2003 Journal Links

My throat began feeling raw yesterday afternoon. Really raw. As soon as it did, I put on one of the face masks John and I brought home from MUSC, one of the fistful of masks we took from a box in Archie's room and stashed in our bags before the baby was discharged from the hospital. So later that night when John woke me, asleep on the couch, to tell me that he had finished feeding Archie his 12 o'clock bottle and giving the baby his midnight dose of Captopril, I was glad I decided to wear the mask. As I got up to stumble bleary-eyed into our bedroom, I coughed. My cough, which almost sounded like a wheeze, produced quite an impressive rattle in my chest.

John looked at me, startled. "So I'm guessing you need to sleep upstairs in one of the guest bedrooms tonight," he said.

"What was that?" I wondered aloud. "How could I be sick? I never go anywhere!" I was beginning to whine.

"Go to sleep," John ordered. "Somewhere else." John knew that I needed to stay far away Archie, who sleeps in a co-sleeper attached to my side of our bed. I agreed, of course.

"My God! What if I have RSV?" I gasped.

"Come on, Anne," John spoke, shaking his head. He was beginning to shout. "You don't have RSV! And if you did, Archie's getting that shot so stop worrying about it."

John was referring to Archie's monthly dose of Synagys, a mouse, humanized antibody which is used for prevention of RSV by monthly injections. The baby's nurse had just given Archie his most recent dose of the Saturday afternoon.

"But that shot isn't one-hundred percent!" I insisted. "He can still get the virus!"

"Anne… " John was beginning to loose his patience.

"I know, I know!" I snapped back. "I'm insane! But if he gets that he could die!" These are the sorts of thoughts you think when long stays in intensive care units train mothers, rightly or wrongly, that every little thing can mean life or death.

"Does he look sick?" John asked me then. He gestured toward the baby. "Come on, Anne. Does he look sick?"

I looked at Archie who was sleeping peacefully in his father's arms. He looked content. His cheeks were chubby and rosy. "Can you handle him alone tonight?" I asked John.

"Please. Yes. Of course, I can," John responded.

"You have to listen to him breath, okay? I have to check on him every time you wake up," I began explaining frantically.

John shot me a dirty look.

Archie woke his father this morning at half-passed five, whimpering for his bottle. Although Archie ate well, nearly exceptionally so, both mother and father were worried by the rattling sound baby made occasionally as he breathed in, breathed out. John and I looked at each other. I watched Archie in his bed from a few feet across the room. I was still wearing my face mask.

John and I went round and round. "He's fine," John insisted. "That's how he sounds when he has boogies in his nose, in the back of his throat."

"I dunno," I said, shaking my head. I began to cry. John called the pediatrician's office and talked to the nurse on call. At eight he called again to make an appointment for Archie to see the doctor.

"He's fine, Mom and Dad," the pediatrician insisted. "That rattling is in the back of his throat. His lungs are clear."

I smiled behind my paper mask.

"You said he's eating well. He looks pink. He's active. My goodness, he's gained over two pounds since his last appointment. You needn't worry," the doctor explained. Archie pushed her stethoscope from his chest. "Dr. Jacques made sure she told me all about Archie. She knew he'd be in here sooner or later when she was out," she assured us. "Dr. Jacques also said Archie is a cutie. Now I see what she's saying."

I must have looked unconvinced. "I know what it is to worry," the doctor explained. "My babies spent some time in the NICU, too." She explained to us what to do if Archie did develop some sort of chest congestion. She explained to us what to do if Archie's breathing became labored. She explained to us that we're doing a good job, and that although she understood our concern, we needed worry about every little thing.

"I'm on call tonight," the pediatrician said. "Please call me if anything happens and it'll make you feel better."

Later this morning I sat in my doctor's office, my mask over my nose and mouth, trying hard not to touch anything. I pulled a bottle of Purell hand sanitizer from my purse and squirted the liquid onto my hands, lacing my fingers together and rubbing the gel into my skin.

After the doctor looked down my throat, listened to my breathing, jabbed at my cheek bones, she asked, "Aren't you the one with the baby with a heart defect? Was it you who told me about it, or your husband?"

"It was my husband," I answered. "I haven't been here since I got pregnant."

"How is the baby?" she wondered.

A few minutes later my doctor shook her head and asked, "How do you sleep at night?"

I smiled. "Sometimes we don't."

I left with a ten-day supply of heavy-duty antibiotics. "Look, I don't think you have anything more than post-nasal drip," the doctor told me. "Your throat doesn't look too bad and you said you have sinus pressure and have for some time. I don't know why you have chest pressure, but you sound clear. If you do have anything that's treatable this antibiotic will take care of it."

As I sit at the computer now, typing this and still wearing my mask, Archie is lying in his Pack 'n Play. He's hugging his musical sunshine, rubbing it against his face. His father laughs as Archie deftly flips from his back to his side, from his side to his back. Quick, quick. Just like that. Sometimes on his jungle-gym mat, Archie can even flip from his stomach to his back. Not quite as quick, quick. But sometimes just like that. What a happy baby Archie is. What a strong baby he is. I wonder sometimes if he remembers his first ten weeks of life. I wonder sometimes if his memories of those times frighten him as they do me. I hope not. I hope those memories are mine alone to bear, a mother's burden.

"Bump! Bump! Bump! Bump!" Archie vocalizes enthusiastically.

"That's right, Archie!" John answers. "Bump, bump! Keep going, buddy!"

Keep going, Archie.