Give 'em Hell, Oliver!

Yesterday was a big day. Huge, even!

Oliver (World Champion of Preemies, King of the NICU, Apple of His Daddy's Eye, Mommy's Little Baby Bird) staged a prison break and is now back in the bassinet! After a solid week of gaining weight, he is now taking about half of his feedings from a bottle and (surprise!) was able to breast feed for the first time. He even spent a good part of the day breathing completely on his own with no oxygen support. In his boldest declaration of intent yet, he managed to pee on both Mommy and Daddy in the same day.

After a weekend of increased anxiety, these were all welcome developments... yes, even the pee showers. The last week has been marked by minimal progress on breathing and feeding and increased frequency of Bradycardia. (A 'Brady' is when Oliver's heartbeat dips suddenly and dramatically.) Oliver was given blood work-up on Sunday which showed no indication of infection (the most important thing) but did show a modest dip in his hematocrit. He may be heading for another blood transfusion, but for now he is simply on an iron supplement. A precautionary x-ray of his lungs came back clear, so the most like cause of the Bradycardias is acid reflux. (I told those nurses to cut back on his hot pastrami sandwiches!) Like about half of America, he will probably start taking Pepcid.

The one thing on the mind of every baby girl in Carroll Gardens is: when does Oliver finally come home? The only thing we know for sure is that we don't really know anything. There is reason to believe that he could be homeward bound in a week or even sooner, but we have proven unreliable predictors. Oliver will decide and the rest of us will go along for the ride...

...

It was exactly two months ago that Michele called me at work to tell me her water broke and that I needed to take her to the hospital. In these two months, the world has changed fundamentally. We have just begun to make sense of it all.

In July, we went to Ireland for two weeks and our trip concluded with a visit to the Cliffs of Moher, where Ireland swan dives into the Atlantic. The guidebooks will tell you to go to the end of the tourist walk and jump over the fence to walk even closer to the edge.

"I can do it," Michele said, "let's go."

(You don't actually think I agreed to let my pregnant wife do this, do you?)

"No, I don't think so."

In Ireland, we had a choice to go to the edge and peer over, but we declined. A few weeks later, back in New York, life did not grant us a choice. For two months, we have been on the edge. We have lost our balance a few times, but we have not slipped over. Little Oliver is far too strong and far too real for that.

...

Certain words, phrases, sounds, songs and images are burned in my emotional memory from these past two months. These are things I cannot think or say or hear without feeling the sting of tears in my eyes. "Come on Oliver, let's do this," I have said many, many times... first to Michele's belly and now to Oliver's wrinkled little ear. It gets me everytime.

Well, you know, he is. He's doing it, alright. And he's punching hard the whole time, giving hell to his doctors, his nurses and his parents. For all the inspiration he has shown us, we must promise the little titan that we will rise to his challenge.

There are no limits, little man. Keep giving 'em hell and we'll be right there with you, all the way.