My cousin Hannah and her fiancee Dane welcomed their son, Gabriel William into the world early, early, early this morning a little after four. Three weeks early, he weighed in at 7 lb, 7 oz and was 20 inches long (beating out his older cousin by a hefty few ounces).
Unfortunately, he was born with wet lung which means that when Gabe was born there was extra fluid left in his lungs. There’s fluid in the lungs when a baby is in-utero, which is fine because a baby’s oxygen comes from the blood vessels of the placenta…not from the use of his/her lungs. And eventually as the due date nears the lungs start to clear out and when s/he is born some more is squeezed out during the birthing process. Any leftover fluid is either coughed or eventually absorbed into the body (this is a crude version of what normally would happen). However, in Gabe’s case the extra fluid remains/clears out too slowly, making it difficult for him to breath properly. Generally he will breathe harder and faster to get enough oxygen.
They took him to the St. Cloud nicu because of all the potential flooding in Fargo. Mom told me that they’re not even accepting any new patients due to the fear of the levees and sandbag lines breaking and that the Roger Maris Cancer Center had closed down as well. Hannah, Mary and Dane are leaving to go there today sometime and, if you think about it, please pray for safe travels as they navigate through the snowy frozen-ness of Minnesota.
I can’t imagine what that would be like.
To not get to hold your baby for fear of “stressing” him too much.
My heart hurts just thinking about it. And so with that in mind, I ask you to please pray for them. For comfort, peace, patience and steadfastness. Having Ada sick with pneumonia was bad enough (and we knew she is a fighter), but to have your new, infant child that you don’t know yet as a being to be ill would be so scary. So unbelievably scary.
So with that in mind, please pray for them. They could use all the support and love possible…even if they don’t know it at the time. The older Ada gets, the more I realize that it’s the “invisible” support that helps Dylan and I get through the tough days and relish the good days even more.