Always Remember This Thing Called Love

The night before my son’s recent ninth birthday, he sat down on the couch next to me, heaved a sigh and said, “Tomorrow, I become a man.” I wiped away a tear, giving him a brief hug before he squirmed away in horror and ran off. He was right–he was becoming a young man right before my very eyes.  A bittersweet pang filled my heart.

A few minutes later, I heard a commotion in his room. When I walked in, he was jumping on his bed. Grinning at me, he yelled, “Hey, Mom! Check this out! I can jump so high, I can kick my own butt!”  I was never so proud than at that very moment. Seems this manhood phase might not be so near on the horizon. All was right again with my world. He will always be my baby boo.

The day our firstborn came into our lives, I had just endured 24 plus hours of excrutiating back labor. My son was sunny-side up. (I hardly think such a painful predicament should be compared to how one prefers their eggs for breakfast, so I like to say my son was ass-backward.) This produced depths of pain I had never knew existed. Most of the labor was a blur of me screaming expletives, my husband running frantically around with a cold washcloth, and my desperate attempt to concentrate on a focal point to get through the waves of spine-splitting contractions. My focal point was a cluster of a few bright red leaves on a tall maple tree outside the hospital window. Every year, when fall comes and the leaves start to turn, I am transported right back to the day my entire world changed. My son came into my life.

When the nurse placed him into my arms, it was as if a tiny warm piece of heaven had been gently placed inside my soul. The light inside me grew–radiating into every fiber and pore of my being as I gazed down at my baby boy. How did I ever not know my son? It seemed my entire life, he was always here, just out of reach. Now he was gurgling and cooing in my embrace in a hospital room.  We were finally together.

At first, my husband and I struggled with the typical newborn issues: sleep deprivation, breastfeeding difficulties, reflux. But soon we both realized something was very wrong.  At four weeks old, he was pale, not gaining weight and sleeping no more than an hour at a time before his heart-wrenching screams began again.  The pediatrician assured us that this was normal with colicky babies.  I was sent home with a dreadful weight of anxiety crushing down onto my shoulders. We rarely slept. And when I did manage to dream, they were filled with my son’s cries and me reaching out for him, unable to soothe his pain.

By six weeks old, my husband demanded they give our son an ultrasound. This wasn’t just normal colic or reflux that was tormenting our sweet baby boy.  Our doctor consented just to appease us, still attributing our worries to being first-time parents. I fed him a bottle, then an abdominal ultrasound was performed with my son in my lap. He writhed and cried with such agony, my heart felt like it might shatter. I looked into my husband’s eyes, hollowed from lack of sleep and constant worry. Then our son vomited, like he had been doing for weeks on end.   Suddenly, the technician’s eyes grew wide and a doctor was called in. “You need to pack your bags and head straight to Maine Med,” he said.  “He needs emergency surgery, right away.”

In a rush of panic, we arrived at the hospital and a surgeon met us in a little waiting room. Our son had pyloric stenosis, a congenital condition seen in newborns. According to the surgeon, the opening that leads from the stomach to the intestine was completely blocked by his pylorus muscle. It had grows to about two and a half times normal size.  He would need immediate abdominal surgery and a tiny incision would be made to allow the milk to pass through again.  All this time, the milk (having no place to go) was going back up his throat, effectively burning it with the stomach acids. Thankfully, it was a relatively easy procedure and he was almost guaranteed a full and healthy recovery. The tears started to flow with the tremendous relief that we finally knew how to help our baby boy and  ease his torment.

The next night was spent hovering over my baby, an NG tube slowing draining his stomach contents. I was almost delirious with no sleep and constant worry. I softly sang, “Twinkle, Twinkle, Little Star” as he continued to choke and sputter while the tube did its job.  In my haze, I pressed the nurse’s button almost every hour. A nurse would appear, assuring me that he was not choking and he would be okay. But nothing could untie the knot of worry deep in my gut.

