overwhelmed and oh, so blessed

There is so much going on. I remember my mother telling me when I was in high school that I was "burning the candle at both ends," but I never really realized what that meant until now.

Trying to move, especially from one state to another, is no fun. Add to that stress the constant demands of a two-month old baby, and it becomes almost impossible even to pack! So, for the first two weeks that we knew we were going to move, very little was done. I think I manged to box up my shoe collection. Thank goodness for two very special people: my dad and my mom's brother, Brad. They drove up on Sunday and planned to stay until Thursday, which was Moving Day. They worked tirelessly, packing boxes and bins, making dumpster runs, and keeping Tim Horton's in business with Dad's morning trip to donut heaven.

All day Sunday, we worked. As we got boxes packed, we hauled them out into the garage and stacked them against the wall. Suddenly I turned around and noticed that Mike was leaning over slightly with his hand on his chest. I asked if he was okay, and he said that he'd been feeling a little dizzy and his heart was racing. We'd been really busy packing, and he'd been carrying a lot of boxes back and forth, so I thought that combined with hunger was making his blood sugar pretty low. I made him eat a turkey wrap and some Baked Lay's, and the rest during lunch seemed to help. After we had been working again for a while, he stood against the wall and slid down, sitting with his back against it. He complained again that he felt dizzy. We figured that he was probably pretty tired, so he went upstairs to take a nap. I told him that he should call his doctor the next day.

At around 9:00am on Monday, she sent him immediately to the ER.

Around noon, I got a text from him. He'd had an abnormal EKG and x-rays.

Around 2:00, I got another. He was being admitted for an overnight observation. I immediately threw on a jacket and grabbed my purse, accepted my dad's offer to watch the baby, and called out instructions over my shoulder as a ran out the door.

Arriving at the hospital, I felt suddenly very strange. I've been in the hospital quite a lot in my recent life. Two months ago I was arriving at St. Anne's to deliver my precious daughter, and not even a full year earlier I had to have an appendectomy at the OSU Medical Center. You could say I'm familiar with hospitals, only this time I wasn't a patient; this time it was like I was looking in from the outside. It's hard to be in the hospital when you're sick, but I think it's much harder when you're there for someone else.

When I got there, he was still in the ER, waiting for a bed to become available elsewhere. People might not know this about Mike, but he rarely gets sick. He maybe takes one or two sick days every year, and for that to happen, he's got to be REALLY sick. So, walking through the sliding glass door to see him wearing a hospital gown, connected to a monitor, IV placed in his arm, and looking quite pale was unnerving. I moved the visitor's chair as close to the bed as I could get it and placed my hand on his arm. He explained that there was something irregular about his heart rate; there was an extra connection making his blood pressure drop, but they weren't really sure exactly what was causing it. I asked how he felt, and he said that he was still having palpitations and feeling light-headed. A technician came in and told us he needed to do an ultrasound of Mike's heart. We watched, hoping we could see what was causing this strangeness, but it looked pretty much exactly like every other ultrasound we'd ever seen. You could have told me I was looking at a fetus for all I could make out on the screen. Oh, I'd probably say, yes, I see the spine, and yes, that must be the tiny nose . . .

I called home to check in, and was told that everything was going well.

We waited for what seemed like days, and were finally taken to Mike's observation room. As soon as we'd gotten there, Dr. McAllister, a generalist, came to explain what the cardiologist had seen. Mike had a Left Branch Bundle Block, which basically means that there was an extra connection between the left atrium and ventricle of his heart. It was causing the electrical current of the heart to skip the direct route it was supposed to take and circumvent the ventricle, which resulted in too much time lapsing between beats. This caused his blood pressure to drop, and his physical symptoms. The cardiologist consulted with an electrocardiologist, who determined that Mike needed surgery to correct the problem.

This is about the time I thought I might need a cardiologist.

Heart surgery? I thought he just needed a snack, and you're telling me he needs heart surgery?

We digested this information between nurses darting in and out of the room to ask health history questions, check his IV, and bring water.

