When I brought my first daughter home from the hospital, I was overwhelmed by every emotion. First, I couldn't believe the doctors trusted me to care for this little, beautiful being. She felt so fragile, and I'm the world's biggest klutz. I was certain I'd drop her or do something that would permanently scar her for life. It's scary enough bringing a child home for the first time, so what happens when you get a phone call that tests came back and something's wrong with your newborn?
Meredith is a new mommy friend. When her first son was 3 days old she was told he had a translocation on his 16th chromosome. She writes:
What did that diagnosis mean? Nothing? Death? Something horrible in the middle... I have a hard time remembering what I felt that night except for being completely numb. When the shock began to wear off, I began to lock every window to my heart. I needed to save my baby, and I could not risk falling apart.Meredith's son is not only alive today but he's almost 5 years old and thriving!
Many describe receiving a traumatic diagnosis as being punched in the gut or kicked in the head. I felt my pain in my heart. It was broken. The days and nights that followed were filled with panic, dread and guilt. Why did I take Zofran for my nausea during my pregnancy? Why could I not nurse this baby who might be sick? What kind of mother was I? Guilt and fear washed over me, day in and day out...
Once I gave in, the despair struck me like a hurricane -- and then quieted into a soft, gentle rain that soaked me to the bone but was a relief nonetheless. I crawled into bed next to my son and allowed the anguish to take me over. I couldn't stop crying as I stared at my perfect, sleeping baby boy. Afterwards, for the first time in weeks, I slept.
After I awoke, I looked at my son differently than before. He was no longer someone who was breaking my heart, but someone who would strengthen and mend it. Little by little, minute by minute, my heart began to heal. I began to cry regularly and freely. While I looked weaker on the outside, each tear was a release. There was time to cry and time to feel. Each tear was a reminder to slow down and realize that my son was still alive, and I loved him.
You can read the entire story at Momlogic. Please keep sending me your stories so, like Meredith, you can help inspire people. Thanks for reading Voices to Share, healing hearts one voice at a time.
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