Fire hydrants of tasty mama-love
It was 3 AM. The moment I’d opened my eyes I recognized the sensation, that familiar heaviness. Bagfuls of marbles, as I know they get for me. But there’s liquid gold in them there marbles. Now despite everything I can be useful. I can contribute to healing instead of just going down there and falling apart.
In the darkness I fumbled for the pen and blindly wrote fire hydrants of tasty mama love on a piece of paper, suddenly optimistic at the prospect of milk, at something being normal.
We’re searching for peace, all of us, desperately.
Every morning we call down to the NICU in hopes of hearing news of an uneventful night — these days, to hear ‘uneventful’ is like winning the lottery. One more spell of no-steps-back, a chance for the boys to gain a little of something — strength, momentum or just plain rest.
Today Liam will have another brain scan to judge the state of his hemorrhage and to assess the damage it’s caused. He is still deep purple but less puffy today than he was (the sight of which sent me into a tailspin yesterday morning). I have started being able to talk to him, to find words.
Ben continues to breathe on his own, cranky old man that he is… bless him. He’d been tugging at the tube until they took it out yesterday, replaced it with a mask which is much less invasive. Both boys are under the lights to address hemoglobin and blood cell issues, wearing their tiny sunglasses as they kick back at ‘the beach’.
The sight of them, the machines and tubes and wires, still takes the wind out of me like a punch to the stomach. I’m exhausted of crying. I have to be brave enough to see potential in both of our boys. To push aside our own anxieties so that we can see the life underneath all the props. Easier said than done… self-preservation and hope are uneasy bedfellows.
Sometimes I rest my head against the plastic, my voice pressed up to the access hole, and close my eyes, just sensing them, and letting them sense me. They can’t see me, and I can’t see them. It calms me like a skittish horse with blinders. Helps me to just coo to them, to slip into being their mama.
Yesterday, glued to your comments as they unfolded, my mother said, “You have some incredible friends out there,” and it made me smile. That’s what you all are to me — some in real-life, some known but never-met, some anonymous until now. Putting corners around this mess is my medicine, and I’d do it regardless of company. But to have all of you respond from the void is magic.
I won’t be spending much time online, and updates may be sporadic or utilitarian at best. This wholly inadequate blanket ‘thank-you’ comes straight from this milky-mama heart to each one of you. Your words and your delurking, and your own experiences and continued solidarity mean so much.
It’s 7 AM now and I’m off to pump, to see what sweetness these explosive jubblies have to offer. I’ll sit here and think back to the blissed-out squeaks Evan used to make while nursing, and my shoulders will unclench. And our family will mine for gold wrapped in the light of friendship.
Tuesday, May 8, 2007 in the twins
Reader Comments (68)
and Ben's breathing on his own! that's wonderful. i'll be thinking of Liam and his brain scan all day...keep us posted when you can.
you have made friends of us all with your words and your honesty and your wit, and now i know that everyone out here would desperately love to give you more than just words in return...but i'm glad they are something. there is a lot of love and energy out there being directed towards those wee babies...i hope it brings grace to them, and some peace and warmth to you, Kate.
keep the fire hydrants pumping with all that good stuff...and keep being honest with yourself in the craziness that is the NICU.
And your fire hydrants: such wonderful news.
I'm thinking about you and your family a lot today. I wish I could do more than send virtual hugs - from one milky mama to another.
Peace be with you and yours.
I'm glad the sweetness has taken hold, and let loose.
Much hugs, much mama love from this way too.
Your words are so beautiful and so embued with strength, even though that strength is hard-won for you at this time. I send continued support and thoughts of health, renewal, and possibility.
Jen
kristin
Just got the note from Andrew. It cut into my heart to read it. I'm really sorry you (and the boys) have to go through this. Every ounce of my spirit is with you.
Chris
You were also the first thing I thought of this morning, getting twitchy until I could check your site. Don't feel like you have to update, but I'm so glad you have.
Much love to you. Northern BC is rooting for those boys!
Just wanted to say that I am thinking of you and the babies every hour of every day. Andrew and I are trying to send as many positive vibes and thoughts out East as we can. You and Justin are being so strong, I can only hope if I'm ever called upon with Molly, that I can do the same. You are an inspiration to parents everywhere. thank you so much!
Wishing you few set backs, lots of steps forward and the patience to wait as they heal and grow.
I talked to my 8 y.o. about the twins' early birth and he said, "I hope she can hold her babies a bunch, they will love it."
Lots of love sent your way.
I found you through my friend, Eve's blog. Have faith and I will say some prayers for your darling boys. I had a baby cousin born one year ago @ 26 weeks...she weighed just over a pound, and it looked quite grim for awhile.
I am happy to tell you that after many ups and downs, she is thriving and doing all of the wonderful things that one year olds do.
I will pray for the same thing for your sweeties.
Hugs to your family,A new reader from Nova Scotia
I know nothing about preemies (not even sure how to spell it) except that you and Justin must be very, very scared right now, so I'm really glad that your 'online friends' have been able to offer you some comfort.
I hope your precious babies, Ben and Liam, have lots and lots of 'uneventful' times ahead.
Want to read a happy ending? A friend of mine went through much of what you are going through and now has two healthy growing boys.Here is her blog:http://blog.360.yahoo.com/terrablu
My heart and hugs to your little fighters.
And then, you have a whole, whole lot of energy coming your way from out in the world - your loved ones, and us internet strangers - and there is nothing like it. Positive energy and love pouring at you and your boys in the amounts they're pouring in...that is serious mojo, real-world, real-life mojo that is proven to make a difference.
So we're going to keep it up. We're going to firehose the good stuff toward you without ceasing.
And topping that by an incalculable amount is the mama love. Sweet, ferocious mama love. You are the best fountain of medicine there is, and the good thing is you don't have to be feeling strong or juicy for that to be the case. It's there, underneath everything, always, pumping out its terrible*, majestic beauty. Life bows down before mama love. Your babies have the chief goddess available right with them.
*terrible, you know, in the sense of powerful and intimidating
My family and I are hovering near the internets, sending our good wishes, and calling on our best gods for you. May you have unstoppable good fortune from here on out.
Now I sit here, ten co-workers chatting around me, taking phone calls, and I'm smiling through quickly swallowed tears. Something good happened in a bad way.
I wish you and your suddenly big family all the best from Amsterdam.
Wish there were more I could do.
Wish there were more I could do.