So this is parenting
Harry's active, engaged, and eating like a fiend. At nearly three weeks, he makes eye contact and grabs our fingers with gusto. He has developed a healthy relationship with his pacifier, and shares his dad's love of mandolin music.
On the other hand, he hasn't gained any weight since his last pediatrician visit on Friday, and he still appears somewhat jaundiced. At the doctor's visit last week, Harry had blood taken for his PKU, a comprehensive test that looks at several crucial measurements.
It's clear that the people who designed this test are not themselves parents because it felt positively barbaric. The nurse stuck Harry's heel with a needle and then proceeded to "paint" his blood on a piece of cardboard. The test requires filling four half-inch diameter circles completely, a difficult chore when trying to draw blood from a tiny pin-prick in a baby's foot. The needle wasn't the hard part: the nurse had to squeeze Harry's foot for about 10 minutes to get all the blood she needed. Those 10 minutes felt like 10 hours to Sarah and me.
Since Harry is still jaundiced, we took him to the doctor today, who recommended that we have a blood test done to check his bilirubin levels. Unfortunately, this required another heel-stick and another 10 agonizing minutes of the most painful wailing we'd ever heard. For a 33-year-old man, I've seen my share of hospitals, doctors, and blood tests, but I did not know hell until Sarah and I comforted our son while they squeezed blood from his heel.
A newborn doesn't remember much from one minute to the next. By the time we got home, Harry was more concerned about getting a seat at the milk bar than any pinprick in his foot. His mom and I, however, will bear that scar for a long time. I drove us home realizing that it won't be long before Harry will have to absorb his own traumas, and wishing that I could bear the brunt of them for the rest of his life.
The good news: Harry's bilirubin levels tested at 7.7, which is well below the score that would cause concern. We now need to figure out why he isn't gaining any weight. Sarah's going to a lactation consultant tomorrow morning to double-check her technique. We'll also start pumping milk and bottle-feeding him to give Sarah a well-deserved break, and to monitor his feeding better.
On the other hand, he hasn't gained any weight since his last pediatrician visit on Friday, and he still appears somewhat jaundiced. At the doctor's visit last week, Harry had blood taken for his PKU, a comprehensive test that looks at several crucial measurements.
It's clear that the people who designed this test are not themselves parents because it felt positively barbaric. The nurse stuck Harry's heel with a needle and then proceeded to "paint" his blood on a piece of cardboard. The test requires filling four half-inch diameter circles completely, a difficult chore when trying to draw blood from a tiny pin-prick in a baby's foot. The needle wasn't the hard part: the nurse had to squeeze Harry's foot for about 10 minutes to get all the blood she needed. Those 10 minutes felt like 10 hours to Sarah and me.
Since Harry is still jaundiced, we took him to the doctor today, who recommended that we have a blood test done to check his bilirubin levels. Unfortunately, this required another heel-stick and another 10 agonizing minutes of the most painful wailing we'd ever heard. For a 33-year-old man, I've seen my share of hospitals, doctors, and blood tests, but I did not know hell until Sarah and I comforted our son while they squeezed blood from his heel.
A newborn doesn't remember much from one minute to the next. By the time we got home, Harry was more concerned about getting a seat at the milk bar than any pinprick in his foot. His mom and I, however, will bear that scar for a long time. I drove us home realizing that it won't be long before Harry will have to absorb his own traumas, and wishing that I could bear the brunt of them for the rest of his life.
The good news: Harry's bilirubin levels tested at 7.7, which is well below the score that would cause concern. We now need to figure out why he isn't gaining any weight. Sarah's going to a lactation consultant tomorrow morning to double-check her technique. We'll also start pumping milk and bottle-feeding him to give Sarah a well-deserved break, and to monitor his feeding better.
posted by dan at 4:13 PM
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