About Me

Hermit, photographer, no-pinning seamstress, crazy person, mama.

Friday, September 17, 2010

Growth

Every now and then, I find myself perusing my folders containing the thousands of digital images over the past four years. There are many that I took to express my artistic side. Most of them are of my beloved children.
There is a specific set of pictures of my youngest that makes me cry (come on, lets face it, all pictures of my littlest invoke this reaction. However, typically, it is in an "aww, so sentimental" frame of mind).
They are a series of sweet shots of my husband holding him upright relieving him of the seeming pain in his abdomen he would have most evenings (possibly colic, but I never really thought that is what it was, seemed like something else). The first is my sweet babe redfaced and crying, with big crocodile tears streaming down his face. The next he looks calmer and appearing somewhat zapped out. The final picture, is my baby smiling and giggling and looking happily perky again!
The reason this series of shots makes me cry, is not because of what is happening. It is because he looks downright skeletal and emaciated. He had lost most of his hair off the top of his head. My baby looks rough in these pictures. Looking at these pictures you wouldnt know that he was a champion nurser, from an experienced nursing mama with no breastfeeding and milk producing issues.

My baby was born with a common defect. He had grade 3 Vesicoureteral Reflux. He was given a fifty percent chance of either "growing out of it" or requiring surgery. Thankfully, he has since grown out of it, and his kidneys appear fine.
However, I still remember how scared I was that he would need surgery. I remember how horrible I felt that my innocent newborn was born with a E coli bladder infection, and blaming myself (how the hell does a baby in utero get infected with E coli??!?). I remember taking my ten day old infant to be admitted to the hospital for IV antibiotics for 2 days, and the horrendous two hour ordeal of the nurses sticking my baby over and over again trying desperately to put in an IV, and eventually resorting to giving him a shot (which wasnt ideal because it was daily for a few weeks and because it wasnt as fast acting as an IV). I remember passersby commenting on how adorable my newborn was... at 3 months old.
He wasnt gaining weight. He had infection after infection with rare bacteria. He was on prophylactic antibiotics for the first year of his life. He was afraid of doctors before he could crawl. He knew, as an infant, what would happen when needles were brought into the room, or our poor (and wonderfully sweet and caring) medical assistant came into the room.
Many parents deal with such horrendous disabilities and illnesses, and I still feel guilt for being so incredibly strung out about my baby's medical drama.

So, when I see those pictures I cry. I cry because of the ordeal he went through. I cry because I am so incredibly grateful that he did not need surgery. I cry from the memories. I cry.

1 comment:

  1. What an amazing story! What an ordeal you had to go through! I am so happy he did grow out of it and all is better now!

    ReplyDelete