acid by looking away as my father always suggests--I let the German and American car duo exchange electricity for several minutes and. . . the Caddy huffed and sputtered and SPRANG TO LIFE! "IT WAS ALIVE! ALIVE!!!! SIEG HEIL!!"
As I was driving the car for the first time in almost two months, I noticed a shopping list on the passenger seat from one of the last times I drove the car. It was a final-minute Christmas list of stocking stuffer ideas for my wife. Among the items: "Cradle bedsheets for a boy and girl."
We have, since Christmas, returned all but one of the sheets.
Still, I'm not going to lie, seeing that list again was tough.
But, hey! Two vehicles again!
It's astonishing how much I can't remember day-to-day lately.
The constant stress, combined with the lack of sleep has taken a mental toll that's difficult to measure, at least until this afternoon when I found myself sitting on the couch during my son's nap, and I couldn't for the life of me remember what the hell I fed him for breakfast.
Lunch I could remember, because it had just been an hour previous. But breakfast? No damned idea whatsoever.
You know your mind has been compromised when you find yourself digging through the trash, trying to find some sort of reminder as to what you fed your son that very morning.
At least I knew today was Friday, but I only really remembered that because yesterday was Thursday, which was my day to do Kangaroo Care with my daughter. I held her for over two hours, and she did fabulous, without experiencing even one apnea spell, although her heart rate dipped a couple times, but she pulled herself back up without requiring external stimulation.
I just re-read that last sentence using the voice of the Asian curio shop salesman who sold Homer the cursed Krusty doll, and that perfectly captures the daily NICU experience.
NURSE: Your daughter is doing well, and you can hold her.
ME: That's good!
NURSE: But beware, she could have apnea spells.
ME: Ooh, that's bad.
NURSE: But she'll probably pull herself out of them.
ME: That's good!
NURSE: But sometimes she won't.
ME: That's bad.
NURSE: But we can increase her oxygen to help her back up.
ME: That's good!
NURSE: But too much oxygen can damage her lungs and other organs.
ME: That's bad.
NURSE: But she's made it to 30 weeks development, which is a big accomplishment for a girl born at 23 weeks.
ME: That's good!
NURSE: But she has a long ways to go and could have lots of ups and downs between now and April.
ME: . . .
NURSE: That's bad.
ME: Can I hold her now?
So, yeah, anyway, it's Friday, and the weekend could entail a major "snow event" as the meteorologists are fond of calling blizzards nowadays, so I'm sure that will complicate our schedule and routine that don't actually exist, but it's fun to pretend they do.
Oh, and for those of you I left hanging in serious suspense earlier: Oatmeal. I fed my boy oatmeal for breakfast. It was apple and cinnamon oatmeal, if the package I found in the trash is to be believed.
Just in case you don't know the Simpsons episode (and you should be ashamed if you don't):
After I held Zoey during Kangaroo Care today for over two hours, she had a brief moment to enjoy some time without her CPAP vent. She was very expressive.
I've always been a rather deliberate individual, with only occasional sojourns into the world of the unexpected. I'm not boring, just. . . cautious.
This has been particularly true when it comes to my finances. I considered it a badge of honor to have saved enough money to last over two years in the event of an employment/income emergency, and I can count on one hand the number of considerably big purchases I've made in my lifetime. I usually have to sacrifice a chicken and a goat, and then read their entrails before I'll put more than $1,000 towards anything. That alone could become expensive, because goats just don't come cheap.
That was before the waning days of 2010, when the fecal excrement came into contact with the oscillating air circulation machine. This last month and a half, I've regarded my savings as something that's just not all that important right now, so I tend to look at certain purchases in a different light.
For example, our digital camera just up and stopped working Sunday night. Ordinarily, I'd hem and haw and dither about what to do, but because we wanted photos of our daughter on Valentine's Day, I just up and went to Best Buy and bought a new camera. The precarious nature of Zoey's day-to-day existence just trumps any financial considerations.
