Ground Zero

It was a typical pregnancy and a pretty typical birth (preplanned c-section). I guess we were surprised to discover Charlie was breech while in utero. With that said, he was born August 6, 2015 at approximately 11 AM. While I perseverated on the color of Charlie's hair, Rich took part in the weighing and measuring of our little man. Really, it is all kind of a blur for me as they continued with a tubal ligation and sewing up the incision.

We remained at the maternity ward for three days. In fact, in some ways it was easier. While I was in a great deal more pain than with Sophia, I had so much more experience. The nurses were amazing, taking Charlie during the wee morning hours to allow me to sleep for 3 consecutive hours. We were so grateful to bring our newest member of our family home to our daughter as an extra special birthday gift. We were so blessed and I remember immediately taking the whole family for a walk to the park down the street after arriving home from the hospital.

You never realize the importance of procedures, training and protocols until you need them. We took Charlie for his first pediatric check-up on Wednesday, August 12, 2015. It was to be a quick appointment during Rich's lunch break on his first day back to work. Charlie had been up every 2 hours the night before. Every time I went into the nursery he was awake. I told my mom I thought he had his days and nights mixed up. After showering, I sat down in the recliner to nurse him.

One of the biggest differences was that Charlie needed a nipple guard to latch. While both kids had lost birthweight, I was new to using the prosthetic. We had begun to tease saying comments like, "what a typical boy, LAZY!" when talking about his latch. Often, he would doze before really getting any nursing done. As a result, I got in the habit of stripping him to his onesie. I mean it was August after all, it wasn't cold. I just wanted him to eat well. That morning as I rocked and nursed him I remember thinking to myself, "where are my little man's frog legs?" His limbs were flaccid. Turning to my mom I asked, "why are his feet purple?" She came over, looked down replying, "put some booties on him and make sure to mention it to the doctor during your appointment."

The nurse's name is Eric. He saved Charlie's life. That day, as we waited to see Charlie's pediatrician, I held Charlie close. Eric came into the room and began his routine for a wellness check, this included weight, height and body temperature. This is when things start to explode shrapnel flying. Charlie's body temperature was registering 94.7 degree Fahrenheit. Eric turned to Rich and I, he stated, "I'm going to check in with the doctor and get a new thermometer. I will be right back." By the time Eric returned the doctor had arrived to begin her examination. I could tell by her face she was concerned. Charlie began to fuss, so I asked if I could nurse him. The doctor asked that I place Charlie directly on my skin, she placed a hat on his head and covered both with his blankets. They returned 15 minutes later to test Charlie's temperature. In that short time it had plummeted an entire degree. I will never forget her face and words. She looked at me stating, "your son is demonstrating signs of a serious infection. He needs to go to the emergency room immediately. Do you think you are able to drive yourselves or should I call an ambulance?"

Instantaneously, all of the oxygen was sucked out of the room. I distinctly remember feeling as if we were in a vacuum. Everything sounded strange as I called my mom to tell her what was happening, why we wouldn't be home when expected. For the second time in less than six days we traveled to the hospital. Little did I know that I would not return home until several weeks later.

Rich and I sat in the emergency room waiting room while the staff prepared Charlie for a spinal tap. We were both drenched in fear and sweat.  My abdomen felt as though someone was taking an egg beater to it, attempting to remove all of the stitches that the doctor had so carefully placed the Friday before. I turned to Rich and told him, "it's taking too long something is wrong." Just then his cell phone rang. It was a different hospital on the phone. His father had been taken to an emergency room in the city, he had suffered a heart attack. I had just begun to feel as though I was returning to "normal" when the oxygen began to leave the room again. As I hovered above myself in an out of body experience, the Hispanic woman that sat across from me brought me a box of tissues while I prayed. The bubble bust snapping me back to reality as a nurse exploded through the double emergency room doors from the triage area.

She sat down next to us. I stared at her blankly stating, "this is taking too long. How long does it take to do a spinal tap and catheterize an infant?" I could tell by the look on her face that she was extremely concerned. It was not the same friendly face that had greeted us an hour and half prior. My emotions hung on a razor's edge while my stomach muscles spasmed. I had not taken my medication with me to the pediatrician's office. I had not take any pain reliever in over 6 hours. My incision began to burn as I shifted my weight in the uncomfortable emergency waiting room chairs. With tears running down my face I asked, "is there was any place I could get some Motrin?" already knowing that there was nothing this woman could do for me. She was so calm as she told us their concerns, "Charlie has some sort of infection that is causing hypothermia. The nurses commented that he didn't cry during his catheterization. We'd like you to come back to the room."

Time, which had seemed to be passing in slow motion, suddenly began to stream past in strange picture frames as we walked through the triage area and into Charlie's vestibule. The somberness of the staff foretold the gravity of the situation. As we entered, I saw Charlie lying under a heating lamp. He lay lethargic unlike the little frog he had been 12 hours earlier. I turned to the nurses and said, "he needs to eat.  He hasn't eaten in 6 hours. He lost 8% of his birthweight, he needs to nurse." Upon hearing my voice Charlie let out a cry and literally tried to roll out of the warming bed to me. The staff began shouting urgently, "WE NEED A CHAIR!" I felt the tension break as the relief washed over their faces. Everyone was overjoyed at the sign of Charlie's response to my voice.

