I still can't wrap my head around the reality that two weeks have passed since little Sam was born. It's weird to be writing this at exactly 12:21pm...Sam's birth time. So many things have just disappeared from our lives...well, at least in terms of normal activities. We try to intersperse our days with some of the routine activities that we did before Sam, but I find that they end up being half-hearted attempts to simply get our minds off of things. We do laundry, but our ironing is piling up. We make dinner, but when faced with actually cooking, I do calculations in my head regarding the easiest meal possible without looking like I'm a lazy SOB. Even when we eat, our standards get a bit less. Last night, we had corn with our meal and I found it delightfully okay that the only clean utensil I had was an Elmo spoon. At lunch today, Elisa was eating the leftover salad that we had and didn't even bother to put it in a different bowl. She just poured the dressing on and ate from the original salad bowl.
As a major football fan, I even watched the lead up to the big rivalry game at a distance. When the game was on, I opted to try to get an hour of sleep from halftime into the third quarter than to watch the game (thankfully, I was at NICU, feeding Sam, when the Utes won). On a side note, the Utes winning a 4th straight rivalry game still felt oddly satisfying, even in our current situation. We don't run errands. I fell asleep sitting next to Lukas as he did his reading and it was rather awkward when he'd hit a word he needed help with and would have to nudge me. I'd jerk awake, probably saying something unrelated like "no, I didn't bring the toaster with me to the bowling alley!" before I'd shake the cobwebs, help him with the word, and drift right back into a lazy sleep.
But through it all, Elisa and found our little slice of normalcy. Something we could do while we sat and waited. And worried. And, strangely, something that has made me laugh when I shouldn't be laughing. Laugh when I am crying. Laugh when I'm too exhausted to actually sleep. Thank God for Friends. We've always been fans of the old sitcom (we own all 10 seasons on DVD), but it was a collection that always sat in the corner without use. Sure, we'd get excited about re-watching them and make it 6 episodes into Season One before giving up the dream. But when we were vagrants at the hospital, it was Elisa's idea to grab the first couple seasons. It would give us something to focus on while we waited for our next visit or next word from the NICU. Sure enough, we started with Season One and we're almost complete with Season Two. It sounds strange. It might even sound dumb that a 10 year old sitcom could mean so much to us through such a trying time. But it is our normal in a very abnormal situation.
I was physically crying about Sam when the episode about Joey's tailor came on and he was educated "that's how they measure pants...in prison!" I laughed out loud through the tears. My stomach was rolling with worry the other day when we watched the Friends Super Bowl episode where Julia Roberts coerces Chandler to wear her panties, and then leaves him in a restaurant bathroom without clothes. We just finished the episode where Monica and Rachel are fighting over the last condom, and Chandler's weird roommate (Eddie) put a goldfish cracker in his aquarium and named him "Chandler". Friends, for me, has given me a slice of something that was here before Sam. Laughter. Something to grab our attention. Something normal. And when your life is as abnormal as you have ever experienced, sometimes it is critical to find a divining rod for your sanity. Friends has been the normal in our abnormal and I'll never look at the show (or those DVDs) the same way.
Speaking of our "new normal", today is another day of wishing and hoping for progress. I am immensely grateful to the last two nurses we have had (Chelsey and Nannette) because they are assertive towards Sam's weaning. Usually, we make progress during the day and then go into a holding pattern at night. Not last night. Not today. After Elisa pushed our nurse into dropping Sam to 30cc of oxygen at 5:00pm, Chelsey assured us that she would keep the push on. When I went in at 2:00am, she had just lowered his oxygen to 20cc. When we arrived for our 8:00am feeding, Nannette was already fidgeting with the dial to try to get him down to 10cc. And that's where we stand now. It was music to my ears when Elisa asked "so what happens after 10?" and Nannette replied "I take him off of it!" I'm happy to say (at least right now, barring any relapse) that Sam is making excellent progress in this 48-hour weaning period. Who knows...maybe he will try his hand at no oxygen today, tonight, or tomorrow.
We also got another visit from the Case Manager, and I couldn't help but smile at our own assertiveness as parents. The Case Worker still seemed to be in awe of the fact that I had secured a Cardiology appointment with Dr. Day for next Monday. She alerted us that she had talked to Dr. Peterson about the appointment and added "I told her, even if we are sending you home on Sunday, you could still make that appointment!" Aha. The hospital's end game. At least, that's my theory. I've placed my bets with Elisa that Sam will come home this Sunday, simply because we now have a critical and hard to get Cardiology appointment on Monday morning. Maybe I'm wrong. But I would think that you'd look at his progress and wonder if the magic day wasn't going to be Friday or Saturday. Instead, it feels like we've strategically placed a bookend on the week. We don't want to lose that appointment and I don't think St. Mark's wants to either.
Another day, another step closer to Sam being home, to us stopping the constant running to the hospital. Another step closer to normal. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have some Friends to watch. Because it's the one where Eddie won't move out (and shockingly, Chandler is my favorite Friend and I remember him to be very funny in this episode). Today, like every other day for the past two weeks, feels abnormal. I'm in desperate need of my 21 minutes of normal. I need to not think. I need to laugh. I need to just be.
Brad
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