We arrived at Miami Children's Hospital on Monday morning, not quite sure what to expect. We met nurses, doctors, and loads of other people that were extremely kind and informative. Jonas's condition was explained to us once again, but I was so numb that most of it went right through me. Our family circled around Jonas's bassinet, taking turns standing next to him, talking and singing to him, stroking his soft skin.
I stood next to him, in disbelief that just the day before I'd held him in my arms...and thought he was a perfectly healthy baby. Now I gingerly moved tubes and wires, searching for places that I could caress and comfort him. I wanted to take a million pictures, I wanted to share his beautiful face with the world. But his beautiful face was obstructed by a ventilator to assist his breathing. I had waited for so long to see him, and now he laid before me, hooked up to machines and pumped full of so many different medications just to sustain his life.
I was overwhelmed, sad, scared, and tired. Those first few days before surgery, I carried with me the constant fear that he was not going to live. Admitting that here, in writing, is one of the hardest things I've ever done. I battled with giving Kris an ample amount of space to process what was happening, and getting the comfort from him that I needed. I ignored almost every text and phone call that flooded my phone. I couldn't respond without the wave of emotion washing over me, and leaving me with a lump in my throat and tears filling my eyes all over again.
When we first arrived at MCH, we were assured that Jonas would wait no longer than two days to have surgery. When other babies were scheduled before him, it made me upset, until it was explained to me that their health was even more poor than Jonas's, and surgery was more of an emergency for those babies. I tried to take it as a positive sign, that he was as well as he could be for what he was going through.
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