Charlie and I were placed on a gurney. We were immediately admitted to the main floor. We stayed overnight. Charlie's body temperature began to stabilize with the support of the incubator. I continued to nurse and we thought things were beginning to look up. However, this was simply the eye and we had more storm to weather.

During the course of the next 12 hours we had to make a lot of hard decisions. We were at the hospital that Charlie had been born at. This facility didn't have a PICU or children's ward. We had so many other things going on simultaneously. Rich's dad was in a hospital in the city recovering from a heart attack, and only a few days prior, on the day Charlie was delivered, he had suffered as stroke. Rich's mom had been hospitalized since I had taken her in for a routine check up in June. She had begun to have an irregular heartbeat and shortness of breath. The doctors had determined she would need an ablation to reset her heartbeat. Unfortunately, she was also suffering from bladder and uterine cancer. The stress and lack of sleep began to wear on Rich and I. We needed to decide, be transported to Lurie's in the city, bringing us closer to Pops, or be transported to Advocate Lutheran General in Park Ridge.  I was unable to drive and had not begun to pump, so leaving Charlie was not an option for me. Rich had taken over all financial and medical decisions for his mother as she was suffering from stroke related dementia. She was about to have a major procedure to have a hysterectomy and remove her bladder. We needed to be in the burbs.

We were transported by a non-emergency ambulance to Advocate Lutheran General in Park Ridge. We were immediately admitted to the main floor. Within minutes of arriving doctors began to show up and whisk Charlie away. I had been separated from Rich as he had to follow the ambulance. I was trying desperately to text our room number but was unable to get a signal. By this time, Rich and I had been awake for close to 48 hours straight. His back began to seize from sleeping on a hospital couch. Neither of us had eaten and the food the hospital staff brought looked similar to prison food as the cafeteria was no longer open. It was nearly 10 PM. I told Rich to go home and to sleep in our home. We weren't going anywhere, we had made it through the transfer and Charlie was going to be back from the testing soon.

As Rich prepared to leave, I asked the nurses to provide me with a breast pump. It had become evident that Charlie was going to begin a bottle much sooner than I had expected. I hooked up and began to pump praying that Charlie was going to be okay.  I set the bottles on the table as our nurse returned with Charlie. They had removed the traditional crib bed and replaced it with an incubator. The nurse brought me heated blankets and told me to lay down. I don't remember falling asleep.

I'm not sure exactly how long I slept. When I awoke I was soaked in sweat. My body began to shake, as I trembled with cold. The nurse's cellphone keep going off and so did an alarm on Charlie's monitor. As I surveyed the room I heard the nurse say, "I need some broth for the mom. I need help, quick!" Within seconds a flood of nurses entered the room. Charlie's body temperature had begun to drop again. As a result his oxygen levels were falling to dangerous levels. Our nurse was unable to leave our room or care for other patients. At around 3AM we learned that we were going to be moved to the PICU. I texted Rich.

As the nurses prepared Charlie for transport, I sat on the couch shaking uncontrollably. A nurse arrived with a styrofoam cup. It contained a steaming yellow liquid. It was salty, radioactively hot burning my tongue and the roof of my mouth. They asked me to begin to collect my items. They told me to prepare to move fast. Robotically I responded,  "I can't move quickly, I'm recovering from a c-section and tubal ligation. I'm all messed up on my pain management and I don't know when I took my meds the last time."  The staff brought a wheelchair, piling me and our belongings into it. Within a matter of mere moments we were whisked through secrete passages and corridors arriving on the opposite side of the hospital and the PICU. Shortly, afterward Rich arrived.

All in all, four spinal taps were attempted; four spinal taps were failed. Blood had been drawn, cultures were cultivated, antibiotics were administered, IV lines infiltrated causing painful swelling, a PICC line port was installed and the whole time we prayed that our little family would be together again. We would stay in the PICU for 3 days before transferring back to the floor.

We remained at Advocate Lutheran General for 27 days. We attempted to have a normal life while there. As normal as life can be when your family is divided. Don't get me wrong, we knew we were lucky. I distinctly remember the screams of children suffering through multiple rounds of chemotherapy a day. I remember families meeting with Chaplins praying for the best possible outcome for their children. We had a team of doctors, including an infectious disease team, that monitored Charlie's intake, stools and weight. Slowly but surely he made his way back up to birthweight.

We celebrated every accomplishment desperately trying to make up for lost family bonding time. Rich returned to work. My mom stayed, stayed and stayed. She held our home together caring for Sophia, allowing me to focus my efforts on Charlie. We made a countdown chart for Sophia to help her prepare for our return home from the hospital.

Charlie returned home a few days prior to his one month birthday and Labor Day. Buffalo Grove Days happened to coincide with his return, along with a carnival and parade. We celebrated the entire weekend, hosting a party in our backyard and cheering as the parade passed our home. We were certain that the worst was behind us. We were certain we would never go back to a hospital again. We were certain that it was onward and upward. How could it be worse than what we had already experienced? We were naive and still had so much more to learn.