Day two

Day Two

It’s 1:42 pm on day two of Errol’s tenuous life. You can see me supporting Errol with my hands as the ventilator keeps him alive. I’m still nervous to hold him (he’s encased in a fragile web of wires and tubes, but I want him to feel human touch and warmth). Cary and I take turns breastfeeding (Cary) and holding (me) Errol. Our son is less than 48 hours old and the doctors have tried a couple of attempts of weaning him off his oxygen. Each time he has plummeted towards death and we’ve watched helplessly as his machines count his oxygen level down to zero. I’ve never felt so helpless. I’ve never desired something (his life) so much. There is nothing I can do. But each time, as the numbers get more grim, the nurses catch him, and bring him back to life.

In the NICU it’s always night. The machines are always flashing and beeping. It’s like a casino in purgatory, where winning gets you back up to life. As sterile as the NICU is, there is a power of healing here that is unrivaled in the history of human kind. Miracles (which are not really miracles at all, but the fruit of thousands upon thousands of trials and errors) occur here every day. Only fabulous wealth could create something as amazingly complex and grand as the medical advancement we find ourselves in the midst of. Twenty years ago, Errol would be dead. We feel so lucky to be alive.

We take shifts laying hands on Errol, with someone touching him night and day. His life is out of our hands right now. All we can do is hope there is a tomorrow.