An End and a Beginning

Glory, hallelujah! Eva is home!

My sweet baby girl spent her first 54 days of life in the NICU, undergoing surgery, tests, pokes, prods, and inspections. Nearly two months went by from the time I first held her in my arms to the time I first held her in my home. And I can tell you, friends, it was worth the wait. 

An End 

So with abundant joy we celebrated the release of our Eva Sparrow out into the wild. In fact, the day she was being sent home, my husband Mark jokingly said it felt like we were headed not to a hospital but to a prison break. She’d been in there so long we wondered if she’d ever be considered “well enough” to send home. But on Monday, March 29, they finally gave her the all clear. Her face rash had cleared up entirely. She wasn’t spitting up too much milk. In fact, she could take enough milk to get rid of the Picc line, and the rest of her medication could be given orally. She was free! 

We were finally getting her outta there, and there was no looking back. We snatched her up, snapped a few pics, and put the pedal to the metal. Peace out, NICU! And so ended a seemingly endless era of daily commutes, faithful babysitters, unused onesies, nights apart, and the constant worry about how she was doing when we weren’t there with her. Goodbye and good riddance! It was all sunshine and butterflies from here on out!

A Beginning

Those of you who have been in similar situations are either chuckling or shaking your heads right now, aren’t you? Because the reality is that having our precious little Sparrow home in our nest is both delightful and nerve-wracking. My worry about her being away from us in NICU is replaced by my worry that she’s home with us! Now, instead of an ever-rotating list of well-trained nurses to take care of her, Eva has two well-meaning but decidedly unmedical parents on call 24/7. My daily (and nightly) mental soundtrack plays to the tune of “Is this normal? Is she ok? Should I text her surgeon?”  

She’s a fragile little fighter. We are constantly on the lookout for signs that things have gone south with the surgery or her medications. She’s on four different meds and supplements, and we have to keep up with the doses every few hours, day and night. That means plenty of pumping; bottles; and dishes, dishes, dishes. Ohhh, the dishes. Can we hire someone just to wash all the breast pump and milk bottle parts for us? It’s nearly a full-time job. We can’t pay much, but you’re welcome to raid our snack cupboard while you’re here. And trust me—I haven’t been stocking it with health food lately.

Valid Concerns

Aside from the time spent washing dishes, my bigger concerns are for Eva’s continued healing. While some of my worry is baseless, plenty of it is legit. Because of the way her plumbing has been rerouted, her bile empties into her stomach instead of joining the party after food leaves her tummy. This gives her “bile reflux,” which makes her uncomfortable, especially when she spits up. And her spit ups are alarming because they’re bile-tinged with yellow or occasionally green. We’re told this is normal for her, but it’s still unnerving. We have to keep her tilted upright pretty much all day and night because otherwise her milk likes to come spilling out of her mouth. Keeping her upright doesn’t always prevent this either. That’s just par for the course with babies, but the fact that I know her stomach is still new to the digestion game makes it more alarming for me.

Even more alarming is her recent habit of choking on mucus. We’re still on the hunt to figure out what’s causing it, but it sure scares the pants off of me. She’ll be sleeping peacefully and then all of a sudden, she’s stiff as a board and completely incapacitated with panic because she can’t breathe. She manages to scream and take a breath now and then, but it’s often a 5- or 10-minute process to suction out her mouth and calm her down again. In my unprofessional opinion, it seems like part of her reaction is due to some kind of PTSD from having the OG tube reinserted down her throat so many times. But I’ll tell you what—responding to her choking episodes will wake you up real quick. 

Gloom and Doom?

I don’t tell you this to scare you or to drum up sympathy. I just wanted to be honest about what life is like post-NICU. I’m sure many of you have experienced similar things; you pray earnestly for something, and when you get it you realize it comes with its own set of worries. This is just part of being human.

But recently I was in the CVS drive through refilling one of her medications, and I found myself fretting that she was no longer in the doctors’ hands but was in our hands instead. No sooner had that though crossed my mind than God reminded me that Eva has been in His hands the whole time—in the womb, in the NICU, and at home. Her earthly caregivers have changed, but her heavenly Creator has not. His eye has been and always will be on the Sparrow. Thank you, Lord! That’s the only thing that brings me peace in my worry.

The Good News

And even with all my fretting—both valid and imaginary—I still couldn’t be happier that she’s home. Would it have been helpful for me to know ahead of time that she wouldn’t be 100% well when she came home? That I’d be playing nurse as well as mama? That my prayers for her wouldn’t stop but would certainly shift? Maybe. But she’s home now, and I wouldn’t trade that for a full 8 hours of sleep any day. 

Know what else? She’s nursing like a champ and gaining weight every day. She’s still pretty tiny, but she’s getting there. She’s closing in on ten pounds and is almost too big for her newborn diapers and jammies!

And the best news of all is that we’re all together. I had been worried about how her two-year-old brother would react to her finally coming home, but he has been the sweetest. A little dangerous at times, as any toddler boy will be, but he loves her. Every day he lavishes her with hugs, kisses, toys, and occasional thumps. And she rewards him with big ol’ smiles. Except when he thumps her. I can’t wait to see how these two grow to be the best of friends (especially when she’s old enough to thump him back). 

Continued Prayers

Eva is still on the road to recovery, but she’s further down the road than I’d imagined when I stood in silent tears looking at my tiny, post-op baby. God has been good and faithful, and he will continue to be good and faithful. We had prayed for the miracle of a united family by Easter, and God answered. We are so, so grateful for all the prayers of friends, family, and even strangers who have journeyed with us so far. 

Will you continue to pray with us? Please pray that Eva will get stronger every day and that she will be able to wean off her medications sooner than later. Please pray that we’ll find out what’s causing her to choke so often. And, finally, please pray that we would remember and rest in the fact that, while Eva is in our hands, God’s hands are cupped strongly and lovingly around ours. We are not alone. The Great Physician lives here, and He never sleeps. Pray that that truth will help us rest deeply at night, even if it’s just for a couple hours at a time. 

Welcome home, Evangeline Sparrow. You are so loved.