Two months ago. . .
Zoey:
Finn:
Zoey today:
It's been a long two months, and we're still only about halfway to the finish line.
As if the daily preemie drama alone isn't enough grist to set my jaw in a perpetual worry smirk, other unexpected aspects of the daily routine, such as it is, eventually build to a crescendo--complete with clanging cymbals--that leave me completely perplexed as to how I should proceed.
Yes, I'm referring, of course, to breast milk.
Breast milk is basically staging a house takeover, and it's doing so so efficiently yet gradually that I was completely surprised to realize it had even become a problem.
What happened is this: my wife is crazy. Okay, that's not a complete explanation. Let me elaborate.
When the twins first arrived, we were obviously blindsided by all the preemie realities that showered down on us practically by the hour. As such, we weren't concerning ourselves with such mundane daily practices as showering or feeding ourselves.
Also, my wife didn't get a jump start on breastfeeding right away, so when she realized she could lose her milk supply if she didn't start pumping, she basically kicked it into overdrive and has been a pumping super athlete--if such an athlete subset exists--ever since.
Routine pumping alone is exhausting for my wife, since she has to pump every two to four hours, which means waking up in the middle of the night to tap the boob juice, and she usually can't fall back asleep for at least an hour afterwards. So, there's that obvious aspect.
The less obvious aspect is the impact of STORING all the milk. My wife pumps the milk into these cylindrical receptacles which, when full, get labeled and placed in the freezer. My wife pumps both at home and at the hospital, and she's already filled her allocated hospital freezer shelf to the point she's starting a second row. On the home front, when I open the freezer door, it's all I can do to keep an avalanche of frozen milk cylinders from cascading down upon me like a wave of calcium-rich Tribbles.
The deep freeze in the basement, likewise, is completely jam-packed with frozen milk tubes. We're literally running out of room to store all these freakin' breast milk containers.
When I suggest maybe, just maybe, my wife should consider just pumping and dumping out the milk, she points out "BUT WHAT IF I STOP PRODUCING MILK!? HOW WILL I FEED ZOEY THEN!?"
It's a maddening Catch-22 that I simply can't see a way around. She has to pump to keep her milk coming in, and she has to save the milk in case her milk stops coming in. We need to give Zoey breast milk whether my wife is producing milk or not.
So, we save. And we save. And we save. And we've saved so damned much milk, I find myself watching television shows about hoarders every once in a while and thinking "You think THAT'S BAD?! Come and take a look at our freezers, pal. I'll show you a hoarding problem."
By the way, I have no idea what a "jaw set in a perpetual worry smirk" actually looks like, but damn if that's not a most excellent turn of phrase.
I neglected to write much of an update yesterday because I was busy observing my 36th birthday.
However, Zoey packed on an astonishing 2.47 ounces yesterday. The nurses had best prepare for a diaper change of Biblical proportions.
Yes, there are stories of colossal diaper changes in the Bible.
It's in Luke. Look it up.
This morning, Zoey's tummy was so round and hard, doctors ordered an X-ray to ensure there were no problems. They saw nothing abnormal.
This afternoon, she pooped so incredibly huge, it required seven diapers.
That's my girl.
From day one, the NICU doctors and nurses have repeatedly told us each preemie experience is unique, but they're all roller coaster rides of epic ups and soul-crushing downs. Beyond that, the roller coaster analogy simply breaks apart, because roller coaster rides are generally an enjoyable experience, whereas the NICU experience just generally sucks.
It's more apt to characterize the NICU experience as a manic-depressive journey you have no choice but to embark upon.
As you may have surmised, Zoey took a few steps back today from yesterday's unexpected and substantial advances. For starters, she's back on the CPAP, because she was having too many--and severe--apnea spells when wearing just the nasal O2 cannula. She can still go an occasional hour without the CPAP, but the longer term trial is on hold until she gets her strength back.
While going back on the CPAP wasn't completely unexpected, the impact to Zoey's strength is very disappointing because it means Kangaroo Care is also on hold. Now, while I enjoy Kangaroo Care, my wife depends on it. For her, holding Zoey is as necessary as breathing itself, so when she was told she couldn't hold Zoey last night or this morning, it was like kicking her in the stomach.
There's still some hope my wife will be able to hold Zoey tonight, but I'm dreading they'll say no, because it casts a shadow over everything we do until she's able to hold her again.
At least it gives us another "up" to look forward to, if nothing else.