The next morning, my husband and I stood in a long dark hallway and held hands as we prepared to watch our son being wheeled away to the OR in a cold steel crib. The nurse had offered to put a small teddy bear inside the crib for us and I cried as she placed it right next to his tiny body. I reached down to kiss his cheek and he was gone.

The surgery was a complete success and our son was soon back in our arms. He would recover quickly. I could already see a faint light in his eyes as the nurse helped me feed him from a bottle. My sweet bubbly baby was slowing coming back to us. Yet he would need to stay at the hospital for two more days.

A nurse we hadn’t seen before helped us get settled into a private room. We prepared ourselves for another noisy sleepless night, sitting upright in a hard chair. We only wanted to make sure our son was okay and refused to leave him. The nurse shut the door and gently suggested we leave him there and go to a hotel so we could finally catch up on our sleep. My husband wearily looked at me and raised his brow. The idea of any sleep was tempting, but we both felt tremendous guilt at the idea of leaving our son, even for a few hours.

The nurse put her hand on my shoulder, her voice dropping into a faint but stern whisper. “Listen. You two married each other because of one thing: Love. And that love has helped to create a beautiful child. You need to remember why you had your son in the first place. Go to the hotel. Be together.” Her smile radiated such warmth and comfort, I knew she was right and that my son would be fine, even if we left.  She cradled our son in her arms. “I’ll help you get a hotel room and I will call you to make sure you checked in okay.” My husband and I simply nodded, our minds still a muddled mess. “My name is Michelle, by the way,” she added, smiling again.

Later at the hotel, the bliss of uninterrupted sleep quickly washed over us. Six hours later, I awoke to a dark room and checked my cell phone. There was a message from our nurse, Michelle. “Hello again, it’s Michelle,” her soothing voice filled the room. “I want to make sure you are both okay and settled into the hotel. Don’t worry about anything. Your son will be just fine. Take care of each other and don’t forget what I told you. Always remember.”

After a few days, our son was being released from the hospital. Our worries were lifted as he began to thrive and eat like a normal baby. His chubby cheeks had color again and my heart felt at peace. I wanted to thank the amazing nurses at Maine Medical Center before we left.  I approaced the nurse’s station and asked if Michelle was on duty that day. I wanted to thank her personally for what she did for us. The nurse gave me a confused look.

“Michelle? There is no nurse here by that name.”

My husband and I looked down at our son, wiggling in his car seat.

“Are you sure?” I asked with a nervous laugh.

“I’ve been here for years and know of no Michelle, sorry,” the nurse insisted.

As the weeks went by, we both would bring up Michelle and attempt to attach some explanation to it. But we know in our hearts, her words were true. And we will never forget them.

To my son:

We helped to bring you into this world with our love.
And we will always be here to hold you up with our love.
Always remember
We love you so very much.

Happy birthday, baby boo.

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80 thoughts on “Always Remember This Thing Called Love

  1. John Erickson

    I know a little of what you went through. Shortly after we were married, my wife (who had lifelong problems with “that time of the month”) ended up going in for “routine” surgery to remove some cysts – 45 minutes tops. An hour and 40 minutes later, the surgeon finally showed up in the waiting room, and I made it across the several dozen feet of distance in a flash. They had to do a near-total hysterectomy, and she had to be in the hospital for two weeks. Mind you, I had no vacation time at my new job yet, and 2 dogs at home to also take care of. They put her up in the neo-natal ward, and the nurses literally threw me out every night for the first three days. After that, they decided I was harmless, and the lead nurse would just gently remind me it was “time to go walk the dogs”.
    And don’t worry about your little one becoming a man too quickly. I’d LOVE to be able to bounce on a bed and kick my own butt, and I’m just shy of 50! Not a good idea with low ceilings AND a ceiling fan, though…… 😀

    1. John, I remember your wife’s story. I think it was over at Tori’s blog where we first connected. I can completely relate to the cysts/surgery she went through. Before I had kids, I had a big cyst and my ovary removed. My husband was a complete basketcase and probably drove the nurses nuts! Too bad he didn’t have any dogs to walk. 😀 Having gone through many surgeries and illness, I think it’s only brought us closer together in some ways. We can laugh about it now and appreciate the little things in life.

