They ought not to put a post-partumly depressed mother and her sick infant in a hospital room that overlooks the crematorium.
Those were dark days. The first month of Aidan's life we thought he was dying twice. In part because the doctors lead us to believe in the horrible possibility of his death. Over and above the three holes in Aidan's heart, we were told that he had possible liver failure (he had jaundice). Another time he had blood in his stool and they felt it must be necrotizing entero colitis (sp?) (he had a dairy sensitivity).
We didn't know that our doctors were thinking worst-case scenario and working backwards from there. James and I were frightened, felt helpless, defeated, and walked a fine line of mourning. It was hell. I've never felt more vulnerable.
The crematorium really was there below our hospital room window. And at night hookers and homeless people would walk by slowly. I had to think what I would do if Aidan died. How I would tell Kieran and Liam. How we would live afterwards. It was an incredibly sad time, and it took me months to recover.
There was one thing that helped me: after being in the emergency room for 5 hours, and realizing that they were waiting for a room for us, I closed my eyes and imagined my grandmothers and my dad standing behind me. Placing their hands on my shoulders. I should mention, that at this point in time my grandmothers and dad had passed on, and so it was quite a ghostly feeling, but warm too. It gave me the strength I needed to keep going.
How selfish of me. Here I am talking all about how I felt, when it was Aidan on the front line. He did very well considering how many blood tests he had and Intravenous pokes and x-rays. He was a trooper and came through everything with a determination that astounded all of us. Thank God for that.
‘Twas 28 Fridays Until Christmas
5 days ago