It was Sunday when I headed home. I couldn’t go without seeing my new granddaughter again. I went through all the preparations and expected DS2 and my DIL to be there, too. They weren’t. The little one and I were all alone in a room full of other babies and their families. I took full advantage of the situation and took pictures without any distractions. When I took the first ones, my son was glaring as if to pounce if I made a wrong move. I could tell he was going to be a very protective father.
She was asleep but I talked to her, anyway, and told her how much she was loved and how proud her grandfather, my DH, would be if he could see her. I said he was missing a whole lot by leaving. I was over his going away but I could still pity him for electing to not be around for such important matters. I looked at all the others in the pod and My Baby seemed to be doing as well or better than many of them. She’d already been taken off the ventilator.
Evidently, she had been scratching her face with her tiny razor sharp fingernails because her hands were covered with booties.
There was a tiny baby at the end of the pod that was in an incubator. It was so small, I could have held it in one hand with no problem. The parents were hovering and worrying. Later, I found out that little one didn’t make it. There were more glad times than sad times but the sad times came around too often.
I headed on home and back to Twinkle. She was a good cat and I was glad for her company. She meowed at me as I came in the door and scolded me for leaving her alone for those three days.
Back at work, I emailed one of the women who had come to make the transition from our system to theirs. I let her know we had a baby and she was doing well. She wrote back her congratulations and said that it seemed baby girls were fighters and did better than baby boys in that condition. I don’t think she was pro one way or another. She was just stating the facts ax she saw them.
During this time, I was rotating weekends with the others. There was one registrar who wanted Sundays off so we’d split the weekends. She’d work Sabbath and I’d work Sunday. I was getting five days off at a stretch once a month. I thought it was working out wonderfully. The Guardian Angel person was the one who suggested it and it was a welcome one for me.
I had five days off in a row so I went back to see my baby. I was in for a real treat. My DIL was there giving Baby a bottle filled with her own milk. That was the routine for the time she was in the NICU. My DIL would pump and the milk would be stored for mealtimes and snacks.
After she finished feeding, my DIL got up and had me sit in the rocking chair. Then she placed the little one in my arms. I was overshelmed. It was the first time I’d been able to do more than touch her little hands, face and feet. She was so sweet and she had that baby smell. I breathed deeply.
The photographer came when the all clear was given and took an official picture. I happened to think mine were better.
DIL was discharged from the hospital and spent several nights at the Ronald McDonald House. I didn’t get to see her quarters but the “living room” was beautiful.
It got to a point that she had to go home and stay there. She was sure she’d be all right and I’d be five minutes away at DS1’s. I was enjoying my time off work when the phone rang. It was my DIL. She was in terrible pain. DS2 was at work and she didn’t want to call an ambulance. Could I come and take her to the doctor? I didn’t stop to change clothes or comb my hair. I jumped into the car and raced down the steep driveway. Would I get there in time?