My eyes opened with a start to find Verity on my lap in the semi-darkness. I was holding an empty syringe in my right hand. It wasn’t attached to her NG tube. I began scrabbling around for the tube and felt a large wet spot on the bed in front of me. My mind moved about in a sluggish panic to find a logical reason for this scenario.
Oh no! Maybe the syringe came detached from the tube when I fell asleep! That would mean the cap was left off and the contents of her stomach would have been drawn up and out by capillary action!
Then I found the end of the tube and saw that the cap was still securely on it. What had happened? Why was there a big wet spot?
It slowly dawned on my groggy brain that I had just emptied the syringe of milk onto the bed in front of me. I had forgotten to attach it to her NG tube.
In the next few minutes I further discovered that I had put the bottle of saline solution where I usually put her bottle of milk, to warm it up.
And that I had wrapped up a clean diaper for the trash and the wet one was still on her. I KNOW I changed her diaper, though. I dimly remembered trying and trying to find the little velcro tab on the back of the diaper and finally giving up. I had tried to wrap it up as best I could without fastening the tab to hold that side closed. Yeah, the diaper was crisply clean and dry.
My cell phone alarm had been set for 4:30 am. What had I been doing for half an hour? I couldn’t piece it together.
I struggled for the next hour to think through and do what needed to be done to fix the mess I had made. I hadn’t pumped yet. Must pump.
As I reeled toward the bathroom to wash the bottles, syringes and pump parts, a wild thought crossed my mind. This must be what it feels like to be drunk. My stomach hurt.
By the time I was ready to fall back into bed, all I could think was, “I can’t get up again at 7:30 or I will surely die. Verity will not die.”
I turned off my alarm.
And was wakened at 8:45 am by little fussing baby noises. And was ready to feed her at 9 am. The 4 1/2 hour stretch between feedings didn’t kill her. She wasn’t dead.
Now to figure out how to plan out her feeding schedule to put one longer stretch between two of her night feedings and still get eight feedings into every twenty-four hours.
Just last night, Joe and I were laughing together at the hymn that was stuck in my head. It starts out like this~
“Christian, do not seek repose,
Cast your dreams of ease away…”
Aaaaack! Wrong hymn, wrong hymn! How about “Jesus, I am resting, resting!?”