Miriam's Hospital Stay

A lot has happened in the week since I have written. Miriam (and I ) were in the hospital for 3 nights. It started out with an afternoon of fussiness and when we took her temperature it was 101. Pete and I were off to the hospital with her after getting Nori situated.
Like most crises I find myself remaining calm and down playing the seriousness up to a certain point. When we started our adventure, my biggest concern was all the poking and prodding I knew they would put her thru. I wasn't that worried that something was actually "wrong."
Poked and prodded they surely did- drawing blood, urine catheter, xrays, lumbar puncture. They gave her some tylenol, her fever came down, and I was ready to go home to bed. She was cooing happily.

No such luck. We were told she would be admitted. I was still okay with this, thinking it would be one night and surely not too uncomfortable- we were at CHOP, supposedly the best hospital in the nation. They would have a nice spacious room for us to rest. My cool was fading fast after waiting several more hours for a room. I was  starting to lose it.We got to her room, Pete left. And I lost it.

Her temperature spiked to 103, they started 3-4 different anitbiotics, and was connected to heart monitors, pulse ox, ivs. Doctors and nurses filed in one after another to our room. They smiled and talked about things that were all starting to blur together. I would nod and try to appear calm.
Then the worst night of my life began.

Miriam was tethered to her array of machines next to a crib where she was expected to sleep. There was a small bed a few feet away where I was expected to sleep. The cords didn't reach.
There were several variables that no one addressed. She was two weeks old and I barely knew how to soothe, nurse and change her diaper at home, let alone in this jungle of cords, with nowhere for me to lay next to her (I did consider more than once climbing into the crib.) The most horrible fact was that  she was in terrible pain, moaning and whimpering with a fever of 103. The machines beeped, the hallway lights glared into our little torture chamber of a corner of a room and I haven't even mentioned our roommate yet. She was a few weeks old as well with just as many cries as Miriam and two parents that snored, boy did they snore.
I tried to comfort Miriam. Then I would lay her down and go to my cot. Five minutes later someone was crying- I was back up to see if it was Mira or our roomate. Then a machine would beep. The bathroom door would slam, a nurse would come in. I was delirious. I was delirious with the lack of sleep. I was trapped, like on an airplane ride that wouldn't end. And worst of all every few minutes I was overwhelmed with fear- my baby had a fever and the doctors kept saying "there is nothing else we can do." It was viral meningitis. 

For the next two days, her little body shook and moaned. She curled up on Pete or I's chest and we held her tight. In the daylight, things seemed a little better. I couldn't stopped crying. Maybe it was the postpartum hormones, or lack of sleep. But mostly it was feeling this little creature tremble, as though my own body was trembling. She came out of me two weeks ago. It was my blood and body that created her and pushed her into her miniature breathing and pooping self. And now stuck to me, my body wanted to do all it could to cause her to survive.
I entered this strange hyperalert state. I had no mental capability beyond nursing, holding her, crying, and eating. Man, I wanted to eat everything in sight. I was in survival mode and something told me to eat, to nurse, to stay awake.
There was of course, the occaional trip to the bathroom, a five minute no soap shower, or a visit from Nori or a friend.  These things were welcomed distractions, but before long, I was driven back to the room by a force greater than myself- to will this little baby to health. By day four, her fever broke. I could feel my heart relax. I thought about my bed at home. I was finally able to feel the fatigue.

During our stay, I didn't  pray. I had a faint feeling that God was present but I didn't feel the ability to enter into any spiritual part of myself. I was too consumed by this vigilant  mother state of doing things.
I was amazed at the friends and family that reached out with visits, with calls and texts. This was something tangible. I was held up by their love This was my faith when I couldn't summon the faith to talk directly to God. When I couldn't pray, others did.

Now, looking back, after many many hours of sleep, I wonder did I really believe God would help Miriam? Is my faith what I thought it was? Or maybe that is what believing is all about- realizing how little I believe.  Being able to be weak, to depend on friends and family, to love beyond where I know it is going "to be okay." To be mothered by God.

Oh- what love God must have for us, even if it is a fraction of what I feel for little Miriam.
We are blessed to be called children of God.