“My Story… ” Monday: G — Let’s Party!

(You can catch up on G‘s story right here: A Third Baby, Fighting Panic, Connecticut to Oklahoma, You’ve Got the Job, The Birth Story, 95 Degrees, She struggles to breathe, I struggle to walk., The Liquid Diet, Not Enough Oxygen, Getting Out of There)


I was so, so excited to be home with sweet little G. I was also over-the-moon happy to be with my “big kids” again. Mainly, I was just delighting in having my entire family together and intact.


The billi-blanket that was ordered ended up being delivered by Apria, the same company that had supplied C’s oxygen for many, many months. So we were very familiar with that whole delivery process.


The man who brought it was very kind and helpful (as are all their employees with whom I’ve ever worked– and, no, I do not get anything for saying that) and showed us how to place the billi-light in her blanket or sleeper so that she would get the prescribed light therapy. Okie dokey. It wasn’t hard or even a big deal. The cord was slightly obnoxious but, really… if you’re going to fuss about something like that, you’ve clearly led a charmed life. Just sayin’.

Anyhow, G. was pretty small, but she was a champion nurser and a good sleeper. She somehow adopted a pattern of “cluster feeding” nearly ever half hour from 9 pm – 11 pm. Then she would sleep, hard, often until about 5 am. I was not complaining.


The second day we were home, we had to take her in to our regular pediatrician to be evaluated. The on-call hospital pediatrician had been really leery about releasing her. She didn’t like her jaundice level, she didn’t like her light weight, she didn’t like the fact that she’d had an oxygen hood early on.


So, off we went to see Dr. Z.


Dr. Z. walked in the room, beaming. He was super happy for us and was eager to meet the newest member of our family. A father of four, he was a fabulous, respected, down-to-earth, compassionate doctor and I confess I still miss him immensely.


“Oh, she’s BEAUTIFUL!” he boomed. “You had one of those headband thingies on her, didn’t you? I can see the mark,” he added, laughing.


He glanced back over. “What’s up with the billi-blanket?”


We explained what had happened and what the other doctor had said.


He glanced at our baby girl’s feet and said, “I’m not even a tiny bit worried about it. I’m going to order the blood test to confirm that her levels are going down, but I’m also going to sign off on turning in this billi-blanket. I’m that confident that you don’t need it.”


He was right. The billi-blanket went away later that day and I was back to having a “normal” newborn.


I had the brilliant idea to have a big party when G. was a week old. At my house. On my birthday. My mom was visiting, so that helped. But, really… I had a newborn, a three-year-old, and a four-year-old. I was moving halfway across the country in ONE week and I was recovering from surgery…


Well, hey. Let’s party.


After that was done, the real work began. In between nursing and caring for a new baby, I started turning our house upside down, packing what we’d need and sorting things we needed to donate…


And that’s when the tears started.

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