The story of Orange 1

The other day I was reading my friends blog and she was talking about how her dad had passed and how a simple smell from an old bag brought back a flood of feelings and memories and I had the same thing happen last week. It was a sock. A tiny infant sized red and white striped sock. Orange 1 had surgery when he was little and I don't usually talk about it. I say things like "Orange 1 had surgery when he was little, oh he's fine now" But I don't go into details. I think because I'm still so heartbroken about it. Even now typing I find the tears rolling and last week thats how I found myself sitting on the bed crying to a tiny striped sock. Maybe if I share my story it will help me and maybe help someone else too. Here is the story of Orange 1.

O1 was born 5 weeks early, he was tiny and beautiful. Some babies look beautiful right out of the gate (our 2nd sadly did not, but he's a cutie now), O1 was beautiful and perfect. He spent a week in intensive care in a little glass box. It was awful. I had to share a room in the very beginning with what I can only say was a trashy lady complaining about how her baby was up all night while mine was locked in a little box and I wasn't allowed to hold him. I cried a lot those first days. I always say the nurses knew me as the mom who cried. The week progressed, my wonderful doctor demanded the nurses allow me to hold him, we started to nurse, it was going well. On day 5 they told us about "it". He had a VSD and muscle bundles. Basically there was a hole in his heart and the blood was leaking back and getting double pumped. I can still remember sitting there, I think the world fell away. Its a feeling you only know once you've had it.

We were sent home with follow up care and appointments till the end of time. Those first few months were so hard. He was so little, the heart condition made him tired but he didn't feel good so it was hard to sleep. He slept maybe 8 hours in any 24 hour period. We started drugs, we had to give him medicine 7 times a day. I was so sad. I felt and still feel like it was my fault. I made him and I didn't do a good enough job. My husband says its not but I really feel deep down that it is. We finally came to the great and terrible day. He had surgery October 20th, he was 5 1/2 months old and 15 pounds. The day came and I was okay I was just in denial but the night before I found myself drinking the better part of a bottle of wine and crying uncontrollable at 2 in the morning. So I did as anyone would do, I called my mom (4am her time) and she said in the very nicest most peaceful way " I thought I'd hear from you". I didn't want to do it, the surgery, she convinced me that I had to. She was right. She told me that if I didn't he'd never be able to play sports, he'd have a hard time just going up stairs, he wouldn't grow, and so we did it. It was a monday morning, it was cloudy, and cold, much like me. We put him on a giant wheeling table and he cried and I cried so they let me carry him. Then we waited in this little waiting area and he wore these little red and white striped socks because I was afraid his feet were too cold. The rest of the story doesn't matter, its long done with. Yesterday we played kick ball in the yard and he laughed and shouted and ran. All that remains is a long scar on his chest and a little red and white sock that no longer fits. Every time I see that little sock my heart feels broken all over again.

I should be grateful, I should be happy, but I still have fear. I'm not sure what exactly I'm afraid of, but I am. I think it will pass. Life moves on, I'm living it.

If you've found this story you'v probably googled infant VSD or baby surgery. You should know this too shall pass and if you need someone just ask, I'll always take time to help someone on the same road. Time may have passed but I remember, I remember the smells, the waiting, the sadness and the hard road that followed but I also know the laughter and the joy of healthy little orange haired monster.