Valentines Day - A Year Ago

This day last year was the first of some really low points for me. After a rough night, we were told that Peter was going to be transferred down to Levine Children's Hospital in Charlotte. We knew it would be a few hours before all was ready for the move so we spent the morning getting ourselves ready and trying to keep Peter content. We also had some visitors that morning, which encouraged us and helped to pass the time. Finally, in the early afternoon, the transport team arrived to take Peter down to Charlotte. Tom took our things to the car and he was going to drive the car there while I was able to ride with Peter in the ambulance, for which I was SO thankful. I remember that the transport "team" consisted of about five different people - a pulmonary specialist, a nurse, a paramedic and two drivers (I think). I couldn't believe that my baby was so sick that he needed that many people to drive him 20 minutes down the road. It took several minutes for the team to get him all hooked up and situated in the isolette. Poor Peter was hooked up to every type of monitor imaginable. He was also strapped down (arms and legs and everything) so tight that he couldn't move AT ALL. This was very hard to watch because Peter was obviously upset and also because after only a few minutes, he just gave up crying and went to sleep. He didn't even have the energy to really fight something so uncomfortable because he was in heart failure.

I rode in the front seat of the ambulance with one of the drivers. There was a camera up there so I could see Peter the entire time. The ride down there was HORRIBLE. I was moving out of shock (to some extent) and beginning to realize the full implications of what was happening. Our son had a major heart defect and was probably looking at open-heart surgery. Things were very serious. I was beginning to face the possibility that Peter could die. During that ambulance ride, the driver (who was very kind) and I made small talk. I remember feeling like I was in two worlds at once - one in which I was sitting there calmly talking to the ambulance driver about his move to this area and the other in which I was facing the possibility of losing my son. How little I knew that I would become very familiar with this paradox way of life. Going on normally because normal life does go on and must be dealt with, yet grieving on the inside to the point that cannot be expressed in words.

When we arrived at Levine's in Charlotte, our nurse Jason was waiting for us in Peter's room. I had been more than a little apprehensive about going to Charlotte, mostly out of a fear of the unknown. Being the big "city" hospital, I was afraid that we would get lost in the system, that the medical care would be cold and professional, and that we would be just a number to them. I couldn't have been more wrong. The medical care was professional, but not cold in any sense. We were treated with warmth, hospitality and genuine concern for what we were going through. Information (or anything else we desired) was available to us day or night. Communication was obvioulsy a high priority for this hospital. Jason gave me a tour of the room and was so thorough in everything relating to Peter's care or the hospital itself, that I was stunned. Tom arrived shortly after that and he barely got in the room and put our stuff down before the cardiologist was in the room to introduce himself, take a look at Peter and answer our questions.

This was the point at which we first learned that Peter not only had a hole in his heart (ventricular septal defect - hole in the bottom portion of his heart), but also that the Dr. didn't see his left pulmonary artery in the images from the echocardiogram done the day before. The cardiologist wanted to do another Echo as soon as possible to find that pulmonary artery. Within minutes, the Echo technician arrived along with the Dr. to take another look at Peter's heart. The results of the test were still inconclusive. The Dr. said he would try again the next day because Peter was very fussy and wiggly throughout the Echo.

Shortly after the Echo, we began to get some visitors. I remember leaving Peter's room for a minute and heading down the hall to get a drink and meeting our pastor, his wife and the music minister from our church. As soon as I saw Cindy, I burst completely into tears. I will never forget that moment. Standing there in the hall, clinging to Cindy and just falling apart. More friends arrived and a little while later we were all in Peter's room standing over his bed looking at him. I remember someone remarking that he was the healthiest-looking sick baby they had ever seen. Cindy then went on to share about her grandson that was born just two days before. She said it was funny because he was born exactly a year after another granddaughter. Both of these two grandchildren had come on the day after the anniversary date of her first husband's death. I so clearly remember her words, "It's as if God is redeeming the month for me." That statement gave me such hope and confidence. As yet, I had no idea how this situation would turn out, but I knew God would redeem it.

My mom also came up and stayed with us that night. Tom and I were able to eat a decent meal, calm down a bit, clean up and rest. I do say rest - not necessarily sleep. Feeding issues were what began the whirlwind we were in and those feeding issues were still there. On top of that, we were feeding Peter all the time to keep him content with all the tests and picks and prods that were happening to him, so he really just wanted to be held and eat a little, sleep for a little while and continue in that cycle all night. It was another rough night.

I must close this post with some more "doings" of Peter today. He shoved a toy in the VCR while we weren't looking (Tom was able to fish it out). He pushed a small garbage can across the kitchen floor while walking on his knees. And, he looked at some pictures on the wall and clearly pointed and said "Nana" (my mom), "Daddy" and "Mama."

Happy Valentines Day!