Well, folks, we’ve hit triple digits. One hundred days spent living in the NICU. We’ve had some ups, we’ve had some downs, and we’ve made a lot of friends along the way. Don and I have learned more about ourselves and about each other than we ever could have imagined, and—to quote Alan Jackson—we’ve learned a lot about living and a little ’bout love. And by best estimate, we’re about two thirds the way to the finish line.
Don took his Mom to the airport on Monday and I went in to the hospital alone. I didn’t even have a chance to check her numbers before her nurse was all over me, excitedly. “Did you see?? CPAP!! We made the decision in rounds this morning!” I did a double-take at the machine and the monitors, and sure enough, it was true: a single pressure of 6, with her oxygen at 29%. I was happy, but skeptical—last time we’d tried her on CPAP, ten days ago, she lasted about a day and a half before her respiratory rate shot up to 100+ breaths per minute and we could tell she was just working way too hard. I gave her about three days, max, this time, before we’d need to revert back to the BIPAP.
And here we are at the end of day three and she seems to be going strong. I’m still anticipating that we’ll need to step back to the biphasic at least once, if only for a short time while she catches her breath for the big push to the finish line. But there is a finish line, and we can see it on the horizon. It’s still at least six weeks away, likely more, but with more than fourteen weeks behind us already, there’s nowhere left to go but up and out. On Nyana’s time, of course.
On Christmas Eve I told you all the story of Baby Noah, and I told you how the world had other plans for him. How true that sentiment is. After disconnecting him and saying goodbye to him, Noah survived through the night. He survived the next night, and the next. I’ll let her tell the complete story, but my friend put Baby Noah in his carseat today and drove him home. Read more here: Prairie Baby Dreams.