I almost
lost my son.
My son who began as a
positive test in his Dad's
bachelor apartment.
A positive test that scared me so bad I hoped I would
miscarry...
For less than a minute.
The rest of my early
pregnancy was spent
praying I wouldn't and wrestling with
hypocrisy,
forgiveness,
and
blessing.
I almost
lost my son.
That Wednesday night we drove calmly to the hospital through a quiet downtown Seattle.
The calm before the storm.
I almost lost my son.
Your baby's heartbeat is low.
Your baby isn't responding well to the beginning stages of labor.
We need to get him out.
Emergency
C-section
I almost lost my son.
They pulled the life that had grown inside me from my exposed
womb.
And declared his sex.
But he didn't cry
I almost lost my son.
They pumped breath in his body.
Sustained him on IVs.
Transferred him to another hospital where they could try one last thing.
I almost lost my son.
"
Persistent pulmonary hypertension,
anemic. A very sick little guy."
Put him on
ECMO so he won't die.
Put him on ECMO and he still may.
A long list of
possible side effects came with the technology that gave him a fighting chance at life.
The
irony of it all.
A team of doctors fighting to save this new life I could have
snuffed out as soon as that condom failed with a simple little
pill.
A pill the morning after and we never would have known one way or the other
the
heartache we would have missed.
I almost lost my son.
He could have died.
You'd think after going through that, I'd be a different kind of
parent.
Perpetually patient, even tempered.
Forever doting over this sweet beautiful boy who almost died.
But
two year olds are as trying as they are lovable.
I find myself wishing he had sustained
hearing loss.
But his hearing is just fine. He's just
not listening.
So I keep reminding myself, that
time out isn't just for two year olds.