My grandnephew is exactly one month old today. He has resided in an incubator in the hospital since he was born. Weight at birth: About 1.7 pounds. He has his own dedicated nurse attending to him, 24 hours a day.
Weylyn (I know… don’t ask) was two months premature and, to me at least, didn’t even look human. The first time I saw him, the hospital had him swaddled to within an inch of his life. I couldn’t even tell which end was the head and which the feet.
Today, he actually looks like a baby and won’t keep his arms tucked in because he likes to wave them around. I hear he manages to dislodge the tubes they have connected to his little body.
I don’t even want to think about the hospital bills involved. I’m guessing close to a million dollars at this point.
Meanwhile, my young nephew and his wife have taken to living in a trailer parked in the hospital lot, convenient to pumping and delivering breast milk every three or four hours. About once a week, they go home for a proper shower and a nap in a decent bed. Family visits them every day or two, bringing food or taking them out to eat.
The doctors say that Weylyn can go home when he weighs four pounds. It shouldn’t be long, as he topped three pounds this week. We suppose he’ll be over at our house a lot, particularly after his mother goes back to work. My wife and her sister (who lives with us) have volunteered for day care duties.
Well, the hospital says that anyone who comes into contact with Weylyn needs to have a flu shot. Gulp!
I am one of those needle phobic wimps and haven’t had a flu shot for almost twenty years (and even then only because my doctor collared me at an office visit and wouldn’t let me leave without one).
My 85 year old father got his annual flu shot last week, but Mom, who had surgery a month ago, decided to pass. Not long ago, waiting for a blood draw in the Kaiser lab, I heard an old man complaining about how last year he got a flu shot and came down with the flu anyway. Is this whole thing a fool’s errand?
Yeah, I know. Weylyn.
I don’t trust flu shots. I received one when I was in my 20s that left me sick in bed for days. I’m told it all depends on the particular strain they use in the vaccine in a given year, whether it’s live or killed, and I don’t know how many other factors.
Oh, and I hear that if you’re over 55 years old, which my wife and I both are, they inject you with a super strong dose so that you don’t die when a sneaky flu bug gets into your body and causes your immune system to give up the ghost.
I like to think things have improved since the 1980s, but about ten years ago, many of my coworkers took advantage of a flu vaccine clinic at my job and proceeded to get sick. So maybe things haven’t changed so much.
Except that they have. On Saturday, I grabbed my cane and hobbled down what felt like a mile of corridors to the flu clinic at Kaiser Hospital. My wife, who doesn’t do flu shots either, got one as well. “I’m only doing this for Weylyn,” she told me. Um, that’s for sure! The things you’ll do for a little preemie baby. Sheesh!
I pulled my left arm out of my shirt, felt the alcohol swab, and prepared for the pain of a long needle making its insidious way into my muscle.
But it never happened. It took about two seconds and the Kaiser lady said “all done.” I barely felt anything. Modern times!
So, does this mean that I’m not going to be stuck in bed puking for the next three days?
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