That was me.
I watched for three long hours as they put a picc line in Alex my new born baby, 5 different tries, LOTS of blood, and finally success in his neck.
I watched the doctor tilt his head back, open his mouth, and stick a tube into his airway so he could breath.
I saw countless blood draws for blood gasses.
I watched him cry while intubated, no sound could come out, but tears came out of his eyes.
I watched him struggle to breath, able to count every rib in his side because he was trying so hard to get the air he needed.
I watched him lay there for two weeks before I was able to hold him once.
I watched his BPM (beats per minute) on the monitor reach 200 while he had pulmonary hypertension.
I got used to the alarm going off because his O2 levels were to low.
I learned how to stick a tube into his nose, down his throat, and into his stomach so I could feed him.
I kissed him goodbye for his malrotation of the intestines surgery, and then went and ate lunch with my husband, like it was any other day..........................
I was NICU ROCK, I was already laid out on the ground, knocked down from the diagnosis, and all that I had witnessed.
It has almost been two years.
He isn't Alexander Jon Pruitt (Room 1849) to me.
He is Bird, Albie.
He loves to snuggle,
he loves to read books,
he loves to laugh,
he loves to lay on his pillow,
he loves pressing buttons,
he loves his music cube,
he loves peek a boo, and patty cake.
He loves the wind in his face.
He LOVES his mamma.
His brothers can always make him laugh.
He loves his bath,
he loves to explore,
he loves to sit on his bottom, and go around in a circle on the kitchen floor,
He loves chocolate chip muffins.
He loves cell phones.
I really don't want to do this.
Im NOT the the ROCK that I was.
Im his mamma.