Dear Baby Boy (A Letter on Your 10th Birthday)

Dear Baby Boy:

It was August 13, 2007. I remember waking up that morning, 10 years ago, feeling something wasn't right. We'd eaten pizza the night before, and I'm lactose intolerant, so maybe it was that? Or the fact that I spent 5 of the previous 7 months in a Crohn's flare up. There was no way to know. But, it was a big day, so I couldn't let my discomfort get in the way. We were taking your big brother to his first day of Kindergarten. We dropped him off and headed back to the house and then Daddy headed off to work. Grandma was visiting. Since it was already over 100º outside, she decided to take your sister swimming so I could get some more rest. But, I was still feeling uneasy. After a call to the doctor, I decided it was time to go get checked out.

I remember when they told me I was in labor. I had been rushed to a triage room almost immediately after arriving to the ER. After an examination by the nurse, I was told I was too far along (9 cm dilated) for labor to be stopped. I had never felt such fear. There were still 10 weeks to go! How could this be? Your Dad got there just as I was pushing. Something was wrong, the doctor said. We needed an emergency C-section. You were suffocating. She jumped on the gurney with me and we rolled into an operating room. I was put under general anesthesia and missed your birth.

I remember the first time I saw you. It was about an hour or so later, after the anesthesia wore off. I stared at you through the plastic pane of an incubator as a team of medical professionals prepared to escort you to the nearest NICU via helicopter. I wouldn't see you again for 2 days.

I left AMA after 36 hours. C-section be damned, I had to see you. And, I couldn't bear being in the postpartum unit. Every cry I heard tore right through me like a knife. I denied pain medication and insisted they let me go. Grandma picked me up (Dad was at the hospital with you) and we headed the 11 miles to the hospital where you were admitted. I was given my "band of passage", a bracelet with your name and medical number on it, and was taken to the outer room of the NICU. I had never been in one before. It was nothing like I saw on TV or in movies. I was told to wash my hands and forearms carefully and then I was escorted to your cubicle, the 3rd one from the window. On the wall behind your incubator was a whiteboard that said "Ezra" and had your weight in grams and length in centimeters. Your nurse's name, Marcie, was scrawled at the bottom. Your Dad was holding your hand  through the tiny hole in the incubator. You were so little. Your Dad gave me a hug and then it was my turn to put my hand through the hole and touch you for the first time.

I remember the first time I held you. It was a week after your birth. You were still hooked up to the ventilator, with an NG tube and a ton of wires. We shared our first skin to skin moment. You were so content. I would hold you again in a few days with the ventilator gone, but most of the other wires and tubes still attached. It would be a month before you were wire free. But, you kept the NG tube because you had such a difficult time feeding.

You wouldn't come home until 67 days after your birth. With an NG tube and a list of referrals to different specialists. It was just the beginning of the long journey in your short life. But, we loved you fiercely. And we haven't stopped for 10 years. In all the agony of waiting for you, never doubt that you were worth it. And your purpose has only just begun to play out.

Happy Birthday, Ezra James. All our love. Mom, Dad, Jeremiah and Alayna.