Homecoming

"Things never turn out exactly the way you plan. I know they didn't with me. Still, like my father used to say, '...you go where life takes you' and growing up happens in a heartbeat. One day you're in diapers, the next you're gone, but the memories of childhood stay with you for the long haul...And the thing is, after all these years I still look back in wonder."

Kevin Arnold, The Wonder Years

One of the greatest gifts of childhood is not having to be adult - not having to worry about keeping loved ones safe, keeping relationships strong and healthy, and making sure the needs of others are met at all times. And yet, one of the greatest triumphs of adulthood is knowing people loved you enough as a child to make any sacrifice necessary to keep you safe, healthy, and strong. The struggles of our infancy and sometimes even the struggles that follow us into adulthood help us to realize that life is not about planning a direct route to the next destination; life is about strapping yourself into the driver's seat, willing to turn the blind corners while continuing to move forward, and when occasion allows, glancing into the rear view to appreciate where you have been and how far you have come.



Each day that Emerson was in the NICU, I felt I was navigating through the ragged turns and changing boundary lanes of a road under construction. My heart was tender as I knew not what to expect from one moment to the next; my mind and my spirit were in constant competition as I fought back the fear and anxiety, tempering them with faith, hope, and optimism. And while I was warring with myself, my baby boy was fighting his own battles, navigating his own course, a novice only a few hours old.



The morning after Emerson was born I laid in my bed waiting for word on his condition. It was about six in the morning, still dark outside, and the streetlights were softly shining through the horizontal slats of the window blinds. I drew them to watch outside my fourth floor room. The rain was glistening against the glass as I observed the world around me bustling with activity, cars moving through the intersection, life continuing on even though it appeared to stand still for me. I returned to my bed and turned on the television. Pausing on KBYU, a talk from Henry Eyring was in the opening credits of rebroadcast; I listened for a few minutes. President Eyring was discussing adversity, especially the adversity that comes from illness in life. I sat upright in my bed, hanging onto every word, tears burning my skin as they streamed down my cheeks. I knew this message had not been an act of coincidence or chance; sent as a tender mercy in my life, these inspired words were meant for me that morning, to strengthen me in my time of need, to make a time of uncertainty a little less scary and bit more comforting.

Emerson stayed in the NICU from the afternoon of January 17 until the late morning of January 21. During that week, Emerson received such good care from the nursing staff and neonatologists. Although it was hard to leave him each evening, I knew he was being well cared for and was in the place he needed to be so that he could become healthy and strong enough to return home.



Jamie was one of Emerson's night nurses. Thaus used to work with Jamie several years ago while she was studying to become a nurse. How grateful I am for the personal connection and that she was there to help care for Emerson.



For the first day and a half Emerson was in the NICU I was unable to hold him. He was hooked up to a breathing machine and had many IVs weaving an intricate web between the machines and his arms and feet. Once he was off the CPAP, I sat and rocked him for as many hours as the nurses would allow. One of them kindly reminded me that he wasn't going to get better if I didn't leave him in his incubator with the bili lights shining over him.



It was quite a sight to see a 9 lb. 5 oz. baby laying aside a roomful of preemies. One of the nurses mentioned to me that she was confused when Emerson was brought into the NICU. She said, "Why are we treating this big baby? He doesn't belong in here." She sheepishly admitted that she didn't realize the extent of his condition and was surprised that he was in need of intensive care for as long as he did. It just goes to show that no matter the outward appearance of a person, regardless of seeming health and strength, the inside may stand in need of caring, compassion, and healing. To outsiders, we may appear to be in the wrong place (or even out of place) seeking solace, yet we are just in the place we need to be. I must remember that the next time I feel inclined to prematurely stand in judgment of another.

Early in the morning on Friday, I received a call from Emerson's day nurse. Dr. Cheatham, one of the NICU neonatologists, reviewed Emerson's care plan and felt comfortable releasing him later that day. I was elated! I can't remember such a feeling of pure joy and happiness washing over me in a very long time. I woke Thaus and Xavier, ushering them to get ready. I couldn't wait to get to the hospital to bring my baby boy home.

Upon reaching the security checkpoint to gain clearance to the NICU, I plopped a commercial grade breast pump on the counter and exclaimed, "I'll trade you a pump for a baby!" The receptionist, entertained by this, laughed out loud. Didn't she realize I was serious?



When I arrived at Emerson's bedside, I found him under the bili lights. The last concern of the neonatologists was getting his bili levels down to a safe level where we could take him home. His breathing capabilities were good and he had been removed from all the IVs and feeding tubes.



While Thaus entertained Xavier in the waiting room, I carefully dressed and prepared Emerson for his first outdoor excursion. Dr. Cheatham met with me to discuss Emerson's care plan and finish the release paperwork. One hour later we were walking out the door.



Emerson had quite the welcoming party as his nurse carried him to the car. Aside from the cranky attendant who was guarding the drop-off/pick-up area, Aunt Angie and cousin Sammie pulled up just in time to see us off. Xavier was so excited to show off his little brother. We visited for a few minutes and snapped a couple photographs. By the impatient look on the attendant's face, I realized he was ready for us to leave. I wondered why he was so bothered by our family reunion. Did he not understand the weight of this moment? Or was something else disturbing him? Although the cold temperatures and biting winds were most likely nipping him in his knickers, I suspect he was more irritated by our blatant disregard for the snazzy orange vest.



After a quick car seat safety check, we are ready to roll. Even though it took us a few extra days to get to this point, some things are worth the wait. Welcome home, sweet baby boy!