One of the nurses showed Jason and I to a 'sleep room' this morning. It's a room inside the hospital just out of the pediatric unit. There are 2 private rooms and they share a bathroom. It's dark - without any windows - and has a bed and TV. It's exactly what's it's called - a sleep room. Jason and I both had a hard time pulling ourselves away from Bryer's side, but we weren't functioning very well on such little sleep after our all-night interviews with the investigator.
When we woke up after getting only a few hours of rest, they said the child abuse doctor had been through already, but they would let us know if he came around again. I continued repeating his name in my head so I would remember him if he came by.
Bryer's meds from her medically-induced coma have left her sleeping all day. She's on different seizure meds too to help calm her brain. I spent all day either next to her bed or hidden behind the curtain in her room to pump milk. She has a warmer over the top of her bed, as the doctors say she isn't maintaining her own body temperature. Her breathing tube is keeping her supplied with oxygen and her feeding tube is doing its job. They won't put my breast milk through it yet since it takes more energy for her body to digest then just the essential stuff they are giving her, but I will keep pumping so that it's ready when she is. The pump the hospital gave me wasn't doing a very good job so I got my sister's pump, which is wonderful - and it's portable, for when we are ready to go see our other kids. I guess this is what they consider life support, but she just looks like she's sleeping (with a lot of tubes and monitors all over her).
As I sat by Bryer's bed, I quietly sang hymns and kids church songs, trying not to cry. We have to be really quiet so the stimulation doesn't require too much brain activity. We can't touch her skin, as they explained all her nerve endings are extremely sensitive to the touch. The only babies I have ever known that had problems gained comfort from their mother's touch and bare skin. I don't understand this way of not touching her, but I trust what the doctors are saying. We can lightly put our hand over the top of her blanket. That is the extent that I can be the closest to our baby, so that's how Jason and I spent most of our day, taking turns. I want her to feel our presence and know we are near - and if a miracle happens and she opens her eyes, then I want there to be a familiar face there for her to see!
They brought me in a menu, even though I don't feel like eating. My only motivation is so I can produce milk for Bryer. If I don't eat and drink water, then I can't give her the best nutrition when she's ready for it, so I will keep forcing myself. I also have to be careful not to order anything that has dairy so it won't upset her tummy when she does get it.
My heart feels like it's tearing in two. I want to stay by Bryer's side, but I miss my other kids too. How can I be in two places at once? Jason's parents made the drive up to our house to get them from our neighbor when they knew we were on the way to the hospital. I am so thankful for supportive family that act before we even ask them to. It's not the same as me being there, but I know they are taken care of. Some of my family came by the hospital today. I told my mom that the quote that keeps going though my head is,