Happy New Year Everyone! In the past few months, I have completely slacked off on my blogging. However, I intend to be more active here this year. I’ll try my best. This blog was actually written just after Memorial Day (May 2018), and I just never posted it! *hides* Anyway, I decided to post it anyway! haha.
Imagine this. Your baby is in the hospital, hooked up to various monitors. It’s 3 in the morning and alarms from those monitors are blaring. Lights are flashing. You’re watching numbers jump all over the place, and you aren’t sure exactly what they mean. Nurses rush to your baby’s bassinet and you’re asked to step away.
This is a regular occurrence in a NICU or pediatric ICU.
July 9, 2017. A day I will never forget. Around 10am, I awoke and stretched, murmuring to my husband that I’d had the best sleep ever. Within 15 minutes, lying there in bed, I was gripped by what I was certain was a contraction, and then if certainty wasn’t enough, my water broke.
This week I’m not going to talk about baby boy fashion or about Braveheart’s heart, but rather about something we don’t discuss much. His vocal cord. When Braveheart was born, he had a healthy, loud cry. After that, we didn’t hear him cry again until after his first surgery, and what we heard was not the cry you’d expect from a baby. It was breathy and weak, almost silent. A squeak of sorts. Rather heartbreaking, really.
Developmental delays are one of the things that hubby and I feared most when we were told of Braveheart’s diagnosis. It was ‘expected’ that because of potential surgeries and recovery times, that Braveheart would fall behind. With all our might, we denied this possibility. We had faith that he would be, not only right on time but ahead of the curve. Ironically, he was rather ‘advanced’ until his second surgery. Before his second surgery, around 4-5 months old, he already seemed as though he was preparing to crawl. Fast-forward to after his surgery, he didn’t even want to be on his tummy, understandably.