This week I really felt disheartened when James didn’t get to leave the NICU. It was the fourth (maybe fifth?) time his homecoming had been changed. Of course I want him to be ready, but when I heard of yet another revised date, I felt extremely tired. The flight principle took over: I was ready to leave for the day and it had only started.
My pity-party didn’t last. In the ole pumping room, while I was telling my friend my news, a new mom started asking me some questions. Then we heard her story. Just like that, I felt really small. James’ remaining complications became, as they are, simple things that can be cured or treated. In stark contrast, her son’s situation is dire. It’s highly unlikely he’ll survive.
It’s prompted quite a few of us to cry for him and for her and, to be brazenly honest, for ourselves and for our babies, yet again. It takes very little for us to put ourselves in her place. We’ve all faced the likelihood of losing our babies; however, we were rescued from that gravity. No one has a reassuring answer for this baby. So very sadly, time is both at a standstill and hurtling along for him and his mom.