Promising to return with a set of comfortable sweatpants and clothes to eventually go home in, as well as some toiletries, I went home to feed, bathe, and put MJ to bed.

She had a lovely bath, and Brad and I enjoyed watching her splash it up until it was time to eat. I fed her, watching the clock and hoping she would finish quickly and go right to sleep so I could take Mike his bag before it got too late. Of course, she was ready to play instead of sleep. I put her in her cradle while I packed for Mike so that she could watch me, and hopefully get sleepy while she did it. No luck. I set his packed back outside the room, picked her up, and sat on the edge of my bed to sway her to sleep. Suddenly, I heard a gurgle in her throat. I knew it was coming, but I couldn't move fast enough. Before I could even stand, she, I, and my king-sized duvet cover were covered in warm, ricey milk chunks. I almost cried, but instead tiptoed over the puddles on the floor and climbed, baby and all, into the bathtub. I started peeling her wet clothes off and dropped them into the tub behind me. I turned on the faucet and rinsed her, and when she was chunk-free, I set her on the bathmat and started on myself. I didn't have time for a shower, so I just tried to get as much off my skin as possible, and quickly re-dressed both of us. I certainly wasn't going to feed her again, so I rocked her back to sleep, and put her in her cradle. I threw my and her clothes into the washer, and as I walked out the door, begged my dad and Brad to add in the duvet cover.

I got to the hospital as quickly as I could, and set up all of Mike's belongings, putting away his work clothes and helping him into his sweats. The electrocardiologist came in to explain how Mike's surgery would work. They would insert two catheters into his groin, and run them up into his heart. From there, he would do an ablation, cauterizing the extra connection to redirect the errant signal. It would take between 2 and 4 hours, and if all went well, he'd be released after a few hours of observation. We agreed it was the best course to take, and the doctor left to set it up.

A few minutes later, my phone rang. "Kelley," Brad said, "Machaela has awakened, and she is fit to be tied." I could hear the screaming in the background. "I'll be there in a few minutes," I assured him. The hospital is probably an eight minute drive from my house.

Three minutes from the house, stopped at a red light, my phone rang again. "Hey, she's really crying." More screaming in the background. "I'm on the way; I'll literally be home in minutes," I said, and looking both ways, ran the light. I know, I know, tsk, tsk, but really, it was 11:00pm on a Monday night and there was zero traffic. Apparently my baby was screaming her head off. I knew I needed to get there to rescue my dad, if not her. I floored it the rest of the way home, pulled into the driveway, and opened the garage door. I walked into the kitchen, fully prepared for the assault on my ears, and heard nothing. Silence. There, on the couch, were my dad, snuggling a quietly sleeping infant in his arms, and Brad, looking sheepish. "Didn't I tell you?" he asked my dad. "I knew that as soon as Kelley walked in the door, she'd stop crying." The first thing my dad said was: "I'm going to burn all of those swaddle-things." We'd been debating the calming-effects of swaddling a baby over the preceding 24 hours. Exhausted, I carried her up to my room and settled her into her swing, fully swaddled and sleeping soundly.

She slept 10 straight hours.

In the middle of the night, my mom crawled into bed with me. When Mike was sent to the hospital, my dad called her and told her to come, and she did, straight from work, without even packing a bag. She just drove straight to the airport and got on the first flight. Mothers are amazing.

The first thing she said to me was this: "Kelley, is she okay sleeping in that swing thing?" Sigh. Nope. It's actually a torture device. I always let her sleep in torture devices. It makes her tough. What's with all the grief I'm getting about my parenting?

Mike was released the next day, and his surgery was scheduled for Friday. My parents, Uncle Brad, and I spent the next few days in a whirlwind of taping boxes, packing them, running errands, donating old clothes, throwing out junk, and making trips to the dumpster. Thank goodness for help! Mike was told not to do any lifting, so he rested, feeling useless. The movers came on Thursday to load all the big furniture and most of the boxes into the 26-foot truck. We still didn't quite fit everything. Brad left Thursday afternoon with Mike's car. One vehicle down.

