A Hard Walk

Words can’t begin to explain my thoughts and fears on bringing Easton into this world. A world that I fear is going to have complications far beyond what his little body is expecting. It’s overwhelming. Daunting. Scary. And yet, I am still able to find some excitement. Stephen and I have dreamed and prayed about starting a family of our own for years, and in a few short weeks, less than three to be exact, we’re going to meet our son. I think know that keeps me going; getting to see this baby that I’ve bonded with over the past nine months. The little stinker who continues to be breech, loves to nestle his head up in my ribs, and makes me take more trips to the bathroom is going to be here in a matter or days or weeks.

Today we talked with a NICU doctor and then we did what no parent wants to do—toured the CVICU (cardiovascular intensive care unit). There are no words to express the pain and heartache of knowing that your precious newborn baby will be whisked away and join the ranks of the other heart warrior babies who are fighting for their lives. Nothing can prepare you for walking through a room filled with beeping machines, chords and wires everywhere, doctors, nurses, and seeing little bitty babies not being able to be held because they are being kept alive by the very chords and wires that hold them down. The very babies and parents in that room are real people experiencing real pain; a pain that I can’t fully describe because my precious little boy isn’t here yet. I know the moms and dads in that room looked at Stephen and myself, even though I tried to hide behind my husband, and probably hurt for us—novices just not aware of the full gravity of the journey that lies ahead of us.

Leaving the hospital, I was quiet, as I’m sure seeing and experiencing what we did today would leave many of you speechless. I was overwhelmed with all of it. So many of you have done such a good job checking in on us and are always asking how I’m doing, and almost all days I’m doing well because if I think about the entire situation and the sheer uncertainty of it all, it’s too much to process. Today was one of those days that as we were in the car, I told Stephen it’s hard for me to wrap my mind around the concept that there’s something wrong with Easton. To me, he’s your typical stubborn little boy who like to kick, wake me up in the middle of the night, causes me back/rib pain, and makes me lose feeling in my hands. To see the babies and even kids in the CVICU fighting for the lives, makes Easton’s heart condition all to very real. He really is and has to be our little red ninja. He has to be a fighter and ninja strong. To all of you who are praying for and rooting for our little red ninja, just know that we need every ounce of it moving forward.