Enter Gunner ...Part 1

{There is so much to be said about Gunner's arrival...and so much still to process. In an effort to just get it out and to not have the world's longest blog post, I am breaking his story into parts.}

Deep breath. Here we go...

Okay, well Sunday, February 12th, my mom was passing through Bozeman on her way home from Missoula. We went out to lunch for Addie's forthcoming birthday and then Mom hit the interstate. Addie had given me a ride for our lunch date and as I was getting back into her car to head home, my water broke. Addie called Mom and she turned around and headed back to Bozeman. This was about 2:30p. As per usual, I wasn't having any contractions so Matt and I hung out at home until 5:30p and then headed to the hospital.

Getting ready to head to the hospital...barely 36 weeks gestation.

Once at the hospital, we settled in to wait 5 hours until it was safe for surgery...they require 8 hours of no food before they will operate. My wonderful doctor was the doc on call that night. Matt and I watched the Grammy's while we waited and felt old for not knowing many of the winning artists. :)

Waiting.

An emergency appendectomy pushed my c-section to 11 pm. Surgery went well...I mean as well as it can. Being awake during abdominal surgery is really unpleasant and I hope to never endure it again. Anyway, we were all anxious to meet the baby and when Dr. Chisdak finally pulled the baby out, Matt said, "Yep. Another boy." A 6 pound 8 ounce baby boy. Surprise! I really thought it was going to be a girl so I was shocked initially. But, I heard my baby boy crying and wriggling and felt a wave of relief and joy and then I had to get back to focusing on keeping myself together.

Baby boy was whisked away while they stitched me up and then I spent an hour or so in surgery recovery. When I was finally able to see him, baby boy was doing well but having difficulty breathing. The pediatrician needed to attend to him so I didn't get to hold him. It was heart wrenching but I was exhausted and fully expected to hold him in the morning so I tried to get some sleep.

Not much had changed in the morning and I still wasn't able to hold my baby. Thank goodness for a visit from my mom and my boys. I needed to hold a baby! My sweet Sawyer obliged.

Looking back, I see now that I didn't really understand the critical condition my boy was in. I was just thinking that because he was a bit early, he needed oxygen to help his lungs along and then everything would be fine. By this point, baby boy had been moved to a dark, quiet room away from all the other new babies. He was working hard to breathe and the lights, noise, commotion of the nursery only exacerbated his condition. Again, I know now that he was in our hospital's version of a NICU.
He developed a pneumothorax on Monday. The doctor placed a needle into his chest to remove the air that had leaked into the chest space and he was visibly more comfortable. Monday night, 24 hours after his birth, I finally got to hold my little bundle. What a sweet, sweet time it was. They had reduced his oxygen level and he was breathing comfortably so I just sat in his "room" and held him, talked to him, stroked his head. I went to bed happy and at peace.

Tuesday morning, still feeling the high of holding my babe, I got up and took a shower and even put makeup on. Things went downhill from there. All my efforts to make myself presentable were quickly undone as I learned that the pneumo they had drained had refilled and that he had developed another pneumo on his other lung.

Thank goodness Matt showed up to visit just as the pediatrician was telling me that my baby's lungs were very sick and he needed care from a NICU in Billings or Missoula. This was devastating news, just horrible, and the gravity of our situation hit hard. It's hard to describe the fear and grief I felt. I had carried and brought this baby into the world but was so obviously not in control of his life. And I was aggrieved, offended even, that my comfort, my presence, my motherly-wisdom wasn't able to soothe him or make him well. I could not provide what he needed. What could I do but cry and pray...and surrender this little person back into the arms of Jehovah Rapha - the Lord that Heals.

We made some teary calls, enlisting the prayers of others, and within moments half the state of MT petitioned God on our son's behalf! (Let me pause to say, "Thank you! Thank you for your prayers. Thank you for loving us through prayer. Your prayers are a significant part of this story.") At this point, our son still did not have a name! Suddenly, it became very important that we settle on a name for our boy. Matt said, "His name is Gunner. It's Gunner." The name Gunner wasn't even on our list of possibilities but it means "bold warrior" and it was the right name and I quickly agreed.

About this time, a nurse came to notify us that a team from Missoula was in route to Bozeman to pick up Gunner. There must be some mistake, we insisted. Billings was clearly the most logical/convenient NICU for us. We kindly told the nurse she was wrong. The nurse left and returned with another more-in-charge nurse saying, "We're sending you to Missoula. They are already on their way." Billings' NICU was at capacity. I won't go in to it, but my husband was not going to Missoula without a fight. He fought hard to be sent to Billings and let's just say I am glad he was fighting FOR me and not AGAINST me. He is formidable when he needs to be.

Meanwhile, Gunner had received morphine, intubation, and surfactant. He was finally, and visibly, more comfortable and stable. We were able to sit with him and wait for the medical team to arrive from Missoula. It took forever. The team had to load up the neonatal transport machine into an ambulance, drive to the Missoula airport, get into an airplane, fly to the Bozeman airport, transfer to an ambulance and drive to Bozeman Deaconess. (I know what you're thinking and no, it's not cheap.)

Example of neonatal transport machine.

My sweet little Gunnie right before his first airplane ride.

The team from Missoula arrived and a smiling, cheerful nurse named Patty walked us through the transport process and the paperwork. I still thank Jesus for Patty. She was calm, she was optimistic about Gunner's health, she was helpful, and she had already booked us a room at the Ronald McDonald House. Patty recommended that Matt and I drive to Missoula together rather than one of us flying with our boy. Gulp. Hesistantly, I conceded as Patty described the small plane and the choppy ride...I was still recovering from my c-section and not in any condition for turbulence. (My doctor had to discharge me 3 days early so I could follow my baby to Missoula.)

I kissed my Gunner one last time and headed home with Matt to pack my bags and squeeze my other boys before the 3 hour drive to Missoula.