Chief Medical Officer Mom has submitted her final report regarding the events on Stardate 0525.16 and can be accessed from the menu above.
(Admiral’s Note: I swear it wasn’t creative license, I really thought that’s what happened)
Many missions accomplished today, particularly the early remove of the photo-therapy lights. The jaundice is receding, and I will get checked again tomorrow morning. One of the nurses commented how handsome I was, to which the Admiral clapped his hands and stated “mission accomplished” and proceeded to check another one off the board. Still hoping to accomplish my last mission this evening.
Unfortunately, command called away Counselor Michelle, and she will be sorely missed. Her presence on the bridge was appreciated, and was a huge boost to crew morale.
Chief Medical Officer Mom is having some difficult adjusting to the current situation. I understand that my brother Finn has been on her mind lately, and she feels so torn between loving me and loving him, and reconciling the situation internally. Admiral Dad encourages her to not lose hope, and that it is perfectly normal to feel a bit depressed given the current status of the ship. She has been through so many trials this past year, and I know that in time, she will come to love me without feeling guilt for being unable to love Finn as if he were still here. These things take time, and I am a patient one.
Admiral Dad is often remarking to everyone how cool under pressure I am. It’s true. i know that when the medical crew is checking all my vitals that it can be a bit irritating, and I express my frustration. But as soon as they are finished, I realize it wasn’t so bad and am able to pacify myself. I think it is the mark of a great captain, and the Admiral says I will do great things with my life.
A special hello to Lt. Aunt Pam, who is reviewing these logs back at Command AZ. I look forward to meeting her some day.
Stay Calm.
Cap’n B
Phototherapy lights removed at 5 am. Admiral Dad snapped a quick shot for the log before I got dressed again. He’s not much of a photographer at 5am.
Had a blood draw late at night. Admiral Dad was there to guide me through it.
My mission today was to get my first bath. This mission was successfully accomplished.
Counselor Michelle (also my Aunt) came aboard the ship today. I had not met her yet, and it was truly a pleasure. Normally I fuss during my “cares” (the time when all my bionic wires and tubes are checked and rewired), but with the Counselor aboard I was able to stay calmer than I ever have been before. I think the Admiral and Chief Medical Officer were impressed.
Signing off for tonight. The Admiral is camping out while Chief Medical Officer Mom gets some much needed R&R back at the home-world, escorted by Counselor Michelle.
Stay Calm.
Cap’n B
Encountered a new life form today. It identifies itself as “Yo-da”.
Today has been a nice, quiet day so far. I’m feeling the best I have felt yet, and last night I finally had my venous line taken outt, and it was great because it was constantly making my monitor beep. Here is a picture of my monitor:
The green number is my heart rate, the blue number is my oxygen level, and the white is for my respiratory rate. All numbers are good right now. Whenever there is any trouble, like a dip in my heart rate, the number will flash and a yellow alert will appear. During a yellow alert, the nurses will come and check, but are not too concerned. If my monitor detects something really bad, my ship will go to red alert and it’s all hands on deck!
Unfortunately, my bilirubin count has been higher than the doctors would like. So I have to go under protective lighting for 48 hours to protect against jaundice. My skin had started to look a little yellow, so the doctors ordered me to do photo-therapy.
Last night, Admiral Dad was called off on a mission to the home-world, so I spent the evening with Chief Medical Officer Mom. I love Mommy so much. I hope that the rest of today is uneventful.
Stay Calm.
Cap’n B
On May 24, 2016, my Mom went into early labor. I don’t know why, and neither do the doctors. That afternoon, Mom began feeling contractions, even though I was only 32 weeks incubated. I understand that my brother, Finn, was also born early. However, the doctors had deemed that occurrence to have been a 1% chance, as Mommy has no known genetic or lifestyle risk factors. The doctors had told my parents that I was unlikely to be born early like my brother. My Dad says we are no longer the 1%, but are now the .01%. That is really small, like me!
Anyways, my parents went to the hospital and were set up in a delivery room and had to wait and see if I was going to arrive or not. I understand they kicked back and watched some baseball and tried not to think about what was happening. After some time, however, it became apparent that I was about to make my appearance early on May 25.
As if me coming early wasn’t scary enough, the delivery was complicated, and at one point, my heart stopped beating. This really scared my Dad a lot. But, thankfully, I am here to live to tell the tale. Since I was born so early, I had to be rushed to the Neonatal Intensive Care Unit (NICU). I couldn’t breathe on my own, so they hooked me up to a respirator and put me in a little box and sent me on an ambulance for my first car ride. My Dad tells me that having to go the NICU again was a hard thing for him to do.
After I was born, my Mom refused to stay in the hospital very long and demanded to get discharged quickly! Even though she could barely walk, she wanted to meet me over in the NICU, so she got out of there early. The doctors weren’t real thrilled about this, but I was so glad she came to see me so soon. (Dad note: I certainly love his mother, but boy is she stubborn. Also, the fact that Mayo’s delivery area is a mile away from the NICU and you can’t leave without a discharge is so frustratingly stupid).
Even though I came early, I weighed 4 pounds, 13 ounces, and appeared to be in good health. Besides the breathing help, I was fairly stable, although my heart would stop beating occasionally. This seems scary (and it is), but it’s not uncommon for someone born early like me. I was put into a little isolette, but Mom and Dad were able to hold me almost right away, which was very comforting and made me feel better. I feel sad knowing that they were unable to snuggle my brother Finn for 5 whole days. I love snuggling with Mom so much!
When I asked my Dad how he made it through those doors again he said this: “Brennan, standing before those NICU doors again was the second hardest thing I have ever had to do in my life. My mind was just reeling, and I thought that I couldn’t do it. Not again. I stood there, frozen, shaking from head to toe. But I took a deep breath, and tried to stay calm. I reminded myself that however hard it was for me to walk in there again, you were waiting on the other side and needing me. And suddenly, those doors were just like any other doors again, waiting to be pushed aside and for me to love another baby again. So I did.”
I’m told I need to stay in the hospital for at least a month before I can go home, so I should have plenty of time to blog. Hopefully, I can tell you more about my journey until I am able to go home with Mom and Dad.
Stay Calm.
Cap’n B
Captain Brennan 