What can I possibly write that can begin to explain the joy I'm feeling right now? I'm blogging this from my couch at home. On my right hand is my cat, Cinder, who I've had for fifteen years. On my left hand, kicking his legs a little and cooing ever so gently is my four day old son, John Ryan Melsom. Lis is taking some well deserved sleep in the room.
Five weeks early. These words can be pretty scary when you're expecting a baby. If you live in a country with great medical care like Canada, your baby will probably survive by virtue of the amazing medical technology and knowledge that's available, but you're still looking at two to three weeks in intensive care, possible feeding tubes, incubators, phototherapy, and prolonged familial separation. Sometimes babies don't make it. It happened to my parents. In the BC Women's and Children's Hospital where we delivered, there are all of these tiles on the wall commemorating children who were born in the hospital and its predecessor, Grace Hospital, and some are dedicated "in loving memory." I teared up when I saw this today, because I knew very directly just how lucky we were and are. This was the same hospital where my parent's twins died in 1989.
So how is it that I'm sitting here at home with my baby boy by my side? Part of it became clear when, upon our preparations to leave the hospital today, a meek little woman came into the room holding a clipboard. She asked Lis and I if we'd be willing to participate in a research study on new parents' response to crying. We said yes without hesitation, and it was in no small part because not one day earlier my mom had told me that when she was staying at Grace Hospital in 1989, she had participated in another research study. That one was on the the syndrome that was complicating her pregnancy, and she even told us that the doctor had stated to her -- correctly -- that they would be able to cure it within ten years. They do now, all the time, and this kind of dedicated, patient research that guided our boy's amazing first few days in the world. Through a very simple combination of a dedicated feeding plan, skin-to-skin temperature regulation, and a couple simple (though unpleasant) tests to measure for jaundice, our boy stayed healthy through these crucial first days.
I have to say, though, that I do also believe there was an element of the miraculous and a strong little will to live in all of this. One of the pediatricians was emphatic in stating to us that we were able to go home as early as could be imagined for a baby born this early. As any proud parent, I'd like to think our little guy is special, and that the angels were watching over him, and I do think they were (along with the caring thoughts of our amazing friends and family). The little guy did better on his APGAR score than I did when I was born, and I was a week overdue. To me, that's a clear sign that he wasn't even really premature. He was ready. In another post, I'll tell the story about how the Festival of Lights where baby John made his first announcement factors into all of this. but for now, I'd better wrap things up because baby is stirring and who knows when I'll be able to sit down to write again.
I'll be talking about all kinds of thoughts I've had this first week as they come to me. They might be a little scattered and appear at the most random hours, because we are most definitely on the feeding clock at this point. To any parent who has suffered complications in pregnancy, and to all the ones who had things go swimmingly, I just want to say that each birth has meaning, and each baby is awesome in its own right. I also want to encourage anyone who has the chance to support and participate in infant research, because it has real, actual effects on children's lives. There's love in the air at our house, and our hearts are out there with all of our wonderful and supportive relatives and friends on all sides of the globe. Welcome to the world amazing baby John! We already love you more than all the words in the world could express!
Five weeks early. These words can be pretty scary when you're expecting a baby. If you live in a country with great medical care like Canada, your baby will probably survive by virtue of the amazing medical technology and knowledge that's available, but you're still looking at two to three weeks in intensive care, possible feeding tubes, incubators, phototherapy, and prolonged familial separation. Sometimes babies don't make it. It happened to my parents. In the BC Women's and Children's Hospital where we delivered, there are all of these tiles on the wall commemorating children who were born in the hospital and its predecessor, Grace Hospital, and some are dedicated "in loving memory." I teared up when I saw this today, because I knew very directly just how lucky we were and are. This was the same hospital where my parent's twins died in 1989.
So how is it that I'm sitting here at home with my baby boy by my side? Part of it became clear when, upon our preparations to leave the hospital today, a meek little woman came into the room holding a clipboard. She asked Lis and I if we'd be willing to participate in a research study on new parents' response to crying. We said yes without hesitation, and it was in no small part because not one day earlier my mom had told me that when she was staying at Grace Hospital in 1989, she had participated in another research study. That one was on the the syndrome that was complicating her pregnancy, and she even told us that the doctor had stated to her -- correctly -- that they would be able to cure it within ten years. They do now, all the time, and this kind of dedicated, patient research that guided our boy's amazing first few days in the world. Through a very simple combination of a dedicated feeding plan, skin-to-skin temperature regulation, and a couple simple (though unpleasant) tests to measure for jaundice, our boy stayed healthy through these crucial first days.
I have to say, though, that I do also believe there was an element of the miraculous and a strong little will to live in all of this. One of the pediatricians was emphatic in stating to us that we were able to go home as early as could be imagined for a baby born this early. As any proud parent, I'd like to think our little guy is special, and that the angels were watching over him, and I do think they were (along with the caring thoughts of our amazing friends and family). The little guy did better on his APGAR score than I did when I was born, and I was a week overdue. To me, that's a clear sign that he wasn't even really premature. He was ready. In another post, I'll tell the story about how the Festival of Lights where baby John made his first announcement factors into all of this. but for now, I'd better wrap things up because baby is stirring and who knows when I'll be able to sit down to write again.
I'll be talking about all kinds of thoughts I've had this first week as they come to me. They might be a little scattered and appear at the most random hours, because we are most definitely on the feeding clock at this point. To any parent who has suffered complications in pregnancy, and to all the ones who had things go swimmingly, I just want to say that each birth has meaning, and each baby is awesome in its own right. I also want to encourage anyone who has the chance to support and participate in infant research, because it has real, actual effects on children's lives. There's love in the air at our house, and our hearts are out there with all of our wonderful and supportive relatives and friends on all sides of the globe. Welcome to the world amazing baby John! We already love you more than all the words in the world could express!
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