Heartthrob

The following post is about "Baby #3".  I spent the entirety of my last volunteer shift with him.  Wonderful way to spend a Saturday afternoon, let me tell you!

“Okay, so let me just confess right now.  I’ve so totally given my heart to another guy.   After 43 years, no less.”  My poor husband was standing at the sink, preparing us a meal.  That’s when I sprang it on him.  Bad timing, I know.  But on the way home I had decided to tell him as soon as I was in the house. 

Without much concern he looks around and asks what I am talking about.  I rush on to explain it really wasn’t my fault.  What was I supposed to do?  He is movie star, leading man beautiful.  His name is movie star worthy.  His temperament is easy going.  He likes to cuddle.   AND, he’s going to have great hair.  Not his fault.  And, as I said, not mine.  No woman in her right mind could resist.

Pretty much unfazed, Allan turns back to the sink and returns to preparing vegetables.  Okay, so he knew I had to be talking about a little guy who most likely weighed less than 5 pounds, but, no reaction?  Really?  I think he should at least ask some questions about his competition.  Well, maybe I don’t give him time. 

He’s 67 days old.  At last weigh in he finally hit 4 pounds.  Born at 24 weeks, he weighed less than 2 pounds.  A month later he finally hit the 2 pound mark.  And once he got started, he was a go getter!  He gained the next pound in just two weeks.  A little over two weeks more and he tilted those scales at 4 pounds!  Besides being a heart-stopper and having a winning personality, he’s probably going to be athletic.  Need you even ask if he is going to be smart?  Just count on it. 

One of his most endearing qualities, ladies, he actually listens to a woman!  AND he responds!  Not with words, you understand.  But he definitely lets you know (when he is not napping) that he is all into you.   Practically impossible to believe, I know.  But I hate a lie so take this as the truth it is.  And when he smiles, I assure you, the most curmudgeonly of women could not withstand.  She would succumb with only a minimal sigh of surrender.   Just as I did.

 

Sweet Smile of Encouragement and God Holding My Hand

Somehow I DID pass the criminal background check and now volunteer in the Neonatal Intensive Care Unit (NICU) at the hospital.  (See blog post entitled “Big Day?")  I ABSOLUTELY LOVE it!!!  This was written September 29^th after I had completed my training.  The title of this post indicates it has some “religious stuff” in it.  But I don’t think it is a lot.  And any reader can skip over that part.  Just look at it as how the experience in the NICU affected me.  The part I think you will enjoy and not be sorry you read is about the babies themselves.    

I want to share the most touching story.  I just last night finished by training to be a volunteer in The Neonatal Intensive Care Unit at the Betty H Cameron Women’s and Children’s Hospital.  And, fair warning:  do NOT go there unless you understand very well that your heart will be captured immediately. 

Let me tell you about the first babies who started me out on a new adventure.  For the most obvious of reasons, I won’t use even their first names, or the initials.  I’ll have to assign each his/her number, according to the order in which I met them. 

Baby # 1 would win a baby beauty contest.  (I say that with the utmost respect to all those other beauties!)  Her little face is flawless, her little head perfectly shaped, her eyes ever so pretty, and the fingers of her little hand are exquisitely delicate and seem made for playing an instrument.  The fact that she doesn’t have so much in the hair “category” only adds to her beauty because there is just enough.  I would describe her hair color (as much as can be determined by the smattering of her current hairstyle) as very light brunette.  She has a totally feminine name; one that brings to mind the more delicate colors of springtime.  And by the way, she is a withdrawal baby.  But as she was settling down and giving in to the comfort of being held I reminded her that God knew all about this fact and He had sent me to pray over her.  She fell asleep as we were praying.

Baby #2 would be giving Baby #1 a run for her money in that beauty contest.  She has large, dark eyes that would defy the most callous to remain indifferent.  They are, without doubt, the most soulful eyes I have ever seen.  The fingers of her tiny hand are not long like those of Baby #1.  They are somewhat thicker and have larger fingernails, wonderfully shaped, as I told her, for polish.  And her hair?  Let me just say she is the would-be trendsetter, not only on her hallway, but within the entire NICU!  I personally love, love, love it!  Think in terms of cotton candy.  Its delicate texture and wispiness paint the correct mental picture for you.  But to give that picture a twist, Baby #2 wears that wispy look predominantly on top.  She likes a minimum amount of hair on the sides of her head, and practically none on the back.  A totally unique look, and, as I said, one I find eye-catching. 

Miss Baby #2 is an action oriented girl.  She sleeps very little.  And when she does she seems to prefer scrunched up positions.  By the second day we hung out together I think she was liking it that Miss Regenia was catching on.  If necessary I would hold my arm up at a somewhat awkward position and/or slouch down so Baby #2 would be half reclining, half sitting up and her head would rest against my cheek.  Whatever the position, Baby #2 was intractable on one thing.  She wanted her “paci” either in her mouth for some rather vigorous sucking or at hand so as to be available to her pretty much instantaneously.  (Miss Regenia, being non-athletic, has not yet mastered all the physical dexterity Baby #2 requires, but she is willing to work on it.) 

