Sunday July 8th, 2007

“You guys are out of here!” is the strangest greeting we have ever received from the doctor. “I was able to get you a space in Jacksonville and an ambulance is on the way to pick you up.” I couldn’t believe it. Someone made a decision on a Sunday morning. We were leaving Daytona.

I woke up expecting Sunday to be a slow day. I knew her parents would stop by as they did daily, and my family probably would stop by. Otherwise, I expected to get a lot of reading in. But then the doctor comes in at lunchtime with the weird news. My in-laws are already there and I have to tell my family not to bother coming in. Too bad, I was going to have them bring me lunch.

My in-laws and I have to go into overdrive since the ambulance is literally on the way to get us. They pack and I carry everything to the car. They aren’t coming up to Jacksonville today and I won’t get to push any buttons in the ambulance anyway, so I am going to drive my car. As I am making one of the runs I pass a baby on the way out. There is an isolette with monitor and sensors all over it and a tube running from the isolette to a ventilator. This is all sitting on a stretcher being wheeled out by two paramedics. I can’t see the baby at all, but I now think I have met her. In Jacksonville we met another micro preemie who was born in Daytona on the 7th. This may have been her or may not, but the last time we saw her she was doing fine and had gone home.

It takes 3 or 4 trips to empty out the room, which easily took over a half hour in this hospital. By the time I am done the mama Ali is already on a stretcher. We have already discussed a big concern for this trip. Riding in an ambulance for an hour and a half will give her a good shaking. A pothole at highway speeds could case the water to break. I try hard to reassure her. The interstate here is relatively smooth, it’s the middle of the summer, and ambulances probably have good shock absorbers. I wish I could ride with her, but there’s no room in the back for me. I escort her down to the ambulance area and kiss her goodbye. “Remember what I want for my birthday”

I have to stop at the house because I was not prepared to spend Sunday night out. I was supposed to sleep here tonight, but I am not going to let her spend the first night in this hospital alone. I don’t know what will happen, but whatever happens will happen in Jacksonville. I haven’t mentioned it yet, but I don’t know if I can make the daily round trip every day. I’ll worry about that in the future, but now it’s time to go to the new hospital.

The new hospital is nothing short of enormous. There are several buildings as part of the complex instead of one large building. It takes me some 15 minutes to find the maternity area which is only 5 minutes from my car. When I finally get up to the room the mama Ali is already there and the nurse is checking her over. It seems every new hospital has slightly different gadgets and they have to hook up their own IV machine and put on their own stockings for her feet. I get the chance to check out the room. We are definitely not in the long term section. This room has enough space for anyone and everyone who wants to stand at the foot of the bed. I could probably fit 2 air mattresses down there without moving a thing. We have our own bathroom complete with a shower! I don’t know how long they will let us stay in this room, but I can handle this for a long time.

Soon the doctor comes in. It’s time to get down to business. First, we figure out the exact date the pregnancy began because at 23 weeks and 2 days, everyday counts. Babies at 24 weeks do well, they don’t do anything at this hospital for 22 weekers. Had it been 3 days earlier in the pregnancy, they wouldn’t even try to save the baby. The doctor goes over the numbers. 23-24 weeks is a critical interval as far as lung development. Very rarely do babies at 22 weeks survive even with the best support. At 24 weeks, most babies survive just fine. At 23 weeks around 1 in 3 survive. Of those that survive, around 1 in 10 have no lasting effects. Lasting effects could be anything from cerebral palsy, to spinal defects, to retardation, to a million different things. I do the quick math in my head and realize he is telling us that the chance of a perfectly normal baby is about 3 percent. When the baby is born t 23 weeks, the stress of birth will cause him to take 2 or 3 breaths on his own. After that he will be too weak to breathe and his lungs will be too immature to work on room air anyway. He will need lots of oxygen and a machine to breathe for him. The doctor then asked a question I will never forget. “After the baby is born, he will need lots of support and the odds are that even with the support he probably won’t survive. If he does, he will probably never be a normal child. If he is born at 23 weeks, do you want us to save him?”

We have all seen shows on TV or kids in the mall and asked ourselves, could we raise a handicapped kid? Could we raise a kid that might be blind, or in a wheelchair, or severely retarded? If we knew in advance that the fetus had Down’s syndrome would we terminate the pregnancy? I don’t mean to say that I know what you would answer, but you never forget when the doctor asks you that question. The doctor asked me do I want to go further when there is little to no chance of my kid being able to play basketball because he can’t see, or run, or remember the rules? Even after everything we had been through for 10 days I must make a confession now that I have never made before. Even after all that I had put my wife through for 10 days, I thought about it. I actually stopped to ask myself that question seriously for one last time. The mama Ali didn’t miss a beat and said that’s what we have been working for for the last 10 days. She may have thought I was letting her answer. In reality I was just thinking about it. I probably would have said yes, but I must say that I actually had to think about it. When she answered that question for me I think I matured about 5 years. I was no longer the guy in his 20s who could still flirt with all the girls if he wasn’t married. I stopped being the guy who shopped at Spencer gifts and put a gallon of gas in the Geo because that’s all I could afford. Now I’m a father with a little boy. A boy with special needs.

The doctor said that if we intended to save the baby, that his lungs were not ready yet. They have a steroid (not that kind of steroid) that when administered to the mother helps the lungs develop, but it is given in two shots, and the shots must be given 24 hours apart. I thought the guy was crazy. We of course agreed to take the shots, but 24 hours isn’t a problem. We’ve been in the hospital for 10 days, we should be able to at least finish out the week. The nurse comes in with the needle. The clock says 7pm.

For the rest of the evening we are both in a state of shock. We have been through so much, and right now it seems all for nothing. 10 days in the hospital. Thousands of dollars per day. Too many I.V.s and injections to measure. Powdered eggs every morning. We thought it was all so we can get here and they can save the baby. Even though the odds get better every passing minute, survival is still unlikely. Part of me wants to cry, but too many tears have been shed in July. I’m all out of tears for now. The only saving grace is that we have made it through another day after the doctors said we couldn’t. Tomorrow is July 9th, my 30th birthday.