They used surfactant to keep his lungs open while on the ventilator. They gave him medications for pain and anxiety, as well as caffeine, nutrition, scant breastmilk and many other things I simply don't remember anymore.
They told us, make it through the first 7 hours. And he did okay. He wasn't rejecting the ventilator. He didn't show any signs of major distress. He was alive still. And I barely had a grip on what was even happening.
They told us, make it through the first 24 hours. And it was hard to not be by his side for every minute of that. I remember he had his hand resting on his neck, fingertips barely touching his skin. They sat like that for about an hour and he ended up breaking the skin where it touched (which can be dangerous because it is another opportunity for infection).
Everything was so delicate like that. His skin, his brain, his lungs, his eyes, his bowels. A diaper change was a major affair. Lifting up his bum at all could cause brain bleeds so it was done so delicately. Sometimes, certain portions of the cares (like the diaper change) were skipped altogether to decrease the exposure to stress.
I pumped a full 2 oz of colostrum the first night and the doctor said it was enough to "start a lemonade stand [for the micros]" and his nurse and I said "ew". 😂 He said that because Kaio had his cares and feedings every three hours and his first tube feed was within the first day and was a mere 0.1 ml. So, over the course of his first days, Kaio would get only 0.8 ml per 24hrs. I remember the nurse lightheartedly giggling about how tiny the amount was. Even though these nurses see tiny babies like this often, I can imagine it would be hard to get used to seeing these minuscule doses, and toes, and everything. I laughed along with her.
My husband and I prayed for comfort and for what was right for Kaio. My mother will often recall feeling like she did not know what to pray for. Was it right to ask this baby to go through so much pain? I laid in bed, barely able to sleep because I was wracked with stress, worry, and guilt. I often insisted we make late night visits to see him because I could barely breathe when we were away. He was a piece of me, left all alone and I could barely stand it. I cried to my husband and asked him what we could even do for him. Not much. So we left it in the Lord's hands and were simply there for him. We advocated for what we thought was in his best interest, I pumped to give his tummy the best chance at development, and we worried and visited and just tried to make it through. I took pictures and videos. I tried to not be afraid to love him, in case I lost him.
He made it through the first 7 days and things were going well enough for him to be extubated (HUGE for such a tiny guy!) and I held him only one week in. ...My first hold my need to be it's own little blurb. It was a lot. Holding him was not a simple task.
Anyway, he ended up with an infection by the next day and was intubated again and really fighting for his life for the next few weeks. We were amazingly lucky to have made it far enough and grow enough that he was able to handle his infection. It was weeks of adapting his care plan, trying new things, new medications, midnight calls to come say goodbye, and several events a day (where he refused the ventilator and had to be manually pumped with oxygen - "bagged").
But....slowly, we watched him grow. His skin developed and thickened. He opened his eyes. He showed his strong little spirit. We began to feel the days, instead of the hours.
I posted many things in his bay and one of my favorites was the quote:
"Preemies are like bumblebees: Aerodynamically, the bumble should not be able to fly, but the bumblebee doesn't know it so it goes on flying anyway."
So. He just kept flying.
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