      I think you’re right–my boy will be my little boy for a long time to come. Love the ceiling fan comment, ha! I wouldn’t recommend kicking your own butt, no, could be very painful.

  2. TheIdiotSpeaketh

    I’m so happy things have turned out well with your beautiful son. This post brought back so many memories for me. Our own son, our youngest “The Kid”, was born with severe bi-lateral cleft lip and Palate and had numerous complications that kept him in the ICU for the first 10 days of his life. My wife stayed home with him through those very tough early years and obviously grew very attached to him since this was her first child. (Our older two are mine from a prev.marriage) Though he has fared well through a lifetime of surgeries and is just a normal teenager now, she is still her “little boy” and she still gets choked up every time he says anything about him being grown up or says that he is now a “man”….. They can grow up all they want, but they are still our “little boys” (or girls)…… great post! 🙂

    1. You hit the nail on the head. I think any time we have to deal with our kids being really ill, it puts things in perspective pretty quick. I am happy to hear your son is doing great now as a teenager. I know that when my son is a teen, I’ll still get choked up when I think of him, like your wife. It will be hard to picture him as anything but my baby boo (the poor guy and his poor future wife! ha!) I think of all we went through in those early years, and to see him as a sweet loving boy is all I want. I am happy you enjoyed my post and I appreciate your story.

  3. ooo…something was in my eye throughout this post. You have a wise and strong husband to insist on that ultrasound. We are our children’s advocates in health and many fronts. You might consider submitting this to Guideposts Magazine. It seems like something I would read from there.

    1. I am so thankful my husband stood up and demanded that ultrasound. He was pretty angry when he confronted the doctor (which is not like him at all)We had asked for am u/s weeks before and our pediatrician kept patting us on the head. We knew something was very wrong. You have to trust mama’s instinct! Thanks, Georgette, for suggesting Guideposts. I’ve read that a few times before. After some serious editing, I might actually consider submitting it, what the heck!

  4. Either I’m overtired, I’m premenstrual, I’m hungover, or I don’t know what, but I’m sitting here crying with my kids in the background watching television and eating goldfish crackers. Happy birthday to your son and what a wonderful story 🙂 (You did find something great to blog about :-))

    1. Oh, I appreciate that comment! Thank you. Some days, I’m all of those things. 🙂 My son still doesn’t really know the entire story of how he got that scar on his belly (which has grown pretty big now) He knows he couldn’t eat and they had to operate on him, but that’s it. He’ll show his scar off to his friends. Some day I hope he reads this and can appreciate how much we love him.

      1. You make me laugh, Lisa! Aw, thanks. I can’t believe he is nine. He is gigantic–I think he grew a foot this year and gained 20 pounds. He is as tall as my shoulders already. When he’s towering over me in a few years, I will be all teary! He doesn’t let me hug him much anymore, so be sure to hug hug hug Joey as much as you can now.

  5. Beautiful! Moving! Heart wrenching!
    Being away from our little ones is a pain that no one will know unless they’ve lived it. After my son was delivered prematurely, he was flown to a hospital almost 2 hrs. from our home. Making the drive back and forth every day, while recovering from a c-section and pumping milk to take him, was exhausting. The day that we decided we had to take a day to stay home, had me a mess of tears and heartbreak. Leaving my little bundle at the hospital every day was torture as well.

    I think that having to go through a variety of struggles with our little ones makes their birthdays even more special, if it’s possible. Happy birthday to your little man!

    1. Oh, that must have been so hard to be so far away from home! I can imagine it was hard to leave him even for a day (even though you needed that break, no doubt).

      I was also recovering from a c-section and I was pumping milk. Also battling severe PPD (but that’s another story for another time) I look back at pictures and I am shocked at how tired the three of us looked. We were all a complete and utter mess those early months. I wonder how on earth we survived on such little sleep and so much anxiety.

      You are right about how their birthdays are all the more special now. I see how much my son has grown and become such a special kid–he is completely healthy and happy. This is all a mama wants, truly.