In addition to liking action, this baby girl is also determined.  Born at 25 weeks, she weighed only 1 pound 4 ounces.  She has undergone at least 2 surgeries and has had to have a good portion of her intestine removed.  As a consequence she is unable to absorb the nutrients she needs.  The very, very small feeding tube inserted in her nose provides ongoing nourishment, to help her in between feeding times.  She pays it no mind. 

When I first met her, I thought Baby #2 had attempted some gymnastic feat within the confines of her beautifully decorated “crib”.  I wanted to believe that was the cause of her tiny broken arm.  To wonder about it happening in any other way was unthinkable.  How uninformed and uneducated I am as a new volunteer baby holder!  Baby #2’s arm was in the cast because her diminutive bones are too fragile.  As I understand it, this would be less of a problem if her body could do a better job of grabbing onto all the nutritional benefits of her diet.  Her nourishment passes too rapidly through her system.   And, just as she does with regard to her feeding tube, Baby #2 ignores this inconvenience.  This cast, having to be a fashion accessory, is, thankfully, a neutral color.  She and I have determined that was a wise choice on the part of her doctors. 

With respect to their “figures”, Baby #1 and Baby #2 should have no concerns; both are perfect.  There is a difference, however, in how they came to have said figures.  Baby #1, being full term, came by hers naturally.  Baby #2, getting a good deal ahead of herself at birth, has had to go through a lot to attain hers.  That comes as no surprise, I’m sure, given what you've already learned about her life.     

But little lives that begin with such struggles and obstacles can bless us so effortlessly.  The first night Miss Baby #2 and I were together I informed her of my intention to pray over her.  As with all babies who are in essence a few weeks old, focusing on what I was saying was challenging.  She, of course, had not overtly responded to anything I had said.  However, being almost 5 months old, this baby girl had progressed in some ways beyond the two week old stage.  And the most wonderful thing happened.  I was explaining to her that her angels and those of all children always get first access to God the Father.  I went on to say that Jesus loved her very much and not to doubt that even given her rough start in life.  And you know what happened?  As I said the name Jesus, she smiled.  I mean actually smiled.  This wasn't just a stretching sideways of her tiny lips that could possibly be seen as a smile. This was a smile that would be defined as such by anyone who might see it. 

I found that so touching and encouraging.  But, like we all do, I began to doubt what I had seen.  After all, it could have been a true coincidence.  So I repeated my message that Jesus loves her.  And there it was; another big smile exactly when I said Jesus’ name.  Now, I really, REALLY had to check this out once more.  And once more Baby #2 gave me that same beautifully sweet smile a third time!  I almost felt as if she were letting me know she understood what I so desperately wanted her to know.  But that’s not all.  In the same way a speaker tries to gauge his/her approach and efficacy by looking for some form of acknowledgement from those listening, and is relieved to see even the slight shake of a head and/or the direct gaze of someone, I had unconsciously been looking for confirmation.  I think I wanted affirmation that I had done the right thing by volunteering to help with the babies, as opposed to somewhere else in the hospital.  That sweet smile was it.

Baby #1 and #2 like to hold hands with me.  I spent 90% of training time with Baby #2, so of course there is more to say about her.  At one point last night, when I was apparently correctly positioned per Miss #2’s preferences, I looked at her hand attached to by mine.  The ebony shade of her tiny hand clinging to my very pale, age spotted one was meaningful.  Should a water colorist been there to paint just our hands s/he could have entitled the work “Life Distilled”.  That’s what I saw, anyway.  I saw the cycle of life illustrated.  I saw the inherent need we humans have for one another, like it or not.  I saw that interconnectedness we have even across generations.  I saw the beauty, the fulfillment, the meaning of life when we recognize this fact and work as hard to live accordingly as Baby #2 has worked to survive.  I saw God holding my hand.  Sweet Baby #2’s hand was, in fact, His hand.  And I am thankful it was tightly gripping mine.  

Journal

It took me a while; a good long while, but I realized it in the last week or so. I think I enjoy the blogging world.  I’m not a Facebook aficionada nor do I follow any Twitter site.  Facebook visually overwhelms me.  And I do not want to know everybody that everyone else knows so that I end up with hundreds of “friends”.  I don’t want that to sound like a criticism; it is not.  Those are just straightforward reasons I personally do not enjoy that very popular form of social media.  My family not only use Facebook, but appreciate it as a means of staying in touch with friends and family; of sharing a laugh, whatever.   

