Food Fright

I had counted on the sleep dep. I had counted on the sound of newborn wailing. But, I had not counted on the worry.

It was around Wednesday of last week that it occurred to me that we might have given birth to a zombie baby. She wanted no food, she required no sleep. She sustained herself solely on human flesh (in the form of a suck-able finger). She refused to latch on to Moonshot’s breast. She screamed and clawed away from the offending mammaries with such rage that I began to suspect our poor daughter had been viciously attacked by boobs in a previous life. Moonshot would spend hours trying to get Norah to take any substance before giving up…tears on both of their beautiful faces. Since coming home on Monday, we had made frequent calls to the kind nurses at the maternity ward and even to the psychotic LeLeche League. They all reassured us that she would latch on if we kept at it. They told us that since she had latched on at the hospital, she would again when she got hungry. Babies, they reminded us are born with a large reserve of fuel to get them by until mommy’s milk comes in…usually three to five days after birth.

MoMa, who had been in town to help us since Friday, calmed us as much as she could, but by Wednesday we gave into our fear and purchased a breast pump. At LeLeche’s recommendation we fed little Norah with an eyedropper so as not to cause nipple confusion and decrease our chances of breast-feeding. And so, we had a dropper baby. We would squirt milk directly into her screaming mouth. She, for her part, would occasionally latch onto the dropper and suck tons of air into her little belly. This air led to massive spit-up and uncomfortable gas. On Friday, still thwarted in our attempts to bring Norah together with Moonshot’s boob, we returned to the hospital to meet with a lactation consultant. Under the watchful eye of this kind expert, Norah latched right on and acted like the breast was her best friend. We were embarrassed, but relieved. The lactation consultant reminded us that babies often take this much effort to achieve a successful latch to the breast. Which lead me to wonder (not for the first time) how the hell the human race is still here if the very act of eating is so incredibly difficult to achieve. Every other animal I can think of takes to this act with ease…not so for us. Seriously…we should have all starved off thousands of years ago.

Friday night found Husker and Panache showing up to meet their granddaughter. They arrived in time to see us relax. Through the weekend, Norah continued to feed and we started to believe that we were in the clear. We couldn’t tell how much she was getting, and she still took way too long for a single meal, but we took solace in the fact that the pump had been able to supply prodigious amounts of foodstuff for our child. We began to fall into a comfortable routine.

Our first doctor’s appointment was on Monday. We went in with a fairly happy baby, convinced that we’d get a clean bill of health. Instead, we were told that she had lost a pound and a half since birth. Some weight loss is expected…but her doctor was concerned about this amount of loss. We were to start offering her formula after she had finished on the breast. In addition, the weight loss had caused the doctor to become concerned about two minor health problems that had been discovered just after birth. A small heart murmur and jaundice. Both are very common in newborns and are typically outgrown. They are watched but generally ignored unless other symptoms rear their heads. And since weight loss is a symptom trigger for both jaundice and a heart murmur, the doc wanted us to subject Norah to a few tests. He was sure the problem was simply the lack of sustenance…but he had to be sure. I appreciate such thoroughness and figured the test would put our minds at ease. So, we were to get the tests, pump the child full of food, and return on Thursday for a weigh-in.

That afternoon, Norah performed her typical half-hearted feeding on the breast. We then offered her formula from a bottle. She gorged herself like she had never eaten before and then passed out to digest. For her next meal, we decided to find out how much milk was being offered. Moonshot re-attached herself to the pump and was aghast to find that almost nothing came out. It seems that the miraculous biofeedback system that is the mother’s body had read Norah’s feeble sucking to mean that less milk was needed. Norah, spoiled by the milk-squirting eyedropper, refused to put enough umph behind her nursing to trigger more milk production. And so, unbeknownst to us, Moonshot’s milk supply had been dwindling.

Moonshot returned to the pump with a vengeance, desperate to reinvigorate the flow of food. But it was not to be. The milk kept dwindling and formula kept making up more and more of our child’s diet. Moonshot, having convinced herself that good mothering included breastfeeding, began to believe that her inability to feed our child was a failure of some sort. I could only reassure her and remind her that we had done everything we could to supply milk to our child. Norah herself had refused the breast and dried up her own well by being such a lazy feeder. I assured Moonshot that she had fought harder than many mothers would have.

On Tuesday, we took Norah in for her battery of test. Qwest Diagnostics had been charged with taking a blood sample to look at the jaundice. This was excruciating. Since newborn veins are so tiny, they took blood from her heel. A tiny slash was made and then the phlebotomist squeezed the injury until three little bottles were filled. I held my panicked daughter as our specialist tried once…then twice…then gave up and fetched someone else. This new specially was better, but the injury squeezing still lasted at least 15 minutes. My jeans were dotted with little spots of my child’s blood and Moonshot’s eyes were teared up. I left with the hope that we would never have to go through such a thing again.