Friday morning, dad left with the moving truck. Two vehicles down. This was also the big day. We got up at 5 so that we could be at the hospital by 6am. We were the first people in the lobby that morning. After registering, Mike was led back to be prepped for his surgery. I sat in one of the recliners (what a brilliant idea, Mt. Carmel!!) and alternated reading Malcolm Gladwell with watching the news. I had been told it would take half an hour to get him prepped, and then I could go back and see him before his surgery. I did a lot of reading. The next thing I knew, the very kind, elderly, receptionist, Betty, (who soon became my best friend) was tapping me on the shoulder. "Mrs. Rhodes?" she whispered. I bolted up, not remembering that I was in a recliner, tilted the whole chair forward, tripped over the extended footrest, and launched myself onto the floor. I looked up to see a very surprised Betty stooped over me and several other waiting people staring at my graceful display. Oops. She helped me up without a word, and then my new best friend led me back to the Heart Center to hang out with Mike until he was wheeled away.

Then the waiting. The surgery was supposed to take 2-4 hours. After Mike was wheeled into the OR, I wandered over to Subway, where I sampled one of their ham, egg & cheese english muffins. I added green peppers and onions, and YUM! it was delicious!! Their coffee is also quite excellent, if anyone is wondering. I read a little more Malcolm, and then walked back to the lobby to read some more. I received a lot of great phone calls while I was waiting. My true BFF Kristen called, and helped me feel busy for a long time. I also talked to Mike's grandmother, Nana, his mother, Suzanne, his Uncle Dwight, his sister, Caroline, his brother, Dusty, and my mom. Mike's Aunt Connie also called and left a message. Thank goodness for these angels. Just talking helped pass the time, instead of having to just sit and watch the clock (which I did anyway).

My other best friend (you know, Betty) became my best friend during all the waiting. Every once in a while, she would come out into the lobby and call the name of a waiting family to let them know their loved one was out of surgery. Every time she did this, I literally sat a little straighter, and I think my ears perked up like a puppy's, and my eyebrows shot up on my forehead in the sheer hope that she would call my name. This probably happened eight times during my wait. I became very attuned to Betty's every move. I even got excited once when she got up to get herself a soda from the vending machine. Other times, Betty would receive a call on the phone at her desk, then look over at me and motion to let me know that the sweet nurse taking care of my husband wanted to give me an update. Mostly, the updates were just to let me know that nothing horrible had happened. There wasn't much else she could say.

Eventually, Betty left. I was very sad to see her go. After all, after watching her every move for four and a half hours and bonding over my fall from the recliner, we were very close. Her replacement was there for only five minutes when she called my name and I was sent back to speak to Mike's surgeon, Dr. Patel. He explained that it was the most difficult of these procedures he's ever done. The extra connection in Mike's heart was wrapped around the side, making it very hard to see. He was able to do the ablation, and cauterized the connection in two places. The surgery was a success! At least for now; if the symptoms come back (sometimes they do) before three months pass, he'll have to have the surgery again.

I managed to at least call the family before my cell phone battery died.

After eating a quick sub from my new favorite in-hospital restaurant, I skipped over to Mike's recovery room. I was nervous and excited to finally see him. He looked very pale, but over the next few hours, his color returned and he was discharged!

Over the next few days, Mike rested, and my mom and I took turns with the baby and cleaning the townhouse. We had several people come look at it, but no one has decided to take over our lease yet. Sigh.

Today is Wednesday, and we're Virginians again. It feels kind of weird, because we keep expecting to have to pack our bags and hop on a plane to go back to Ohio. We're staying with my parents until we can find an apartment, so we're waiting for it to stop feeling like a visit. Yesterday, Mike went to CHKD to fill out his new-hire paperwork and get his blood work done. His first official day of work is Friday. Even after having heart surgery, the show must go on, I guess. How blessed we are that he has a job, and that they were understanding about his coming in a day late.

Important order of business: we're doctor shopping. MJ needs a new pediatrician, one with hospital privileges at Sentara Leigh and that takes Optima insurance. I need a new OBGYN, one that's as hip and withit as my previous Columbus OBGYN, whom I dearly loved and now sorely miss. Mike & I both need a family doctor. Suggestions?

