It's lovely and soft...

I know what you're all thinking.  You're thinking that I've been away from my diary because I've been making rapid progress... that I'm out of HDU, breathing for myself and eating like a fat lass who's just got home from Gregg's.

WRONG!  I've been quiet because I've been focusing all of my attention on trying to get myself working properly.  I'm still in HDU.  To be honest with you I should be back in NICU but there's a bit of a one way street policy in here and once you start moving on they don't like you going back!  One of the small signs of progress in here is the size of the chart at the end of your incubator; when you're in ICU it's huge, it fills the whole desk, but when you move into Special Care it's A4.  Earlier this week (much earlier this week!) I woke up one morning to find the nurse filling out one of these A4 sheets.  I was so pleased with myself. 

It wasn't to last.  Since then it all gone a bit A2!

It was all going so well.  My breathing was improving steadily to the point where I was more or less just breathing air, with just a little bit of pressure from the high-flow ventilator.  Doctors and Nurses were confidently talking about 'just a few days' then I'd be in Special Care and on my way to Warwick.  Pah!

'Lovely and soft!'

What they'd missed was the slow but steady re-inflation of my tummy.  My Daddy reckons it's easy to be a Neonatal Doctor, you just need to learn a few tricks of the trade.  It's like kicking tyres if you're a mechanic, or sucking in air through your teeth if you're a builder.  Every day when the Doctors do their rounds they all stop and stare at my belly.  Then they have a prod at it.  And then (here's the bit you need to know if you want to be a Doctor), then they say 'Ooh... it's lovely and soft!' The fact that I look like a cross between a Cabbage Patch doll and a pot-bellied pig matters not... as long as it's lovely and soft!

This carried on for a few days but the bigger my belly grew, the harder it was for me to breathe and I started having a few major de-sats ...  or 'profound' de-sats as we like to call them in here.  I like this.  My de-sats aren't superficial or obvious, they're deep and meaningful.  Nevertheless, I'd rather not have them.

It all came to a bit of a head of Friday.  Mummy came in to see me in the morning and I was doing OK but my breathing was ropey and some of my milk was coming back up.  Mummy left to take Charlie swimming and Daddy turned up just as decided to be very profound!  Daddy thought I was being very floppy too and when he undid my little baby-grow thingy to change me, the size of my belly made him and the nurse jump!

Me being nice for Daddy!

Doctor was called and in discussion with Daddy it was decided that what I needed was good poo.  Great - suppository time again!  I won't go into detail - let's just say it did it's job.  Daddy was given a fine opportunity to display his unconditional love for me by trying to change my nappy whilst I played 'shit at the worst moment'!  It was carnage in my incubator - but the nurses thought it was very funny.  My milk feed was reduced and overnight I was moved to 'nil by mouth' and hooked up to a cannula.

On Saturday, Mummy made sure that she was here for the Doctors rounds.  I was very proud of her.  When the Doctor asked what the course of treatment should be my Mummy said that I should go back onto TPN (the cycling drug thing - Total Parentatal Nutrition!) to give my tummy a chance to recover... and everyone agreed with her!  If it had been an episode of ER, there would have been some stirring emotional music building to a crescendo in the background.  As it was, it was still a big moment for me.

On Saturday night - at the second attempt - the long line was put back in to my leg (this is a minor operation in itself and trust me it hurts!) and the TPN was restarted.  It was tough at first because I'm starving!  I'm used to being fed milk now, so having it stopped completely takes a bit of getting used to.  I'll suck frantically on anything that comes within an inch of my mouth!

I'm going to have something which the Doctors call a 'contrast'.  I think this is a special x-ray where they feed me something that will show up in my intestines so they can see if there's anything wrong down there.  Because it's something called a Bank Holiday weekend (???) they won't get the results back until Wednesday and then they can decide either to, a) start feeding me again or, b) send me to Birmingham for a procedure!  Yikes!  I'm hoping for option A!

More like a baby!

In the meantime, my tummy is now small again (but still lovely and soft!), my breathing is coming along nicely, and my weight is improving too...  I'm now just a smidgen under 4 lb so I'm starting to look a bit more like a baby and a bit less like a gremlin.

In other news... The thing you have to admire about the Neonatal Intensive Care Unit is the attention to detail and the strict processes that have to be followed at all times - all pretty sensible when you remember what everyone's here for - but there's one thing that makes me chuckle every day... the bit where the keys go missing!  The medicine cabinet (medicine cabinet?) is kept locked shut, I'm sure for very good reasons, so it needs to be unlocked whenever something is needed from it.  The process for this is as follows:

1. Shout 'KEYS'
2. Shout 'KEYS' again, only louder
3. Ask if anyone knows who's got the keys
4. Move to the middle of the unit
5. Shout 'KEYS'
6. Check pocket
7. Find keys
8. Announce to everyone that you have found the keys

Daddy was chatting to the Audit team the other day (he's made himself at home) and mentioned that they might want to form a working party to explore opportunities to improve the key finding process.  They ignored him!

Finally for today, thanks to everyone who's sent me an e-mail.  All of your messages have been so lovely and inspirational and heart-warming.  Sorry I've not replied to you - I promise I will.  The same goes for all the comments on Facebook and Twitter.   I've no idea what these are because I'm only 67 days old, but Mummy and Daddy told me that lots of people have been 'liking' and 'retweeting' things... so erm... thanks!

I've written a rap to keep to keep you smiling... to the tune of Rock DJ...

Me on the high flow
Movin' to the low flow
Poppy's gettin' big
And her belly even more so
Wave your hands if you're on TPN
Can I kick it?
(Yes I can)
I got
(bagged)
Mum got
(scared)
The blog's for everybody
I've got the gift
Gonna stick it in the goal
It's time to grow this body!

Lots of love and hugs

Poppy Lola xxx