Jakob's first days
What a marvellous time, when a baby is so young that his age is best counted in hours!
Jakob's first night was spent in a hospital bassinet, sandwiched between my hospital bed (in which he'd been born) and Werner's bunk. So many times that night, one or both of us woke up to check on him, either because he made a sound or, more alarmingly, because he was silent. I'd heard of new mothers watching their babies very closely, as though their observation was the only thing that kept the baby breathing, and it was a bit like that. My left leg was still impossibly numb (and was until about breakfast time the next morning, maybe 13 or so hours after Jakob's birth), so whenever Bärchen needed attention, Werner had to tend to him first. We had a kind nurse that evening who took good care of us, although through her unbelievably thick Aussie accent I understood perhaps 24% of what she actually said.
Because Jakob was born in the evening, we were told we'd probably be going home on Saturday morning. The hospital's policy for first-time mothers is a stay of just 24-36 hours, so we were going to be on the generous end of that scale. We were advised to rest up on Friday, as his appetite would probably kick when he was about 24 hours old.
Easier said than done.
For one thing, I was absolutely ravenous. No words could describe how hungry I was. Again, because Jakob was born late in the day, I missed supper. Hospital food isn't anything to get
excited about, but by the time he was born it had been about 24 hours since I'd eaten. I was given a tuna sandwich from the ward's fridge and Werner gave me some of the food that we'd packed to keep him going, but after 20 hours of labour and virtually no sleep, I needed a full meal. Once breakfast was finally served, I gobbled every last bit. (Same for just about every meal that appeared before me during my stay.) And, having finally discovered the tub, I enjoyed a soak as Werner helped me wash my hair.
I tried to rest, but kept being interrupted. The medical interruptions I could understand (checking his vitals and mine, and giving him his first bath), but with time I got mighty tired of the non-essential interruptions: the woman from 'preferred accomodations',
dropping off a parking pass and toiletry kit (courtesty of our insurance company, I suppose) and the flower delivery weren't so bad (actually, the flowers were very much appreciated!), but the woman trying to recruit me for the hospital's 'breastfeeding challenge' woke me up and really ticked me off. Werner headed home for a while during the afternoon (as he had done for a short period the evening before) to check up on the ailing Phoebecat. Jakob slept, and showed little interest in breastfeeding. He would latch on, suckle once or twice, and then use me as a pacifier. We asked for a lactation consultant.
That evening, friends came to meet Jakob. At the same time, since he had reached the 24 hour milestone, concern over his ambivalence with respect to nursing began to grow. The nurses tried to help me get him to latch, but he just wouldn't. We were doing everything right, but he just couldn't be bothered. A breastpump was brought in and I was hooked up. The collected colostrum was poured into a medicine cup, then collected into a dropper and dripped into Jakob's mouth as he suckled on either my or Werner's baby finger. (Is that why it is called a baby finger?)
That night, we had the first of two nurses I dubbed "Nurse Nasty". In both cases, I was made to feel as though I was letting everyone down because I wasn't breastfeeding. That I was a failure. It was not good for my spirits.
The pattern continued on Saturday. Jakob just wasn't interested in eating, so it became apparent that we were staying another night. Another woman came in to sign me up for the breastfeeding challenge. Her timing couldn't have been worse; yet again, the nurse was helping me try to feed Jakob, and I was getting very frustrated. If I could have tossed the breastpump, the breastfeeding challenge lady wouldn't have even seen it coming.
Werner headed home for a bit in the afternoon. The excited grandparents had managed to change their tickets and were flying out precisely two weeks early to meet their new grandson. I had hoped to have the house at least somewhat in order before going into labour, but alas that three-week-earliness undermined my good intentions. The guest bed needed to be made up with fresh sheets, and the guest bathroom (where I had spent a good portion of my at-home labour) needed to be cleaned. Well, really, the whole house needed to be cleaned, but at the very least the guest areas needed to be made presentable. Werner went home to do just that.
I called him from my hospital room and reached him as he waited at the airport. He was past his breaking point by then. He'd been doing double (or even triple) duty, as he cared for me and Jakob at the hospital and then came home to care for Phoebe. All this on very little sleep and a whole lot of adrenaline. Phoebe was supposed to be getting her medicine twice a day, but there was no way that could happen. She had been taking it willingly (happily, even), but perhaps because of her loneliness had begun to refuse her medicine. Werner got home on Saturday to find she'd become more sick than before, and had chosen the stroller as one spot in which to be sick. Then she refused to take her pill. He was tight on time and exhausted. He had to put her back in our ensuite before he could clean up and get to the airport. He just had time to get something small to eat, and to catch his breath, before the flight arrived. He brought Mom and Gord home and then to the hospital for an hour or so, brought them back home again, and then came back for the night. Then he helped me bathe, and we had another attempt at breastfeeding which was semi-successful, during which he and I both stayed in a very awkward position, we were so afraid to move in case it interrupted Jakob.