Ranitidine

So much of parenting is guesswork. How much does the baby need to eat at any given time? How long should she nap? What's the best cure for diaper rash? What brand of bottles should we use?

Why is she crying?

The latter question is especially constant and consistently stressful. You wonder not only what will bring about its end, but how much is too much, or how much is not enough. When is crying part of every baby's growth and development process, and when is it neglect? Determining what to do about crying and when can be a frightening and difficult line to toe.

Last weekend was an especially trying one. MJ cried, nonstop, on Saturday. She would fall asleep for periods of 45 minutes or less, then wake up screaming. Mike and I were at our wits' ends. Sure, some crying is normal, but this lasted all day! Guesswork. We jiggled; we rocked; we swayed; we swaddled; we unswaddled; we shushed; we sang; we put her in her swing. Turns out, the only guess that was a good one was calling the pediatrician. She told us she probably had reflux and to give her Maalox.

The pediatrician was right. The Maalox turned her back into our happy, sweet cooing baby. The next day, she even took all her naps! Thank goodness there are pediatricians to tell us which guesses are better than others. She wanted us to call back on Monday for a prescription.

Ranitidine, generic for Zantac. Who knew a 10-week-old could take Zantac?

Even though MJ hasn't been the best napper in the world, she does usually sleep through the night. I could at least count on two sets of 5 hours of sleep, sometimes even as much as 8-10 straight hours! After starting the Zantac, she was up every hour. I would go in and rock her until she seemed to be sleeping, then put her down, praying that she would stay asleep. Thirty minutes later, my prayers would be rewarded with screaming anew. Sigh. After two nights of this, I read the pamphlet that comes with the prescription package. Possible side effects include: headache, constipation, diarrhea, dry skin, and insomnia. Insomnia? I'm giving this to a baby! They are already insomniacs by definition! Now what do I do? She needs the medicine to keep from vomiting constantly and to keep her esophagus from burning, but we all need sleep. Guesswork. She was supposed to take it twice a day, and because it is mint flavored (come on people, really, mint??) I gave it to her right before her last bottle of the night so she can wash down the taste with yummyness. Now, I give it to her with her 6:30-7:00 bottle, so it has a chance to get through her system a little before bedtime.

Guess who slept for 10 straight hours last night?

Success.

Sometimes the guesswork is confusing, and exhausting, but it's always rewarding when you get it right.

Wit's End

Ahhh. It's officially my first ever Mother's Day. MJ is sleeping peacefully, and Mike is watching Gladiator. I'm thinking I should be asleep too. I now understand why mothers deserve their very own holiday.

It's been a tough couple of days.

It seemed like Machaela was adjusting to her Babywise schedule. She would wake up between 7 and 8 in the morning, and then eat every 2 1/2 to 3 hours, just like she was supposed to. Suddenly, it seemed like her vomiting was increasing in frequency. I'm not talking about the spit-ups that are part and parcel of babyhood; I'm talking about those projectile vomits, the ones that are now legend (and becoming much more projectile as well . . . eesh). Not only was she vomiting more, she was sleeping less during the day. Her naps were decreasing in length and frequency. Clearly, this was unacceptable.

Between yesterday and today, MJ took a grand total of three naps. They each lasted no longer than 40 minutes. One actually only lasted 15.

Not okay.

Tonight, after a very long day of a screaming, non-napping 9-week old, I called her pediatrician's office. Closed, of course, but fortunately her wonderful pediatrician was the one on call. We had already switched her to soy formula, which only made the vomiting worse, and had tried the Sensitive Stomach type for two days, which didn't help. After explaining what we'd been going through since Friday morning, Dr. Jacob had a hunch.

Machaela has reflux.

Ay yi yi.

