Nehemiah: 1 | Jaundice: 0

We had Nehemiah's first doctor's appointment yesterday [read, September 10]. While I had noted that my little half-white half-brown mini was looking slightly more yellow than a nice shade of beige, I didn't realize that I should have been more concerned than I was. Our appointment was to the point; doctor checked his height, weight, eyes, nose. Then came the talk about his lemon-esque skin tone. The doctor's concern was obvious just by his naked-eye observations. He ordered us to get a blood test to check his Bilirubin levels and confirm his suspicion that Miah's jaundice had increased exponentially. We were told to be expecting a call within a few hours with results and a game plan. While we waited, Nehemiah took his first trip to Club FM. (If you don't know what club FM is, you must not live in Astoria/Warrenton and fall within the 16-30 age group.)  Will and I ordered our favorite burgers from The Wet Dog for pick up. We called around town in search of a breast pump. After three hours of dilly-dallying and time-wasting, we got the call that said Miah would need to be admitted and be put in the "bilibed", a UV-lit bed that works to reduce his jaundice. I cried. Will worked swiftly and systematically; I can always count on him to be the one with a level head. Our burgers got soggy and lonely sitting at The Wet Dog waiting to be picked up. Woops.

Had I gotten my way, we would have gone back to the hospital where Nehemiah was born for treatment. However, his Pediatrician is in Astoria, and would have no patient privilege in Seaside. So this is me, trying not to count the strikes against this hospital. We were "greeted" by a woman overly adorned with distasteful piercings and an udder lack of bedside manor, and her partner Gloria Gum-chewer. Words like responsible, clean, friendly, organized, prompt, etcetera failed to come-to when grappling for words to describe the experience. Strike one. We were placed into a room that one of the nurses lovingly deemed as "the closet room". I think "jail-cell" would have been more accurate, though possibly not as quaint. The closet room certainly lived up to it's name in stature. It's decor, lack of color and a clock, and it's half-burnt florescent lighting lived up to my pet-name for the place. Strike two. I can't say I was displeased with the staff that took us on. The nurses were conveniently on shift change when we arrived, so while we liked our nurse whom we'll call "Sally", our time together was short lived. She was replaced by "Martha", a competent and friendly lactation consultant RN. I like her. But, as our stay turned into overnight, the inevitable happened again- shift change. My comfortable budding relationship with "Martha" was sadly severed and replaced by "Ruth". I only know this because I can read; she failed to introduced herself, so I was reduced to reading her name-tag as a form of introduction. Grumble. She woke me up to feed Nehemiah at 11:30pm, and handed him to me while my sleep-haze tried to ware off. About 10 minutes into our 20-minute restricted feeding session, I realized dear "Ruth" hadn't weighed Miah before handing him to me for our feeding. Thus, making all of the work we had been doing to keep track of his eating volumes null and void, in one fell swoop. Strike three. Then there was the lack of paper towels, extra pillows, functional call-light, and the fact that dear "Ruth" had to ask ME how many ounces Nehemiah had been eating via bottle. Say it with me "Ruth", Chaaaarrrt Nooootes. Chart notes: saving nurses like "Ruth" from looking like incompetent fools one page at a time. Perhaps my expectations were too high. Seeing as my entire 3-day stay at Providence went completely scathe-free, (well, sans the nurse that kept letting my highly anesthetized leg fall off the table mid-delivery) I guess I had hoped that our 24-hour (or less) jaunt at CMH would have fairly equal results. Wrong-O. So long as Nehemiah is getting that black light-meets-tanning bed blue light shining on him, I suppose the rest is just details. Still.

When we were admitted, his bilirubin level was at 19.7. 19.7 of what, I don't know. But that's what I was told. The doctor explained that high levels of bilirubin can ultimately cause brain damage, and that if Nehemiah's levels were to increase to 21 or so, we would be shipped to Portland. At that point, the appeal of going to a highly reputable and award winning facility was pretty good. But, I suppose not at the expense of Nehemiah's health. We prayed. We waited. We napped. We prayed. We waited. At 8 pm, they re-tested his blood. By 9 pm the results were in. His level had dropped to 16! Our little man was shocking and awing left and right. The nurses said that his results were promising, and if progress continued, he would be in good shape shortly. After a long, grueling first night of our new breast feed-bottle feed-pump cycle, 6 am came earlier than usual. The nurses came to haul him off to the nursery to take some blood for his next blood test. I invited myself. They poked his foot and he took it like a champ, naturally. At 8:30 am, we were woke and greeted by the doctor himself. He was pleased to report that Nehemiah's bilirubin level had taken a dramatic, unexpected and rapid plunge to 13. At that moment, I am positive I loved the number 13 more than even Taylor Swift loves 13. The doctors good news just kept coming when he said that Nehemiah's CBC levels were within normal range, and that if his progress continued, we would be welcome to go home this evening. Sayonara, bilibed and closet room. You won't be missed.

I am so proud of my little man. I am so blessed by a faithful and healing God that loves us and hears us when we cry. I am even a little thankful for the closet room and bilibed for providing a healing refuge for Nehemiah. I am excited to go home and make up for lots of cuddling lost to the bilibed that will ensue immediately upon our homecoming.