Mar
17

I Can Has Continuous Positive Airway Pressure?

Simone lasted 22 hours on CPAP. Surprisingly, she had only one apnea episode—this time she remembered to breathe, but simply couldn’t do it well enough to clear carbon dioxide and keep her wee alveoli from collapsing. It was too hard; she was too small and her chest muscles too underdeveloped. But by god she tried. Almost no apnea means that at no time did her brain decide to give up and lie quietly until someone brought it an intubation tray and maybe a chocolate truffle. This, in my opinion, is an impressive feat. It shows that Simone’s central nervous system is maturing, and that she did not inherit my lazy gene. If she had a blog, probably she would update every day instead of scrawling a few notes on the back of a Target receipt and telling herself she will get to it later.

On CPAP Simone had to either keep something in her mouth or have it held closed with a chin strap, in order to prevent all the air rushing into her nose from rushing right back out again via her gaping maw. She was delighted to have her old friend the pacifier back, and practically unhinged her jaw in her eagerness to gnaw on it. She is a big fan of sucking, my daughter: on her hands, her feeding tube, her breathing tube, stray IV ports, cheap Domican cigars—I have a video of her chomping away on her Soothie that would make an excellent LOL Preemie (I’m in ur isolette, masticatin’ ur plastik produkts!!!).
So Thursday evening, post-extubation, I was sitting on the couch in her room not-writing when I heard a baby crying far away. Poor little thing, I thought, typing my name a few times and then erasing it, hoping the crying infant would grow up to do something sensible and leave the thankless business of writing alone. I heard it again, a sad, quacking cry, like the cry of an underpaid English major.

And then I realized it was coming from my very own baby.

I had never heard her cry before. I had seen her cry, mind you, her mouth a screaming O, her face red and her limbs striking viciously at the offending nurse. But now that her airway was free she could make noise—hoarse, because of the just-removed tube, but noise all the same. I lifted her isolette cover to find her pacifier fallen from her mouth and an arm groping the blanket for her lost companion. I slid it back between her lips and returned to my computer, only to repeat the whole process a few minutes later (lost pacifier, crying baby, delighted mother-slave to the rescue). It was amazing, just as it must have been when silent film was replaced by the talkies.

So those are the good parts of the CPAP saga. Simone got an A for effort for her 22-hour stint of less-assisted breathing, and I got to hear her voice for the first time (not that I was whooping with delight at her tears, you understand). I wanted to tell you these things before I move on to the next bit, the bit where I thought Simone had died while I was having my hair done.

SPOILER ALERT:
She didn’t die. She is fine, or as fine as a very angry two-and-a-half pound infant can be. I, on the other hand, am too tired to finish writing this entry, which is why you must wait until tomorrow for the rest of the story.

For now, allow me to placate you with a picture of my baby in a funny hat:

Hat

By Alexa | Posted in Ceci N'est Pas Une Ecrivaine |