Next on our rounds were x-rays at the hospital to check out the heart murmur. Compared to the bloodletting, this was smooth and simple. However, seeing my defenseless child sprawled on that metal table reminded me just how vulnerable she is. I kept reminding myself that both of these tests were just precautionary and that nothing was really wrong other than the fact that her parents had been starving her. But as Moonshot and I stared from the hallway, the constant dread that had plagued us since she was born would not accept such optimistic reasoning. I could not wait for the Thursday weigh in to reassure us.

This morning, I awoke for a business meeting. I set up the laptop on the dining room table and got the phone ready so the impending ring wouldn’t wake Moonshot and Norah. However, when the phone did ring it wasn’t work. It was the doctor’s office. They had no news to report on the test results since Qwest Diagnostics had botched the tests. Seems the numbers they had sent over were off the chart stupid, inhuman, and impossible. In short, they mishandled the samples. We would have to return and give another sample. I canceled the business meeting and rounded up the troops. I apologized to young Norah that she would have to go through this again…but I’m pretty sure that it was her mother and I that would be most traumatized. Luckily, the phlebotomist that helped us this time had worked in the premature birth ward at the hospital. Sure, Norah hated it…but the whole process took five minutes. Thank you so much, you wonderful young lady whose name I can’t recall.

So now, Norah is sleeping in her crib as I type this on the laptop still set up on the dining room table. She is a newly content baby now that her belly is regularly full. I have very little doubt that her weight will get right back on track, but I’ll not relax until I get the sign-off from the doctor.

Moonshot is upstairs pumping. It’s almost not worth it at this point, but we figure every little bit helps.

Arlo is resting at my feet. He has taken a liking to his younger sister. He stays close to her and lets us know when she wakes up. He gets visibly upset when she cries and has yet to show any signs of jealousy. We couldn’t be happier with our furry little guy.

For my part…I’m hanging in there. The hours are long and the task is largely thankless at this point. But, it is an indescribable joy when her alert eyes stare at you, or when she cuddles against you. I guess I wouldn’t be worrying so much if I wasn’t so in love with the little girl.

I’m told the worry doesn’t really go away…ever. MoMa assures me she still worries about me. But I have to say that I’ll feel better once she puts on a bit of weight and gets a clean bill of health on these other issues. I can take the sleep dep. I can take the sound of newborn wailing. But this worrying is wearing me down.


THANKS

I’d like to take a few minutes to thank everyone who has sent us love and support. It's been wonderful to be continually reminded of all the people who will love our daughter. I know I'll miss someone (feel free to post an angry comment) and they are in no particular order. Thanks to MoMa for staying with us through the initial chaos and taking care of Arlo while we were away. I have no idea how we would have managed without it. Thanks to Husker and Panache for pitching in last weekend and bringing tasty produce from Iowa. Thanks to Elsa and Taltap for the continual stream of cards and gifts, can't wait for you to meet her. Thanks to Jet for pacing the hospital halls and helping to make sure I ate. Thanks to Bobby, Theresa, Sarah, Nick, Caleb, Summer, and Austin out in Kansas for the cards and clothes and toys. And thanks Caleb for being so understanding about our not having a Caleb on this go-round. Thanks for Moonshot's Aunt Kathy for the clothing and the wall hanging...it's very cute. Thanks to Uncle Goldwing and Loretta for their cards, both virtual and mailed. Thanks Duke, Pinky, Dolly, and Duran for visiting us in the hospital...it was great to see you. Sorry we've been so quiet these last few days, but Norah will be out to play in O'Fallon very soon. And thanks Duke for forgiving us for selfishly forgetting your birthday while we holed up with our newborn. Thanks to Great Aunt Lefty for your love and comments. Thanks to Susan, John, and Sarah for the wonderful package left discreetly on our doorstep. Thanks to Polly and Schnitzel for some wonderful childrens cds. Thanks to Tom and Sabrina next door for being our back-up dog watchers and for the package of onesies. Thanks to John, Katie and Samatha Haney for the well wishes and for directing me to what will surely be Norah's favorite onesie. Thanks to Oaf for the kind words. Thanks to the fine folks up on the third floor at Barnes Jewish St. Peters Hospital both for delivering our beautiful daughter and for putting up with our terrified calls. Thanks to Cheeseburger and Littlestar for being so open about their lives. Their childbirth experience helped ease our minds and Cheeseburger's blog is almost directly responsible for the fact that you can come to this nice website and see pictures of Norah today. And thanks even to Erica over at A Mopey Southern Chick for following along and wishing us well. Basically..thanks to everyone.