The Spirit of Giving

Santa is real. How do I know? I have a little story to share about love, sacrifice, goodness, and care and by the end of it, you will believe in Santa as well.

Tonight Daddy and I wanted to end our night on a positive none fighting note. Doesn't happen often. But tonight I decided we would all write down 3 things that we like about each other and then share it with everyone. By the end of the night, meaning 8pm for us, we had lots of smiling faces. We said our prayers and Daddy took the boys to bed while I rocked our littlest man to sleep. It was then that I heard a knock at the door.

Daddy went down to answer it.

I have to say, hearing Daddy's surprise in his voice when he said, "hello" to the man standing there, made me  get up to see who it was.

And there he was. Santa. Standing tall in his big red suit, snowy beard and a giant Santa bag. He handed the bag to Daddy along with wrapping paper so we could see the gifts and wrap them up for our boys. I was in shock.

Daddy called the boys down to see Santa. I wish you could have seen them. They stood at the top of the stairs in shock, both their eyes huge.

Santa said hello. Both boys squeaked out hi's of their own and came down the stairs, closer. They stood there looking up at him while he asked them some questions; Are you A and E? Have you been good this year? Come shake Santa's hand?

Both boys were, as Daddy puts it, stoked to shake his hand. I was downstairs holding little baby boy still, quietly crying. (yes... yes I do have a sensitive side.) What an amazing thing to happen to my little boys, to my little family. After Santa left, A asked if he could see his sleigh and the reindeer. Daddy told him, "Santa's sleigh is magic, we can't see it or it will ruin the magic."

Both boys walked upstairs chattering excitedly about what had just happened. They didn't stop talking after they were both in bed. It took A a good 20 minutes to finally calm down.

I sat downstairs while Daddy helped both boys back to bed. Sitting in our recliner, holding my youngest son whom we had just found out days before did not have cancer and that the tumor in his abdomen was nothing more than that, a tumor. My emotions have been up and down this last month like I never thought possible. It is one of the hardest feelings in the world to not feel like you can plan a life for someone in your head because you don't know how much longer you'll get to have them and to hold them.

So having Santa show up at our door with a bag full of amazing gifts for my kids, brought out very tender emotions.

Santa is real. He came to my door in the true spirit of giving. He showed my kids that magic still exists in the world. He showed Daddy and I that God does work through His people on Earth. He showed us that people are good. People are selfless. Santa showed us that our family is special.

So Santa, if you're out there reading this. Thank you.

From the bottom of my heart, thank you.

And everyone else. Please remember. That people are good.

 Here you can see Santa's bag of goodies that he left us. :) And three very excited little boys.... well, two. But Mommy and Daddy are excited for the youngest little one.

I asked them to try to lift the bag. They weren't able to do it. But they were pretty excited to try!

My baby's story, part 3

And so we waited there in the ER of Primary Children's Hospital, the best hospital for children, in my opinion, on the West Coast.

Daddy held little boy on the bed and slept for a little bit. I managed to find time to pump. The main source for my relief was now no longer allowed to eat and it broke my heart. It's easy to understand that your baby can't eat because they don't want food in his tummy for surgery, but as a mother, one of the things I could do for him to comfort him, was feed him. And emotionally, I yearned to comfort him in any way I could.

It's a really hard feeling not to be able to do anything for your child. Especially when you feel that you should be able to do everything for them. You're the super hero that kisses their owies. You're the monster that scares away the other monsters under the bed. You're the softest pillow in the world, the pillow that will hold and cuddle a little one that needs love. You're the guardian. And today.... I didn't feel like a guardian. What could I do for him? Nothing. Besides hand him over to complete strangers and trust that they'll take care of one of the most precious things in my life. What a scary feeling. That's what nightmares belonging to mother's are made of.

Daddy and I took turns holding little boy. He still cried. Out of hunger. Out of pain. Out of extreme exhaustion. I was scared to move. Once he would fall asleep and I was holding him, I tried everything in my power not to move.

9 am.

Several hours later.

They told us they were transferring us to the PICU, they finally had a bed ready for him. Once there they would give him a blood transfusion for all the blood he'd lost as well as get him on morphine. I was relieved to get him into his own room, even if that just meant a few walls and curtains separating us from the other patients. The morphine, to be honest, made Daddy and I really nervous. I mean, if you look in the store for medicine for an infant that is 6-weeks-old, it doesn't exist. You don't give a newborn medicine because "supposedly" it doesn't do anything for them. So when they said they were going to give him morphine, it scared us.

But after watching them, for the last time in the ER, stick him again with needles to get more blood samples and hearing him scream as people held him down; I just wanted it to be over. I wanted him to be calm and rested and if morphine could ease his pain and help him sleep, then I wanted the morphine for him.

They took him from me- because apparently, parent's cannot be trusted to hold their own babies while in hospitals- and set him on another gurney. He was wheeled up to the PICU and we met some more amazing staff. I'm sad I don't have the ability to remember all of their names.

