May 2022
As I wrestled with my mental health, carrying my third baby, juggling the other two kiddos, running a business, end of the school year insanity, and driving all over the place all the time, he pondered which edible fruit arrangement and bouquet of flowers to send to her for her 17th birthday.
He sent the flowers & fruit to her, with a card signed with his first initial only. She told her parents it came from work. Two weeks later, they met at his office/warehouse for the business to "watch a movie". He told her it was where he went "to get away from me", and they had sex on the futon in his office.
June 2022
Meanwhile, I was figuring out a birth plan for the baby since she was breech. We planned to attempt an external "flip". My mom came down later for a visit and for my upcoming baby shower; unfortunately, my son came home from his day camp, announced he didn't feel well, and took a home test that confirmed he had COVID. We canceled the shower, which was going to be the first chance I had for time with friends in months given all of the solo parenting I had been doing because of his "work schedule". My mom and I became symptomatic a few days later and both tested positive for COVID (the first time for both of us after Mom worked directly in it for two years as a physician assistant - go figure). He continued to go to work (and who knows where else) as I cared for the other two and myself (barely).
July 2022
I recounted my birth story in the first blog post, so let's just pick up where that left off. Since I had an emergency C-Section three weeks before my due date, no one was expecting to hear that the baby, Emily, had arrived. He took it upon himself to send out texts from my phone saying she was here and we were both "doing fine". Not true. Understandably, my mom panicked. Still battling a very active COVID, she wasn't able to just up and leave to drive down. My aunt (her older sister) was nearby at her beach house and quickly came to the hospital to check on me. I had not yet woken up from the anesthesia when my aunt commented to him that he must be so relieved that we were ok. His response? "I'm just hungry. I could really use a sandwich."
After finally getting to meet my baby, she and I had a difficult first few days. He left town for work the day after she was born, and given that my mom and I were five days into getting COVID she was unable to drive down immediately. One of my closest friends came in spite of my COVID and stayed with me for the next two nights so I wouldn't be alone. I was in excruciating pain post-op, and add to that a severe COVID cough, I was beyond uncomfortable. My dear friend changed diapers (not mine - just the baby's haha), gave her bottles while we waited for my milk to come in, and kept me sane. I kept trying to get the baby to latch, and she just...didn't. I successfully and proudly breastfed my first two for over a year each, so I felt confident that I knew the "tricks". Nothing was working. Moreover, she wasn't transferring anything from the donor milk bottles we gave her. I was told it was "because she's a 37-weeker" and to "just keep trying". It all felt so foreign compared to my other two births.
We were scheduled to be discharged after 3 days. I was still shuffling around at a 90-degree angle, unable to bear the pain when I tried to stand upright. My mom was able to drive down and came to the hospital prepared to take us home. She immediately expressed concern over my discomfort. We had the cart loaded and were going over discharge paperwork when my nurse commented that my cheeks were flushed. I felt horrible, but that had been the case pretty much since I arrived at the hospital. She checked my temperature, and I was 104 degrees. While Mom was trying to feed the baby, she commented to the nurse that the inside of her mouth looked strange. Right then, Emily went limp and a team from the NICU rushed in and scooped her up. Her temperature was 94 degrees. We weren't going home.
Emily, Mom & I stayed at the hospital for over two weeks. Countless tests, bloodwork, CTs, IVs, more tests, lost labs, redrawn labs...I had a white count in the 20,000's for days on end. Emily had pneumonia; despite asking multiple times if it was aspiration pneumonia and being told no - it was. While getting a PICC line, I was informed (after being there for maybe a week) that Emily was born with a partial cleft in her soft palate and aspirated when one of her bottles was squeezed into her mouth after I mentioned having difficulty feeding her. When they told me, I hadn't held my baby or seen her with my own eyes in four days. We were told they missed the cleft in her newborn exam because they couldn't get her to open her mouth. Thankfully, the neonatologist who came on that day (they do two-week rotations) took control and we finally started getting answers. I had an unbelievable nurse that day as well who made sure I got to hold her. Because of the emergency C-Section, I never had skin-to-skin with her and those first few days were a blur of pain, tears, and feeding frustrations. I would sob to my mom that she didn't know me and didn't know I was there for her. That reunion is one I will never forget.
On top of the cleft, there was concern that Emily had a TE Fistula (a tracheoesophageal fistula is when there is an abnormal connection between the esophagus and the trachea), which would mean an immediate transfer by helicopter to the Children's Hospital four hours north of us for surgery to open her chest and repair the fistula. We then received the update that I possibly had VRE as we had not yet confirmed exactly what infection my body was battling. If VRE was confirmed, I would not be able to travel with Emily for her surgery. For the first time since announcing her birth, I moved outside my comfort zone and took to social media for prayer requests. After posting, I shuffled to the bathroom to cry, pee, the usual post-partum activities. As I walked out, I look out of our hospital room window and saw this:
I took the rainbow as our sign of God's hand on all of this. I felt a small degree of hope but still had to wait for answers as it was the end of the week, and no one could get answers over the weekend. We still had delays the following Monday (my mom's 70th birthday - spent in her seriously ill daughter's hospital room), but finally on Tuesday were able to perform the tests that confirmed Em did NOT have a fistula. To God be the Glory.
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