An American River Trip

Tate had his first trip to the American River yesterday. We drove up and over Luther Pass along the West Fork of the Carson River, along Highway 88, and around Highway 50 past the Angora Fire burn area. Once over the pass, we dropped into the watershed of the North Fork of the American River to get to our friend Ann's cabin. The American River is pretty amazing. Perfectly clear, and cold. It's flowing reasonably well yet, despite the fact that we're in a pretty serious drought year. The forest fire danger is already "extreme" everywhere in the Tahoe Basin. Further to the east 60,000-70,000 acres are on fire near Winnemucca. But July 7, 2007 was a beautiful day in the mountains, bright and warm, with a nice breeze. We had a great time hanging out with friends from the museum, and enjoyed temperatures 10-20 degrees cooler than they are down here in Reno. Tate even kept his sunglasses on!

Sweet Grinning Boy

It's sort of shocking how fast time goes, really. Before Tate's birth, I had gotten in the habit of writing most mornings at dawn, prior to Monica waking, and during the quiet dark hours. Now I see I haven't written in almost two weeks. It's a strange kind of time warp to be in these days. But what a wonderful warp it is. Tate went to the Bay Area last weekend with his mom to see three college girlfriends, two of whom have infant boys. They gathered for a weekend of food, fun, and reminiscence, and had a great time. What was most amazing being away from the two of them for four days was that by the time they returned, Tate had learned to grin. He had grinned many times already, but they were frequently uncontrolled or uncontrollable facial expressions. Suddenly we can now make a funny noise at him or sing a song and his mouth opens up and he'll smile and gurgle--his big eyes will narrow, and you can see his familial smile lines at their corners.

Aunty Caitlin

Today is Aunty Caitlin's birthday. She is 27 years old today, and is growing more and more beautiful. She came to see Tate last week, and what a nice visit we had. Her visit coincided with the end of my family leave, and so we got to spend a lot of time together--we haven't spent that much face time together since she and I moved to Cooper Landing, Alaska, together five years ago this summer. We see each other pretty regularly, but it's not often just time with my sister. I can hardly believe that five years have passed since we were first in Alaska together, either--it truly feels like yesterday, and here it is a half a decade ago. Happy Birthday, hermana. We love you.
Monica and Tate have gone to see some friends in California--her four closest college girlfriends are gathering from all corners of the country to see each other. Three of the four have had new babies in the last year, and two of those babies are the first ones in their respective families. So there are four girls--Monica, Kirsten, Sara, and Shauna--and as it turns out, three baby boys: Tate, Cash, and Henry. There's a fourth boy, too, Bracket, who is Kirsten's older boy--some of you might remember him as the little red-bow-tie-wearing infant from our wedding--but his dad is taking him to Legoland for the weekend. That these girls have maintained such a close tie to one another after ten years is really quite a nice thing to see. They left yesterday morning, and I had the house to myself last night, which was a very strange feeling, let me tell you. After two months of punctuated sleep, it was very strange to wake up in the morning wondering why I had not heard Tate's cries in the night. I'll miss them this weekend, but I'll be waving a stick at the waters of June Lake trying to catch a fish with my friends Josh and Shelly.

Morning Coffee and a Baby Boy

I'm sitting at the table sipping coffee as I write this morning, my son resting in a snugli I'm wearing around my shoulders and chest, and I'm humming to him the theme song from the '80s film Crossing Delancey. He's talking to me and bouncing up and down on his little feet, trying to learn that his feet are his feet, and that his hands are his hands. He frequently swings his arms around and hits himself in the face with his little fist, and then looks as if he's considering who just hit him, and whether or not he should cry. His eyes are growing heavy now, but he's fighting sleep at this moment...one of the ways I know he is my son. I remember very distinctly fighting sleep or Ginger, our childhood babysitter, who wished for Caitlin and I to take our naps. Tate and I have been hanging out together this morning watching the finals of the 2007 French Open, where Raphael Nadal has just defeated Roger Federer in four sets. We're trying to let Monica get a few more winks of sleep this morning.
Tate's also been studying the sculptures of Deborah Butterfield with me, as I prepare to go to work this week and next to be ready for the NMA exhibition of her work, which begins next weekend. It seems fitting that Rags to Riches, the first filly to win the Belmont Stakes in 102 years, secured her win yesterday as Tate and I sat together looking at pictures of sculptures with the names shared with such famous race horses as Rondo and Ferdinand. Seeing such beautiful movement in those wonderful horses changes the way you consider Butterfield's sculpture, I think.
On Monday this week, we had a do-over for Mother's Day--Monica's first Mother's Day had been in the hospital with the boy, so we planned our own. Tate and I celebrated with a fun present for mommy and a drive to Truckee to introduce Tate to our friend Meg, and to have dinner at Jake's on the Lake in Tahoe City. It was a beautiful evening, and we enjoyed stuffed rainbow trout together. We watched the light grow long across Lake Tahoe as it illuminated the sails of a dozen dinghies racing in a regatta in the last of the day's winds.
Tate is thriving, and I now believe that his head could no longer be birthed, it's grown so much. His hands and feet appear larger to me, and he seems longer still than he had been just a week ago. He's now asleep against my chest, breathing rhythmically. Here's a cute shot of Tate and his mommy...

