Gary and I took two cars to the hospital this morning because he had to go to work tonight. While we were on the road, he called me to tell me to turn to KLOVE. When I did, this is the song I heard: (I'll warn you, you'll cry)
I'm down on my knees again tonight
I'm hoping this prayer will turn out right
See there is a boy that needs Your help
I've done all that I can do myself
His mother is tired
I'm sure You can understnad
Each night as he sleeps
She goes in to hold his hand
And she tries not to cry
As the tears fill her eyes
CHORUS:
Can You hear me?
Am I getting through tonight?
Can You see him?
Can You make him feel all right?
If You can hear me
Let me take his place somehow
See, he's not just anyone
He's my son
Sometimes late at night I watch him sleep
I dream of the boy he'd like to be
I try to be strong and see him through
But God who he needs right now is You
Let him grow old
Live life without this fear
What would I be
Living without him here
He's so tired and he's scared
Let him know that You're there
(Chorus)
Can You hear me?
Can You see him?
Please don't leave him
He's my son
It's by Mark Schultz, and we had just talked about the song the night before. It speaks the words our hearts can only cry out to God. This is a pain unimaginable.
We walked into the NICU this morning to see our little boy. His nurse, Faye, was holding him, trying to get him to eat. He hadn't eaten all night and was quite weak. Dehydration had set in again, and his eyes were sunken into his gray face. She told me her job today was to make him well. So, throughout the day, he got an NG tube down his nose for feedings and more meds than I could count. Finally, at 6 p.m. Carter took 40 mL, so he only had to take 30 by tube. He'd gotten some strength back, and his color looked much better.
The doctors are trying everything. He has an infection, probably colongitis, so he is on antibiotic. His fluid output is still huge, but it was beginning to get clearer. His electrolytes are still out of whack, and his CO2 level is 16 (they say it should be 25-30). But all of the doctors and nurses are truly amazing. They care so much, as is evident by Kim's comment (thanks, Kim!).
I've said this to my closest family, and I say it now because I feel the need to scream it for the world to hear:
Why my baby? People say he will be a testimony, but why him? I want him to be well, to be a normal, 2 month old baby. I want him to be home.
When we got the tour of the hospital baby area, the woman took us by the door to the NICU. It's a rather inconspicuous door, and I never would have guessed that so much went on inside. I remember thinking that it was nice to have a NICU there, for those babies. I remember thinking how hard it must be for those moms. Good thing we'd never need it.
These things happen to other people. People you hear about from some distant connection. How sad, you think. And then you go on about your life. You dream about your child and you worry about his first day of school. You are sure it will break your heart when he falls off his bike, loses his first tooth, goes to the prom.
And then you hear the news. You hold his hand and wonder what blow will come next. God, we can't take any more blows. He's been through enough. Let him be OK. Let me take him home, rock him to sleep, play with his toys, go for walks. I need him to be alright.