Zachary's 8th Birthday

    Zach didn't even have time to take off his backpack before he started speaking in a rapid fire succession of words of which I could only grasp but a few during his inhalations, adding to the problem was his recently lost front teeth that made him a perfect mix of adorable and partially incomprehensible.  "Slow down, sweetie and start from the beginning." After taking a deep breath in the yogi inspired fashion he usually does before explaining himself to me; arms above his head with eyes closed he purses his lips and breathes out while slowly lowering his hands and fixing his laser vision on me. " Mrs. McGiven says I get to do an entire show and tell on myself for my birthday. I can put up pictures, bring my favorite toy, just talk all about me to the class." I smile knowing in this big family of ours it's sometimes easy to forget to let each little star shine for a bit and find myself truly grateful to the teacher who allows my son to have his very own spotlight. 

     "Well, I have a poster board in the garage. What shall we put up? Maybe you can show everyone your Lego collection and a picture of your lizard and fish might be nice." He nods with excitement and starts reaching for the camera to get started. Before I have a chance to take a step he hits me with the hard one. "I'd really like to talk about the day I was born and about how you had to do that special thing to save me. Can I have a picture of me when I was born too?" I try not to let my panic show and instead I run my fingers through his thick hair and bring him in for a hug. "Of course. Whatever you want Zach." 

     "Tell me the story again, mom. I want to get it right for the presentation." I sit down on the big chair and have him join me. I still get panicked just thinking of those days leading up to his birth, the complete paralysis of finding out everything is not okay with you child. During lunch, on a normal workday I squeezed in a routine ultrasound before returning to work. The second the wand went on my abdomen I could see the fluid that had built up in his belly. As a physician, every bad scenario played out in my head as a laid there waiting for the radiologist to come in. 

"Ascites..neonatologist....urgent." All the words blended in together as I tried to keep myself from bolting out the door wailing a guttural scream. Instead, my insatiable need to honor my commitments led me back to the office in a fog. I called Mike before starting to see the next patients on the schedule and waited to hear back from my gynecologist to refer me to the specialist I needed to see. I made it through about three patients before my nurse found me crying in my office. And after six patients the specialist told me to come in first thing in the morning. I am sure when your child's life is on the line, you somehow get transported to another dimension, one in which time slows down to a snails pace that allows you to feel every pulse of blood that beats in your body almost like a drum sounding before a battle is about to begin. That night Mike and I held one another in bed, there was a mix of crying and hushed affirmations on both our parts but not a lick of sleep. 

     I had never seen a drearier winter's day in Michigan as we drove to see the man that would hold our son's life in his hands. As expected he ran a series of blood tests and ultrasounds and prepared us for the worst but even the best case scenario sounded unsurmountable. "If it's parvovirus, we can do an in utero transfusion of the boy but it will put you at risk to go into premature labor." 

     The following day, we drove back to the hospital with the diagnosis of megaloblastic anemia from parvovirus. The only prep I was given was a tablet of xanax and was placed on a cold table where three nurses and the doctor surrounded me as if I were a sacrificial lamb, and maybe I was. "No anesthesia for you, it may increase your chances of labor" I laid there, with a nurse holding my legs down because I was uncontrollably shaking,  as he made not one but five attempts with a three inch long,large bore needle directly around my navel to try and reach the cord to transfuse Zachary. The pain was something I could only describe as medieval and for a couple of years after the transfusion I could still rub my hand over my belly and feel the needle entry marks like my very own constellation. It made me wary of needles after that, changing my internal composition; a fawn where a lion used to be.

     "The doctor put blood into the cord that connected you to me while you were sleeping in my belly." "Did it hurt, mommy?" I look him in the eyes and smile, " Of course it didn't baby and even if it did, I would have done anything to save you." Why would he ever need to know such a thing? "After resting in bed for a few days we looked at you in the ultrasound and you were doing so much better.I even have a picture of you smiling at us with your hand up waving." 

     He always loves that part. "Maybe we can put that one on the board."  I nod in agreement. "Now tell me about the day I was born." Days after the transfusion I was on bed rest. I barely moved, arranging everything around me at arms reach. None of it mattered because I felt a tear inside of me as if someone had opened my stomach with their bare hands. Mike raced me to the hospital and after an hour in the other dimension of time I was laid to rest in a new foreign bed and told a small hematoma had formed at the injection site. No matter how many times I was told not to worry, I couldn't help but believe this would be the end of me, of us. In every prayer of supplication the only affirmation I received was that Zachary would be mine for all time and eternity. It terrified me to think God was thinking celestial while I was just worried about the next hours and days.

     Three days later, while President Obama was sworn in, my water broke and Zachary was delivered into this world. "The doctor put you in my arms and daddy and I held you. You were slightly larger than a can of coke and weighed a little over one and a half cans." He smiles and looks at his hands, mesmerized at his ability to grow so much from that small bundle. "Is that when I scared you." 

     "Yes, you took a deep breath and daddy and I cried so hard and kissed your lips over and over before they took you away." He leans in closer, "I'm going to tell the teacher how strong I was when I was born." I nod knowing he will repeat what we have told him since he could understand the magnitude of his birth, "You were able to bring two grown adults to their knees minutes after you were born. We were putty in your hands." 

     "Tell me more," he begs. "Maybe later," I say. "Why don't we just sit here a bit and cuddle, that is if your not too old for that." He comes close and I wrap him in a deep embrace taking inventory of all that makes up this miracle in my arms. "Mom, I'm glad I was born early. Do you know why?" Not able to see why that would ever be a positive I nod my head "no". "Because our birthdays are so close together. Not one of my brothers or sisters was born in the same month as you but me and you can never have a birthday without thinking of me first. We're forever birthday buddies." Despite my best efforts, I start to cry. "What's wrong mommy? Don't you like being birthday buddies with me?" The flood of emotions from those days overwhelms me as it always does. A post traumatic stress reaction to a life threatening moment you have to keep reliving. I wipe the tears back, "No my sweet boy. Of course I love being your birthday buddy forever and always. It's just I don't know what I would have done if you didn't survive. I think I might have just wasted away or floated off into a million pieces until I was with you again." 

     "Well, you'll never have to worry about that." He squeezes my hands in his. They are always so warm and dry. He gives me a toothless grin. "Now, will you bring cupcakes for my presentation?" When he says "cupcakes" his tongue slips through the hole where his front teeth used to be and I can't help but laugh out loud. "Yes, I'll bring cupcakes," I smile, "and maybe even that naked baby picture of you in the tub." His eyes go wide. "No please. Anything but that."  "Happy Birthday, Zach. My toothless little birthday buddy." 

   "Thanks mom, I love you."

Every year I write a story about Zachary on his birthday. It helps me to cope with losing him. I know that we will be reunited again and I hope he enjoys hearing these stories as much as I will enjoy making memories with him for all time and eternity.