Their Broken Hearts and Mine

The NICU-Pulmonary Stenosis Part 4

The children's hospital was such a vibrant place. Bright colors, large animals, and soothing decor schemes. It really was designed to comfort children and chase away bad thoughts. It screamed happiness in a building of unfortunate situations. Unable to walk more than a few steps, I was given a Spider-Man wheelchair and a pillow over my midsection for safe hospital travels. I made my way up to the NICU where the bright blue painted walls made the pale faced people in the waiting room stick out like sore thumbs. Bright, cozy, oversized recliners and furniture barely able to hold bodies up was a sight making me instantly nauseated. It was an overwhelming depression the instant I wheeled through the doors. Staff members were waiting for my arrival. They quickly and quietly led me through the locking NICU doors. My tour was nothing short of crippling. Peering in the rooms of screaming babies and struggling children too small to possibly fight for their lives took the wind right out of me. Whatever it was that my own body had just endured was nothing compared to the NICU patients. As I was directed towards my baby's room the floodgates of my eyes opened and tears poured down my cheeks in endless streams. The tour, the other babies, the waiting room people, nothing, was preparation enough to see my own child. Machines, medication distributed through drips, cords, wires, tubes, and constant beeping had me frozen. My husband stood there nervous, pale, but proud of our heart warrior. We all were together again. Finally, I was reunited with my baby and ready to fight against his CHD, too. There he was, our miracle baby boy, fighting to stay with us. Free of Down syndrome. Free from other birth defects. Free from being born a "blue baby." Free from the stress of the womb. He was perfect. He was beautiful. He was mine. Our son was the largest baby in the NICU weighing 8lb 12oz. He was born with Pulmonary Stenosis as expected and had a life saving ballon catherization procedure to open up the Pulmonary heart valve. The procedure was a success on the first try. Later, I found out that another family in the parent's waiting room was on the third attempt of the very same procedure for their child. My heart sank instantly knowing that life is so unfair yet, I don't understand why.  That little baby needed a successful procedure, too. Why at the same time an innocent baby gets saved, is an innocent baby struggling to be saved in the exact same manner? I, as a heart mom, have questioned God more times than I can count. My husband and I alternated stays in the NICU room. One parent could sleep in the room and the other in the waiting room. There was a parent shower and bathroom located by the waiting room area for the NICU parents to share.  Hospital life takes a tool on you both physically and emotionally. We began to blend in with the other parents. Running on nothing but worries and the free coffee machine, we became numb to the chaotic atmosphere of the NICU. We were the sore thumbs sticking out as well. Our estimated hospital stay kept increasing. My husband needed to travel back home to work. My mother stepped up to the plate and stayed by my side throughout our hospital stay. My husband drove back to the hospital on the weekends. Thankfully, the Ronald McDonald House took us in after a while. It was music to my ears to hear that we were finally headed to the stepdown floor. One floor closer to being able to go home. However, my heart filled with agony as we were being transferred. I've come to know other parents and their stories about their children while we were there. Their faces appeared hopeless, and my heartfelt well wishes for them and their children didn't seem to penetrate. The NICU experience will forever be embedded in my mind.