July 23rd, 1976 ... I sat holed up in his room, for several hours, crying. I had been able to see him twice this past week, he had been moved to Special Care which was the final step before he was allowed to go home and he was to have come home today, 34 years ago. How blessed we were, at one point it was thought that he would need a complete blood transfusion as the bilirubin had hit the highest level. They had called one evening and said the transfusion would be done the next morning. The phone call the following morning informed us that during the night the number had reversed and he was at normal, no need for transfusion. God will take care of this. Other then that his time in New York had been spent with growing and gaining weight. Although making leaps and bounds he still was a tiny 4 pounds 6 ounces. At this time usually a baby was not released from the hospital before weighing 5 pounds, but he was doing so well there was no need to hold him any longer. He would come home on Friday the 23rd.
The call the night of the 22nd was with apologies as the circumcision that had been scheduled for that day had to be postponed another day as an emergency had occured at the hospital and staff was not available to do this. They would do so first thing the next morning thereby moving his go home date to Saturday. I remember telling myself "its only one more day, its only one more day" and then I just crumbled. I had never cried during this time, I think it was probably long overdue. In hind sight it wasn't just the fact of one more day, I think it was the whole experience. The long labor, the premature birth, going home without my baby, the waiting and waiting and waiting.
And Saturday did come. July 24, 1976, home at last. Just shy of one month old, almost two months from what had been his due date. The newborn tee's came down below his knees. Pampers were halved and still reached to his underarms. He was to have an ounce of formula every three hours and we were to set the alarm clock. All during the day and all through the night. He required night feedings for about five months, the night hours were almost magical. In the quiet stillness, along with Doris Day and Rock Hudson re-run movies we would feed and rock. I don't think I have ever cherised anything more in my life then those hours. A summer blessing for sure. We had been given the most special gift. God had taken care of this.
Today, at 34 years old, he is a medic. He cares for others and does a mighty fine job of it. Not too long ago he had arrived home with my husband and as he had gotten out of the car heard a voice asking "are you a medic"? He turned and said yes, she said "my baby's not breathing". He said he ran to where another neighbor was holding the limp body of an almost one year old. My husband said he was off like a shot. By the time the ambulance arrived the baby had been revived and was screeching, a most wonderful sound to his parents. He's the neighborhood hero. He didn't make much of this, said, just doing what he's been trained to do. My baby is now taking care of other people's babies. God is taking care. Always.