They took little boy and put him in his neonatal bed, hoarse crying voice and all. The nurse's were so sensitive to his needs. The first nurse we had was the one who really pushed the morphine with us. She told us the downsides to it. It could relax him so much that it could depress his breathing. So basically, he'd be so chill that breathing would no longer seem necessary. Oh... and it could make him itchy. She reminded us that we were in the PICU and that the ratio of patient's to nurse's was usually 1:1 or 2:1. And because little boy was a more demanding patient, he would usually be 1:1, so, if anything was to happen, they were right there. With Benadryl for his itching and if his breathing just began to slow and his O2 sats began to drop, they'd be right there with the appropriate people to counteract it. Especially since they already know the possible side effects of morphine. She had me convinced.

12pm. 27 hours awake.

Daddy would say right here that I was not very clear with the nurse and that is why they kept asking what I wanted. I have to say that being awake for nearly 27 hours straight was making me cranky. Not to mention the sudden mountain of stress I was under. So when daddy also kept bugging me about what I wanted to do about the morphine--when I clearly thought I was clear that I wanted him to have it-- I may have snapped at him. Just a little. I felt stupid and bad right after. He's feeling just as much emotional strain as I am. We both don't feel like we can relax. Little boy barely sighs and we're right at his side eyeballing his vitals on the screen they now have him hooked up to.

It was a long Sunday.

So many people calling to see what is going on. So many doctors of varying ranks coming in to talk to us. So many nurse's coming in to help baby boy. So many tears. So much waiting. And the worst of it all. We barely had a change of clothes.

Daddy and I never asked for anything while in the PICU. I don't think we actually knew what to ask for at the time. Once little boy was given his morphine, Daddy and I could finally relax a bit. Daddy fell asleep on a rocking chair they brought us. Our nurse noticed this and she brought in a chair that turns into a bed, blankets, sheets, and pillows. Such a small thing was so overwhelming to me at the time. That she would even care that my sleep deprived husband was sitting up in a rocking chair trying to sleep and she wanted to help him.

Once that bed was made in the corner of our room, Daddy was in it and slept for a good 4 hours. What a joke. That was all his body could let him sleep. I wanted him to stay out cold until the next morning. He needed it. I needed it. Unfortunately for me, I didn't actually sleep for at least another 48  hours. Think about it. Early Friday is when this all started. My Friday/Saturday night with him was terrible. I had hardly any sleep. I was awake all Saturday. 24 hrs. We took him in Saturday night. We made it to Primary's early Sunday. We waited for Monday to come. 24 more hours. Monday comes. Baby boy has surgery. I still don't sleep. 24 more hours. The night after his surgery I sleep.... barely. That gives me roughly 72 hours of consciousness. I would have never said it was possible until now.

My poor contacts were working overtime. I had to take them out several times to wash the salt and grime off them from crying so much. Luckily they had mini saline flushes and sterile water I could wash my contacts off with and put them back in. There were points when they lack of sleep and crying made everything I looked at blurry. It may have been one of the most infuriating things. I wanted so badly to be able to see my baby boy clearly, but I couldn't. And of course I was too tired to discover the saline flushes and sterile water sooner, so I suffered through it.

I can't remember when, but Papa who had been with us since about 3am went out of the PICU and brought in Grammie to say hi to baby boy. She had come, as well as my sister-in-law and her hubby who live in Bountiful. We could only have 3 visitors total. It was a moment of more tears and silent thoughts as she stood at the bedside of her newest grandbaby. I would be lying to say he looked good.

Before everyone arrived, little boy had been taken down one more time for another catscan and he'd been started on his blood transfusion. He had puncture marks everywhere from their attempts at drawing his blood. (it was pretty annoying that they had to poke him so many times. First of all, it hurts him. Second of all, he needs a blood transfusion--stop STEALING his blood! He needs all he can get at the moment people! And third, it's really hard for them to get him to bleed, so it takes forever, making him hurt more. I did not like the constant poking). His body was beginning to swell from all the liquid they were pumping into him. He still looked pretty pale since he'd just begun his transfusion. And he had several IV lines and wires protruding from every limb. It was very difficult to move him.

So for her to see him like that, could not have been easy. And seeing her pain only made me cry. And when grammie and papa left to let Aunt and Uncle in to visit, I cried then as well.

(This last bit I'm going to write about is very special to me. If you do not agree with my thoughts, I'll respect that, but please do not use my blog as your soundboard.)

The reverence around little boy's bed is still something I remember. Whenever I or Daddy spoke to someone, it was in hushed tones. When we comforted to baby boy, it was with such love and reverence in our voices. I could feel angels around his bed; in that little curtained off corner of the PICU. I could feel them comforting me. I think at least one of them has always been there with my baby boy. I could feel him since A was born. I would be in a room with my brand new baby and I could feel another soul in the room with me. I've never felt that with any of my other children. But with A, it was such a strong feeling. I know that whoever was with A was also someone I know. Their spirit was very familiar to me. I now know why they were there. I now know why they were with my baby.

And I feel that the other spirits were there because of the prayers of so many people that care for us, they were there to calm our hearts. I also feel that angels were in that PICU because it was just that-- a Pediatric Intensive Care Unit-- and little children are the most precious thing on this earth. God will never let them go through this life alone. Especially when they are struggling. They are so close to the veil. They need Him and he will not abandon his children. Ever. I know this to be true.