Prayers

When Cameron was born, it was a really dark time for our family. I don't think I really comprehended just how hard that was until recently; I think I've actually been in denial about how utterly difficult that was for us. I say "was," but it still sort of is hard. Even though Cameron is truly our miracle and has surpassed every expectation that anyone ever had for him, his future is a little frightening. We know he'll have to have at least two more open heart surgeries; I dread this with every part of my soul. But, if you know Cameron, you know he is a happy, stubborn, smart, friendly, funny little boy who truly loves life, so we try to focus on the miracles of each day and the happy fact that he is here with us, challenging us, loving us, and giving us a reason to go on.



In his first week of life, I craved normalcy. I knew that his condition was critical, that he would have a major surgery, and that, because his lungs had been so compressed in utero, he might never breathe on his own. But, I wanted something, anything, to be normal. Because he was on a ventilator, we couldn't hold him. I remember sitting by his bedside, aching from the c-section and aching for my two little ones at home, trying to pretend that instead of maneuvering my hands through all of the tubes and wires to be able to touch him just a little bit, I was actually holding him. I'd close my eyes and pretend that I could feed him and snuggle him. I wanted so desperately to have some sort of connection with him, to let him know that I loved him, and I felt that I couldn't convey that to him because I couldn't do all of the things that one normally does for her newborn child.



But, Heavenly Father knew my desperation, so He gave me two little, tiny things to help me in that first week before his heart surgery. One day, while Dave and I were there with him, I was stroking his little hand with my finger. Of course, healthy babies have a reflex that causes them to grip your finger tightly in their fist. Because Cameron was heavily sedated, he hadn't been able to do that. But, that day, he did. He squeezed my finger so tightly and, in wonder, Dave and I took turns letting him squeeze our fingers for a little while until he stopped. It was amazing. Then, the next day, he opened his eyes and looked at me for the first time. I felt a deep connection with my son as we looked at each other. He'd been so sedated and his eyes so swollen that he hadn't been able to do that. After a brief minute or two, he couldn't hold his eyes open any more and he closed them. I was so thankful that I'd been given that blessing before he went into surgery.



For the next year or so, I kept having this feeling that we were supposed to have another baby very soon. In my sane moments, I would think, "What?! We can't have another baby yet. Cameron is still so sick and so young. What are you thinking, Deb?!" And yet, there were many, many times that I felt very strongly that we not only needed another baby, but that I needed to get pregnant right away. As Cameron entered his second year, that feeling started to go away, and then resurfaced last year (resulting in our new, sweet Max!). I've often wondered why I had been feeling that way, when it was, so clearly, not the right time for another child.



I've since realized that what was making me feel that we needed another baby right then was this need for something normal. I think I was sad, and maybe a little angry, that I hadn't had the opportunity to have a normal delivery, a normal two-day hospital stay, and a healthy baby that I could cuddle and feed. I felt cheated. So, I had thought we needed to hurry and have another one so this void could be filled. It wasn't that Cameron himself was making me feel a void, it was the whole happy newborn experience that I'd enjoyed with Vanessa and Sam that I missed and craved.



And so, last month, it happened. I started feeling strong contractions on a Wednesday night and by the next morning, at 6:35 a.m. the doctor lifted Max up over the sheet after my very routine c-section and I got to see him for the first time. (My first thought was, "We got our mini-Dave!!!") Unlike Cameron, Max didn't have to be resuscitated at birth. I heard him cry. Dave went with him to the nursery and got to watch him be bathed for the first time. I touched his fine, black hair. I got to try to feed him when he was three hours old. He roomed-in with me and I could look at him whenever I wanted (thinking so many times, "Whoa! He doesn't have any tubes or medications going into him! Yeah!") I smelled him. I held him in my arms. My prayers have been answered.




Good times.