It's hard now to look back on the time around Carson's birth-so far away and yet still so fresh in my mind. Excited and nervous about meeting the new little addition to our family. If only there was a way to go back and talk to the pre-Carson me. To tell her that things would work out. That yes it's scary but you'll get through it.
When Carson was born they threw him up onto my chest and my husband Mike and I cried at how beautifully perfect he was. He looked so much like his sister in those initial moments. Joy and elation. Look what I have created and all that. The nurse took him over to clean him up and do his newborn assessments and unfortunately there were some medical issues that my OB had to handle with me so I sent my husband over to take pictures.
Looking over at him staring down at his son was a magical moment. He was smiling and talking to him. He was such a proud papa. Something that I will never forget. That pure happiness on his face. The snap-shot in my mind forever frozen in time.
Then it all changed. Fast.
Such a whirlwind. I remember that it seemed like they were taking a long time to get him back to me. With his sister they kept her for just a few minutes and then she was back in my arms. Bonding. Counting fingers and toes etc. I remember that it was very quiet in the room. Mike back at my side. The doctor working silently and the nurse with Carson. My motherly instinct kicked in and I kept asking if he was ok. He's fine my OB would say without looking at me. That was my first indication. That avoided look.
The nurse asked me who my pediatrician was and when I answered she told me that they didn't make hospital visits so they were going to call the hospital pediatrician up to the room. I think at that point I was starting to panic. What could be so wrong that he needed a pediatrician? She told me that I could hold him until they got there. She avoided eye contact as she handed me my new bundle. One look at his face and I instantly knew my life had changed forever. "I think he has Downs." I whispered to my husband trying not to cry. My entire body going numb. Mike didn't see it-at first anyway. I just stared down into Carson's little face trying not to cry. Still silence. It felt as if my whole world was crashing in around me.
The rest of the next couple of hours is a blur. My doctor finally telling me what I already knew. There was something 'wrong' with my baby. He thought it was Down Syndrome but couldn't be sure. Asking about prenatal testing-which I had denied because at 28 who honestly expects birth defects? I remember the pediatrician and his team showing up and studying Carson as if he were an experiment gone awry. He didn't have an answer for me as he berated me on my drug and alcohol use (which I hadn't done either). Mike and I were numb. I remember thinking I just wanted everyone out of the room. That included Mike. I wanted so badly to be alone. They called in a geneticist from Cincinnati Children's Hospital wished us well and left.
Not soon after Mike left to get food and some fresh air leaving me alone with Carson. I have to be brutally honest here. I looked into his tiny sleepy face and wondered if I could love him. Part of me was scared of him. How could I take care of him? People with special needs scared me. They were unpredictable and I didn't like that. I remember in school being afraid of getting hurt by them. I couldn't love him. I didn't want him. He was broken.
My nurse came back into the room and tip-toed around me. I guess the look on my face said it all. She finally came to me and apologized for the way she had acted. She said she didn't know what to say so she didn't say anything. She had tears in her eyes. She lightly brushed his cheek with the backs of her fingers. She reminded me that he was probably hungry. She got a bottle for him and left again. I couldn't get that touch out of my mind. It was if she had truly CARED about him. Something that I as his own mother was denying him. She will probably never know but that one act of kindness to him snapped me out of my self-pity and made me realize that I was being ridiculous. This was my son I was holding. He wasn't broken, just different. Different and perfect.
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