  6. Hi,
    Thank You very much for sharing this story of your son. It must of been terrible for you and your Husband throughout this ordeal. The photo’s are fabulous, and he seems such a happy child, and full of life, he is very special, you have been blessed.

    1. Thanks, Mags. When we were in the children’s wing of the hospital, we got to know a lot of the other kids/babies there and their families. To see what others go through, dealing with childhood cancer and other illnesses, makes me realize how grateful we were just to have our son. He is extremely happy and active now. We are blessed in so many ways.

    1. Aw, thanks, JM! When I wrote this yesterday, I was trying to type it out as fast as I could because the tears kept falling. Words can’t express how much my son means to me. Thanks for that link and I appreciate your comments!

  7. Such a beautiful post. It so perfectly captures the trauma we go through when our children are in serious medical situations. Everyday after that is an even greater gift than the days were before. By the way, a friend of mine had her life saved when her apartment was consumed in fire. She was lead out by a firefighter and was then told that no one could have gotten in to save her. I’m sure Michelle was the firefighter.

    1. And what we went through is really so minor in comparison to what other parents face. I consider us very blessed that he recovered so fast and was basically back to his normal healthy self within weeks. Your friend’s story is amazing!

  8. Mary the OINKteller

    This was a lovely, heart-wrenching, heart-warming post! I’m so glad your son is bouncing (literally) into his ninth year after his rocky beginning. How strong you and your husband were to demand that ultrasound! Good for you! As for Michelle, it must be comforting to know that she is there watching over all of you, always. Happy birthday to your little man!

    1. Thanks, Mary. Looking back, I think my husband was at the end of his rope. We didn’t care about anything at all except easing our son’s pain. I look back at those days and it’s a wonder we survived all of that anxiety, being first-time parents especially! By the time our second child was born, we pretty much felt confident with her care and when it came time for her to have ear tubes put in when she was 11 months old, we were stronger and handled things much better.

  9. Seriously? About Michelle? Seriously?
    I am so glad your husband would not take ‘no’ for an answer and became his own advocate. Good for him. And the timing of your feeding, while in the office … perfect timing to have the vomiting witnesses, you know?
    And then Michelle…. really?
    Well done, Darla. Happy birthday, Christian!

    1. I am absolutely 100% serious about Michelle, Lenore! I don’t know who she was, where she came from…I’d like to think she could have been someone special that happened to be in the right place at the right time to help watch over him.

      I asked Jim today to recount the story for me and he said, “When the nurse said there was no Michelle, we both laughed. For a second, we thought maybe we imagined her. We asked the nurse again if there was a Michelle. We thought she was joking! Then we thought maybe we were crazy.”

      I wonder if we were so sleep deprived (and we were operating on literally an hour sleep a night at that point) that we both dreamed her up. But her voice was still on our cell phone. Which is weird, because she certainly went above and beyond what a typical nurse would do to make sure we checked into that hotel and got some sleep. And her words to us about “remembering our love and why we had a child in the first place” were so serious and out-of-the-blue, it gave me chills at the time. Really woke us up. This was the only time in my life that I had experience with what I could say was a guardian angel. She might have been a mysterious nurse that just happened to be there when we needed her and God helped that happen. I don’t know. It sure is something that we talk about often and always will wonder!

  10. I’m wiping away tears here at my office – yet another reason why one shouldn’t goof off on WordPress at work. What a lovely story, because of the wonderful ending.

    “Tomorrow I become a man” is a hoot. You should arrange a play date for your son with Paul @ Greatsby’s kids.

    1. Oh, sorry about the tears at work, Peg!

      “Tomorrow–I become a man,” Still makes me giggle because he was so serious when he said it. The day before my husband kept remarking how grown up he was getting and how he looked like a man now. I suppose he took it to heart.
      I laughed at your comment about Paul and his kids. His kids should have their own blog, they are so hilarious.

