Tired

We're back from the hospital.
It seems they're now leaning back towards it being an infection. Robbie's blood sugar is lower than it was, but still a tad bit high.
A culture of his blood and sputum have been sent- they'll take 48 hours to grow. We'll expect some better answers on Monday night. Of course, that seems like a million years away.

He was fussy tonight, never settling down to sleep for very long. I tried to comfort him as best I could with just my hands on his head and feet. It feels like so little. I was frustrated at first. She had him bundled so well which is wonderful, but the way he was laying I couldn't see his sweet little face so I couldn't tell when he was crying or just wiggling.

Finally it was time for his cares. I took his temperature and changed his diaper. Then I helped weigh him. He's up an ounce again. 700 grams. 1 lb 9 oz. She said that's right on track.

I felt confused abou the infection. She seemed as though it was commonplace "He might have an infection every few weeks. It happens. Really normal." But then when discussing the cultures, she talked about an infection in his lungs and if it were that, the only real way to treat it is to pull his vent and he's not ready for that. In the end, I left just as worried as when I arrived.

She said the night nurse definitely did the right thing in starting the antibiotics. I guess she struggled with the decision a bit, unsure if it was just cold stress but they've decided it probably is infection and it's good she did the right thing. I'll thank her profusely the next time I see her.

I'm exhausted. Bone chillingly exhausted. I'm pumping my boobs as I type (I guess I'm an expert now. I've figured out how to attach and prop things so that I can free my hands while pumping.) I'm hoping a few hours of sleep will help my attitude. I've felt so positive this last week but today has worn on me. I look at myself in the mirror and am surprised at how sunken my eyes seem.

I'm actually so tired that I fell asleep with my head on Robbie's isolette. He was getting too cold for me to have his portholes open. I couldn't even comfort him when he cried. Even my voice seemed to aggravate him tonight. In the end, all I could do was lay my head on his isolette and hope that my love was coming through psychically. My husband woke me saying I had to go home and sleep. I couldn't really argue.

As soon as my boobs have unloaded their latest meal and I've prepared for them to unload their next, I'm going to bed. I may even let myself sleep 4 hours. I'm producing a lot more milk than Robbie can eat right now, so I'm going to try to take advantage w/o messing up my supply.

Hopefully that will renew my faith & hope. I'm sure it's still in there. Just like me, it's too tired to speak.

--Trish