My Baby, My Baby Our Timeless Journey of Faith, Hope, and Love

We had just started through the lunch line when the blaring message blasted through the loud speaker, “Code Blue. Neonatal Intensive Care Unit, Code Blue!” I had a gut feeling that the code being called was on my baby! Immediately, I left my tray and rushed back to the NICU area with everyone else in the family following close behind me. By the time we reached the area we were out of breath and clearly shaken. I tried taking a few deep breaths as I pressed the intercom button. A calm voice answered, and I said, “I need to see my baby!” She told me they were working with him and someone would come out shortly. We went back to the waiting area and tried to calm down. Finally, our baby’s surgeon came in to talk to us. He told us our baby’s heart had stopped beating and he had reopened his chest right there on the spot because there was no time to take him back to surgery. The problem had stemmed from the same area that had been oozing blood right after his surgery. As explained to us then, he had been very concerned about that bleeding, the complications that could result, and had even left his chest open until the bleeding stopped. The surgeon explained it must have started again shortly after they closed his chest and the excess blood had gathered around his heart. This blood put too much pressure against his heart and it could not expand; therefore, it stopped. Once he had reopened my baby’s chest, allowing the excess blood to escape, he massaged his heart and it began to beat again. Once again his chest was left open to try to avoid a repeat situation. He reassured us that everything that could be done was being done in an effort to save our baby’s life, but he cautioned there was only so much that doctors, nurses, and medicine could do. Ultimately, our baby would have to put up a hard fight to live. At that point his blood pressure was very unstable and he was listed in very critical condition. He was very agitated and with all the movement he was wearing himself out. Therefore, an injection had been administered to him, temporarily paralyzing him, so that his energy could be conserved for healing. We were asked to remain in the waiting area. Our oldest son took his brother home. They would go to school the following day. However, our daughter let us know that she was not leaving and nothing could change her mind. It was a little after 9 PM when a nurse finally came out and told me that I could come back to see my baby. I followed her to his room where I stopped right inside the doorway . . . observing the sight from a distance. My baby was lying on his back, on a hard flat surface that looked a little bit like a rectangular shaped table. He was hooked up to all kinds of monitors and IV’s, with tubes and wires running in and around him, and over him like snakes. The nurse was working with him constantly while a doctor sat quietly reading at what looked like a school desk in the corner of the room. My baby’s surgeon had asked that doctor to spend the night at our baby’s bedside. I slowly moved closer and closer toward my baby and finally stood stiffly at his side without a word. My eyes were focused on his swollen, bruised body as he lay there with only a diaper to cover him. I looked at the monitors hooked up to his lifeless looking body, and tried to connect the two. Whereas, my baby appeared to be frozen in time, the monitors were a display of activity with numbers constantly fluctuating up and down, as lights flashed and beepers sounded. I looked at his open chest wound which was covered with a clear bandage. His heart, now totally repaired, was visible and beating. As I stood there in silence, I could not bring myself to look at his face and continued watching the monitors. The nurse broke the silence by telling me that he could hear me if I wanted to talk to him, even though he could not respond because of the medication that had temporarily paralyzed him. I wanted to talk to him. I wanted to tell him that I was so sorry he had to go through all of this. I wanted to tell him just how much he meant to me. I wanted to tell him how much I loved him. I wanted to hold his hand and kiss his face, but at that moment I felt so weak. It was all I could do just to stand there beside him in silence. I wondered if I would even have enough time to tell him anything, once I finally looked into his pale face. It was like looking death in the eye, as his eyes were wide open, staring into space. They looked like glass set in a China doll’s face. They were coated with a thin glaze of salve to keep them from drying out because he could not blink due to the paralyzing drug they had given him. My baby was in a desperate fight for his life while I stood helplessly by. My heart burst with grief. I took his cold, limp hand in mine and held it very gently. I bent down, kissed him on the cheek, and told him how much he meant to me and how much I loved him. I told him I wanted him to get well so we could go home together. I soothed his forehead and gently ran my hand over his soft blonde hair. I told him I was praying for him and we were all waiting right outside his door.