Chapter Two: "I'm scared Daddy"

I keep thinking that we've reached the hardest part. I keep thinking, nothing can get harder than this moment. I keep getting proved wrong.

Yesterday there was a lot of waiting. We started our morning at 7:00 AM. I sat in a chair and held Deano (newest best nickname, I've been using it, it's totally sticking, will explain it later) and kissed him and played with his toes. Blair held him too and gave him kisses.

We walked with our son to an elevator and they took him down. We took our infant son and gave him to people who we were trusting to take care of his tiny tiny heart. I cried when we said goodbye, praying that it wouldn't be the last time we saw him.

We walked back and got ready for the day. Decided to go get breakfast. We ended up spending a lot of time in the cafeteria, holding hands, eating food (so much food), and of course, reading.

We were given this pager that could give us updates. We knew when he went into surgery, we knew how he was doing, we knew when he was on the bypass machine. Breathing. Hoping. Reading the amazing posts from friends who were praying, people I don't know who, people who I might never meet. Oh how precious. Thank you. All of you. Oh how amazing the body of Christ.

Deano's godparents came to see us. They came and sat with us, talked with us, laughed with us. I appreciated their love. We could talk about baby boy, we could not, we could go eat, there was no real plan and it was nice. Katharine gave me a big bag of crafty stickers and smash book, I had no idea how much I would need it later. I had made all these plans to bring coloring books and my art journals...none of that happened. Which is ok. It left room for God to use Katharine.

We decided to go out of the hospital to get lunch. I went up to his room to pump, just as we got done and decided to go we were informed that he was out of surgery and we could talk to the surgeon. We did. Everything went well according to him, it would still be a while before we could go see our son. We went to lunch. It was an adventure, but I was thankful for the time AWAY from the hospital.

Then we got back.

When we got to the CICU we were told he was back there and we could go see him.

Walking into his room took...took everything.

He did not look like my baby boy, and I was more than terrified, I was ashamed of myself.

I didn't want to touch him, I didn't want to talk to him, I wanted to turn from that room and not see his open chest or the tubes or the machines or his closed eyes or his pale skin. I wanted to run. I struggled hard not to just start sobbing, but tears leaked from my face.

I went to use the rest room and struggled to bring myself back into his room. I was quiet. I didn't know who to talk to, I didn't know what to say, I didn't know where to go. I honestly, and I am not happy about this thought, considered how to get out of the hospital to get home. I wanted to go home. I wanted to bring him with me.

And I couldn't.

Blair and I...we just sat behind him on a couch together. Nurses rushed around him, monitors beeped, there was nothing we could do for our son. We were very very quiet.

My mom and dad kept telling me to talk to him and I just felt this deep deep shame that I couldn't bring myself to do it. Blair insists that I give myself some grace in this, because I was very tired and cramping more and more. I couldn't bring a chair to his bedside, so I had/have to stand when I talk to him. After Blair saw me swaying on my feet, he insisted it was ok for us to sit quietly in the back ground and let them work.

I thought about Ellie. I wanted her. I wanted to hold her and see her and hug and hope. I wanted to remember that I had a child who wasn't in the hospital, who was "safe", who could hug me and throw tantrums. I just wanted her.

I texted my daddy. I told him how scared I was. I think I was telling my Heavenly Father that too.

If I could have, I would have crawled into my Daddy's lap and let him hold me. But I knew that if any of my family were here with us during this time, I would just completely lose it. He did offer to come, and the offer meant more than he knows.

It was such a reminder of God's love. Blair and I sat and held hands. Just sat together while they worked on our son. And I just told told my Father in Heaven "I'm scared Daddy."

And that was ok.

Things were...so sketchy for a time, and I'm sure there will be other sketchy times. As I write this nurses and a surgeon are draining some of the blood from around his heart because it's putting too much pressure there. I can't see what they are doing. But I am trusting they are doing it.

He was losing a lot of blood yesterday night. At one point, we were asked to step out while they x-rayed his chest. While they were out doing it, his heart beat dropped quickly. We stood in the hallway while an alarm sounded and ten nurses came running down the hallway, all alert, all ready to do what they needed to do for our little son.

We stepped out. I got some snacks for dinner, I'm not sure either of us could have eaten much. I pumped. We just sat. We both admitted to how scared we were...and talked about how beautiful it was that they could do all this for him. We Skyped with Blair's Mom and saw Ellie. I sobbed.

In one week, I have had my second child, been through more emotional stress than I ever thought possible, have found out that people all over the country are praying for us, and heard my daughter use actual words! Whew!

Blair and I couldn't get over how big she sounded! And oh how good it was for my heart.

Things, for me, got better after that. We came back to his night nurses, who just touched my heart. One of them told me she had a friend named Dean and they all called him Deano, and she apologized for calling him that and told me she would stop if I wanted her to. I didn't. I love it. I don't know why, but ever since I keep calling him my baby Deano.

He started to do better. His color improved and they got to clean him up a little tiny more. I'm more confident and ready to rub his hair and talk to him. It still is hard for me to stand by him. I go in little spurts. I rub his head and tell him not to get used to all this attention. I show him the milk I've pumped for him and tell him he needs to get better so he can have some of it. I wait. I sleep. I pray. I write down some of the texts I've gotten so I can keep them forever. I hope.

There are not enough words to tell you how terrifying and shocking it was to see him after surgery. My heart aches for the people who have yet to go through this, and for the ones who already have. I am working on accepting and forgiving myself for wanting to run at first. I am working on seeing myself the way others have told me they see me: strong, but strong in the Lord. I am working on resting more and drinking more water.

Minute by minute. Day by day.

Daddy, Father, Lord, I am scared.

It's ok, He says, I watched my son on a cross. I know this hurt. I hurt too. 

Breathe.

And Praise God, my son is Four Days old.
And those four days with him have been amazing.