Those We Can't See...

This past Saturday, I was sick as shit. Like, I-can't-even-remember-the-last-time-I-was-ever-this-sick kind of diseased. A few days earlier, one of the bigger kids brought the bubonic plague home with them during their first week into the new school year, and everyone but MFH (who, for the record, never gets sick) was ill. We were planning on visiting Little Bird, but I knew there was no way in hell they'd even allow me beyond the buzzer. So I sent MFH and Grammy, in my place, along with the camera and virtual hugs and kisses.

When they got there, they were surprised to find the top of the baby's isolette opened. She was dressed and bundled, and quietly sleeping thru what was her first real trial of maintaining her own body temperature. This is something she is starting to accomplish now, and something she must be able to do before she can come home. But this was also the calm before the storm. The tranquility of the moment would prove short lived. Later on that night, I sat with MFH and listened to him try his best to gently describe, in detail, his account of the second time he bore witness to our daughter's resuscitation.

Only moments after they arrived, her ventilator began to alert. Her nurse came over to check her status. Right behind her was another nurse, asking if Little Bird was breathing. "Not yet", she replied, as she began to vigorously rub the baby's back in an attempt to stimulate her. Immediately after that, the vent alarm went fucking insane, as did her monitors. Not a single measurable wave on that screen. Her heart stopped beating. 

That quickly, every staff member in the unit was at her bedside, and they began systematically shuffling families into the hallway. The last thing MFH saw was Little Bird's body fall limp, eyes and mouth agape, her face blue. The last thing he heard was one nurse calling for respiratory and a cart, and another calling a code. Just as MFH and Grammy were heading thru the doors on their way outside to await procedure, Doc H. sprinted past them down the hallway. 

After what felt like forever, but in actuality was approximately twenty five minutes, they were ushered back inside. MFH said that his physical being shook so fiercely that he was certain he was going to collapse. He was absolutely rocked to the core. When they reached her bed, her nurse greeted them with a relieved smile. Little Bird was stable and conscious. The culprit? An obstruction in the base of her breathing tube that completely blocked her airway. They tried to suction her but weren't able to clear it. The respiratory technician that responded to the call wasted no time in immediately extubating her. In the instant that the tube came out, she gasped so strongly for a breath that it visibly shocked everyone who saw her do it. 

It took a lot of effort for me to write this post. It wasn't something I really wanted to emotionally touch on, even in third person. But it had to be told. It's part of her story. And how else would I be able to show you these...

They were taken shortly after MFH collected his sensibility. Doesn't even look like the same baby, does she? I'd like to assume she doesn't and won't remember that incident. But something tells me she is quite aware. Part of me almost knows that she wasn't alone. That someone was whispering in her ear. Never, in my thirty three years, have I ever known an individual to be so tenacious. She has no intentions of giving up this fight. And we certainly have no intentions of giving up on her. 





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