      1. Oh, thank you so much, Peg! You are such a sweetheart to say that and….hold up. huh? what???? Damn! You so cleverly slipped that in there, I almost didn’t notice. You’re so sneaky for someone who’s got bubkes. Attention readers: Vote for me! vote for me! Ignore Peg’s caption! (although it is a damn good one) Y’know, I am still waiting for the day when Paul’s caption contest involves winning money. Or at the very least, a coupon for free Pringles.

      2. But the winner gets to see through walls, and that’s something I’ve always wanted to do, ever since I was a little girl with polio and no arms, when I would lie in my bed and dream of seeing what was going on in the living room. But that’s ok – I wish you nothing but the best of luck in this contest, because you are so very talented. Cough, cough (sorry – my iron lung sometimes makes me cough like that.)

      3. I’m sorry. I can’t quite make out the words in your reply. My eyesight failed so long ago, around the time I lost complete use of my hands. My pet monkey is typing this out for me. Oh, what would I do without my only constant companion, Mr. Skittles?! He does get a little annoyed when I dictate to him, what with my voice registering barely above a hoarse whisper after that cruel bout with strep back when I was 20 and living in my parent’s basement with the spiders, oh dear God, the spiders! and nothing to eat but bologna sandwiches. But I remind Mr. Skittles that I do this blogging thing to bring him the glory of possibly winning fictitious Pringles from Paul’s contest. It’s all I and poor sweet Mr. Skittles can hope for most days. *huuuuuuge painful sigh….*

      4. Mr. Skittles says, “OOH OOH AH AH!” which I believe roughly translates to “Who doesn’t?”

        (I have to say I nearly spit out my water reading about how you dreamed to see what was going on the living room!)

      5. Yeah, well I had to make an emergency bathroom run to avoid peeing my pants thinking of you and Mr. Skittles, down in the bowels of your parents’ house, defending your bologna from an army of spiders.

      6. Okay, I have to admit, I made that part up.

        I’m really drinking gin.

        (I had to laugh at my “recent comments box” , right now it’s all: you and me, you and me…back and forth like we’re having a heated debate on something important. Which is what my blog is all about. Deep discussions involving bowels and polio and spiders)

      7. John Erickson

        What’s all this? Spiders with polio? Jeez, that must be hard fitting braces to those little legs, especially in the bowels of your baloney-filled basement…….

    2. First off, John, must you type sentences like that one out when you know damn well I’m going to sit down at my computer, take a swig of water, read it, then spew it all out over my keyboard? Have you no shame? And second, Polio Spiders in the Bowels of the Baloney-Filled Basement has Freshly Pressed written allllll over it, so thank you.

      Peg, this may very well be the best post hijack in the history of post hijacks. Well, at least it’s upping my comments stats, and we all know that’s all that matters in life. And winning Paul’s contest.

      Attention: to the one reader out there reading this: Vote for me! Vote for me! Mr. Skittles is counting on you! They may take our Pringles, but they will never take away our FREEDOM! (crowd roars, and a kilt-wearing Mel Gibson with crazy makeup charges)

      1. John Erickson

        You do realise, that if I ever DO start my own blog, I’m gonna expect at least one hijack per week? Y’all SO owe me, and you can bet I’ll collect!
        And I suppose I could embellish the post, and have the polio-spiders battling, using baloney as weapons, to fend off Mr. Skittles as he assaults them with his … well …. you-know-what-monkeys-throw while trying to rescue you from the basement, all the time being assaulted by mutant goats from Ohio bent on world domination. (Sorry, Blackjack made me enter that last.)
        And I know what I’m getting all my blog friends for Christmas – those plastic gimmicks you can put on your keyboard to water-proof them. You’re on your own for the monitors…..

      2. Thank God I read that one without my morning coffee. Blackjack proves you always have to keep your eye on the mutant goats, they can’t be trusted.

        John, WHEN you start your blog, you can bet I’ll be first in line to post hijack. And I’ll be sure to work apocalyptic cows into the conversation. You’re welcome.

