Xander was born at 9:28pm Monday night. It took a couple of hours for us to get settled in. By midnight, James and I had finally laid down with the baby to attempt some sleep.
It's impossible to rest, however, when you've got a little baby between you who can't sleep. Xander's breathing was rapid, and as time passed, it grew more and more labored. The nurse had checked him before leaving us for the night, but we finally brought her back in around 3:30am. She didn't seem very concerned, but acknowledged that he was breathing too fast, and called in the midwife. After her examination, they decided to deep suction him, supported with oxygen.
He did have a lot of amniotic fluid in him. But even after the deep suction and a good bit of time on oxygen, his breathing had not improved. It was such a struggle for him. Our midwife decided to call UNC hospital, who sent over a team to examine him. We were warned at that point that it was likely we'd be going to the hospital.
The UNC team arrived shortly and spent a few minutes examining the baby. They decided to take him to the NICU. James and I rapidly threw our things together. I was given this whole new reason to be grateful for not tearing. After Joel was born, I could barely walk to the bathroom for the first couple of days. There's no way I could have gotten up, dressed, and climbed into an ambulance mere hours after delivery.
At the hospital, we were shown to a waiting room while Xander was assessed and set up in the NICU. I just wept. The doctor eventually came to us there. She talked us through everything that might be going on, the most likely being meconium aspiration--that Xander had breathed in his first poop during his birth. They were going to start him on antibiotics, get a chest x-ray, start him on IV fluids, and keep him under an oxygen hood to stabilize his breathing. She advised us that Xander's condition was not overly serious, and simply would take time to assess and treat.
We were soon taken in to see him. We had been warned that the NICU can be overwhelming, which was absolutely the case. The room is full of equipment and sounds, and there is a constant air of worry from the parents and visitors. It's impossible to fully relax there, with the incessant barrage of beeping, bubbling, hisses and whispers.
Xander was in a warmer, under the oxygen hood, with an IV and a bunch of other wires. The oxy hood looked like an astronaut helmet. The hardest part that first day, besides the uncertainty, was not being able to hold him or breastfeed. We could touch him, but not being able to hold him was awful. I felt totally bereft of this little life that so shortly before had been safe in my womb.
And so the waiting began. Or rather, changed. We'd been waiting for his arrival. Now we were waiting to know what was wrong, waiting to know what would happen, waiting to know when our sweet baby could come home.
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