Obviously, Wednesday was spent at the pediatrician's then the cardiologist's office. We were told that our Baby L was scheduled for open heart surgery in just a few short weeks. Information was thrown at us from every direction as we were educated on his heart condition as well as other medical issues that he dealt with.
Exhaustion is what I remember most from that day. We'd been up most of the night either waiting for or holding Baby L. We'd started the doctor's appointments at 9 and just made it home by 2 to get two sleepy girls and a sweet boy down for afternoon naps.
Thursday was filled with normal day to day activity mixed with organizing all the clothing, formula, bottles, bibs and diapers we’d been given over the past 24 hours. We were up in the middle of the night again with a feverish Ella Grace who complained of a headache. This brought with it another trip to the pediatrician’s office for a flu test! I wasn’t that worried about her having the flu. She’s a relatively healthy kid who could fight it—I was worried about the sick little boy in our care. If he got the flu, it was a different story. Thankfully, she was negative for the flu and positive, instead, for strep throat. It didn’t go unnoticed by our doctor, as he advised that we try to get Baby L into a different home: one without school aged children bringing germs home. We made the necessary phone calls to get that ball rolling and headed home for a day of rest.
After naps Saturday afternoon, Ella Grace seemed to perk up, so our plan was to head out as a family of 6! Baby L woke, though, with labored breathing and after a quick phone call to our pediatrician, it was decided that a trip to the ER was necessary. As we tried to get everything we needed, we strapped the girls in their seats in the van, and Baby L in his on the kitchen table. We gathered paperwork and heard the baby’s cough and gag; we both turned to see him spit up from his mouth and nose. We snatched him from the car seat, and as we cleaned his face, his color grew increasingly blue. We realized he wasn’t breathing. After a few seconds, he began to breathe again on his own and his normal color slowly returned.
Eric stayed with him at the hospital as they drew blood, did a chest x-ray, tried to start an IV, and gathered what little medical history they could. I spent the evening trying to make things seem normal for the girls.
After a few hours, it was decided that he should be admitted. I gathered a few things from home, and headed to meet Eric at the hospital. I arrived just in time to hold a sleeping boy as we were wheeled upstairs via wheelchair. It was reminiscent of the wheelchair ride I took while leaving the hospital with each of our healthy little girls.
The next hour or two was spent sharing our story with the doctors and nurses who would care for us overnight. As we shared, we literally watched one of the doctors wipe away tears. It was a truly unbelievable story. Eric went home to spend the night, and I was left alone in the hospital room with a little boy hooked to a beeping heart monitor. As I sat in those first few moments alone, I wondered with the Lord: How did I get here? I’m not supposed to be here. I’m not the mom of a sick child. The nurse and doctor referred to me as “mom” but this child wasn’t mine. How did I get here?