So, following her instructions, I sent my wonderful husband to our neighborhood CVS to pick up a bottle of cherry flavored Maalox. Dr. Jacob specifically noted that we should not get the mint flavor, since babies are not fans of mint. I suppose they do not appreciate the value of fresh breath. She said we could either get the regular strength or the extra-strength, but should avoid the maximum strength-24 hour version of said medicine. We should then call again on Monday to get an appointment, after which she'd probably prescribe something stronger for her to take long-term.

Meanwhile, I went ahead and began MJ's bedtime ritual, beginning with her bath. Favorite. She, as usual, loved it, and grinned through its administration. As soon as it was over, she predictably began to cry. Usually, this crying lasts only as long as it takes to get her dressed and swaddled, because she knows that yummy rice bottle is coming next.

Tonight was a little different.

She screamed. And screamed. Ohmygoodness. Was I pinching her without realizing it? Was there a piece of plastic or a corner of velcro sticking into her skin? Nothing; I checked.

It got worse. And loud. And screechy. It's actually hard to describe the sounds that were coming from her mouth, because they were like nothing I've ever heard before. Her lips were actually quivering, and her little tongue was raised and shaking inside her mouth. Her eyes were squeezed shut. Oh wow. I finally picked her up once she was dressed and ready for bed, then snuggled her close to me to calm her down. This usually works, but she just got louder. I tried to pop a pacifier in her mouth, but she just ignored my attempts. She screamed like this for a full fifteen minutes. I'm not even sure she was inhaling between screams. Finally, she accepted the pacifier, and began breathing in short little gasps, sniffling and snorting, and eventually calmed. This is about the time Mike returned from the store.

With mint-flavored 24-hour Maalox.

Really?

I had him make her a rice bottle and sent him back to the store. I am very proud of myself for not letting my head spin around and pop off my neck. I tried to bite my tongue. I had to bite really hard.

He came back when she was halfway done, so I burped her and squirted the quarter-teaspoon of medicine into her cheek. Clearly, she's not a fan of cherry either, because she pushed it right back out with her tongue. Great. I tried to scoop it back into her mouth with my thumb, and I think she maybe swallowed half of what I'd originally given her. Sigh. We'll see how she does tomorrow.

Maybe her Mother's Day gift to me will be a full recovery from infant reflux, so that she can nap, and I can pack. After all, we have only one week and four days until Moving Day.

Gah.

Happy Mother's Day to all the mommies. You're amazing. Especially mine. (Love you, Mom.)

Hallelujah!

It finally happened! MJ slept through the night! Hooray!

Tomorrow she will be two months old. Maybe she wanted to give us a birthday gift? I don't know, but I hope she doesn't try to take it back.

Now we just need her mommy to do the same thing. I have been having these weird dreams the last few nights where I take the baby out of her cradle so she can eat, forget to feed her, and then lay her somewhere in our bed with us instead of putting her back. Of course, I think this is really happening, so I wake up convinced that the baby is somewhere in the bed, and freak out when I can't find her, or wake up thinking I've put the baby on Mike's chest to sleep, and wake up to find I'm clutching the space where I think she should be.

I wake up a lot.

I'm going to try to do the exact same thing tonight that we did last night. She ate at 7pm, then had a bath around 8, and as we read The Going to Bed Book (Sandra Boynton, love her)together, she totally fell asleep in my arms. I tried to wake her up to eat at 9:45, but she refused, so I figured she was ready for bed and put her in her crib. 10 minutes later, she woke up, wailing. Well, duh, that's why you don't ignore me when I try to give you food! I hauled myself out of bed and made her a new rice bottle, which she gulped down in no time. At 10:30 she was in her crib, fast asleep, and I was drifting off in my own bed.

When I didn't hear her, even at 6:30 while Mike brushed his teeth, I felt my heart quicken in panic. She's NEVER slept that long. I started to get up to go check on her, but Mike said he had just heard her grunting and snorting away through the monitor a few minutes before. I looked at him like he might be trying to trick me. (I'm not the most lucid thinker, or kindest person, in the morning.) Then, I heard a little coo myself. Not only was she still asleep, she was sleeping happily! Why fight it? I went back to sleep too, and woke up to the sounds of "I'm awake, take notice" fussing at 7:30. Beautiful.