Clark's Birth Story | Part Three. | A Beautifully Wrecked Life

To read Part One, click here. To read Part Two, click here.

By the Saturday following Clark’s birth, my blood pressure was under control and I was well enough to be discharged from the hospital. One part of me was eager to get home, where I had a better chance of getting some sleep. But a greater part of me was absolutely a mess at the thought of leaving the hospital without Clark. While we were all there together, we were only separated by one floor and we could easily pop down to visit him; however, our house is on the other side of a very chaotic African city with terrible traffic at all times of the day and night.

Thankfully, our discharge took a while to process, so we were able to spend a large portion of the day in the NICU with Clark. That morning, he was still on the ventilator from the surfactant administration the night before, so we weren’t able to hold him, but his pediatrician had encouraged us to stroke him and talk to him. I stood at his Isolette for an insanely long time holding his hand, rubbing his arms and legs, praying over him, and talking to him. My arms, back, and legs were aching, but not nearly as much as my heart at the thought of leaving him later that day.

Dr. Michael came in later that morning and told us that he was beginning the process of weaning Clark off of the ventilator. We were really surprised, as we thought he would certainly be on it for a few days, per our conversation with him the day before. However, we rejoiced that Clark had responded so well to the surfactant and prayed that his lungs were able to do most of the work without the ventilator. The next several hours would be crucial.

By Saturday afternoon, we were packing our things and preparing to leave the hospital. We were both exhausted, emotionally drained, and ready to sleep in our own bed. But leaving was again a new level of pain I had never felt. I sobbed all the way out of the hospital, drawing the attention of everyone we passed, and continued to cry all the way home. I had just left my heart in the NICU of an African hospital. Would I ever heal from this experience?

Sunday morning, after the first real sleep we’d had in a full week, we were up early, packing our bag to spend the day in the NICU (our bag included snacks, water, breast pump, nursing cover, and books to read to Clark). I had been up every 3 hours pumping so that I could continue to give Clark breast milk through his feeding tube, but I felt better than I had all week. It always amazes me what rest can do to reset a person.

After we arrived at the hospital, dropped off my milk, and scrubbed in, we hurried back to Clark’s Isolette. We were overjoyed to find him completely off the ventilator and breathing much better with only a cannula. His chest still dipped in lower than it should have with each breath, but it looked exponentially better than it had only a few days before. We were praising God that he was responding so well to the treatment! We were able to talk with the doctor again that afternoon for a full update, and he explained that they would begin slowly reducing the amount of oxygen Clark was getting each day. He warned us that it could still take up to a couple of weeks for him to be stable enough to go home, but he was really optimistic about his progress thus far.

Again, it’s hard to explain what I was feeling and why, but hearing that it would still be two more weeks crushed me. I should have left that day feeling nothing but happiness at how well Clark had progressed, but instead I felt an immense sorrow that I had a baby, but I couldn’t be his mother. I hadn’t been able to feed him on my own, I couldn’t hold him, and I hadn’t even changed his diapers. I felt incredibly helpless every single day as I sat watching other people take care of my son. The only thing I could do was pump every two hours during the day and every three hours at night to make sure that he was at least getting the best possible nutrition. Pumping became a lifeline for me. I think that people assumed that because we were home and Clark was still in the NICU, we were getting a full night’s sleep, but that couldn’t have been further from the truth.

That week was one of the longest weeks of our lives, as we had to commute for an hour to an hour and a half each way to see Clark every day, avoid corrupt traffic police, sit within the confines of the tiny NICU, continue to struggle against cultural barriers, and keep pumping around the clock. Day after day that was our routine. It was grueling. And yet we continued to feel the Lord’s blessings. Blaise and I were somehow able to keep laughing together, not every moment of every day, but enough to lighten our spirits. We also had our socks blessed off when one of the Mission Aviation Fellowship (MAF) wives organized meal delivery for us. Every day for 9 days a meal was delivered to our house while we were at the hospital. All we had to do was come home, warm it up, and eat. I cannot express how huge of a burden that lifted, not having to think about grocery shopping and cooking on top of everything else.

While that week was incredibly long and arduous, things also happened at lightning speed. Sunday afternoon we were able to hold Clark again for very limited amounts of time. His condition was not stable yet, so we could hold him and then we had to place him back in his Isolette to rest. But every second he was in my arms my heart healed just a little bit more.

By Monday we were able to begin Kangaroo Care with him, which is where we would place him upright on our chest skin-to-skin with a blanket covering us. Babies in Kangaroo Care have better regulated body temperatures, higher blood-oxygen levels, and gain weight faster. I would sit like that with him for hours, often times really needing to pump to stay on schedule, but not able to put him down. I was even able to begin feeding him myself by just holding the syringe up while the breast milk went through his feeding tube. It wasn’t much, but every little bit was therapy to me, too.

We continued Kangaroo Care all week, and by Thursday afternoon he was completely off oxygen. Remember, this was a full week sooner than the doctor had originally estimated. I was holding him when they took the cannula off of him, and I just started praying like mad that his O2 levels would stay high. They hooked Clark up to a continuous pulse-oximeter while he was still on me, and Blaise and I sat obsessively watching his numbers. Hours after he was taken off of oxygen, his levels were still well into the 90s. We left that evening very hopeful, and yet terrified. My fear was that we would arrive Friday morning and he would be back on oxygen.

That afternoon, I was also able to begin breastfeeding him. It was a slow start, because for 11 days Clark had his food delivered to him via feeding tube and had almost no suck reflex. I tried not to be disheartened by his lack of interest in breastfeeding, but like everything else in the NICU world, it was quite emotional for me. The nurses began giving him a bottle, but it was hard to watch because he didn’t take it well either and spit up often. However, he was off the feeding tube completely, and again, we had to see how he would do overnight to determine if that would last.

Friday morning came and I nervously scrubbed in, literally trembling, as I wondered what we would find. PRAISE THE LORD! Clark was still off oxygen and his levels had stayed in the 90s all night long! And he had eaten well all night via bottles of breast milk! That day, the doctor came in to assess him and said it was time for Clark to graduate from the Isolette to a regular baby cot! I teared up when the doctor gave us that great news, and it was a HUGE moment for us when they moved all of his things over to the cot. There were some other parents of preemies in there at the time, and they all smiled and congratulated us on this huge milestone in Clark’s life.

Before we left for the day that Friday, the doctor told us to come prepared the following day, because if all went well that night, we would be asked to room-in with Clark upstairs in the maternity ward. He cautioned us that everything had to go just right all night long, but if Clark’s condition remained stable, we would be looking at our final few days in the hospital.

That night, I excitedly packed that hospital bag I’d never had a chance to pack before Clark was born. I was over-the-moon with excitement, and Blaise kept cautioning me that we might be able to room-in with him, but we also might not. I blocked all of the maybes and mights and allowed myself to believe that this was it, we would finally be spending the first night with our son.

The final installment of Clark’s birth story to follow.

Sunday: So thrilled to see Clark off of the ventilator!

Finally able to hold him again Sunday afternoon after 4 days of not being able to was like Christmas morning!

Monday: Kangaroo Care.

Tuesday: More Kangaroo Care.

Our view for two weeks: the Neonatal Intensive Care Unit at Nakasero Hospital, Kampala, Uganda. Clark’s Isolette is the one on the right with the huge, black oxygen tank in front of it.