  11. Happy Birthday to your son! And what a beautiful, beautiful post. Thank God your husband pushed the doctor!

    We all have a Michelle I think. My mother had one (a man, dressed all in white, I kid you not – but the story would take too long to recount). My youngest turned 8 yesterday (Oct. 2nd). Happiness all around, my friend!

  12. D’oh! I’m late both in reading and saying this, but lucky for me you have a time machine. Please place the following message in a time machine for yesterday delivery to your son:
    HAPPY BIRTHDAY! Hope it’s as rockin’ as your mama!

    This message had me in tears–mostly good tears. Li’l D was also “sunny side up,” a term I also found ridiculous after 17 hours of back labor. I’d hoped to make it through without an epidural, but after 17 hours and no clear end in sight, I took that epidural and was glad for it. (When Li’l D was delivered almost six hours later, I definitely felt I’d made the right decision. Six more hours of that?! No thanks!)

    Li’l D had to have minor surgery at six months. Kissing him as they placed the anesthesia mask over his face broke my heart. He struggled for several seconds, then slowly drifted away to sleep as if it were just his bedtime. I gave him another kiss and strode out resolutely as if I weren’t bawling. And that was just two hours!

    I’m glad this is the way things unfurled for you, and that our paths crossed such that I was able to look back on this precious bit of your history with a full heart (and full but leaky eyes).

    1. Ah, so you know of the “sunny side up” thing. I am sorry you know that pain, Deb! I also didn’t get an epidural. Not that I didn’t scream for one over and over. I think at one point I had my OB by the throat and was threatening to kill everyone in the room if someone didn’t help me. (and they say a mom will “forget” her labor after it’s over! ha!) I was only 2 cm for about 15 hours and they refused to give me one. I did get “Nubain” which to me is only fancy tylenol. Did nothing for the back-breaking excrutiating pain! Finally got an epidural after 20 hours when I got to 4 cm and it was bliss. But all for nothing as I ended up with an emergency c/section after all. Kinda like running a marathon, then taking a taxi at the end to cross the finish line, as they say! 😀

      Sorry Li’l D had surgery. Oh! Poor little guy and poor mama. Such a helpless feeling. The things us mamas go through. And now he’s a happy toddler running all over the place, thank goodness.

  13. 1. Thanks. The hair on my legs that I so carefully shaved OFF this morning have just grown back all prickly due to the chills that I sustained during this entire post.
    2. I knew it was pyloric stenosis from like the third paragraph. Shame on the doctor.
    3. Happy birthday baby!!

    1. Oh my lord you had me laughing at the hairy legs comment. Yee-ouch!
      Yeah, you’d think the doctor would have at least considered the pyloric stenosis diagnosis. Apparently our son was vomiting (which is why she thought it was just severe reflux) but he didn’t projectile vomit until the day of his ultrasound (sorry, hope you’re not eating anything right now…) which is a huge sign.

  14. You and your husband had years of parenting compressed into those first few weeks. The results speak for themselves. Your family is obviously held together by a powerful love, Darla, and your ability to put it into words is always moving. Thank you for telling this story.

    1. We do look back and wonder how we managed. Our son also developed asthma issues later on, which is a whole other set of anxieties. And you’re right, it felt like we grew as parents those early years (we had no choice I suppose!) By the time we had our second child, things were less daunting and we felt much more confident as parents. Thanks, Charles, as always, for your sweet comments.

  15. Lisa (Woman Wielding Words)

    Sobbing now! Completely sobbing. What a beautiful story, a beautiful concept, and a powerful visitation. I don’t know if I believe in Angels, but it sure sounds like you were visited by one and given the gift of love. Thank you for sharing this.

    1. Thank you, Lisa! I personally do believe in angels, spirit guides. I’d like to think maybe she was one, or maybe even just a person that was guided to help us at that time by the “powers-that-be”. We still can’t explain it. It’s comforting to think someone so kind was watching over him and there at the right moment to help me and my husband realize what is truly important in life: love.

  16. What a heart-wrenching post. I had tears in my eyes from the very beginning. And you hit the jackpot with this line, “When the nurse placed him into my arms, it was as if a tiny warm piece of heaven had been gently placed inside my soul.”