That night, we were woken up at some point by a nurse we'd never seen before (and never did see again) who shone a flashlight across the bassinet and into my face and asked me why I'd called. (I hadn't.)
Sunday morning, a different nurse. (The second Nurse Nasty. At one point, she said to me, "Don't you want to go home today?" Of course I was desperate to get home! But getting my baby to eat was a far higher priority than anything else.) I was still expressing colostrum so we could dropper-feed Jakob. And I was getting cabin fever, so Werner and I took Jakob for a walk on the ward. Then he stayed in the room so I could get some fresh air. I wrapped a bathrobe around myself, squeezed on my sandals, and headed outside for some crisp October air. Then I wandered through the hospital. I overheard a bit of a prenatal class, which seemed rather silly to me by then, found the cafeteria where Werner had been eating (my sympathies to him), and the Second Cup in Children's Hospital, where I bought a latte (for him), a hot chocolate (me), and a brownie (to share) before heading back to my room. While I was out, the community health nurse had stopped by and talked to Werner. He returned to said cafeteria as I ate my own hospital lunch.
Soon afterwards, Dr W. came in and checked us over again and declared us ready to be discharged. He watched me trying to nurse Jakob and concluded that we were doing everything right and that Jakob would just 'get it' very very soon.
Werner had taken the car seat out to make space for people and luggage, so packed up the flowers and most everything else and did a first trip home. While he was out, I dressed Jakob and finished packing up. I had planned to go out that very weekend to show Werner the outfit I thought would be good as a going home outfit, but oh well. So I put him into a diaper shirt, his cat sleeper, and the sweater my grandmother had knit. It was all so big on him! I took Jakob for another walk around our ward until Werner arrived with the carseat. We buckled him in, the nurse taped his ankle bracelet to the carseat handle (to prove he was ours!), gave the ok on the carseat, and we headed home.
Jakob's first night was spent in a hospital bassinet, sandwiched between my hospital bed (in which he'd been born) and Werner's bunk. So many times that night, one or both of us woke up to check on him, either because he made a sound or, more alarmingly, because he was silent. I'd heard of new mothers watching their babies very closely, as though their observation was the only thing that kept the baby breathing, and it was a bit like that. My left leg was still impossibly numb (and was until about breakfast time the next morning, maybe 13 or so hours after Jakob's birth), so whenever Bärchen needed attention, Werner had to tend to him first. We had a kind nurse that evening who took good care of us, although through her unbelievably thick Aussie accent I understood perhaps 24% of what she actually said.
Because Jakob was born in the evening, we were told we'd probably be going home on Saturday morning. The hospital's policy for first-time mothers is a stay of just 24-36 hours, so we were going to be on the generous end of that scale. We were advised to rest up on Friday, as his appetite would probably kick when he was about 24 hours old.
Easier said than done.
For one thing, I was absolutely ravenous. No words could describe how hungry I was. Again, because Jakob was born late in the day, I missed supper. Hospital food isn't anything to get
excited about, but by the time he was born it had been about 24 hours since I'd eaten. I was given a tuna sandwich from the ward's fridge and Werner gave me some of the food that we'd packed to keep him going, but after 20 hours of labour and virtually no sleep, I needed a full meal. Once breakfast was finally served, I gobbled every last bit. (Same for just about every meal that appeared before me during my stay.) And, having finally discovered the tub, I enjoyed a soak as Werner helped me wash my hair.I tried to rest, but kept being interrupted. The medical interruptions I could understand (checking his vitals and mine, and giving him his first bath), but with time I got mighty tired of the non-essential interruptions: the woman from 'preferred accomodations',
dropping off a parking pass and toiletry kit (courtesty of our insurance company, I suppose) and the flower delivery weren't so bad (actually, the flowers were very much appreciated!), but the woman trying to recruit me for the hospital's 'breastfeeding challenge' woke me up and really ticked me off. Werner headed home for a while during the afternoon (as he had done for a short period the evening before) to check up on the ailing Phoebecat. Jakob slept, and showed little interest in breastfeeding. He would latch on, suckle once or twice, and then use me as a pacifier. We asked for a lactation consultant.
