Hiccups, poo, and revolutions

Last night, during our pre-feeding ritual of checking Truman's temperature and changing his diaper, we noticed that he was retracting while he was breathing. Retraction is the increased use of chest muscles while breathing, evidenced by the visibility of his ribs while his chest heaves as he inhales. Sounds worse than it is, but we were nervous. When the doctor (a medical fellow) came to examine him, he got the hiccups, which only make the retractions seem more pronounced. Though retractions, a sign of respiratory strain, are rarely related to feedings, the fellow suggested that we skip the 8 o'clock feeding in the name of extra caution. We skipped it. After an hour of kangaroo care, Tru's breathing became less labored (the retractions stopped) and he recommenced feeding at 11 pm. Crisis averted.

This morning, we arrived and went to change his diaper. Tru has always had slow motility (difficulty pooping) and doctors have assured us that this problem is common among preemies, who have under-developed intestines. To encourage his bowel movements, Tru sometimes receives anal suppositories and 'rectal stimulation' (can't wait to tell his future girlfriends about this stuff over an awkward Thanksgiving dinner). The hope, of course, is that he rewards the nurses' hard work with some stool. He obliged this morning, pooping so vigorously just as we went to change him that the poo shot out of his crib and onto the floor. C stayed, laughing and unphased, while I fled the room shrieking like a frightened girl scout. My squealing provided the nearby nurses with several minutes of unabashed delight. Sue me. I'm not used to airborne poop.

After Truman had carpet-bombed his room and his mother had changed his clothes, I managed to stop hyperventilating long enough to hold him while C pumped breastmilk. When she had finished, our nurse suggested that we take Truman for a little stroll around the NICU. It would be a good way to get us out of our little room and would give us a new means of bonding with the little man. The nurse set up a mobile pole to accommodate all the doodads that Tru is hooked up to and we were on our way. C carried Tru and I manned the doodads.

Fifteen steps down the hall, we passed a trio of nurses who were attending to a crying baby. They stopped whatever they were doing to stare at us. We passed a group of doctors who paused with mouths agape to gawk at us. We passed another nurse whose stern gaze confirmed what we had begun to suspect: baby field trips are frowned upon in the NICU. She told us as much and sent us back to our room. When we got there, our well-meaning nurse was on the phone for the third admonishment she'd received for sending us out of our confinement. We felt bad for her, but she took it in stride. I imagined Tru, during his brief taste of freedom, whispering "Viva la Revolucion" to the cribs of his compatriots. Alas, it was back to his room for our little Che Guevara.

We're back on feeds, having gone from 10 ccs to 33 ccs in one day. Tru is still downing his milk like a champ. We hope to continue to increase his feedings without incident, but we're used to speedbumps at this point.

More info as we go.

Thanks for your love and support for Tru and Fish. Much love to you.