Part 3 :: "Some babies just need to be lifted in to this world

I watched as the team from Brenners Children's Hospital wheeled my 6 hour old son out of my room, hooked to more monitors, IV's and tubes than I could count. In my mind I was calling out to him to hang on, just hang on until I was dismissed from the hospital and could travel to be with him. My father in law followed the team out of the room down to the ambulance. I desperately wanted to jump out of the bed and follow them, despite the fact that I had just had my abdomen cut in to to get him out. Despite the fact that I still really couldn't feel my legs from the drugs they had given me. I would have dragged myself down the hall with my arms if I thought I had been physically strong enough to do it. But instead, I laid there and kept my mind from racing. I focused on somehow connecting to my son, I wanted more than anything to tell him that I was sorry I didn't know something was wrong earlier. I just didn't know. "Please hold on till I can touch you... I know thats all you need to want to stay here. You need to feel your mommas touch. Just hold on till then. Don't decide to give up yet."

Soon after, my visitors left so that my husband and I could get some rest. The Brenners team said they'd call as soon as they got him admitted to let us know how he did and what the doctors thought. Somehow, between the stress of what had happened and the nurses coming in to check on me and give me pain meds, I fell asleep. Dreamless. Dark. Sleep.

About 2am, much later than it should have taken for the ambulance to get to Winston-Salem, the phone rang. The most shrill, jump out of your skin ring that I had ever heard. I answered, still groggy from the deep sleep I had been in. "Hello?"

"Tara? This is one of the Paramedics that was with Chase in the ambulance. Is your husband there? Can you put me on speaker phone?" She asked. Hearing, but not comprehending in the least what she had just said to me, I handed the phone to my husband so that he could talk to her. It seemed that my brain had stopped processing, I felt as if I were in a tub of gel with no desire to break free. The world was muffled. My husband had the phone held partially to his ear, partially to mine so that we could both be updated on our sons condition... but all I heard was seizure.

Once the paramedic had hung up, I laid there quietly for a minute before I asked, "Did she say he had a seizure?" My husband nodded, explaining that he had what seemed like 2 seizures on the trip down and they needed our approval to do a spinal tap on him. Silent tears began streaming down my face. Two seizures. Two. What had I done to my son? How had I been so bad at growing him? I was made to grow babies... my body, my hips... they were built for this. So how had I done such a bad job?

I was thankful that the room was dark and we were both exhausted so that my husband couldn't see my tears. I didn't need him worrying any more about me when we both had our son to worry about. The same dark, dreamless sleep overtook me quickly.

The next morning, we had both agreed that he would go to Winston-Salem to be with our little boy. As he left, he stopped at the door, slowly turned around and said, "But I dont want to leave you here." I managed a smile, and told him that our son needed us, and since I couldn't leave, he had to. "He needs at least one of us, you have to go. I'll be ok, and when I get discharged, we'll both go be with him." He came back to give me one more kiss and turned to leave just as I was unable to hold the tears back. I was having a hard time finding that strength I'd held on to so easily less than 24 hours before.

My phone rang and beeped at me multiple times that day. People wanting to check on me, make sure I was ok. I hardly answered any of the well wishes, wanting nothing more than the day to be over so that  I could wake up the next morning to have them discharge me. My in-laws visited by my husbands request, bringing me lunch... although I did not want visitors, I knew this made them and my husband feel better to be able to check on me. A good friend brought me a Starbucks coffee, knowing my love for the chain, and knowing coffee would calm me. My mom came by, encouraging me to get out of bed and take a shower. Everyone was cheery, obviously trying to distract me from the situation. I was cheery, obviously trying to distract me from the situation. More people requested to visit, but I couldn't handle the company. I politely declined, thanking them for the offer.

Nurses and family kept asking if I heard anything from my husband, or from the doctors, curious why I wasn't pushing for more information from both sources. All I could think of was, "They'll tell me when they know something. Bothering them just gets in the way." I couldn't understand why more people didn't get that... from people wondering why I was so calm prior to his birth, to people wanting more information of his condition. My interrupting those who had a job to do wouldn't help them do their job. I needed everyone to do their job, and do it well.

Dusk finally arrived, along with my husband, obviously emotionally exhausted from seeing our son in the condition he was in. He showed me a photo he'd taked with his cell phone, knowing that I desperately wanted to see our son. We sat and talked for a while, him updating me on what he had been told. They were keeping him alive and running as many tests as they could think of to figure out why he wasn't thriving on his own. There were plenty of babies that had merconium in utero that once the lungs were cleared were fine, and never once dealt with not being able to regulate their blood sugars and blood pressure on their own. They weren't really sure what they were looking for.

It started to get late, and my husband turned to me and asked if I would be ok if he went home to sleep that night. I wanted to scream, "No, I need you here with me! I need you." but my logical self took over, knowing that, of the two of us, he was the one who was going to have to be physically prepared to take care of a sick baby, in addition to a wife who was physically weak and emotionally wrecked. He was going to have to be strong enough for all of us, and he wouldn't have a chance at that if he didn't have quality sleep.

After bouts of restlessness, mixed with dreamless sleep, I woke the next morning with mixed feelings; I wanted nothing more than to just fall back into that dark, dead sleep, never leaving the bed, never waking up... ever again. But being all too familiar with the feeling of depression creeping in, I made myself crawl out of bed, trying to ignore the pain at my incision, the ache in my chest, and the rush of sadness. I knew if I didn't make myself get up right then, it would be that much harder to do later. After a few slow laps around the room, I sat at the edge of the bed, waiting for my husband to arrive, waiting for my doctor to discharge me, waiting for this nightmare to be over.

Within the hour, I was being wheeled out of the hospital in a wheelchair so that we could go home, pack a bag for what I couldn't have imagined would have been more than a weeks visit, and hit the road so that I could FINALLY see my son. I knew he just needed my touch. "Just hang on Bud..." I thought, "just hang on long enough for mommy to get to you and everything will be ok. I promise."

(continued here)