Less Intensive Care...

Days in captivity...

Great news! 

After fifty four days of intensive care I've finally been moved to the HDU (High Dependency Unit).  This is like intensive care - it's actually in the same room - only less intensive!  I feel ever so pleased with myself.  Daddy tried to get me in the incubator next to the window - I think he travels on aeroplanes to much.

Here's my list of achievements in the last three days:

1. I've had a bottle... It was only 20 mls but I slurped it down, burped and went to sleep.  To be fair, I de-satted a few minutes later but breathing is on my list of 'non-achievements' which comes later.
2. I've had another go at missing out the middle man on the feeding front and collecting Mummy's milk directly from the tap (as it were).  It was OK but I was very tired, so once I'd had a bit of a taste I went to sleep - not what the gathered crowd was hoping for.  I'm not at all worried about this bit - as soon as I latch on to those muffins it's going to take a tank and a tow rope to pull me off.
3. I've been titrated.  Another new word for the blog and one which sounds great when said with a northern (Yorkshire) accent... tah-treeeh-ted!  It means that instead of being fed a tiny amount of milk every hour, I'm being fed more milk less frequently.  This is fine except I've now been introduced to a new sensation... HUNGER!  Hunger is not nice and it makes me grumpy.
4. I've put on a bit of weight.  Not much just a bit.  I clearly like the TPN feed (my performance enhancing drugs) and since it was taken away my weight gain has slowed.  I'm now 3lb 10oz - not much more than last week but still moving in the right direction.  The dietitian has been to see me a few times and she's asked the nurses to add something called 'fortifier' to Mummy's milk.  Mummy asked the dietitian if there was anything she could do to help, such as eating cakes or chocolate but she was told that she should only be eating a healthy diet - the old five a day stuff - with no treats.  Mummy looked ever so disappointed!
5. I have a new hat - the old one is now too small for my big head.
6. My eyes were tested again and everything was fine.  Dad reckons I'm a bit gozzy - this is Scouse for cross-eyed - but I'm not.  I just have trouble pointing them both in the same direction all the time.  The two things are not the same!
7. I haven't needed another blood transfusion and my gases still look OK.

My list of non-achievements (or 'failures' as my Dad insensitively calls them!) is a bit shorter, consisting of only two things - pooing and breathing!

My belly looks like this...!

The pooing thing isn't really too much of a concern.  My belly is still inflated like a Space Hopper and I'm becoming a bit self conscious about the funny faces I pull when I'm trying to push one out but the issue is being tackled with suppositories which (as you know from previous blogs) can have an explosive effect.  Mummy thinks that my big belly is mostly genetic and regularly points to the one that my Daddy carries around with him as evidence.  I think this is very insensitive of her.

My biggest non-achievement (by far) is still breathing.  The thing is, you all take it for granted that your brain is going to send a little message to your diaphragm every few seconds reminding it to contract... and generally speaking it does.  My Daddy told me that there have been a few occasions when his brain has neglected this task, normally in the middle of a big speech in front of a lot of people, and when this happens he has to take a few big breaths to recover.  This sounds a bit like a de-sat to me and I have them about five or six times a day - only difference is I normally have an audience of just one or two.  It's been suggested that this 'doing a Poppy' is some form of attention seeking and it's true that it generally results in a lot of activity, but trust me... I'd rather just keep breathing.

Head... shoulders... knees and toes...

I've progressed from C-PAP to high flow to low flow and most of the time I'm being fed oxygen at less than 10% which is really good, but this morning I has a major de-sat and went a sort of bluey grey.  This was bad, so I've been upgraded again to high flow.  This is OK with me as it means I don't need to put the mask back on (which I hate!).  Mummy was with me when it happened so she's a bit worried about me again but I'm fine... just keeping everyone on their toes that's all.

All the talk now is of Warwick.  I'm not sure if I've upset someone here or if they need my bed for someone else but they seem very keen to get me into a Special Care Baby Unit (SCBU - or scuba as my Dad calls it!)  Once I'm in scuba I can move to Warwick which is where I was born and much closer to home for Mummy and Daddy.  The step after that is home - so it's all quite exciting really.

Mummy's brother Rich has been over from Australia this week and the very nice people in Coventry let him come in to see me.  He's not really allowed but seeing as he'd travelled 8,456 miles they very sensibly allowed him in.  I was glad they did. He's a research chemist so he was able to have an intelligent conversation with Dr Iodine - something which my Dad has failed to do in seven weeks (bless him!).  Rich kept asking Mummy what all the numbers meant on my charts but once she'd covered off my weight and my milk intake she started to struggle a bit...

And talking of numbers, my brother Charlie's been in to see me a few times this week too and he's getting very good at reading my monitor.  He sat there for about twenty minutes reading my oxygen saturation levels out loud every time they changed - ninety two, eighty eight, eighty four, eighty six, seventy eight, seventy two, sixty four, fifty one, thirty two... BARP! BARP! BARP!  I de-satted especially for him and he felt very important!

Charlie has also been growing cress in a propagator at school and is now convinced that babies grow from seed.  That's going to be an interesting conversation with Daddy when he gets older!

Me...

Cress...

Life's never dull in here!  The last few days have been really positive.  Moving out of intensive care feels like a massive result and I'm so happy to be a step closer to going home, but I'm so frustrated about my breathing.  I know it stresses Mum and Dad out a bit so I'm trying really hard to get the hang of it but I'm still not quite there.  Give me another week... just one more week... and I'll have this thing cracked...

... I promise!

Lots of love and hugs

Poppy Lola xxx