If, tomorrow, a specialist were to tell me to pay him $5,000 to perform an immediate procedure that could improve her chances by one percent, I wouldn't be able to write a check fast enough.
Of course, all of this NICU care is going to cost astronomically more than $5,000, but I'm trying to stay within my own current financial reality to make a fairly sappy point.
Sleep is one of the more uncertain aspects of our daily lives. It's more complicated for my wife, since she has to wake up at least twice during the night to pump milk, and getting back to sleep for her can be a challenge.
For me, the trick is being able to fall asleep at all. My old college-era companion, insomnia, has begun to rear its unwelcome head. Unlike college, I feel like I can't just chase it away with Unisom or something similar because--if we should receive one of those hair-straightening NICU calls in the middle of the night--I don't want to be in one of those sleeping pill hazes during which I put socks on my hands, throw a pair of boxer shorts over my head and hop into a motorized vehicle, which I'd promptly navigate into a creek.
Thankfully, it's not perpetual insomnia. I'll have nights I can sleep fairly well, and then I'll have other nights during which the sound of mouse farts make my eyes flick open, never to be shut again, or at least until 5 or 6 a.m., at which point I drift off for a brisk 20 minutes before our 16-month-old wakes up and demands my immediate attention.
I actually dozed off ever so briefly when I was holding my daughter during Kangaroo Care the last time. It's a bit tricky NOT to doze off, to be perfectly honest. First of all, it's very dark in Zoey's NICU room, and it's kind of warm. And, when the symphony of bells and alarms aren't playing their discordant tunes, it can be very peaceful. Finally, holding a little grapefruit of a human being requires a sort of stillness that can normally only be obtained by Buddhist monks in deep meditation. All of this combines into a perfect calm that practically insists I fall asleep.
As I said, I only dozed off briefly last time, but when I pulled myself back to consciousness, the feeling of clammy dread that came with it ensured that particular evening would see no more sleep for me, thank you very much. I spent that night editing and categorizing Flip videos.
One video in particular I watched over and over again. It was a 30 second segment my wife recorded of me. . . sleeping. I look so peaceful and content and worry free.
Stupid video.
Normally when I see a bunch of comments from people I don't know, I assume I'm being comment spammed.
I don't know what else to say but thank you for your comments and e-mails.
The morning call into the NICU today confirmed Zoey is still chugging along, with the usual apnea spells and other preemie hiccups that would otherwise give me a minor heart attack but under the current surreal circumstances are considered oddly routine.
Again, thank you so much for all the words of encouragement and support. It's surprising how much it all helps.
It's funny sometimes what things really annoy me lately. Tonight, for example, every pop machine was sold out of Diet Pepsi, and I literally screamed "That's not fair!" at the pop machine in the deserted basement. Obviously, I'm not actually that upset about a lack of Diet Pepsi, but I had just seen my daughter two minutes prior and I was basically yelling what I wanted to yell in her room.
Not that she's doing any worse or anything like that, but repeatedly seeing her wired like some sort of human experiment just wears on me after awhile and, since we're almost at the 1.5 month point of this experience, I think that qualifies as "after awhile."
It's remarkable how poor my diet has been these last several weeks, and by remarkable I mean it's a bit surprising I'm still alive. It doesn't help that the two closest and convenient food outlets on the way home are KFC and McDonald's. Not that there's anything wrong with an occasional sojourn to either of those bastions of culinary excellence, but three or four times a week tends to make my arteries feel as though I'm packing them like a musket.
In other news, there's an abandoned "Vanity Fair" magazine next to the keyboard, and Justin Bieber is on the cover, his face and shirt are covered in lip prints, and the sub-head reads "Is This the Adorable, Inescapable Face of 2011?"
Say it with me, everyone:
THAT'S NOT FAIR!!!!
UPDATE: Thanks, Glenn. I don't know what to say, except to everyone who has e-mailed me, thank you so much for the support. It helps so much knowing we're not alone. If I weren't so tired right now, I'd write more. And, holy crap, an Instalanche. Thank goodness for insomnia, I guess, or I may not have realized it.
