The TV is on really low in the background. There’s not much going on, so I browse the Internet aimlessly. I’m grateful that Tatiana is resting.
I think about how she’s such a little rebel with good instincts. I think about today’s personal revolution to get rid of her NG tube - as in “nasogastric tube” if you want the full on medical term. It’s basically a plastic tube that goes in through the nose, past the throat, and into the stomach. It can be used for quite a few different reasons, but in Tatiana’s case, the tube was in place to drain her stomach and prevent her from vomiting, following yesterday’s surgery.
The results of that revolution: three points for Tatiana; zero points for the NG tube. It only took her a split second after she actually went for it. And a split second later, she seemed instantly relieved. The tube was irritating her throat and causing her constant pain. As soon as she yanked it out, she babbled sounding relieved, and I’m sure she would have done a little dance if she weren’t so strung out from the morphine in her system.
It wasn’t the first time she pulled such a stunt; she’d done the same thing twice during her stay in the Neonatal Intensive Care Unit back in her first six weeks of life.
I felt like I had been nagging different nurses all day about the tube. Her surgeon had come by earlier to check on her, and he mentioned the possibility of taking it out - especially if it continued to drain such a small amount of fluid.
I guess you could say she was being proactive in her care.
Well, after that, the nurses relocated her IV, which was also causing her some grief. And since then, it’s been smooth sailing. Now, it’s just a waiting game – we have to wait to see when her bowels will wake up and show us some proof that everything is in working order. What exactly does that mean? Well, it means we have to wait and see if she can actually poop out of her bottom without any major issues. Fun stuff.
I’ve been thinking about what that would be like. I know, thinking about poop – so short of glamorous. Still, that would be huge for Tatiana, a child born without the natural ability to do what so many of us take for granted. Up until this last surgery, she was pooping into a colostomy bag out of the side of her belly.
So, here I am. Typing. Checking my stats. Looking up other mommy blogs. Debating whether I’m going to stick to my guns and resist Twitter or throw in the towel and tweet ‘til the cows come home.
It’s so quiet. I can’t decide whether the humming of the air conditioner is soothing or annoying, but its there.
Suddenly I hear the faintest little sound. Trrr.
“Did she just fart?!” I ask my husband.
We look at each other stunned, excited. I’ve never been so happy to hear someone pass gas, break wind, cut the cheese, flatulate . . . toot.
She’s still sound asleep. Relaxed.
“Wait. Did she just poo?!”
“I think she just poo’d!”
I check her diaper. “We’ve got poo! Yay, Tatiana we’ve got poo!” My husband and I are grinning ear-to-ear.
I change her poo-soiled diaper for the first time in her life, and I’ve never been so happy to deal with someone else’s crap.