When I woke up, I was alone in recovery. My throat was dry, I felt hazy and confused. My whole body was numb, like someone had spread lidocaine onto every surface of skin.
I tried calling out, hoping for someone to be close enough to hear me, though my voice was raspy and I was in need of what felt like a gallon of water to alleviate my thirst. No one heard me.
I fought my immobile arms to move to find the call button. It took me a few minutes, but I felt something like heavy plastic above my shoulder, so I scooted my shoulders back and forth with all of my strength, which was very little, until the remote with the call button slid low enough to be in my grasp.
A nurse popped her head past the curtain a few minutes later, checked my vitals and left to grab me some water.
A short time after getting my water, the doctor came in, the prognosis wasn't good.
My baby boy had aspirated meconium, and was in the Newborn Intensive Care Unit, awaiting transport to the downtown children's hospital.
I babbled in tears, demanding I be taken to see my son immediately.
In that moment I saw all my hopes and dreams crash down right before my eyes. My fiancés eyes held nothing but worry and pain.
Upon reaching the NICU, nurses rolled my bed up to where my baby boy lay. He was motionless, intubated, but not reacting to so much as a touch. I held his hand and sobbed, I knew there was only one way this would end, my gut instinct was never wrong.
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A Parent's Worst Nightmare
Non-FictionBeing a mother was all I wanted in life after finding the man of my dreams, when I saw those two pink lines I envisioned a whole new future, having a family of our own, never did I think, in a million years that I would become the 1 in 4. This is m...
