The Times, They Are a Changin'

Day 52, 1150 grams.

Did I say to look for big news next week?

Well, I have a surprise for everyone today. Where should I start?
So, my mom comes today a bit later then usual (noon?! What, does she think that after 51 days she's suddenly entitled to full night's sleep?). She's all in good mood thinking I am not mad that she didn't show up at 9 or 10. So I give her the old fake hello-smile, but then I found out that my auntie Mel was not coming to take care of me, which made me really mad, and THEN my girlfriend Andrea introduces me to some guy (so what if he was wearing a security uniform--intimidating? Not so much...) and says that she is leaving for lunch with him... Well that was IT- I was seriously mad, so I barfed up my lunch and started choking because it got stuck in my ET tube (that gives me oxygen) which caused my oxygen saturation to drop, which then made my heart rate drop as well.

So you're probably wondering, "Andrej, why such drama?" Well my friends, it is common NICU lore that babies that are intubated will often try to pull out their own tube when the time is right to start breathing on their own. Do you really think that I was going to lay there and look up at the nurses with my imploring puppy-dog eyes and feebly grasp at my tube with the hope of pulling it out just one little bit? Heck, no! In my world it's go big or go home! I'd rather choke on my own puke and crash like a 70's rock drummer (Daddy says he'll tell me who this John Bonham guy is later).

Andrea's attempts to revive me don't work, so the doctor comes over, pulls out my tube, begins "bagging" me, pumps me full of epinephrine, and finally brings me back to reality. All the while, mommy is having a heart attack in the corner, and daddy is risking life and limb in a car driven by Uncle Zlatko. Mission accomplished: Attention received. I am still the center of my little universe.

So here is where we stand: I am now on a ventilation method called CPAP, which stands for Continuous Positive Airway Pressure. Basically, the machine supplies me with a continuous stream of air, but it doesn't breath for me--I have to handle that on my own. Also,it's a much shorter tube that doesn't go past my larynx, and as such it allows my mighty voice to be heard! OK, so it's still a bit squeaky, but this time around mom and dad got to hear me cry for the very first time. For some reason they started crying, too. This new style is going to take some getting used to, but in the end it will be worth it.

Just think how easy it's going to be when I'm 16 and I want to get a tattoo!


AOV