As I sit here, holding my sleeping baby, my mind begins to wander. I think about this precious being; so innocent and sweet. He knows not that he brings me joy unlike any I've ever known. His unconditional love for me far exceeds any expectation I ever had about being a mother.
All too often children are taken for granted. I think I, too, once made that mistake. But never again. I have come too close to losing my son more times than I care to remember. It has made me come to the realization that life isn't guaranteed. Sometimes we go to bed at night just assuming that when we wake up all will be as it was the day before.
It began the day my son was born. His heart rate dropped drastically during the delivery. The doctor thought he was going to lose him. The second he was out, the nurses rushed him out of the room. I didn't know what was happening.
I was taken downstairs to the recovery room. The nurses told me to just close my eyes and rest, but all I could do was wonder how my baby was. After an hour went by, I was cleared to leave. I was brought up to the room where I would be finishing my stay. I kept asking where my son was, but nobody would answer me. They just said “The doctor will be in to talk to you soon.”
At about that time, I began to think the worst. Why wouldn't they give me a straight answer? Did my baby make it? Was he…. The doctor walked into the room explaining everything. Caleb was unable to maintain a steady oxygen level and his temperature was too low. They had placed him in an incubator. That made me feel a little better.
A short while later I was able to maneuver myself into a wheelchair. The nurses escorted me to the nursery to meet my son. He was so pitiful, laying there with all those tubes and wires in him. I had to touch him; to feel him, to let him know Mommy was here and he would be O.K. I reached my hand through the small opening in the side and touched his face. Tears ran down my cheek.
The head nurse informed me that Caleb had to stay in the incubator. I could not
hold him. I could not embrace my baby the way I needed to. Luckily, the head nurse was on her way to lunch and the other attending nurse knew how I felt. She told me she would let me hold him, just for a minute, if I promised not to tell. Holding him just felt so right.
The next day Caleb was able to be removed from the incubator and placed in the room with me. Two days after that, I was on my way home with a now healthy, happy infant.
Everything was going great at home. That was, until, at four-and-a-half months old my son came down with a cold. Minor; it seemed, until his cold turned into bronchitis. It then progressed to pneumonia. He was gasping for every breath. His oxygen level severely dropped and he was admitted to the hospital. He was placed in an oxygen tent, and given steroid shots daily to strengthen his lungs.
I laid there by his side for 3 days praying for a miracle. Please God, don't take my baby. Not like this; not so young. I don't know who was hurting more: Caleb having to gasp for air, or me having to deal with the reality that I may be going home alone.
My prayers were answered. On the fourth day Caleb was well enough to leave the hospital. We were set up with a nebulizer and medication to take home with us. He still needed to return to the doctors' office once a day for steroid shots. Within a couple weeks, he was feeling better. He used his nebulizer on and off throughout the remainder of the winter months, but as Spring came we were able to put it away.
Caleb made it to his first birthday. He was happy, healthy, and the sweetest child I had ever known. He had grown and developed just like any other child, but he wasn't just any other child. He was my miracle; my inspiration.
At a year-and-a-half old Caleb was hospitalized again, for the same reasons. What was going on with him? Why was this happening to him? Why was this happening to me? Was God testing me? Was he testing my love and devotion for my son? Whatever it is God, you've got my attention.
