I've noticed over the years from reading back through my journal that I tend to write only in times of stress or despair. So, obviously, things have been going okay since I haven't posted an update lately.
So in looking for inspiration, I popped on the site that inspired me to begin blogging, DadCentric. The link here will take you to possibly the most gut-wrenching, inspiring and heart-felt story I've ever heard from a dad.
I cannot imagine what that family has endured all those years.
But for five days, I had a taste.
Just over 10 months ago, Sean arrived into the world to meet his family. He seemed happy enough to be here. But then his enthusiasm started to wain.
And then things got scary.
It started simply enough. He was spitting up after nursing. Then he became very lethargic and had trouble waking him up to eat.
That night - not even a full day old - he was taken back into the nursery and we didn't see him all night. Eight long hours. Wondering what is going on with our baby.
And then the news we weren't prepared for:
Sean's blood sugar is dangerously low. Like in the 30s low. They have to put him on an I.V. -- except they're not equipped to handle babies who need intensive care.
So they're going to send Sean to Children's Hospital. By ambulance. In a couple hours.
Bond with your baby. Then we're taking him. Sign these forms so we can transport him.
OMG
I cannot accurately describe the feeling of leaving the hospital without your baby. It's a combination of shock, sorrow, fear, numbness, and exhaustion - and that doesn't even really begin to do it justice.
Of course, all this time I'm trying to be the rock for my poor wife - who had we not taken proactive steps before delivery to combat postpartum depression, would be an inconsolable wreck by this point.
I couldn't hold it forever, though.
Seeing my boy hooked up in the neonatal unit was brutal. After some time with him, I had to go downstairs to admitting to fill out paperwork.
Finally, alone, away from my wife, sitting and waiting for my name to be called, the floodgates opened.
I bawled. I sobbed. I snarfed. It was the kind of cry you get when your heart is broken. It surprises you just how hard of a cry it is - one that comes from deep in your soul.
I cried like that when my Pop Pop died several years prior. I'm pretty sure I did the same when my parents announced they were splitting when I was 9.
Of course, it is at this moment I get called to fill out the paperwork. God surely does have a sense of humor.
But it was at this point that the first of two very kind women opened their hearts and consoled me. She was the woman behind the counter, asking for all the pertinent information to get Sean registered into the hospital. Name. Insurance. Etc.
I walked in, face red and puffy but trying to Man-Up and keep it together. She offered me a tissue and the gates opened once more.
Then, having taken care of the business end of this surreal day, I head back upstairs to the NICU in the elevator. It was here that a guardian angel - I have no other words to describe her - asked if I was okay. I told her my tale of woe and she told me she was the chaplain and she would look in on Sean for me.
It took several days for Sean to start turning things around. First the blood sugar stabilized. But he still wasn't eating right, as they kept having to suction nasty, green gunk out of his belly through the NG tube. Slowly he started taking more and more milk and things began to look up.
It was during this time that you start looking around at the other children in the NICU and realize how lucky you are YOUR baby is improving. Some of those children around us very likely never left that room. You almost develop a kind of survivor guilt as your baby improves and they start talking about letting us take him home.
One poor family in the pediatric unit had been bouncing between hospitals with their daughter - who had brain tumors since she was born. They were camped out in the waiting room as none of them lived nearby. To this day I don't know what happened to that poor child.
Thankfully, mine did come home. The day we were preparing to leave, the chaplain was making rounds and introduced herself to us. I shook her hand and reminded her of our encounter in the elevator and thanked her for her kindness. She remembered, and told of how she would check on Sean at night while we were home tending to our daughter.
And now my son is thriving. As we approach my his first birthday and having read the posting on DadCentric, I'm reminded just how blessed we are that our children are healthy.But for five days, I was living with the fear that my child might not make it. And some parents live with that every day.
But for the grace of God go I...
