The homecoming.

Her baby had survived against all odds. 

Miraculously, she was able to bring her baby home.

It appeared that babe was born with a strength and determination even larger than her Mom’s.

‘Go home and grow the baby.’  The doctor advised.

The child sealed her soul. 

Her love for her child brought forth a confidence that was to be respected by all who entered their life. 

 

 

The insecurities of her youth...gone. 

The inability to stand up for herself...gone. 

She had a child to raise.

A child to nurse.

A child to love.

 

Nothing would stand in her way.

 

I was no longer powerful.

She had made her own place outside of me. 

She became the leader as I became the cheerleader and supporter. 

 

She taught me to respect her.

She taught me how to love. 

She taught me how to be selfless.

She taught me to be thankful. 

 

I never told her that. 

Not once.

The transfer.

I wasn’t there when they transferred her baby to the other hospital.

I had gone home.    

 

She cried and cried on the phone when we spoke. 

She wanted to go too. 

She didn’t want her babe to be alone.

But, there were no beds for her at the other hospital. 

She watched her baby being wheeled away without her.

It was devastating. 

 

Three.   Whole.   Days. 

Seventy-two hours. 

Before, she saw her terminally ill babe again. 

She faked her recovery well enough to get a day pass to go.

She got to hold her.

The nurses, gently, manipulated all the wires and tubes in order to be able, to place the babe in her arms.

She wept. 

She cooed.

She silently sobbed; overwhelmed with joy and grief simultaneously. 

She was inconsolable when it was time to leave. 

 

The separation from her precious daughter was torturous. 

She rushed her own recovery in order to be discharged.

She went from hospital to the Ronald McDonald House. 

She lived at the hospital and slept at the house.

 

Her baby was too fragile to suckle. 

Determined to provide her with breast milk, she used a pump.

She learned to give the milk to her baby through a tube.

 

Living in the pediatric ICU, she learned to care for her babe.

A month later, she was as competent as the nurses. 

Her babe stabilized and was transferred out of the ICU.

 

I was so happy. 

She sounded so positive. 

I couldn’t wait to see them both. 

 

When she called me, I knew something was wrong.

It took her time to tell me. 

Hospital policy restricted visitation to parents and grandparents only.

I was not allowed to see her baby now. 

 

This was unacceptable. 

I was angry. 

I was so sad. 

They don’t understand. 

I loved that baby and she may not live. 

Devastated.

She saved me. 

Somehow, she took the time to save me.

She made the hospital change the rules and allow me to visit her babe.

She knew how much I needed to be with them. 

She said she needed me. 

 

She made me feel very special. 

She let me be a part of those first days. 

We didn’t know how many days we had with her. 

And she shared them with me.

 

 

The truth.

They told her without me there! 

They knew I wanted to be with her. 

I was in the waiting room. 

I had just left her bedside. 

I heard her scream.

 

I ran to her room.

The doctor was still in there.

He had just told her about her babe.

He told her alone.  She was all alone.

 

I was furious.

She felt sorry for the doctor having to tell her at all.

She felt sorry for him. 

 

They told her, her baby’s face was distorted. 

I was adamant there was nothing wrong with her face! 

Why had they said that?  She was beautiful.  She looked just like her.

‘Her legs are twisted?’ 

Yes, it is called club feet. 

‘She has no pulmonary artery?’

Yes, that’s right. 

‘She is dying?’

Yes, it is fatal. 

‘I want to go and see her.’

Yes, let’s go see her. 

 

She didn’t cry.

 She sat in the wheelchair looking up at the incubator.

Her eyes slowly covered every inch of her baby and then returned to her face. 

She put her hand into the incubator and called her name....

That tiny hand, that same precious hand that had not moved in the hours since her birth,

INSTANTLY, grasped her lifeline...her mom’s finger. 

I will never forget witnessing that moment.   

The instant recognition of one to the other was so obvious it was tangible. 

I could smell their bond. 

Witnessing a love, so measurable and miraculous...

 

I was forever changed.

The first twenty-four.

 

I went back and forth between them all night long.

She had not woken from anesthesia yet.

 

‘Wake up! Wake up!’  I silently demanded her.   

You might miss her! 

Oh god. Oh god.

 

They wouldn’t let me wake her. 

They refused to wake her.

They refused. 

She will never forgive me.

She would want me to do something.

What should I do? 

I knew I would be angry if I wasn’t woken and told. 

It’s her baby! 

She needs to know... NOW!

 

 

I did what I thought I should...I videotaped her baby.

I videotaped her face up close, her hands, and her feet...

I cried and cried and cried.

I wondered if it was the right thing to do?  It may be the only way....

I didn’t know what I was supposed to do. 

I just didn’t want her to....to miss her.  Oh, god. 

 

I sang to her. 

I touched her.

I called her name.

I told her, ‘your Mom’s coming.’

I told her, ‘your Mom loves you.’

 

I asked her to stay...

‘Please baby, for your Mom’

I asked her to hold on a little longer. 

 

I was so scared. 

I didn’t know what to do.

 

Finally, she woke from the anesthetic. 

She looked at me, smiled and said, ‘hi’.

She was happy.  I was relieved when she fell back to sleep. 

They knew she was awake but said the doctor wasn’t ready to tell her yet. 

The doctor wasn’t ready...

 

I tried very hard to hide my sorrow, my immeasurable sadness and my fright from her. 

But it didn’t matter; she knew there was something wrong. 

‘Have you been crying?’  She was suspicious. 

She started asking questions about her babe. 

I was terrified. 

 

I couldn’t tell her. 

I couldn’t tell her. 