    I am so glad you listened to your hearts and had your son checked out. And glad that his surgery went well, and he’s now a happy, healthy kid.

    My own son needed surgery when he was just 13 months old. There are no words for the terror a parent feels having to watch their child being wheeled off. I’m glad you had warm, sound advice from the mysterious Michelle.

    Thanks for sharing your story, and I wish you and your healthy boy many happy years of jumping on the bed.

    1. Thank you so much for your kind comments. It’s so hard to find the words that express how I felt when I first held my son.

      I’m sorry your son needed surgery. Even if they tell you it’s “routine” procedure–whenever your child goes under anesthesia it’s terrible.

  17. How did I miss this post!?! Well, I was just building a ‘blogroll’ and luckily realized you had a new one I hadn’t read yet!

    Happy (belated, eek!) birthday to your BEAUTIFUL son; this post gave me chills.

  18. What a lovely share. My son was born at Maine Med too. I was born in Portland and lived in Otisfield, Oxford, and Norway during my childhood. I still have paternal family there.

    Angels are everywhere and you never know when one will appear. I am so glad that She did and your little boy is such a cutie.

    I found you through Lisa at Woman Wielding Words.

    Since I have had such a hard time dealing with WordPress, I’ve moved over to JournalScape at: http://www.journalscape.com/Words-of-Mine/

    1. Welcome, mzem! Good to have you here. Isn’t Lisa an amazing blogger?

      I do believe in angels and I believe that there are things we just can’t explain. My husband is 100% convinced Michelle was a guardian angel. The impact her words had on us were profound. They came at just the right time.

  19. Priya

    Happy belated Birthday to your son, Darla. And many happy, healthy returns for all of you.

    You and your husband and your baby have been through a lot. As Michelle said, it was all because of and for love. May it always stay with you.

  20. Oh, and about the nurse, Michelle, I suspect she was an angel; although, from what I’ve read, they usually don’t speak with voice, but rather telepathically. In any case, she must have been sent from God in one way or another.

    1. I feel that too. Someone God helped send at just the right time. From what I’ve read, true angels look like angels, with wings, the whole nine yards (Sylvia Browne’s description of them comes to mind). My mom swears she saw two tall angels standing next to my late father in the elevator with her when she was wheeled into heart bypass surgery eight years ago. They didn’t say anything to her, but my dad smiled at her. I am convinced she saw them.

  21. Wow, I can’t imagine the shape YOU were in after a month of that. So glad you pushed for the help, and for “Michelle.” Glad to see that little, er, young MAN, is doing so well.

    1. I think I was a walking zombie for about a year after he was born. Wish I could go back and do things differently, like get more sleep and have less worry so I could’ve enjoyed my baby boy to the fullest. But I do relish each moment with him now because of that first year of his life. Thanks for stopping by, Patti.

  22. Absolutely beautiful…I have two boys..and I can’t even imagine going through that.. So happy that you guys were able to get through that tough time with your strong love.. I guess we have loving angels all around us to help us in our time of need 😉

  23. Lovely! (Along with your son, I also loved hearing how Mr. Skittles was “born”.) My husband just sat with a man at a work conference who told him he was on that day observing the 6th birthday of his son who died at 4 months – in the night, with no warning, from an intestional blockage that went undetected. I’d never heard of such a thing and now I read this post. Ugh. Way to go, Darla’s husband!

    We lost our first baby late into my first pregnancy due to a fatal anomaly. Though you wouldn’t wish for things like this or your son’s experience, sometimes horrible moments can bring with them the beautiful gift of perspective.

    1. That is terrible about that man’s son. I have no words. I am incredibly grateful my husband pushed for that ultrasound.

      I am sorry about the loss of your baby as well. This is something no one should ever have to face. My baby sister died at only four days old and my mother still finds it difficult to talk about and it was over 45 years ago. Like you said, sometimes, out of unbelievable pain and crushing grief, a more grateful perspective can emerge.

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