The Meridians(14)

But in the matter of Kevin Angel, there was no challenge, no push. There was simply acceptance. His name was Kevin Angel because that was what Lynette said it was, and Lynette said it was because...well...she had dreamed it.

The first days were difficult. Once she herself had recovered enough to go home, it was next to impossible to get her to actually go home, since they would be leaving Kevin behind in the NICU. Not only was he still struggling with anemia that required transfusions, but his lungs had not developed fully, so he was in an incubator, both to keep him in an oxygen rich environment, and to keep his small body warm enough to survive until he had - hopefully - fattened up enough that he would be able to self-regulate his temperature.

She did go home, though, mostly because Robbie pointed out that she would be coming back almost all of every day to continuously feed him. Preemies were at high risk of necrotizing enterocolitis, a disease entirely unique to them. The disease could lead to the death of part of Kevin's bowel tissue, and Doctor Cody had made it clear that if that happened it would probably be the last straw in what had already been a very stressful life for Kevin. Formula or other artificial feeding methods were harder on a preemie's gastrointestinal system than was breast milk, so Lynette had to go to the hospital every day and spend most of the day pumping her breasts to get the milk needed to feed their son.

Not that she could actually feed him, no. His body was no more prepared to suckle at her breast than it was to breathe without help. Instead, she handed over her milk to a nurse who would then pass it directly into Kevin's tender belly by way of a tube that went through his nose, down his esophagus, and directly into his stomach. It made Lynette almost sick, to watch the milk being delivered not by her bosom or even by her hand, but by a line of clear plastic tubing that went into her little boy's nose. But she knew that it had to be done to keep him alive, and that was the most important thing.

Between traveling back and forth from home to the hospital, feeding Kevin, and reacting to a variety of emergencies that seemed determined to end his life before it was even fairly begun, Lynette felt on edge all the time. She knew she was on edge; knew it was making her cranky and that to some extent she was taking it out on Robbie, but knowing didn't help make the feeling go away, or make it any easier to say goodbye to her son each time she left him.

The first time there was an emergency with Kevin was only a week after he was born. Doctor Cody came into her room - she was still at the hospital herself, still recovering from her nearly fatal embolism - and informed her that Kevin had jaundice.

At first, Lynette didn't see much to be concerned about. She knew that many babies experienced the mild effects of the condition, and in fact both she and Robbie had had jaundice when they were young.

"But with premature babies," explained Doctor Cody, who always referred to Kevin as "premature" and never "a preemie," "jaundice is worse. It can cause brain damage if it's not corrected."

Lynette felt herself grow cold. She had thought that the worst was over; that having fought to make it into the outside world, her son would automatically qualify for life. Not so. "How do we fix it?"

"Normally we simply use a special light that helps the infant's body eliminate bilirubin. Bilirubin itself is a natural byproduct of blood breakdown, but premature babies often don't have the capacity to deal with it. The light breaks it down. But...."

"But?" asked Robbie, who was there as well, having taken an extended leave of absence from his work as a teacher in order to care for Lynette and the baby until the crises were over.

"But in Kevin's case the bilirubin buildup is quite massive. The light won't be enough."

"So?" said Lynette, feeling the familiar cold dread settle into the pit of her stomach again.

"So we need to do another transfusion."

And they did. The hospital again used the AB negative blood that was best for Kevin's body, rather than relying on a universal donor type, and slowly Kevin recovered from what Robbie - who joked when he was nervous - tended to call his Big Carrot Face Disease, since the boy was bright yellow until his system was cleared of the bilirubin.

But that wasn't the end of the problems. Kevin also developed severe apnea, because the part of his brain that was in charge of breathing processes had yet to develop. Normally apnea could be treated with something as simple as gently rubbing the baby's chest. But with Kevin, a mild stimulant - basically a few milligrams of caffeine delivered intravenously - had to be used. And not only that, but in addition to the feeding tube he now had another tube going through his nose - this one delivering a steady stream of oxygen to his stressed lungs.

And no sooner had the apnea dissipated than Kevin developed bronchopulminary dysplasia, another breathing condition, and had to be taken off the tubes and put on a ventilator until his lungs were developed enough that they could work on their own. New tubes were put into his stomach to pump food directly in until he was taken off the ventilator.

Then, one day when Lynette was gently touching her son through the special gloves that allowed her to touch him in the regulated environment of the incubator, he coughed and began shaking, then turned deep gray all over. Lynette shrieked for the nurse, who came over and immediately paged Doctor Cody.

The baby disappeared in a sea of doctors and nurses, and Lynette was left behind, crying for her child, as the doctors wheeled Kevin in his incubator out of the room. A few minutes later the dour Doctor Cody came out and said it looked like Kevin had patent ductus arteriosus