More surgeries

Surgery #3 came and went with no issues. Our boy was still on heavy sedation and a massive ventilator. We still haven't been able to hold him. The only thing we could do was touch his hands and his head. Surgery #4 was scheduled for a couple days later, making it 4 surgeries in 10 days. The surgeon was optimistic that surgery #4 would be the last one, but he didn't want to give us false hope, so he told us to "plan on another one after this one". So we did.

The day of his fourth surgery, we went back downstairs to the surgery prep room. Did what had become a routine of answering questions and giving consent for a bunch of stuff we didn't even want to think about, kissing our boy good luck, and leaving him in the hands of people we didn't even know. We went into the waiting room and waited for what felt like an eternity. This was definitely the longest wait of them all. The surgeon had estimated 45-60 minutes, but I think we waited for 2 1/2 hours. It was the worst feeling. Why was he taking so long? Was it a good thing because he was taking his time to make sure this was the final one or was it a bad thing because there were complications?

Finally, the surgeon came back and gave us the news:

"Well, it all went great. He's all closed up and about to be taken back to his room to rest."

He's closed up? It really happened? So when can he come home? Maybe next week?

"It'll be at least another 4-6 weeks before we can start talking about him going home."

That was a tough pill to swallow. We had seen him apparently "doing fantastic" because of the fact he was able to go through 4 surgeries in 10 days. Who else could even go through that? At this rate, he'd obviously be ready to go home by next week...

Why so long? He needed time to allow his internal cavity which had been functioning without his liver in there to expand and make sure everything fit. He had to let the stitches/scar on his abdomen heal and make sure there was no infection or anything like that. He had to get off his ventilator and start breathing on his own. He had to start taking milk instead of the weird Gatorade stuff he was on. He had to get that ridiculous blood pressure down. He had to actually open his eyes for more than 3 minutes....that's how long and heavily sedated he had been. There were so many milestones and things to check off. That was when reality set in. We were in this for the long run. We were officially "proud parents of a NICU baby". That slogan was everywhere in the hospital...on posters, on bracelets, on keychains, on lanyards, on everything and I hated it. Sure, I was very, vey proud of my NICU baby and how he was progressing, but I wasn't proud to be a parent of a NICU baby. I hated that constant reminder that my kid was in the hospital and there was nothing I could do about it while I looked on Facebook and saw all my friends with these perfect 8 lb, 2 oz babies at home in their cribs, looking like they were all happy and nothing wrong would ever happen.

But now...I wouldn't trade that experience for any of those "perfect babies". I eventually converted and embraced myself as a "proud parent of a NICU baby". I had this nifty ID badge that got me in any room in the hospital I wanted and got me all the food I wanted. While all these perfect babies' parents were shelling out money for diapers and food, we were getting ours free, courtesy of our insurance. Pros and cons, I guess.

Anyways, on the way upstairs, it was mixed feelings. We were thrilled he was all done with the brutal surgeries. But another 4-6 weeks...at least...don't these people know we have lives and all kinds of plans to do with our son this summer? We certainly did not want to spend any more time in the hospital.

Once we got there and took a look at him, we knew everything would be alright. 4-6 weeks was nothing compared to the eternity we'd get to spend with him. We could do it. We didn't want to. But we could.

We made a mental note of how many wires he had coming out of him (I think we counted 18 at one point) and made that our countdown. We promised each other to not start talking about potentially going home until he was down to 3 wires. We buckled in and braced ourselves for the rest of our NICU adventure.