power when powerless

Yesterday was scary. Not because anything really bad happened, but because I was anticipating so many things.

First was anticipating the results of the echo cardiogram that Ryan had yesterday. I don't know that I've mentioned that he's had a heart murmer since he was born. The docs kept saying it was probably nothing, but yesterday they did the test. Right when I walked in, our doctor Markus (we LOVE Markus!) came to give me the results. I took a deep breath and said, OK, give it to me. Yesterday Markus told me IF it wasn't normal (meaning a typical murmer that preemies have and grow out of), it was probably a hole that could be operated on when Ryan was 6 months. But it was the normal murmer they expected and all was well.

Right after that, 3 doctors came to take the pick line out (as opposed to 1 nurse who usually takes out an IV line). They had me go to the parent lounge as they didn't want me to hear Ryan cry - which was usually from taking the tape off the skin instead of taking the pick line out. I gladly complied as I would have had a meltdown if I had stayed. Alone in the parent lounge, I still teared up as I imagined my little boy crying in pain (even if it was just from tape). When I went back a few minutes later, they said he slept through the entire thing.

Later, after I tried (unsuccessfuly) to nurse, Ryan threw up. A lot. But it was whitish and milky like typical baby spit up stuff that I've seen dozens and dozens of times and not that yellow-green vomit of last week. Still, I felt like I was reliving last Friday when he was doing great and then started vomiting. I started getting nervous. I even thought about not telling the nurse about it to pretend it never happened. But I was pretty sure it was just typical baby milk spit up so I talked it over with the nurse and Markus. They decided to slow down the pump that sends the milk through his feeding tube. It was a volume issue. Ryan was not sick.

As I held Ryan throughout the day he would spit up quite a bit. I had to hold him with his head up so he didn't choke. Each time he'd spit up, I would tear up. It took everything I had to hold it together - that darn anticipation thing was not going to get the best of me.

Then at the end of the day when I was home in bed, I realized the night nurse might not know to put Ryan on his side so he didn't choke. I panicked (just a bit) and got up to call the night nurse and ask her to not let my little boy choke. She promised she would put him on his side and she promised he would NOT choke.

A few hours later I woke up in a sweat. I don't remember dreaming anything, but I knew I was worried about Ryan. I thought about calling the nurse again, but instead said a quick, simple prayer asking my Heavenly Father to watch my little boy.

The hardest part about having Ryan in the NICU is watching him suffer and struggle and feeling helpless. And I hate going home each night and leaving him behind in the hospital. When I woke up in a sweat, I really wanted to drive to the hospital to check on him. But I realized that a quick simple prayer is the most powerful act I have available to me to help my little baby.