The big check-up

It is snowing today. I drive Evelyn to the Neonatal Follow-up Clinic. We venture out of the house earlier than we have before. It is cold. Neonatal Follow-up is a program that tracks the development of babies born into the NICU, preemies. On our first visit Evelyn sees five specialists as follows:

The waiting room is hot and crowded. Children with taut faces look to parents for reassurance. The parents are tired. The kids are shy. Finally a set of 4 year old twins encourage each other to the top of a set of climbing blocks. Others follow. Now the room is noisy as well.

A woman with a chart, the Physical Therapist, calls Evelyn’s name.

“You need to watch the shape of Evelyn’s head.” She says. “It is long and narrow which will put pressure on her frontal lobe. Also, her right side is flatter than her left. She needs to spend more time on her back and left side. You only have until she is a year to reshape it.”

“Evelyn does not bend her legs enough. She lurches back to elongate her trunk. You need to have her bend her legs more. Use the C pillow or rolled-up blankets to help her keep position. Do not put her in an exersaucer until she can sit up on her own. These encourage lurching back. When you hold Evy to your chest to comfort her always bring one leg into a bent position.”

. . . . . . . . . .

In a quiet corner of the waiting room a young couple huddles around a small baby. The babe is one year old. She weighs 10 lbs. When asked they tell a story of a baby who stopped growing in utero at 23 weeks. Labor was induced at 27 weeks. Their struggles mirror ours. They are finally off oxygen, well maybe a little at night. They are finally growing out of newborn sizes.

Evelyn’s name is called again.

She is 10 lbs 7 oz and 21 inches long. That puts her in the 10^th percentile of 3 month olds. Perfect. Her heart rate and blood pressure are also, well, perfect.

. . . . . . . . . .

Back in the waiting room someone asks about Evy. Upon hearing her tale they exclaim “Wow!” Even those who have their own miracle are amazed by her. In fact those in the know are even more amazed. Time spent in the NICU wares on you. It is the pokes and the prods, the tests and the treatments, the surgeries and the spinal taps. One woman explains as she looks around at the tussle of children, “These guys are strong. Only the strong make it this far.”

The Nutritionist calls Evy’s name.

“Is she really a breast fed baby?” “Good for you.”

“Evelyn need more iron in her diet. Babies lay down stores of iron in the last trimester. Breast milk is not a sufficient source. She needs to take a supplement with iron or eat a iron fortified cereal everyday. Also, let’s get her back on the Prevacid. Her reflux is causing her to associate eating with pain. This could affect her eating habits for the rest of her life.”

. . . . . . . . . .

Now the waiting room is in full riot. I slip into the hallway for a little quiet time. Others are there. One child sits in a stroller. She is about 7 years old and too big for the carriage. Her body twists and turns in awkward angles. Her empty eyes look up but see nothing. She is fed air from a tube cut into her throat. She is hard to look at. She could be Evy. Evy could be her. I pull my baby close to my face and silently weep.

An old man calls for us.

“I am the neurologist.” He says. He uses Sesame Street finger puppets, whistles and hoots to keep Evelyn’s attention. He is an expert at this. He checks reflexes. He asks questions. He gives no report.

He leads us to the last doctor to be seen, the pediatrician. She is just as old and likewise an expert. She reads over Evy’s NICU paperwork. “I see she has serious lung disease. Let’s take a listen.” She listens to her lungs and dons an unreadable expression. Then she says, “Her lungs sound good, really good.”

. . . . . . . . . .

The waiting room is now empty. A single set of twins wrestle on the climbing blocks as their mom stares out at the snow, still falling. I smile and sigh at her as if to say, “What a long day.” She does not notice. I pack up Evy, her stuff and head for the car.

As we leave someone says. “See you next time.”

I smile and sigh again. “Yeah, next time.”