Worrying’s a funny thing. Actually, it’s not a funny thing at all. In fact it’s probably about as far away from being funny or in any way fun as it’s possible for something to be.  With worrying being such a rubbish past-time, not worrying about things would seem to be most sensible approach and hence the reason it’s everyone’s recommended route – easier said than done, however.  The problem with not worrying is that worry, by it’s very nature, is something you can’t just switch off and, well, not worry about.

I’m starting to accept that with choosing to be parents we’ve signed ourselves up to a lifetime of worrying.  Weather it’s about coughs and colds, school grades, crossing the road, learning to drive, love life problems and one day worrying about our children’s children, I’ll gladly take all of those worries on the chin as they’re thrown at us. Right now tho, with little SJ only a two weeks old and more medical things to worry about than we could have ever imagined, I just hope this seemingly relentless pace of worrying subsides very soon so we can get on with some worry-free fun stuff with Savannah.

24 hours off the ventilator (better than the last attempt, which lasted just under an hour) and breathing with the help of her CPAP machine, we’re now on full worry alert about how long she’ll be able to keep breathing under her own steam for this time round, how often the bouts of apnea (where she forgets to breath) will come about and for how long and whether she’ll need to be re-intubated if her blood gasses, which haven’t been great today, don’t improve pretty soon.  On the plus side, after a night without any food so that SJ could concentrate all of her energies on breathing, they’ve now re-started her hourly feeds and are gradually increasing the quantities so at least she’s eating again.

So there we are, worrying away about her breathing, when in comes Dr C (the lead consultant in the neonatal unit who’s lovely) comes to talk to us about Savannah’s latest brain scan.  The short version of it is that there is still some signs of bleeding around the little pockets where the brains fluid are made and stored and, whilst very small and more likely to go away on their own over time, there is still a chance that they may not and that there’s a small chance of some longer term developmental issues as a result.  She’s quick to stress that this is the least likely scenario but has to make us aware of it as a possibility nonetheless. With that, Dr C tells us, they’ll continue to monitor it with another scan in a week or so and not to worry about it. Easier said than done! A new seed of worry has been planted and is growing like a pesky weed.

We end the day at the hospital with the results of SJ’s latest blood gas test, which are her best of the day and the nurse gives her an A minus for them.  Some good news in a haze of worry, at last.  And when we get home, there’s a fridge full of food including a beef stew, mac & cheese and a gnocchi dish, all whipped up by our friend Abbie, who clearly didn’t have enough on her hands entertaining her own 3 children during half term this week and still found time to fill our fridge with food for us so we at least don’t have to worry about shopping and cooking for a few days. One less thing to worry about is most definitely welcome as we collapse on the sofa for day – thanks Abs.