waiting

 

 

It’s February 19th now, and almost 24 hours after we handed Case over for his surgery. We wake up and make it to the hospital for rounds. We arrive early, before 7, and there is already a sea of white coats in his room. I make it there before David. He dropped me off to go park. I hear the night nurse say, “the mom is here” and a stillness falls among these great minds. The pens stop writing and the conversations come to a halt. These people, these doctors, are working on making my baby better, but he is sick and hasn’t improved over night. His pressures are still fluctuating, his kidneys, they still have not woken up from bypass. Cardiology is consulting with the Renal Team for the next steps. The decide to give him a little more time and determine he will need a bigger dialysis tube in a few hours if things don’t change…and they don’t. He is still on the vent and high flow oxygen, he is still sedated and can not move because of all the wires, tubes and machines that are attached to his near lifeless body.

David and I spend some time talking to the doctors and getting to know their faces. They are all so kind and answer our questions, even though I’m sure I asked the same ones over and over again. My eyes veer to the screen that shows is oxygen saturation continuously. It seems so surreal. He’s stats are still 98-100…the same numbers a normal person would have. But, it is hard to see him this way. Mostly because I know what he was like before surgery, and I am yearning to have those days back. My heart longs to hold him, to touch him even, but those are luxuries that must wait until he is stronger.

The next several days are a waiting game… waiting to see if the new dialysis tube works, waiting to see if he will take breaths on his own, waiting–so much waiting.

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It’s four days post-op and the swelling on his body is starting to go down. They wean off his medicine just enough to allow him to wake up for a little bit and my blue eyed boy looks at me for the first time since the night before his surgery. Opened eyes, something so minuscule in everyday life, something I am sure I took for granted before these days, but something now that I will never forget happened that February day.

There are many moments that we all wish we could relive or do over, or just not do at all because they seem so mundane–at least for me there are plenty. I could spend all of my time thinking of 20,000 ways I could have done something different, or I could spend my time intentionally just enjoying what is happening in the “now.” So whether it’s watching your baby open his eyes for the first time, reading a book before bed, having your little one “help” load the dryer piece by piece, or simply having a conversation with someone you love–treasure those moments and don’t ever let them go and please, don’t ever take them for granted.

 

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