That evening, friends came to meet Jakob. At the same time, since he had reached the 24 hour milestone, concern over his ambivalence with respect to nursing began to grow. The nurses tried to help me get him to latch, but he just wouldn't. We were doing everything right, but he just couldn't be bothered. A breastpump was brought in and I was hooked up. The collected colostrum was poured into a medicine cup, then collected into a dropper and dripped into Jakob's mouth as he suckled on either my or Werner's baby finger. (Is that why it is called a baby finger?)That night, we had the first of two nurses I dubbed "Nurse Nasty". In both cases, I was made to feel as though I was letting everyone down because I wasn't breastfeeding. That I was a failure. It was not good for my spirits.
The pattern continued on Saturday. Jakob just wasn't interested in eating, so it became apparent that we were staying another night. Another woman came in to sign me up for the breastfeeding challenge. Her timing couldn't have been worse; yet again, the nurse was helping me try to feed Jakob, and I was getting very frustrated. If I could have tossed the breastpump, the breastfeeding challenge lady wouldn't have even seen it coming.
Werner headed home for a bit in the afternoon. The excited grandparents had managed to change their tickets and were flying out precisely two weeks early to meet their new grandson. I had hoped to have the house at least somewhat in order before going into labour, but alas that three-week-earliness undermined my good intentions. The guest bed needed to be made up with fresh sheets, and the guest bathroom (where I had spent a good portion of my at-home labour) needed to be cleaned. Well, really, the whole house needed to be cleaned, but at the very least the guest areas needed to be made presentable. Werner went home to do just that.
I called him from my hospital room and reached him as he waited at the airport. He was past his breaking point by then. He'd been doing double (or even triple) duty, as he cared for me and Jakob at the hospital and then came home to care for Phoebe. All this on very little sleep and a whole lot of adrenaline. Phoebe was supposed to be getting her medicine twice a day, but there was no way that could happen. She had been taking it willingly (happily, even), but perhaps because of her loneliness had begun to refuse her medicine. Werner got home on Saturday to find she'd become more sick than before, and had chosen the stroller as one spot in which to be sick. Then she refused to take her pill. He was tight on time and exhausted. He had to put her back in our ensuite before he could clean up and get to the airport. He just had time to get something small to eat, and to catch his breath, before the flight arrived. He brought Mom and Gord home and then to the hospital for an hour or so, brought them back home again, and then came back for the night. Then he helped me bathe, and we had another attempt at breastfeeding which was semi-successful, during which he and I both stayed in a very awkward position, we were so afraid to move in case it interrupted Jakob.
That night, we were woken up at some point by a nurse we'd never seen before (and never did see again) who shone a flashlight across the bassinet and into my face and asked me why I'd called. (I hadn't.)
Sunday morning, a different nurse. (The second Nurse Nasty. At one point, she said to me, "Don't you want to go home today?" Of course I was desperate to get home! But getting my baby to eat was a far higher priority than anything else.) I was still expressing colostrum so we could dropper-feed Jakob. And I was getting cabin fever, so Werner and I took Jakob for a walk on the ward. Then he stayed in the room so I could get some fresh air. I wrapped a bathrobe around myself, squeezed on my sandals, and headed outside for some crisp October air. Then I wandered through the hospital. I overheard a bit of a prenatal class, which seemed rather silly to me by then, found the cafeteria where Werner had been eating (my sympathies to him), and the Second Cup in Children's Hospital, where I bought a latte (for him), a hot chocolate (me), and a brownie (to share) before heading back to my room. While I was out, the community health nurse had stopped by and talked to Werner. He returned to said cafeteria as I ate my own hospital lunch.
Soon afterwards, Dr W. came in and checked us over again and declared us ready to be discharged. He watched me trying to nurse Jakob and concluded that we were doing everything right and that Jakob would just 'get it' very very soon.
Werner had taken the car seat out to make space for people and luggage, so packed up the flowers and most everything else and did a first trip home. While he was out, I dressed Jakob and finished packing up. I had planned to go out that very weekend to show Werner the outfit I thought would be good as a going home outfit, but oh well. So I put him into a diaper shirt, his cat sleeper, and the sweater my grandmother had knit. It was all so big on him! I took Jakob for another walk around our ward until Werner arrived with the carseat. We buckled him in, the nurse taped his ankle bracelet to the carseat handle (to prove he was ours!), gave the ok on the carseat, and we headed home.
posted by Melanie A at 9:24 a.m.
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