During the never ending wait that C had to endure, while I was mysteriously carted off to oblivion, he made a few calls. He called his dad who was pretty much fading fast on his death bed but strong enough to talk. I’m sure his dad gave him comfort and reassurance that things would be fine, but C was a bit bitter with all things hospital. His wife had undergone what seemed like an endless mis-diagnosis due to a doctor’s lack of concern and his father who was in the process of getting on the heart transplant list found out he he had cancer and had less than 3 months to live give or take. His diagnosis would have been so much more curable had his doctors undergone these tests many many months before when he made his complaints known. Needless to say C’s bitterness was justified.
C also called my mom of course, she jumped on a plane quicker than a flea on a dog and was there before I was even out of recovery.
The next morning, I felt I could get up and move around, even after just having major surgery. Mom felt I was up to see my baby boy. Nothing keeps a mama bear from her cub, not even surgery. It felt she was wheeling me to Russia as it took forever for us to descend 3 stories in the elevator and across never ending halls to NICU. I was feeling a bit woozie and not probably quite 100%, but I was not going miss seeing him.
We reached the NICU and she showed where to scrub down like I was going to surgery and put on hospital booties and the mask to go in. No germs are getting through those doors. We went in and I stood precariously up to peek in his little cave of plastic.
I couldn’t fathom in my mind what a baby at 28 weeks 2lb 10oz would look like. All I could imagine was a teeny tiny embryonic looking pig. I was quite surprised to see a long lanky tiny fuzzy baby. His face was completely masked with the ventilator only revealing his big deep dark blue eyes. He was the most precious thing I'd ever seen.
The next few days were a bit of a blur. I knew I would’t be able to hold him for awhile but I went down everyday to see him. When I was finally dismissed, I was a wreck. There’s nothing more painful than not being able to bring your baby home with you from the hospital. The other sad thing was; I wasn’t actually going home yet. Since we lived over a hundred miles away from Big D, we were graciously provided a hotel room and food vouchers, which would be our home away from home for 3 plus months. Thanks Medicaid, all those tax dollars at work.
After a week of being in the hospital we made the hard decision of leaving our baby in the careful hands of the NICU to go see C's dad.
We made it up that evening and were able to see his dad and show him the video we had made of his new grandson. He talked to both C and I individually in his bedroom as if it would be his last conversation with us. I don't think C and I had a chance to grasp the reality of how sick his dad was, no matter how much his mom and aunt told us on the phone that it wouldn't be much longer. Maybe it was because we had just seen him two weeks earlier and though he was rather weak, he was still strong enough to give his oldest grandson his first haircut and celebrate GB's first birthday. Since C's dad was a barber it was imperative that his dad be the first to cut it. Little did we know it would be his last.
We decided to get a motel room that night in expectation of visiting a few days and returning to our baby.
Later that night as we were just settling to bed, there was a rapid knock at the door. C yelled “Go away you’ve got the wrong room.” The person on the other end yelled that there was an emergency. C finally got up and opened the door and a note written on bright yellow paper was handed to him, all it said was your dad has died…