Sunday, 3rd of April
Rounds are short since Peanut is stable and doing well. I'm pleased with his progress and it's looking like he could be on his way home. The team is filing out of his room when Dr. W and Dr. P round on me and say:
"Really, go home. He is fine, nothing is going to happen and you need the break."
They tell me that they think I have done an amazing job of showing up every day for rounds, taking notes, and sitting in the hospital for hours at a time. But I need to go. They tell me there is something called "PICU psychosis" and they don't want me to get it.
This makes me laugh.
But I listen to what they are saying and I start to get excited.
"Home? Really?" I ask with a smile.
So I call Hubby to let him know he doesn't need to leave and that I am on my way.
The drive is LONG. Geez, I don't know how Hubby does it, this is just wrong. Three and a half hours later, yawning uncontrollably, I arrive home. Monkey is awake and I swear, he's gotten cuter since the last time I saw him. He's strutting around the kitchen, holding his bottle in one hand, talking his baby talk.
Hubby and I make some darn cute babies, thats for sure.
I can't help it, but I can't sit still till I have unpacked and cleaned the house to my liking. Hubby, being the dude he is, wants to go to his buddy's house to watch Wrestlemania.
Let me explain the phenomenon that is Wrestlemania. It is an arena full of obsessed and brainwashed rednecks that love to watch tightly clad, oil-slathered, muscle men throw each other around. Complete with fake punches, foot-stomping sound effects, and long-winded speeches about how much the other competitor sucks. Hubby can't get enough of it.
So after I give him a guilt trip for having a dudes night on my first day home, I agree as long as I can have a girls night. I leave with Monkey to meet my best friend over at Applebees for dinner and drinks.
Considering my situation, I have no guilt whatsoever as I order my mango margarita and immediately take a big slurp. Yummm...alcohol. :)
Anyway...dinner is nice. Aside from Monkey's occasional scream for food, we have a nice chat, good laughs, and a lovely little buzz. We plan for a day at the park the next day and head home.
A little while after I get home, I call the PICU to check on Peanut.
"He's fine!" The nurse starts off with, "but he had a little spell and we had to intubate him."
"Oh great" I groan.
She tells me its not a big deal, they just feel more comfortable doing this since he is having such trouble breathing.
"Don't rush back, we have him stabilized and comfortable. Enjoy your time at home."
I have a feeling they are toning things down, but I try not to worry and enjoy the rest of my night home with the boys.
I receive a phone call at 1am.
"Hello?" I mumble.
"Hi! Don't worry, he's fine. We just had to give him a blood transfusion because his blood count was a little low. I'm sorry I woke you up, but I know you would want to know".
Ugh. Not again. Now I'm starting to get worried. This isn't just a little breathing spell, this is effecting his blood count now? I'm thinking I need to head back.
Six hours late, I wake up with Monkey. We go about with our normal breakfast routine then I wake up Hubby up so I can go to Wal-mart. While I'm there with the Bestie, I get another phone call.
"Hi, me again. I just wanted to let you know he's stable, but he is sick. We're not sure why and we are running tests. There's no need to rush back but we wanted to let you know."
When they say "he is sick", I really start worrying. GO FIGURE, as soon as I leave he gets worse. I start to feel like its my fault because I did leave that he is getting bad. I know they don't tell me everything sometimes and I start to run scenarios through my head. I call Hubby and let him know that I want to head back the next day.
After a long day of running errands, Hubby takes me out to dinner at Macados. I want to say here that I cannot believe sometimes, how "plugged in" this generation is. There are 4 tables around ours and ALL of them are on their phones. Hubby and I can't help but make fun of them because they are out to dinner with friends, and all they can do is surf the internet and chat on Facebook.
Just to make it better, our server isn't that great. I am really picky when it comes to servers at restaurants. I was a server, and I know how it is. You do have to put up with some crappy people sometimes, but you need to do your job well if you want a good tip. I have no problem leaving a very small tip if you did a crappy job. Smile, be friendly, and bring my food and drinks in a timely manner. If you muck around, forget my refill, and I have to remind you to bring a spoon with my root beer float? You are not going to get a good tip. Servers are my favorite thing to complain about. Hubby thinks I'm too hard on them but what can I say? If you think you will get tipped good just because of the job you have, you are wrong. Personality has a lot to do with it. I have tipped better based on someone's personality even if they weren't the greatest server.
I call the PICU again, to check in. They tell me he is getting worse and they don't know why. His heart cath is scheduled for Wednesday, but at the rate he is going, it could be later.
When you are almost four hours away from your newborn and you hear he is sick, you get this gnawing feeling in your gut that won't go away. I was so excited to get to go home and spend time with Monkey, but now I can't focus. I am worried and getting antsy. I really want to go back, so Hubby and I plan to leave in the morning.
To be continued...