After the Blue Moon

A picture of my boy and me....My dad took the photograph when he and my mom were in town last weekend for the holiday. You can read my dad's account of the visit's meaning at his blog, Blue Wheelbarrow.
A blue moon rose in the late hours of May 31 (on the west coast)--the first one in two-and-a-half years. It feels like a small but special event early in Tate's young life. He is six weeks old today, and all indications are that he's now thriving. I'll need to take him to have his blood tested for bilirubin and liver enzyme levels toward the end of this week, but, thankfully, we won't otherwise have to visit the doctor's office until his healthy baby checkup on June 26.
Many thanks again to everyone for their thoughts and prayers for our little one in recent weeks. Aside from sharing the peace at church, my favorite time in the liturgy is the prayers of the people. There really does seem to be a channeling of energy at the time that the prayers are read, and I find it to be a powerful expression of peoples' faith in action, and to know that so many were thinking of Tate in this time of need feels comforting.
He's learning to control his facial expressions ever-so-slightly now, and we can see what his smiles will look like from time to time now. He's a sweet boy.

@ Almost 6 Weeks

Tate will be six weeks old on Saturday. This will put him at the same age as I was when my parents moved to Spain in 1977 for my dad's Fulbright Fellowship that year. We've had some different circumstances than my parents had, but I remain amazed that they pulled off such a feat so soon after my birth. From my vantage point, such a move seems at this point all but impossible, and makes me proud of them for their go-for-it attitude.
Speaking of my parents, they came to visit for Tate's fifth week in the world, and had a lovely time. As you might imagine, they were quite taken with Tate. While they were here, we got word that Tate's liver enzymes had dropped to levels at or very near normal, which produced an overwhelming relief. I had no idea how much concern I still had pent up inside of me until I heard from the nurse Thursday night that his bloodwork indicated the levels of his liver enzymes had dropped 200-300%, and a more than 50% drop in his bilirubin level. The news was celebrated with a cork popping out of a nice bottle of Santa Rosa Pinot.
So now, for the first time, we've been enjoying medically unnecessary activities: walking by the river, checking out bunch grasses and salvias at the Dry Creek Garden nursery, speaking with friends and family, and offering prayers of thanksgiving for good news regarding Tate's health...

