3 Weeks

The first 3 weeks of Christopher’s life have been a rollercoaster ride for me. The hospital released me the day of his birth because I was physically doing so well and they knew I wanted to go see Christopher. They had to transfer him to the Childrens Hospital that had a NICU. So, later that night a friend came over to watch Freddy, while my husband and I went to the NICU to see our new son. The nurses at the NICU were so kind and helpful. I felt comfortable leaving him in their care. We left and went to bed around 11pm that night. At 11:15pm we got a call from the hospital that Christopher’s heart rate went up over 200 beats, but they managed to bring it back down. They just wanted to let me know. My husband got on the phone and asked if this was an emergency, should we come to the hospital. They said no, they were just updating us. He told them only contact us for emergencies, because he knew how I would react. We hung up the phone and I melted down. I don’t think I had cried that hard in years. I just kept saying, “I haven’t even got to hold him yet.”

I cried a lot that first week. Everything was new. Even the doctors were learning about Christopher, what was normal for him and what wasn’t. I usually cried several times a day. The only time my life seemed normal or a smile would appear was when I was with Freddy. As much as Christopher needed me, so did my other son. He was too young to come into the NICU, and therefore has never met his little brother. He is too young to understand what’s going on, so he still needed playtime and nap time and cuddles. As much as this takes time away from Christopher, I am so grateful for it. I think if I didn’t have Freddy in my life at this moment, with all I have to deal with in regards to Christopher, I would have had a nervous breakdown by now.

The second week, I cried a little less, maybe once or twice a day, but I felt better. I was getting used to the routine and Christopher’s issues. What was serious, what wasn’t. Freddy started his new daycare and I felt more like a normal human again. Until the doctors told me the test results came back from his birth. He tested positive for Cystic Fibrosis, but not for the gene.  They said they think it’s a false positive because it’s genetic disease and since he doesn’t have the gene, it’s likely he doesn’t have it. Even though the doctors were telling me not to worry, I had a meltdown. I woke up the next day with what felt like the worst hangover on earth, only I don’t drink. It’s funny, when something as stressful as this happens, out of the blue you start to feel like a zombie. Just going through the motions. I kept thinking of that scene from Lock, Stock and Two Smoking Barrels when the main character in the beginning of the movie has all his money taken from him at the gambling table. He just walks out of the room in a daze. That’s exactly how I felt.

Then week three happened. I started to feel better again. My husband and the doctors kept reassuring me. I started to think positively. Just when I thought things were improving, I got punched in the stomach again. My son has Brady episodes. No, not the tv show from the 60’s with the maid Alice. It involves his breathing and heart rate. The technical term is Bradycardia. Suddenly his breathing will slow, his heart rate will drop and he will turn grey. The worst I had seen it, his heart rate dropped from 160 to 70 in a matter of seconds, until this week. He had been doing well. They had recently put him on reflux medicine, which helped his Brady episodes. I was watching him start to drift off to sleep while the oxygen technician was doing her weekly check of his oxygen machine, when the brady happened. I immediately started to pat him on his butt, as that usually helps him out and his heart rate starts to go back up. But it didn’t this time. The HR monitor just kept going down...80..70..60...50....40. My heart sunk. He wasn’t just turning grey, he was grey. The nurse raced in, picked his limp, grey body up, started rubbing his back and bouncing him up and down. After about a minute he was breathing, turning pink and moving again. His heart rate went back up.

I was grateful for the nurse, but all my fears from the past several weeks returned in that one moment. I thought, “I just witnessed my son start to pass away in front of my eyes.” On the ride home the tears came, no that’s not right, the sobs came. I was shaking. Suddenly that scene from the Guy Richie movie was back and I was a zombie again.