Friday, September 5, 2008

As you all know, Hunter just spent 119 days in the NICU. My strength and energy was spent when he was discharged from the hospital. It was 119 days of worry, frustration, and scary times. It was putting my whole faith in God and knowing that he would pull us through it. It was knowing that my system could not handle one more day in the hospital.

On July 28th, Hunter came home. What a beautiful day that was. Although, I was never really able to take a good, deep breath, he was home with me. I got to cuddle him, care for him, and love him 24 hours a day. I didn't have to leave him at night. I didn't have to spend my nights worrying what was happening with him. All I had to do was check on him to see him peacefully sleeping.

I had one month of bliss with my son. His chronic lung issues make him a delicate infant. I had to watch him closely. I did everything right or so I thought. I didn't take him into stores and around a lot of people. I washed my hands constantly. I sterilized everything. He remained on that teeter tater and nothing could be unbalanced.

On August 31st, Hunter was rushed to the hospital with respiratory distress. We had to call 911 because Hunter was blue. Initially, it was respiratory distress but quickly turned to respiratory failure. Now, heavily sedated, back on the vent, my baby lies there paralyzed from the medication. He is back in intensive care, but not around the nurses and doctors I trust so much at St. Joes. He had to be transferred to the University of Michigan PICU. Hunter's condition was too serious for St. Joe's. Hunter can't be admitted back in the NICU. St. Joe's does not have a PICU. Not only is he in critical condition, I have to learn to trust a whole group of people that aren't the people I grown to love and trust from before. It's not the same group of people that had a heart for Hunter. The NICU loved and worked so hard for Hunter. He was engrained in there hearts and still is. Hunter wasn't a job to the nurses, doctor's, and respiratory therapist. He was a part of them. He was a piece of there heart. Because of that, I knew he was in good hands. They cared about him. No other hospital. No other intensive care unit could have that same bond with him. No other place was there from the beginning. No other hospital could replace St. Joes. I walked in to so much support from them. I know they love Hunter. Not only do the nurses, doctors, and RT's deserve the credit...No other Chaplain could be Jean. And, no other social worker can I trust but Margy and Lily. How can I move past this? The answer is: I can't. No one can replace the care Hunter and our entire family got at St. Joe's. I can't have Sharon, the crazy respiratory therapist, who in all aspects is not crazy at all - but very intelligent and taught me so much about life through her own experiences. Or, Becky - gosh, what can I say about Becky? The best nurse I ever met, perhaps. Or, Dr. Weiner...the doctor I looked up at when I was in labor and being wheeled into the c-section room pleading with him to save my baby. And, saving my baby ... he did. But, it isn't just the three people I mentioned. It is the entire team - who I could write a novel about - all good things - about how each one of them loved Hunter, loved our family. It really wasn't a job to them. It was more. We were there family. No other hospital could replace that.

So, here I am wondering...where will I find the strength to get through this, specially without my family of doctors, nurses, RTs, social workers, and chaplains? I had to put away his pictures of his critical days before this happened. I couldn't look at them. Now, we are thrushed back into the situation we fought so hard for in the beginning.


I set here and right this blog. Why? I am trying to figure out how I am going to get through another day. How am I going to drive to the hospital? How am I going to park? How am I going to sit there and wonder what the future holds for my son? The fear of losing a child is to intense for me to write about, but that intensity I live with everyday. In the meantime, I listen to the hum of the ventilator as it is engrained into my memory, traumatizes every thing I see and hear. Where do I find the strength to go through this?

Where do I find the strength to make sense of this all? The doctors can't find a reason why it happened. So, I put the blame on me. I was the one taking care of him.

I pray ... God give me strength. This body is worn. This mind is worn. This soul is worn. I love my child more than I love anything in this world. I love my child and put my child before anything, including me. Why him? Take me...

Please pray for Hunter once again. He needs your prayers.