Young Peter, like his father and namesake grandfather, does not enjoy exams. In order to avoid the "stress test" that the white coats had planned for him he decided to decelerate his heart a few times. They didn't like that, so out he had to come!
People panic in different ways, and my reaction was to believe that my theology degree made me more qualified than the most experienced doctors around me. "Shouldn't you be giving Hannah oxygen?" I demanded of Labour and Delivery's senior surgeon. Apparently not; the doc deftly deflected me the way she must have done with countless terrified husbands in the past. I did have the British decency to preface my outbursts with "I know nothing about medicine, but..."
Hannah went through it all like the incredible person she is. "I like the way you're rolling with the punches," aforementioned surgeon commented to her. Within a few minutes I was again in scrubs, sitting by Hannah's head in an operating theatre, both of us behind a sheet, mercifully shielded from where the business was taking place. I blabbered incoherently while Hannah chatted calmly to the medical staff around us. Various people asked things like: "Dad, do you want to see the baby coming out?" "No." "Does Dad want to cut the cord?" "No." And by these means I remained conscious throughout!
In under five minutes Peter was here! Screaming - which was a nice surprise - squirming, weeing over the paediatric nurses, and was whisked away with me in tow to the NICU and put into his incubator. As soon as Hannah was sewn up and suitably recovered they wheeled her in and she got a nice long cuddle.
Since then life has been a surreal series of visits from countless hospital staff, trips back and forth to the NICU, pumping breast milk, watching monitors...actually working here must be exhausting. Baby is doing fine, although his digestive system hasn't really kicked in yet. He's breathing on his own but needs a lot of warming and fattening. I got to change his nappy and I was shaking like a leaf; it was like trying to wrap a postage stamp around a roast chicken, while the chicken is fighting back.
Then the best bit of the day: someone arrived at our room and asked "how would you like to pay?" The cost was doubled as Peter had to be admitted too. Really? I think technically he was admitted when still one of Hannah's internal organs, and you're the ones who chose to separate them. I should have asked them to post the invoice on the outside of his incubator - kids need to learn financial responsibility as early as possible.
Thank you SO MUCH to everyone for your kind thoughts, prayers, messages, distractions...it's the only thing that has really made all this bearable. Pete is going to be incubated for quite some time and it's going to be very sad and strange to return home with him still here, but we have access 24/7 with our magic NICU wrist bands - they're sort of a VIP Backstage Pass to the maternity ward. What was not going to become a kiddie blog may become a medical one (written by a theology student - get ready to learn!)
Vitals stats:
Peter James
15th Jan 2013 at 6.55pm
2lbs 15.6oz (1350g), 16 3/4" (42.5cm)
It was an exit for somebody! Please be impressed at the lack of camera shake from me, sitting outside the operating theatre, being told to wait ten minutes while Hannah is prepped.
What the %#^& is going on?! Don't you know I've only gestated for 32 weeks and 6 days!?
A look and a kiss for mummy. Hannah's first observation was "he looks like your cousin!" Not exactly what the new father wants to hear.
Happy family!
He gets that from his mother's side.
I know everyone is meant to think that their baby is the cutest ever, but I have to say that Peter looks like a red frog with the head of a very old man. But mummy's milk is fast going to fatten this little fella up! He's currently skewing this country's statistics heavily away from obesity.
This is what premature babies like - instead of the usual stroking, which overloads their nervous system, they want to feel constant boundary pressure, just like being in the womb. Check out my new medical expertise!
That expertise does not currently extend to changing miniscule diapers. Don't worry annoyed baby, next time I'll let the paediatric nurse do it.
Breathing, wriggling, hair. All you need.
