Since she's been born, Little Bird has been surrounded by this number. One pound, thirteen ounces. Thirteen inches long. Thirteen weeks, three days early for her forty week arrival. At first, I thought maybe 13 would bring her luck. Maybe the numerical superstition behind it was wrong. But I'm starting to doubt that. Today was day thirteen. And today, she's not feeling very well.
Yesterday, leaps and bounds. Day twelve. They took her PICC line out. I was so excited. This meant progress. Inserting it was a three hour procedure, and they surely would not remove it unless they truly felt she no longer needed it. And she tolerated the change very smoothly. Her oxygen level stayed the same, and she had no monitor violations throughout the entire day. Even her feeds were good. She was bumped up to 16 cc's every three hours. A half ounce, and she's digesting all of it. That's incredible. We also got a bit of a bonus, her jaundice was gone. No more phototherapy. Hooray for little victories.
And then this morning, a phone call from the doctor on the floor. Be on standby. She began to frequently deset, and had already had several episodes of apnea. Even the caffeine that they give her daily wasn't helping. They increased her oxygen quite a bit, and tried adjusting her CPAP mask thinking maybe a poor fit might be the cause. As of now, they have it under control, though she's still having trouble. And if that weren't enough for her to have to deal with, she also has an infection. Somewhere. But they haven't yet located it. So they began another course of antibiotics. It could literally be from anything. I touched her, that may have caused it. Before they removed her breathing tube, she managed to cut her arm on the plastic and they had to bandage it. It could be there. It could have been from the extubation, or the PICC line. When they remove the surgical tape used to secure even so much as an IV or eye mask, it pulls at her delicate skin. It could be from that. Anything. She is so tiny. Her body is not equipped to handle this. And it terrifies me a hell of a lot more than her breathing issues.
Beyond it being a major setback for her, it also is for us. We were hoping to be able to hold her tomorrow. How can she heal if she can't be held? How can she grow if she can't be touched? She needs to feel us. Not just see us, not just hear us. She needs to know she is loved. She needs to know we are there. How is she going to know that now? Tomorrow, she will be two weeks old. Day fourteen. It has to bring her more luck than today did. It just has to.
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