Its 4:15 am, I am just slipping back into bed. The result of a three am gastrostomy feeding gone array. At three am I woke to cell phone gingerly saying, “your kid needs food, get the h*** out of bed!” Rubbing my eyes free of crusty sleep, I roll out of bed and test out my sea legs. Yep, good and solid. I walk down the stairs to the refrigerator and retrieve the orange and blue bags and tangled web of tubing. I run the tap water until it is hot, and fill a large square Tupperware container. Place the wiry mess into the water and retreat to the bathroom for a much needed break. When I am finished, the food is warm and I take back upstairs to the nursery. I hang the bags, weave the tubing in and out, then I search for the port. This is what wakes him.
Inevitably, the gastrostomy tube has slipped down beneath him, and in order to gain access, I have to lift his body and disturb him from his light slumber. I do so hoping to keep the disturbance minimal, but the damage is already done. His eyes perk open and he is staring at me. I plug in the tubing anyway, and open all four clamps. I can already hear him mustering up his voice to cry out. His head is flailing back and forth and his arms are outstretched. I push the on button and then hit start. The pump sounds like a little vacuum turning on and off every couple of seconds to give a metered dose. It will take an hour, I dare think of crawling back into my bed for a short nap. The whaling has begun. They start out low and raspy and quickly siren into a loud whine. I decide to pick him up hoping that I will get lucky and this will be one of the consolable moments. I bounce him gently and when the perfect moment arrives, I slip the green nuk into his mouth. Silence.
It worked, thank you God! I am standing there rocking him gently back and forth while holding the nuk in with my finger. My arms start to feel heavy, and I feel all twelve pounds that I prayed so hard for him to gain. I have only two real choices: I can lay him back in his crib and pray that he drifts back to sleep, or I can sit and cat nap with him in the rocker. So I cradle him in one arm and reach for the rocker with the other. I start to sit and realize that there is a boppy pillow in the chair. As I reach to take it off, I hear a soft thud and a pucker. The nuk!
In a split second the siren begins again, and I know that I have to find the nuk! I peer down at the floor in the dim light provided by his crib side night light. All I see is oxygen tubing. I decide to flip on the overhead light and risk waking his sister since she will likely wake to the screams anyway, but the switch doesn’t work.. “Hell of a time for the light to burn out!” I think to my self. “Damn!” I can feel my patience waning. I just want him to feel comfort and pain free. If I knew what the problem was, I would fix it, or kill myself trying. I go around the corner and turn on the hall light. Eureka, there is the nuk! It was practically under my feet the whole time. I pick it up, but again the damage was done. By this time he is in full wailing mode, the nuk is useless. My patience is gone, and lay him in the crib. I cannot stand to listen to his cries anymore. I retreat to my room, wrap my arms around a pillow and cry.
My husband puts his arms around me. He tells me that I am a good mommy, and its ok. I am so far gone that I hear his words, but I don’t take solace in them. Wailing fades into whimpers and then stops. I thank God again and drift off to sleep.
Several minutes later, although it seems like hours, the pump cries a loud continuous beep. The feeding is finished. I get up again and turn off the pump. “Ah sleep,” I think to myself, but when I reach to remove the tubing…it is gone.
It takes only seconds for me to realize that the crying stopped because the tube fell out. I reach down into the crib and find a huge puddle. There is no knowing how much food he got, and there is no point to starting over. My husband helps me clean it up, change the sheets and the baby. I take the bags back to the fridge, and when I return, his sister is awake and crying. My husband picks her up to change her diaper and volunteers to feed her. “Go get some sleep,” he tells me.
Us
Wife, Parent, Nurse; my life raw and real, as I see it.
