Found this little self-portrait that our boy drew in Bubbles, his old children’s group at church – aged about 3 ☺️
It’s almost his 8th birthday but it was eight years ago today that I had a bit of a shock when my waters broke somewhat out of the blue, at only 31+6 weeks gestation.
I went in to hospital…received the steroid injection in to my thigh (the one they give you to strengthen baby’s lungs, should they make an early arrival) and was put up in the antenatal ward, in the hope that baby would stay tucked in and I could be sent home again, perhaps in a few days.
Two days later – it was a Friday – after no signs of going in to labour and no sign of infection etc., I was going to be sent home. However, the doctor on his ward round that morning suggested that I stay in until after the weekend, see how things are on Monday and that I could go home then if all was still quiet.
Our son arrived two days later – early on the Sunday morning – so I thank God for the doctor who made that call on his Friday morning ward rounds.
I don’t remember feeling particularly concerned when my waters broke, despite it being 8 weeks ahead of our boy’s due date. I had felt sure that he wouldn’t be born for some time; that he would hang on for a few weeks, at least.
My concerns mounted somewhat when I went in to labour late on the Saturday, after my husband had already gone home…when our son arrived whilst I was alone in my room in the antenatal ward…when, after help arrived, he was whisked quickly away from me and taken out on a trolley with a swarm of medics suddenly surrounding him…when I then didn’t see him again until some time after midday (he was born at 5.15am) and my husband met him for the first time…when he was all enclosed in an incubator, with a cannula attached to his tiny little hand, and wires and pads over him, monitoring his breathing…when he was diagnosed with a heart murmur and complete AVSD a few days later and we were told to expect that he would need open heart surgery within the next three months…when he had to be operated on for an inguinal hernia before he should have even been in this big wide world…when he was unable to breathe on his own when they removed his intubator post-op and was rushed to ICU and put on a ventilator and I hadn’t seen him since before he went in for his operation…when a hernia on the other side popped out just the day after we had finally been allowed to bring him home with us, five weeks after his birth…when concerns over his feeding, concerns over an unsafe swallow and concerns over his growth meant that a feeding tube was inserted and we had to go nil-by-mouth…when he projectile vomited or sneezed his feeding tube out and I had to reinsert it, sometimes multiple times a day…when concerns were raised over his development and he was thrust underneath a medical lens, tested for various genetic syndromes and referred for appointments with cranio-facial teams, paediatric neurologists, speech and language therapists, physiotherapists and numerous further tests…when his breathing started to fail and an enlarged heart meant that he was started on daily diuretics…
Yes – I must confess – that’s when my concerns started to mount.
But my goodness me, what that boy has come through, been brought through – and even avoided!
The complete AVSD that had been diagnosed shortly after birth was later re-diagnosed as a VSD – a much better diagnosis – and although heart surgery was still a possibility, he never needed it… Yes, he had to tube feed for seven months, from when he was 3 months old until he was 11 months; but fears over an unsafe swallow were allayed and it appeared that a cow’s milk protein allergy had been behind most of his feeding issues… Test after test for various genetic syndromes (one of which I remember the specialist was convinced he had, as were we from what we had read after our meeting with her) came back negative… Every delay – both in speech and physical development – he would catch up with just before our concerns became serious…
This boy has gone from strength to strength to strength. Yes, with other issues thrown in to the mix – patching for his amblyopia; and his growth being monitored as it would seem he has remained behind in terms of his stature, despite both my husband and I being tall and despite the growth spurt that had been promised and expected by now…
But when I think back to all that he waded through in those early years of his life…all that was thrown at him…all the concerns, the questions, the uncertainty…and I think of all he has overcome and I look at the boy he is now…I can’t help but have a heart full of thankfulness!
The bright sparkle in his beautiful blue eyes; his gentle and trusting nature; his curiosity and love of learning and his ability to retain knowledge and to gather interesting facts; his love of music and the gorgeous, effortless tone and pitch to his singing voice; his willingness to try new things and get stuck in when most of his peers tower over him; his quick wit and increasing use of spot-on and well-placed sarcasm and winsome cheek; his gift in embarking on drawing projects/series and running away with his original ideas, often for the benefit of others; his kindness; the way he responds to being tactile and seeks reassurance and familiarity through touch – oh, that boy! My boy! Our boy, our lovely, lovely boy!
Eight years ago there were whisperings of you.
And here you are, full of the glorious force of life! Eager then and eager now!
God loves you, my son. And so do we!
Almost eight years of you.
❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️
florencejoy 