A 2 K

Alex has hit an important watermark: 2,000 grams (4 lbs, 7 oz). We've been days away from bringing him home for over a week and a half now (I really don't know how long). This part of preemie parenthood, the part where progress stalls and there's no telling when your kid can come live with you despite their overall good health, is extremely frustrating. Basically, he has to be able to hold his own body temperature outside of the plastic box (the isollette). He's failed this test four times. So, the staff has decided to let him get to 2 kilos before trying again. This afternoon began the fifth attempt. I don't know what will happen if he fails again.

I had lunch today with M, another NICU mom. We were trading war stories, citing that New York Times article about the prevalence of PTSD among NICU parents, and generally commiserating about problems with staffers and protocols. We struck upon another aspect of our situation that has been overlooked in all the writing and research: temporal distortion. 

Both M and I spent over a week in the hospital before delivering our sons, who we have been visiting now for at least two months. All that time in a hospital, with our days marked by constant trepidation and a saturated state of limbo, has made the telling of time and the tracking of dates nearly impossible. When your days are both painfully similar and at the same time totally unpredictable, your brain stops recording that kind of data. It is in crisis mode, even on quiet days when everything seems to be going well. It's thinking about escape and survival and all the other primal feelings we modern humans are so good at ignoring.