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I almost lost my son.
My son who began as a positive test in his Dad's bachelor apartment.
A positive test that scared me so bad I hoped I would miscarry...
For less than a minute.
The rest of my early pregnancy was spent praying I wouldn't and wrestling with hypocrisy, forgiveness,
and blessing.
I almost lost my son.
That Wednesday night we drove calmly to the hospital through a quiet downtown Seattle.
The calm before the storm.
I almost lost my son.
Your baby's heartbeat is low.
Your baby isn't responding well to the beginning stages of labor.
We need to get him out.
Emergency C-section I almost lost my son.
They pulled the life that had grown inside me from my exposed womb.
And declared his sex.
But he didn't cry I almost lost my son.
They pumped breath in his body.
Sustained him on IVs.
Transferred him to another hospital where they could try one last thing.
I almost lost my son.
"Persistent pulmonary hypertension, anemic. A very sick little guy."
Put him on ECMO so he won't die.
Put him on ECMO and he still may.
A long list of possible side effects came with the technology that gave him a fighting chance at life.
The irony of it all.
A team of doctors fighting to save this new life I could have snuffed out as soon as that condom failed with a simple little pill.
A pill the morning after and we never would have known one way or the other
the heartache we would have missed. I almost lost my son.
He could have died.
You'd think after going through that, I'd be a different kind of parent.
Perpetually patient, even tempered.
Forever doting over this sweet beautiful boy who almost died.
But two year olds are as trying as they are lovable.
I find myself wishing he had sustained hearing loss.
But his hearing is just fine. He's just not listening.
So I keep reminding myself, that time out isn't just for two year olds.