I’m sitting on a couchbed tonight, grateful and overwhelmed and a little raw. I haven’t slept in what feels like days, my eyes sandpapery and dry, and my stomach in knots from eating junk food all day today. Today my little 2-month old baby girl had a minor surgical procedure, and we’re staying overnight so they may monitor her as they had to use light sedation during her surgery.
The gratitude comes from the non-severity of our reasons for being here. That they didn’t have to use much general anesthetic for her, which was a huge fear for me. That the procedure to remove her umbilical granuloma went perfectly (I’ll detail our experiences with this in another post), and she doesn’t seem to be in any pain at all. That the care she’s receiving is great and the hospital is gorgeous and even comforting. That my boys were here earlier tonight and brought good pizza and now I’m sitting quietly while baby J sleeps.
The overwhelmed mingles with the raw. I walk down the hall to take a break and cry, because the other rooms are occupied by families that have obviously been here much longer than one day. The baby next door is hooked up to tubes, toys stacked at the base of her bassinet and a swing next to that. There are felt letters spelling out another patients name, puffy-painted to perfection and carefully arched across her doors’ window. Breathing a sigh of relief when a ‘code blue’ is cancelled. The other parents as they’ve been sitting in the waiting room before we walked into it and still there when we walk out. The look in their eyes.
In becoming a mother, my greatest joy met my greatest fears. In the deep love I have for my children, there is such fear of losing them that sometimes I can’t breathe. It’s my deep dark, the one I refuse to even name because then it’s one step closer to being true and I can’t bring myself to even fathom. And here, in this children’s hospital with the orange and green walls, that fear is being realized by other parents right.this.minute and I cry alone in the dark because what if. A wave ebbs over my heart and I hit my knees for these kids and their parents, pleading that they too may go home tomorrow.
It’s been a very long day, and I am overwhelmingly grateful to know that we will walk out of here, healed and healthy. There’s a little guilt mixed in too. Like if the other parents knew what we were here for – her belly button, for crying out loud! – they’d scoff and call me a poser. I totally feel like a poser. Because they’re doing laundry here and living here and know the staff by name and tomorrow my baby will go home in 100% health. So I smile and give a small nod and a quiet thanks for an end room, because then they won’t see my perfectly healthy baby.
Tonight I just needed to write. To kick it old school blogging style, where I just showed up to the fence emptyhanded – without a graphic or a one-liner or anything but babbly feelings and a keyboard. This hospital stay has bubbled up a lot to process in my heartguts, and I process in letters, so here I am. They just took baby J’s vitals at midnight, and will be back at 4, so I’ve got to get this little baby back to sleep and catch a few winks myself. Time for cuddles and tears of gratitude and the rhythm of a mama sway, and then I’ll tuck back into this slidy couchbed, grateful again.
-Anna {girl with blog}
Being in the hospital with your baby is so hard, no matter the reason. 3 of my babies had to stay in the NICU when they were born prematurely. I felt so lucky to only be there for 23 days with our daughter (she stayed the longest) when so many other babies had or would be there for months. And when baby 3 had to have surgery to repair a double hernia when he was 6 weeks old, it was only an overnight stay, but my heart broke to see him in that hospital crib with nurses poking at him all night. And now my oldest is just a few years away from adulthood ( what?! ) And I still worry about him every time he walks out the door. Being a parent is no joke. It’s not for the weak. You are doing an amazing job, and those babies are so lucky that God choose you to be their mommy. I hope that you will start get some sleep soon. Nothing makes parenting more difficult than sleep deprivation.
That is my deep dark too. I’ve walked through loss before, but the thought of losing my babies sucks the breath from my lungs. Love your feely writing, no graphics, all heart. Hope you’re getting some rest, friend.
Thank you for sharing. I have no children to call completely mine but, I’ve been blessed with two step-children and three step-grandchildren. I can’t imagine those deep, dark feelings but, you’re writing today certainly was heartfelt. May God wrap his loving arms around all families with loved ones in the hospital.
Sweet girl! Praying for quick recovery!
Anna, your heart is so precious and your words are beautiful and so heartfelt. Your compassion is right from the heart of Jesus. Blessings and prayers for a quick recovery for Baby J. <3
Sending good wishes to your little girl, and you guys through the process. I can somewhat relate, as Austin had a cyst removed from his face when he was about ten months old. The sedation was scary, seeing his eye swollen shut in the recovery room broke my heart, but I was thankful it was considered routine, and we were one of the lucky ones at the children’s hospital. When we went for a post-op appointment, his plastic surgeon couldn’t be there because a child needed his help for severe burns, and I counted my blessings again that our situation was so minute.
It is crazy how being a mother fills you with love, and so much fear. I can see every worst case scenario now, and they all frighten me. Don’t even get me started that one day my kids will get drivers licenses.
I’m so glad. But my heart pounds way too loud reading those words because it brings back so many memories. Still, four years later, I wrestle with the guilt of being okay. When I was relearning how to walk I stepped around a little boy, probably 6 or 7, with a walker and all I could think was “how is this fair?” I could hear the sounds next room over and all of it felt wrong and none of it made sense – how can I get to go home and they don’t? I get it. I so get it. It’s something I still struggle with, but I do believe that the struggle can lead us two different ways. Pick the one that counts all the blessings every day, the one with open eyes that still cry over it sometimes. Your family is loved, sweet Anna.
I’ve been the other parent, and let me tell you dear..there is no scoffing and there needn’t be any guilt. Us moms and dads are so happy that you get to return home to normal because after all thats all we could want for every child. Is it hard? Sure, but somehow we manage to make the most of it-especially when a mom like you smiles, offers a cup of coffee and says “you are a great mom and your family is in my prayers.” Praying for a speedy recovery for Josie!