Oh god, she was going to hate me for not telling her. 

 

The birth.

They looked exactly alike.

 It was like she had been shrunk and placed inside the incubator.

 It was amazing. 

 

It was not like meeting a stranger...

I knew her. 

I couldn’t take my eyes off her face. 

 

I.  Loved. Her.  Instantly. 

 

Slowly, with incredible reluctance, I looked down her body.

Why?  Why couldn’t her baby just be perfect? 

My eyes flitted back up to her face for reassurance. 

Deep breath. 

I was worried about what her reaction was going to be. 

 

‘Club feet,’ the medicals said. 

‘Don’t worry.  It can be corrected.’ The medicals dismissed my concern. 

Corrected?  Like with liquid paper? 

Stop that!  This is terrible.  This is HER baby! 

HER BABY SHOULD BE PERFECT!

 

Another blow. 

Nothing is EVER easy for her. 

 

 

I continued to gaze at that beautiful babe.

My eyes went from her face to her feet and back again. 

Her precious face...

Her twisted, little legs and feet...

 

I was sad. 

 

I couldn’t see everything at once...my heart needed my brain to go slow.

 

There were many babies in the neonatal unit. 

Premature births being tended to as they lay inside lined Kleenex-like boxes.

Machines beeped and hummed. 

Quietly, the nurses monitored and recorded the vitals of each baby. 

 

I started to see.

 

Tubes, wires and bandages covered her little body.

It was hard to find a spot of skin large enough to touch. 

She was sound asleep. 

Her breaths were quick.  I could see her heart beating in her chest.

 

Her feet were blue. 

Her feet were blue.

Her feet were blue.

 

I was terrified she would never walk. 

 

The neonatal unit’s visiting rules were every 15 minutes for five minutes at a time.

 

I left reluctantly.  Fifteen minutes is a long time. Five minutes is not.

 

When I returned, I could see a group of doctors surrounding her incubator.

There were so many of them.

The neonatal unit was buzzing with serious, whispered voices and anxious faces.

 

I approached slowly and cautiously, assessing the scene. 

I was stretching to see what was happening.

I was introduced to a new doctor, a cardiologist. 

 

A cardiologist?   For club feet? 

What was going on?

They were trying to explain something to me.

They all wore the same expression on their faces.

 

Finally, they stopped talking.

That’s when my brain began to comprehend it all...

“NO!!!!!”

“NOT THAT!”

“NO!!!!!!!!!” 

“Anything, but that!”

My soul broke. 

Oh, god.

This is too sad. 

They didn’t really say that?

 

“No! Come on!” 

“It’s her baby! Babies don’t die....!”

The big day.

I slept in!  I slept in! 

Unbelievable! 

I grabbed whatever clothes were handy and raced to the hospital.

She laughed at me.  The joyous emotion of yesterday was still present although the medical reality was seeping into the mix. 

 

In her hospital gown, she lay in bed.  She was anxious....and hungry.

We fantasized about the birth, the first meal she would get and when I could hold the baby. 

She went nervously when it was time.  We hugged. 

We hugged.

 

Doctors told us the epidural was unsuccessful so she was accepting full anesthesia and would be asleep for the birth.

I was heart broke for her.

I knew she wanted to be awake when her baby was born. 

I hoped she wasn’t sad in there without me.

 

I imagined her disappointment, when she realised she had missed her babe’s first moments of life.

Poor her. 

Some of the joyous emotion disappeared.

The excitement.

Captured in a photo; bright, red cheeks so characteristic of her emotions and a comical stance.

It was her response to having her pregnancy confirmed!

Hormones looked good on her and she glowed for nine months. 

Pregnancy was her thing!

 She was so proud. 

 

An achievement over me, she was to be a mom first. 

I couldn’t take this from her.  She owned it. 

She had wanted a child her entire adulthood. 

I was determined to live vicariously through her.

 

It was revealed, she was to have a baby girl. 

A baby girl! 

I was so happy the baby was to be a girl!

A niece for me!

 

Each and every appointment, I was in attendance. 

The geneticist’s, “Go for it”, the neonatal appointments, “The baby has a strong heart beat”,

The ultrasounds...

Our sick sense of humour developed at this time. 

 

We had always teased and joked, but, we began to use a private, somewhat perverse type of comedic relief with everyday life events. 

This twisted humour brought us even closer throughout her pregnancy. 

Ignorantly, I would speak water metaphors to her while she waited with a full bladder for her ultrasounds. 

She would beg me to stop but I never did. 

Crying in pain, she would ask the technician if I could come into the room during the procedure!

Those techs were perplexed by our demeanour which made us laugh even more. 

 

I was thrilled to see her baby develop on the monitor.

I saw her heart beating, her spine, her legs and her hands...everything!

The due date grew closer.    

A C-section was booked due to the positioning of the baby.

 

I was beyond thrilled! 

I wanted the world to know. 

I started with strangers in the elevator, “Hey, I am going to be an Aunt!”

The volunteers at the door, “Hey, I am going to be an Aunt tomorrow.”

The parking garage attendant, “Hey, I am going to be an Aunt.”

The waitress at the restaurant, “Hey, we are having a baby tomorrow!”

 

Imagine the reaction, when the waitress inquired which one of us was pregnant!

I thought I was going to be an Aunt right then!

All day she her face was red with embarrassment as I broadcasted my excitement.

 

I wrote a note to my ‘about to be born niece’ on a napkin in that restaurant.

I told her how excited I was and how much she was going to love me! 

 

It was such a wonderful day, full of excitement and anticipation.

She glowed with love for her child. 

I was smitten with love for them both.