And, now I have even less incentive to give that communication form a try.  Allan has learned the disturbing life views of at least one friend, as well as a number of people we know, based on their Facebook posts as a result of the presidential election.  Regardless of one’s political opinion we consider racism paraded as patriotism to be unacceptable. Totally.  As if that were not disappointing enough, the horrific loss at Newtown brought to light the outright disdain these same people have for anyone who believes it appropriate to rethink/discuss parts of our gun laws.  Regrettably, the conversations between those Facebook users left no uncertainty about that.  I was shocked, truly shocked, at just how vehement they were in their dislike for and condescension of those of us who are of the opinion that child safety has to come first, even at the expense of high capacity magazines.  I do not get the impression that agreeing to disagree is an option.  I find that sad and discouraging.  I decided that Facebook is the perfect name; it is a social media that can show the face behind the appearance.   It’s just that I don’t want to see such ugly faces when I thought friendliness and kindness depicted them as beautiful.  And it is like a “tell all” book for some to openly expose to suspicion anyone or any attitude with which they disagree; to feed the idea that finding a way between two extremes is a disloyal and traitorous suggestion.          

So, what about the blogging, you ask?  Well, I find blogging (the minimal I do and read) to be more personal.  Different from Facebook, you “connect” with individuals, not lots of people at once; you share what is important to you, without having to sift through so much other stuff.  That is what I like but also what I am afraid of.  Since adding a few blogs to my reading as a result of trying to slow down and work less, I am thinking about doing a profile. 

But I write about what I am thinking.  The whole purpose of beginning this blog was to use it as a form of therapy, a way of organizing my thoughts that had come to resemble one of our neighbor’s garage; jam packed, literally, from side to side, front to back, and almost top to bottom.  To access anything they must open the garage door, begin to put stuff on the driveway and front lawn until they reach what is wanted.  (This is not to berate our neighbors.   Admittedly this would drive me crazy, but since it does not seem to bother then, I am fine with however they choose to live; however they choose to store belongings.  It’s just that the chaos that is their garage is such an apt description of how grief impacts one’s intellectual abilities for a while.  Also, I like the analogy because I think everyone might either have such a garage, or knows someone who has too much stuff accumulated in too small a space.)

It was normal, I was told. From my own personal experience, I now think grief can act as an acid corroding the memory so it cannot retrieve stored information.  It can be the catalyst for a chemical reaction that alters the brain’s normal ability to process thoughts.  Imagine our neighbors, having a generator somewhere in their garage.  A storm that had been termed a milder tropical storm strenghtened rapidly into a category 2 hurricane and meteorologists are warning it has the potential of becoming a category 3.  It’s been cloudy and raining all day.  That, coupled with the fact that it is an October evening, makes 7:30 PM dark.  The lights are beginning to flicker.   Our neighbors have to open their garage door and begin tearing it apart in search of their generator.  (Again, that is not criticism.  It’s just how they are.  It is, I assure you, not hyperbole.) 

There you have an idea of just how dysfunctional the loss of a child can render a person.  A concrete example; a very capable woman who lost her daughter 7 years ago after a long and very debilitating illness recently told me she recalls the day she was able to remember a frequently called phone number.  She was relieved, she told me.  It gave her a very small amount of hope that maybe she would begin to be able to do tasks that are habitual to all of us, those that normally require little or no thought.     

Unless I do not understand, if I do a profile people can link to it from other blogs.  So I run the risk of having someone seeing a post and thinking I am writing about political and/or religious issues per se.  From my perspective and purpose I am trying to figure out how we humans can care so little about others.  As I said several years ago, perhaps very early on, I want to see /believe we remain diligent regarding how our thinking and living make us more or less sensitive to how much help we can be to one another; not to mention how much our lives are enriched in that way.

 I want to believe that we will not put ideology above all else.  I see things in the political realm that, to my way of thinking, should be anything but a political issue.  I see lots of ways we Christians are the personification of hypocrisy, selfishness and almost unmatched arrogance.  And we can be right down mean.   If we don’t stand up against that, how will we be ready to be a support and encouragement to others when they most need it?  And even if we manage to when it “counts”, won’t that simply reinforce our hypocrisy?  And if so, how is that any real help? 

Could we blame someone to whom we are trying to be compassionate if s/he/they view it skeptically?  Could we blame them if they see themselves as our opportunity to show just how Christian we are?  And people should not have to feel they are a “show and tell” instance of Christian goodwill.  They should experience wholehearted sincerity.  That’s what we received and what I want for others going through whatever tragedy.    

Maybe I could somehow offer a profile that could express all this?  The thought struck me the other day that this could be a journal I leave behind for Trista.  Maybe if I put that in my profile; make clear just how personal my blog is, that would discourage devoted haters of any idea differing from their own from bothering to comment?  I’ll have to give it all some thought. 

In the meantime I am going to write about some perfect little human beings.  And I do mean perfect!!