Breathing in, breathing out
On Saturday, Breeny actually preferred the nasal prongs, because the mask collects so much moisture that it drips and rains and sogs up his mouth face. And sometimes it crushes his lil button nose. He cried to beat the band. Everyone agreed it was morphine withdrawal. He cried despite all our great snuggling, singing, pat-patting, jig-jiggling, and his fabulous new swingy chair. But eventually the snuggling, singing, pat-patting, jig-jiggling, swingy chair (and perhaps exhaustion) won out.
Also Saturday: We said goodbye to a sweet roommate who got to go home after 18 days. When the new admit showed up, I recognized their nurse’s voice and I peeled back the curtain (we are close enough to regularly smack into each other through the curtain).
___, LOOK! I says.
“WHAT?! EXTUBATED? WOW! I DID NOT EVEN RECOGNIZE HIM,” she says. (She’s known him since February.)
The new admit’s NP comes around later. I peel back the curtain again. LOOK, ___! I says.
“WHAT!? EXTUBATED? HOW GREAT! I was there for his pleural effusion*!” she says. “Oooooh!” everyone in the room says.
*Pericardial and pleural effusions associated with PICC are a rare risk and may occur at any time after their insertion. In a study by Sertic (2017), an incidence of 0.43% of perforations caused by PICC was found. Of these, 0.14% caused pericardial effusion and 0.29% caused pleural effusion.
On Sunday, the kindhearted RT put some sticky skin cushions around the mask area, and Breenlet settled into a lot of really nice hug-tucks with Dad. We noted that it’s been 24 years since my Mom Rosemary took her last breath. We counted our blessings. We hosted dinner with another NICU couple whose baby we love. Nora Rosemary danced and sang and danced.
Today, Monday, my brother’s middle daughter Mary Beth Breen celebrates her seventh birthday. We Armstrongs haven’t seen her (nor her family) since early 2019. (A separate, nagging catastrophe.) But my brother will fly out here soon, and though he can’t climb up to the NICU on the 4th floor, he can wrastle wee Nora for a few days and laugh around Salt Lake City.
The Karp Team namesake nurse came gallivanting into our room tonight.
_____ , LOOK. I says. HUG PLEASE. Bring it in.
“WHAT! WOW! HEY! Lookatchu! Oh man. I’ve seen a LOT of things from kids with chronic lung disease, but I’ve never seen a kid express himself like Breen did that night*.” “That must’ve been CRAAAaaaZY,” all the health are professionals in the room say.
*See (some of that) saga which was posted on April 18 (One of the months of the year that was Saturday). Half the hospital was worried he had nec again, the other half just wanted to get his respiration back on line…started albuterol…
There is hope.
There is optimism.
They are saying give it about a month- if he’s not reintubated we can take our time on CPAP and high flow oxygen and so on. If he is reintubated, it is very much time to go trach.
As my Dad used to say, “Keep them cards and letters comin’ in.” And prayers.
Thank you for your immeasurable love, for listening, for losing sleep, and for refreshing,
Breeny is doing amazingly well today.