We've reached a crossroads today. Little Bird's second echo showed that the Indocin has done nothing. They ran labs on her this morning, and her platelets are beginning to drop. Doc H. ordered a recount to double check before starting a second course of the medication. If they confirmed the first results were accurate, then we'd wait. Give her some time to rest on the vent. But the second tests told us that she's okay, able to withstand another round. A dose this afternoon, another tomorrow morning, and one more tomorrow afternoon. Another scan of her heart on Friday morning will determine whether or not she'll need surgery.
Because the blood is flowing thru this ventricle from left to right, her lungs are being overloaded with carbon dioxide. Even when she was on the oscillating vent, meant to help shake the CO2 from her body, she was struggling to do that. On Sunday, she was still under CPAP oxygen, and her nurse took pity on her tiny face being squeezed from the mask. She decided to give her a try with nasal cannulas for a little while, but Little Bird just wasn't able to tolerate them yet, and ended up back on the mask in under an hour. The PDA is the reason why she keeps desetting. It's what's preventing her from making the hurdle of being off the ventilator permanently. And I also worry about her prolonged need for increased amounts of oxygen. I know it's essential to her right now. But it may ultimately cause her vision loss.
When Number Three was eleven months old, he came down with a really nasty ear infection. I noticed the swelling one morning when we sat down on the floor to play with some toys. The back of his ear expanded to the size of a golf ball. We ran him to the pediatrician, who admitted him to the hospital. He needed an operation to drain the fluid that was building up and threatening his hearing. I will never forget the look on his face when he woke up from the anesthesia. No child should ever have to go thru anything like that. And he was older than Little Bird is now. He was so much bigger.
Last night, Number Five asked why her baby sister is in the hospital. She asks us everyday. She's only three years old, she doesn't understand what's going on. I told her that she's too small to come home, and has to grow. I told her that her heart is broken and the doctors are trying to help fix it. She thought about this intensely for a few minutes, and replied "But Daddy has some duck tape. He will fix it for her!". We couldn't not laugh. If only it were that simple.
The boys and Number Four have been just so incredible, so helpful. Yesterday, we came home to a spotless house. The kitchen was clean, the laundry done, the living room vacuumed. I know this isn't how they planned to spend their summer vacation. This isn't their responsibility. We know they need us to be here. We need to be with them just as much. For how hard it is to walk out of the NICU at the end of the day, it's just as hard to leave them in the morning. They are being forced to have to figure out a way to deal with a situation that we, as adults, struggle to comprehend. They are being forced to grow up, to give up pieces of their childhood. Though they don't complain, I know it's not what they signed up for. But I'm proud of them. Everything they do, they do for their sister.
I can't stand the thought of even God himself performing any surgical procedure on her. No one is skilled enough to do this, in my eyes. She is too small. All the degrees and training in the world mean shit to me. I don't care how many times they've done it before. They've never had to do it to her before. God gave her this body. He has to find a way to fix it for her.
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