Through the Wringer and Back

Wow. Have you ever seen one of those old-fashioned washing machines with parallel rollers for wringing water out of freshly washed clothing? They look kind of like a printing press with a wash basin attached. It feels like we've been put through one of them in the last five days. Tate has had elevated levels of bilirubin for three weeks, but a week ago we also learned that he had elevated levels of two important liver enzymes. A week ago yesterday, we had been told that Tate's bilirubin level had dropped from 17 mg/dl to 0.1 mg/dl (yes, one tenth of one deciliter) in three days, and that as a result we could take him off the biliblanket. As it turns out, that test was wrong, but that's a longer story. To make the long story short, last Tuesday, May 8, our pediatrician saw in this test that Tate's bilirubin had dropped precipitously. The doctor was amazed (we now understand his skepticism was justified). At the time, Tate already had elevated levels of these two liver enzymes, called AST and ALT, but the pediatrician's sense was that they were elevated largely because his liver had finally kicked in to get rid of the bilirubin. So we began celebrating a bit, believing that Tate, in effect, had a clean bill of health. The doctor wanted us to have Tate's blood checked for the presence of the enzymes one more time later that week to see that the levels had dropped, which would indicate that his liver was returning to normal after working very hard to purge all of his bilirubin. So on Thursday last week, May 10, I took Tate to the lab, and had his blood tested. We had relished for those two days the freedom from the biliblanket, and enjoyed doing some slightly more normal, medically unnecessary things with our boy, but on Thursday night, the pediatrician called, and told us the levels had not only not gone down, but in fact had risen alarmingly, to the point that the doctor wanted us to get Tate to the hospital right away for observation and tests to figure out what the deal was. You can imagine our initial panic and fall from the happiness of the two days of relative freedom from medical procedures.
For the next four days nothing much happened, really, aside from regular daily blood tests, discussions with the pediatric unit staff and a pediatric gastroenterologist, and an ultrasound of Tate's liver. This was at times emotionally exhausting, frustrating, frightening, and overwhelming, as you can imagine. As each day passed, however, the likelihood of something extraordinary and seriously wrong with Tate's liver diminished because the enzymes were trending downward (thankfully), but their cause remained (and as of today, remains) a mystery. The best news came with the ultrasound, which indicated that Tate's liver structure was normal and healthy, and showed no signs of a missing or malformed gall bladder, spleen, or bile ducts, any one of which would have certainly required immediate surgery. Because the liver's structure appeared healthy, the next most likely scenario was that Tate had somehow contracted a liver infection (literally a hepatitis) of some sort, which was causing the elevated enzymes. This remains the notion under which we are currently operating. I'll find out Thursday morning if Tate's enzyme levels have dropped on their own, which will essentially confirm the diagnosis of an infective, and that Tate's body is taking care of it for him. As with any virus, there's little to be done, really--it just has to run its course. So the likelihood that we'll ever know what Tate has had is increasingly remote. This is just fine with me.
A week or more ago I was talking with my dad about how Tate's bilirubin levels were still elevated, and how we were feeling grateful but frustrated by the constant necessity of the biliblanket that we had been using to reduce his bilirubin levels. We were talking about how people frequently gripe and complain about "how stressed out they are" with everyday circumstances--I certainly have been one of these people on more than one occasion--when real stress in fact lies in the concerns regarding the health of a new baby. It's certainly given me a few grey hairs recently.
Tate is 25 days old today, which hardly seems possible. 7.5 of those 25 days have been spent in the hospital--at his birth and for his most recent liver concern. Half of these days he's been connected to the biliblanket, which effectively kept us tied to the house. On 20 or so of his 25 days, he's had blood drawn from his feet, his arm, or his groin. We are extraordinarily grateful that Tate's liver ultrasound indicated it was healthy; it means that the scariest of the possible diagnoses is increasingly remote. We're also really grateful for all of the good thoughts and prayers of friends and family as these days have transpired. They have helped buoy our spirits and make us feel encouraged during it all. Thank you.
Here's a recent picture of the boy, tough guy that he is.

Sweetly Sleeping Under the Waning Moon

Little Tate's bilirubin levels are falling. Although they are dropping only incrementally at this point, the important thing is that they're going down. The measurement for bilirubin is taken in milligrams per deciliter of blood, or mg/dl. Safe levels of bilirubin are about 10 mg/dl and below. Last week, Tate's levels fluctuated between 17.3 and 20.9 mg/dl until Friday, when they went down to 16.7. We still have a ways to go, but there are encouraging signs: the whites of his eyes are beginning to turn white again near the iris, he's noticeably less jaundiced (though not entirely cleared up), and his poop has a lot of yellow in it--a good sign, indicating that his liver is now working to rid his body of the bilirubin as a waste product on its own . We're awaiting today's test results yet, and have another visit with the doctor tomorrow, at which we hope to hear that he's gained weight since Friday and that his bili levels are continuing to drop. Gotta run to the lab once more for another blood test...but isn't this kid adorable?

The Happy New Mommy & A Milk Coma

Who knew that one could be so tired, and yet so happy? I guess anyone who's had a child [duh!], but it's not the kind of thing you realize until it's you--no matter how empathetic you might be. So far my main point of reference has been the exhaustion I felt during the first year of graduate school, which is actually not all that different from this exhaustion, except that this one comes with some significantly more joyful elements, and while books are often beautiful things, they don't breathe and move on their own.
Tate's bilirubin count continues to drop slowly, but it is going in the right direction, so that's the only thing that matters at this point, really. We continue to be astounded by the realities of our new little man, even in his hourly wakings in the last few nights that are accompanied by 100-decibel cries. I never guessed something so loud could come from something so small. It's really quite amazing. And what a remarkable survival strategy! Cry so loud that you could break windows, and virtually no one can ignore your needs...
I need also to say just how wonderful my wife is. The first few days home with Tate we both looked a little bit shell-shocked, I think, confounded by the utter reality of our new responsibilities, but I've watched Monica over the last 12 days, learning how to care for Tate, observing his behaviors, examining all his little parts, washing his soft brown hair, learning to be his mommy. What a joy that is.

April Flowers Celebrating Monica

For Monica's birthday this week, you would correctly imagine that we had a lovely little celebration at home without too much fanfare, save the joyfulness of celebrating with little Tate in the house. Mom sent the lovely tulips in the photo, which have looked beautiful for several days. It's a bit of a blur, really, but I think Monica enjoyed celebrating her birthday with our son in the room. If that doesn't sound out of this world--"our son"--I don't know what does.