Welcome to Part 2 of guest blogger Laura Maikata’s post about coming to grips with the very premature birth of her son at 23 weeks. In Part 1 she described how seeing a jogger pushing a baby stroller upset her equilibrium while her baby was in NICU. Today, she finishes the story with by giving us a glimpse of what the stroller revealed.

The Jogger, Part 2

…My second glance changed the meaning of the entire scene. This wasn’t the baby I’d expected to see. This baby wasn’t picture perfect. She was medically fragile. I could just barely make it out as I zipped past, but it was clear. She was breathing through a nasal cannula. She was dependent on oxygen from a tube inserted into her nose and held in place by clear plastic tape on her cheeks. I took another glance backwards and saw the black oxygen tank, a boxy canvas bag, stealthily stored under the seat.

My image of the mother’s perfect life changed. I didn’t begrudge her slick jacket and state-of-the-art stroller. She wasn’t some ideal that could have been. She was, instead, a piece of my reality. She understood me more than I’d guessed. She’d probably been where I was going, the same NICU on the same third floor where hopes and nightmares collided.

This baby she was pushing wasn’t an image of what could have been. This baby is what could be. I choked back a tear.

It was time to look forward, not backward. I would never know that baby’s story, but in that moment of a backward glance, she gave me hope. We could make accommodations. We could find ways to make this new reality work.

If my son’s kidneys started working again but his lungs still failed him, we could go for runs. Maybe by spring when things thawed again, he’d be home. Maybe I’d have him in the stroller with me, oxygen tank stored underneath, and we would go look at the flowers on the trees together. And if he couldn’t see, he could still run with me and we’d feel the breeze together. Maybe someone would pass us on their way to the NICU, and maybe we’d pass a bit of hope forward. Maybe…

The NICU was a five month marathon for us. We rejoiced at reaching the finish line and bringing our son home. My one year old and I are now training for another run. Not a marathon, not yet. A 10k will do. His kicking legs give an excited thump-thump as his ankle-foot orthotics hit the canvas of the jogging stroller. Through thick glasses he watches the leaves spread shadows on the road before us. These thumping legs endure hours of physical therapy a week to start working right. These legs and their little boy owner are my new inspiration. When I get tired, I remember his race, and I find strength for the next mile. I believe he will run, even with weak lungs and weak muscles. We are not alone, neither of us. But if the past is any indication, we are capable of more than we thought possible. We know, because we’ve seen others run this race before us.

Pass It Forward

Did the hope Laura passed forward today touch your heart? Leave a comment for her or tell about how someone passed hope forward to you during your special needs parenting journey.

The Jogger, Part 1

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