Don’t Panic! Or, Going on a Field Trip

You may be surprised to learn that medical professionals, for all their expertise and extensive science-based training, are supremely superstitious. Nurses have rules about which way the lines of the baby blanket run on the bed (always vertical, never horizontal). They never ever positively comment on a good outcome, fearing an immediate reversal of said outcome. Most importantly, they never utter the word “home” in the presence of a patient (or pretty much ever), instead opting for a less than accurate phrase, “going on a field trip.” 

I think the superstition is a way of feeling like they have some influence or control over a wholly unpredictable and uncontrollable job. Of course, I welcome the insights of friends in the medical field should I be wrong about that observation. The superstition has grown on me. I follow their rules about the direction of the blanket lines; I have abstained from using the word “home.” I do still commend Liam for his amazing progress with his practice feeds by mouth and I never fail to acknowledge when we have a good day in PPCU (Pediatric Progressive Care Unit, aka: Step Down). I will let you know how that turns out next week.

Getting ready for our “field trip” is a slow process. The prospect of a field trip is both incredibly exciting and anxiety-ridden and there are a lot of hoops we must jump through before we can make that journey.  We have to prove we areproficient in infant CPR. We must be able to consistently place an NG tube (nasal gastronomy tube or, for us laymen, a feeding tube). Logan and I will each have to successfully complete a 24 hour care test wherein each parent individually takes responsibility over the care of Liam (with a nurse waiting in the wings should we need medical assistance) to prove we can handle the world beyond the hospital doors. These are all extraordinarily important hoops, but nonetheless nerve-wracking.

Yesterday, I watched a 30 minute video on infant CPR. While informative and beneficial, the only thing that kept running through my head was, I might have to do this to Liam someday. That is an incredibly painful idea to absorb as a parent. Sure, plenty of other parents with healthy kids will also have to do this (and maybe won’t know how), but unlike those parents we can’t take our son from the hospital until we prove we are competent, because we absolutely have to be. 

Being confronted with the complexities we will face is sobering. Soon, our training wheels will be off and the only people responsible for our son’s survival on a day to day basis will be us. One of the realities we hadn’t given much thought to is the equipment- before we can go on a field trip, we must have delivered to our home the following: an oxygen tank, feeding apparati (dispensing machine, NG tubes, etc...), a stethoscope (to ensure we don’t accidentally place a feeding tube in our child’s lungs), a pulse ox (not one you buy at Target) to ensure his oxygen saturations are maintained at the appropriate level)- the list goes on. 

Living at the hospital for over a month now, our only thoughts each day are in each moment; we have very little energy or forethought about what the future will look like beyond the bright lights and excessive beeping. “Don’t Panic!” as Douglas Adams sagely offers, is all we can truly hope to do for now. That, and learn all the things we need to take our little boy into the sunshine and out of this sterile, white box.

And no, of course we’re not going to tell you when we’re expected to take our field trip. What special kind of idiot do you take us for?