I know I was still delirious when I asked for my son around midnight and was told that they were bringing him out as soon as they could. I vaguely remember Jerry coming back into the room after he walked with JJ to the nursery. I also vaguely remember my mom-in-law and my girlfriend coming in to say goodbye. I was attached to several monitors and tubes and wires, much like JJ was over in the Nursery Special Care Unit.
We moved to our new room around 1 or 2 a.m. I asked for JJ again, and was told they were bringing him out as soon as they could. I had no idea then of the troubles he was having.
His nurse came in around 4 a.m. and I finally met my son through two photographs:
Seeing those photographs was shockingly different than how I had envisioned our meeting. She explained that he was having trouble breathing and was not transitioning well, but they didn't feel the need for a ventilator. She said they took x-rays and that his lungs looked good, but the drugs I received before the surgery were taking a toll on his body. I was physically unable to move, let alone go down to the nursery to see him. The nurse assured me that I could go see him in the morning, and they would update me if anything changed.
I stared through thankful tears at his pictures all night, as if I was already bonding with him. I never felt so helpless in my entire life, or so grateful that he was going to be okay. I thanked God for his survival and prayed for continued good health. When morning came, it didn't matter that I hadn't slept (except for a drug-induced nap) for nearly two days. I got myself up out of bed around 11 a.m. and was wheeled down to the Special Care Unit. Jerry and I scrubbed in (a requirement for getting into the unit) and were taken to JJ. I will never forget the feeling that came over me when I saw him. I was detached from my own body while staring at myself - in baby form - squirming and blinking in the bassinet. He was anchored to many wires and an IV, but the nurse didn't hesitate as she lifted him out of the bassinet and placed him in my arms. I held a little peice of heaven as we stared at each other.
Two long days in the unit later, my little boy was in my arms without the tethers and wires:
My baby wasn't a preemie. He wasn't born with a defect or disease. He wasn't on a ventilator, or even on oxygen. He just hit bump trying to get here. It was, and sometimes still is, traumatic for us, but by the looks of him now, you would never know he was ever in any danger when he was born. It's scary how fast things can turn from good to very bad, but we ended up very lucky in the end... which was really just the beginning.
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