This article is a continuation from Premature Doubt – Emotional Overload

So there we were, sitting alone in the multipurpose room again. As soon as we sat down, I could tell that Lori’s mind was racing, and mine was too. Compelled by anxiety, both of us walked into the lobby area and peaked around the corner to try and catch a glimpse of what was happening. We saw a crowd of nurses, doctors and techs around Caitlin, but we couldn’t see what they were doing.

“What’s happening,” Lori asked. “What are they doing to her? Can you see?”

“No, honey,” I said. “I can’t tell what they’re doing.”

The receptionist asked us to please wait in the multipurpose room. She said that the doctor would come talk to us in just a moment. We asked her if she knew what was going on. She said she didn’t.

While frustrating at times, I was actually impressed at how well the entire staff of nurses and support people were trained NOT to divulge information to the parents. They always let the doctors explain what was happening, so that we got accurate information and no false hope.

We sat back down in the room, holding each other’s hands, just like earlier in the day. We were both emotionally exhausted. Lori had cried so much that her eyes were all puffy, and her normally pristine make-up was disheveled and splotchy.

“Caitlin’s going to be just fine,” Lori said with a positive tone. “I know it – she’s going to get better and come home with us, and we’re all going to be happy.” By the time she got the words out, though, I could see a tear in her eye and knew that she was really giving herself a pep talk.

I smiled and agreed, although I could feel myself starting to get worried. I hate waiting, and each moment moved passed slowly by with no sign of anyone coming to talk to us. What were they doing? Patience is a virtue, but it’s not one of mine. I could feel my heart beating faster, and it was everything I could do to contain myself and remain calm. I needed to stay positive for Lori – I thought – because she was already stressed and I didn’t want to make things worse.

Finally, about the time I thought I’d explode, the doctor came in to see us.

“What’s wrong with Caitlin?” I said rather abruptly. “Is she alright? I mean we were only gone for an hour or so – what could have happened so quickly?”

The doctor said the nurse thought that Caitlin was in a lot of pain and that she was having trouble resting. After examining her, the doctor agreed. She decided to administer another dose of the Fentanyl, only this time she ordered a much lower amount.

Twenty minutes after giving her the pain killer, she had another apnea (stopped breathing) and they had to resuscitate her gain. Caitlin was stable now though, so the doctor assured us that we didn’t need to worry about that particular thing (only all of the other scary stuff she was going through).

The doctor said we should make a mental note for later in life that Caitlin may not be able to tolerate narcotics without a severe reaction. She told us Caitlin would not be able to receive any more pain medication, unless absolutely necessary; and then, they would try a different family of drugs to attempt to avoid another apnea episode.

It’s hard to know what to say during this type of conversation. You don’t want to see your kid in pain, but more than that you don’t want to see your kid stop breathing. We told the doctor we would prefer that Caitlin not be given any more pain medication, unless absolutely necessary; and, we politely asked to be consulted prior to giving it to her, to which the doctor gladly agreed.

We thanked the doctor for stabilizing Caitlin again, and then we went back to see her. When I looked at her, I could just tell that she had been through a lot today. She had bags under her eyes; her skin color was yellowish from the jaundice; she had bruises in all of the previous places that the intravenous lines had been; and, she periodically grimaced and squenched her eyes.

She was responsive to our touch, even though we could only hold her little hands. She tightly squeezed our fingers, as if to say, “Please, don’t leave me alone here.”

We stayed by her bedside late into the evening, until she finally seemed to fall into a deep sleep. Lori and I were exhausted too, so we begrudgingly decided to go home.

“I hope they don’t call us with any bad news tonight,” Lori said, as we walked down the hall toward the security exit.

“Yeah, me too,” I said. “Everything is going to work out – Caitlin’s a little fighter, and I’m sure we’ll get some good news in the morning.”

Later that night, I was awakened by the sound of a crying baby…….

I’ll post more about our story soon. In the meantime, feel free to get caught-up by reading the Related Posts below and see pictures of our baby girl Caitlin Arielle.

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