Months 6 to 9 like most-things-Wyatt, are unpredictable. In the month of December, we find ourselves returning from CHEO, and have a blissful 6 week stint at home, only to be interupted by a Saturday morning where we have to perform CPR on Wyatt.
Month 7 - January 2014
January 11th, 2014: We save our baby's life.
Never thought I'd have to type that.
I still think about that day, and I have moments with Wyatt where I just breath him in. Smell him and kiss the top of his head. And think to myself; I almost lost him. Lost this.
Milestones reached: plays in exercauser, getting better at grasping objects, cuts two teeth, improves feeding orally. Has an oral feeding study, which he fails miserably.
Month 8 - February 2014
Return from CPR stint on Monday, February 3rd. Happy to be home, both kids are happy to have their little, baby brother home. Everyone is happy.
We return to CHEO two more times, for 3 day long stints, a mere three days apart.
CHEO, unfortunately, feels like a second home at this point.
Milestones: Sitting on his own, and says first word "mom,mom, mom.", getting into the crawling position, but moving backwards, plays strange with any new face.
Month 6 - December 2013
We return home after 1.5 weeks at CHEO, and STAY home. All of December - home. New phenomena to mom and dad, also a welcome change.
Wyatt begins his RSV shots. 1 of 5 is completed in December. Here's hoping it makes a difference!
Milestones reached: develops dislike for pablum, can eject large amounts of mucus on his own, and looks for dropped objects.
Months 6 to 8
It was a normal Saturday. Wake up. Get the kids ready for gymnastics. Go to gymnastics. Analyze any baby bumps (I wonder if their baby is normal?) and scrutinize newborns (she looks normal, but maybe she's not). Pack kids into the van. Go shopping. Come home. Remark to self: don't leave your cell in your purse, put it on the counter where you can reach it. Which I don't do. Walk up to hubby, who has Wyatt on his knee. Wyatt starts to struggle. Wyatt starts to go blue. Wyatt is not breathing. Wyatt is lied flat on the couch to suction vomit. Vomit is not coming out. Nothing. Suction. Nothing. Suction. Nothing. Where is my cell. Where is my cell. Get hubby's cell. Where the EFF is his phone app?? I don't recognize the organization of his apps, I can't even call 911, which is my job. Hubby suctions, while I call.
Hubby calls, Wyatt looses consciousness. Mom does back blows and chest compressions. Hubby is losing it with 911 administrator. We switch. Hubby is doing breathing on the floor and chest compressions.
I watch husband do CPR and repeat the street address for the upteenth time to the 911 administrator. I don't lose it. But inside...inside of me, while I watch my husband hunched over my 6 month old son, I start to crumble. Pieces of me are falling. With every breath Wyatt was supposed to have taken, a piece of me, and my husband, are taken. I stare at Wyatt, watch my husband's breath rising in Wyatt's chest, and then... I think, Dear God... make something move.
His feet...move. They twitch. I tell the the 911 administrator that my husband is a CPR instructor and he knows what he's doing. (She's trying to instruct us what to do).
We lose Wyatt again.
More breathing. More chest compressions. Wyatt's hands curl into themselves.
I am running back and forth from the front door to Hubby...waiting for the ambulance. The ambulance arrives in less than 8 minutes. Hubby runs out in his 'pjs' (underwear) in -20 weather. I follow behind him in bare feet, in case he slips on the ice with Wyatt, I'm there to catch them or at least absorb part of the fall. Andrew gets Wyatt into the ambulance and I turn to the house to get his pants.
At some point - I have shoved my 4 year old daughter into her room, but her last image, was of Daddy over Wyatt, and she thinks Wyatt is dead. She keeps asking me what is wrong. And my other son, 3 years of age, slept through all of it. He takes good napper to a whole new level.
While I try to explain to my daughter what has happened, she goes to wake up our middle child. I grab pants, underwear, wallet, cell, and combat boots. I do not pack socks for some reason. No one in our house wears socks, it's the first thing we shed off. Socks.
I run out to the ambulance. I notice there is a fire truck behind it. Firefighters every where.
I turn my back to the ambulance as it drives off. I scream. I scream like every part of me is mad at what just happened, but it's an anger that is saturated in relief.
I walk into the house. Lose it on the kids. Tell them to get dressed so we can go to the hospital. My eldest son is pulling his 'no' tactic. Everything is no. Well that isn't going to fly, and he's crying, I'm crying, my daughter is crying.
I call my sister-in-law, and she meets me at CHEO. I don't even know if Wyatt is still alive. I drive the whole way there wondering if they were able to keep him conscious.
I run into the emergency room, Wyatt is sitting at 87% on Oxygen. Not good, but not bad either. Chest xray. Blood. I.V. Admitted. Deep suctioning. RT won't leave his side, which is new to me. The last two times Wyatt entered by ambulance, RT was called in, did their thing, and then left. Today; they're afraid of aspiration of vomit, which could lead to aspirated pneumonia. We're afraid dad may have broken something during CPR.
Wyatt in the end had no aspiration, but came out positive for RSV. We spent the next three weeks with RSV (1.5 weeks) and bacterial pneumonia (1.5 weeks). The RSV shot definitely helped Wyatt.
We were told that Wyatt never went without oxygen; thanks to his strong, little heart. So, even though he had a very serious event happen, he is ok. No brain damage, or any other physical damage. That is the good news.
The bad news: there is no telling when or if this will happen again.