In this three part series guest blogger Christine Lester describes how her thinking about the newborn scars on her firstborn son have changed as he's grown.

Life is back to almost normal for guest blogger Christine Lester after an autumn that included a visit from Hurricane Irene. Today’s post begins a three part series exploring how her feelings have changed toward the many scars on her son’s body. In Part 1, she describes her jumble of emotions upon seeing newborn scars on her son for the first time after his major surgery.

Part One: Newborn Scars

Recently, I came across a photo showing a mother baring her postpartum scars or  “birthmarks” as she refers to them. I was touched by Cassie Fox’s photo and her heartfelt caption. It made me not only think of my own birthmarks from having 2 precious children but the newborn scars that riddle my son’s body.

I’m going tell you a little secret about those newborn scars.  I was shocked at the sight of them when the NICU nurses showed them to me quickly through bandages and tape. To look at them hurt me, took my breath away, made my heart ache. Initially I hated them and was sad he had them. That the dream I had for this boy would forever be changed. Eventually, I grew to love them and realized that the dream wouldn’t completely change. Just the journey to get there would.

In about a 12 hour span my whole life had flipped upside down. Those August hours are a blur. I had given birth to a son, had him immediately taken away and whisked to an out-of-state hospital. My husband rushed to follow the transport team. A team of surgeons were called in over a holiday weekend and when my child arrived, they were waiting for him. Our little man had gone in and out of surgery before my doctor even did rounds. I begged to be discharged which the nurse advised against. So, I signed myself out anyway and immediately headed to Philadelphia so that I could FINALLY see my baby.

Upon arriving I was met by hospital staff who took me to my husband who had just finally fallen asleep after being up for 2 days straight.  My husband then led me to our son. The first born. Around his bed staff started approaching me. I expressed genuine gratitude for all they did for my child. Those few hours seemed like days. My first look at him came with them showing me wires and machines. They moved him over a bit to show me where his surgical newborn scars were. They briefed me on the surgery, how they repaired him, the ports, what his life will be like. Feedings. Tests. Names and conditions I had never even heard of, nor could I pronounce….

It all becomes like a Charlie Brown cartoon. Try as you might their words come out like background music and next thing you know your not hearing what they are saying. I try not to look shocked or stare but that’s all I can do. I was still trying to grasp the reality of having a baby let alone one with all these other conditions. I tried to express my gratitude to the doctors for saving our child’s life. Thank them for giving him a chance to live. A chance for us to be parents. Yet, how do you ever really thank someone for that gift? Everything seems inadequate even the most heartfelt words.

They talk about the list of new birth defects they’ve discovered in the past 5 hours. Much more than they discovered in 9 months of elaborate high-risk prenatal screening.  They tell me he has VACTERLS and most likely has all the letters yet they would have to rule them out. They keep saying Esophageal Atresia & Tracheo-Esophageal Fistula. I couldn’t grasp it until a doctor wrote it down for me. They go into possible complications and I’m desperately trying to hang on to every word, think of every question.

But all I can think about are those cuts on my child. Such a small little man with a medical chart that already weighs more than he did at a day old. 

Is he in pain? Was he in pain? Was he scared? Did they take good care of him? Did I somehow cause this? What will his life be like? I look around at the wires, the tubes,  the machines.   It makes the term ‘surgery’ much more tangible when your looking at YOUR child. No one had any time to think before he was whisked away. I just needed a chance to breathe, take it all in. The ironic thing is that’s all my baby needed to.  We all just needed  the chance to breathe.

No one had time to research or prepare, ask any questions.  It was “your child is being sent out of state immediately or he will die”. That’s it. Take it or leave it.

We took it and hoped we all could just breathe.

Can You Relate?

Can you relate to Christine’s emotional response? What kind of response did you have upon receiving a diagnosis, seeing your child for the first time after surgery, hearing about the treatments required? Leave a comment if you like.

Part One
Part Two
Part Three

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