We arrived early Friday morning, as Dan had given consent for Joaquin to be featured in a documentary for the hospital about the equipment and technology that was being used on him to hopefully save his life.
My milk was starting to come in, and moms know what a precarious hormonal stage that is, so I cried the whole way through the filming, having to listen in cold, clinical terms, of just how sick my baby was. I knew how sick he was, but having strangers talk about it felt cruel.
His doctor was featured in the documentary. She saw me out of the corner of her eye and stopped in the middle to touch my knee. She came and sat with me afterward. She gave me understanding and encouragement during her extremely hectic day. These doctors and nurses are some of the most caring people that I have ever witnessed in action. Dr. Carvallo is hoping that eventually I will understand that there was truly nothing I could have done to prevent this. That I did the best I could with the information that I had. I think that complete acceptance of this may take years.
Joaquin's second day on ECMO was a typical one, according to his technician. Lots of adjusting of pressures, medications and dosages. Mostly an uneventful day with his body and mind fully at rest. His brain ultrasound showed no brain bleeding. That is the riskiest thing about ECMO therapy, so I hold my breath everyday when the test is performed.
The updates I got by phone were positive in the evening, and I actually rested a little bit easier. I think my heart needs to heal as much as my body, if not more. Having that little bundle out of my belly and all the way in the hospital isn't comprehensible to me, yet it's happening.
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