Open Heart Surgery Feb. 28th, 2011
Giselle was exactly 7 months old the day of her surgery. I remember waking up feeling nothing less than as if I were handing her over to Death himself that day. After having hardly a wink of sleep, we got to the hospital at about 6:45 am. No one was even there. The lobby was dark, cold, and unwelcoming. About 30 minutes of sitting, waiting, and hardly speaking to each other, my husband and I see the receptionist coming in and turning the lights on. They checked us in, took her vitals, put her in a gown, and had us waiting again in record time. It all felt like a blur. Soon we were in a separate waiting room talking with the heart surgeon. We never even met the man before today. He told us what was going to happen, and when we should expect a nurse to come upstairs to update us. We had a separate waiting room to wait in near the NICU and depending on how she did, depended on how soon we could see her after surgery. At least, I think this is the jist of what he was saying. My eyes may have been looking in his direction, but my mind was on Giselle.
All I thought about was her. All I could remember is when we first found out that Giselle might have Down Syndrome, at 13 weeks along in the pregnancy. I took a shower after crying for about an hour and fell to my knees. And I prayed. I'm not what you would call a religious person, but I prayed right then and there in that shower. I said, "God, if you give me a healthy baby, a normal baby, I promise she will know your name. I promise to take her to church and teach her all about your ways. I may not be a devote follower, or even a small one at that, but she will. Please, if you do this for me, I will make sure she knows God."
And here I was, 24 years old, holding my baby with Down Syndrome and a large VSD in her heart. "F$@# you God", I kept thinking to myself. "F$@# you for doing this to a helpless baby. Why should I pray to YOU that she will be safe in this surgery. Why should I even bother?? You're not there, you don't care about us. This was all a fluke and you had nothing to do with it." Instead of praying in my moment of weakness like I had before, I leaned over and whispered into Giselle's ear, "You come back to me little Princess, Mommy loves you so much and I need you..." And just like that the nurse took her from my arms. It was exactly like a scene in a movie. The double doors burst open in slow motion to about 7 other nurses, Giselle looking over the nurse's shoulder back at us with that look in her eyes like "Mommy, where are you going?" From the moment they took her I cried, I cried like a baby. I couldn't tell you if Matt was crying but he was holding me.
Once the doors shut I just leaned against the wall in the hallway trying to collect myself before walking out into the lobby to see my family. After a few moments and a couple of short steps, I was back out, in my own mother's arms, crying all over again.
I thought those 6 hours of surgery would crawl by, but after a few short visits from the nurse here and there telling us she was on bypass, she was being opened, she was being closed, and a small surprise visit to tell us they closed two other holes, we were only minutes away from seeing our baby. She came up from surgery without the help of breathing tubes, and looked like she was very drugged up. And after a couple nights of awful sleep on the pull out chair/bed, a few minor heart attacks from me when Giselle would pull on the cords going into her neck and legs, and after only 72 hours, we were on our way home. Even though the experience for us went as well as it possibly could, it was still the scariest, and hardest thing I've ever gone through in my life. I'm not here to sugar coat it for you if you're about to go through the same ordeal. But WE SURVIVED. And we have a baby that is catching up in weight and milestones now. And although her scar is fading, the events and moments during those 72 hours will be with me forever. But guess what people? That's a price I'm willing to pay.
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