This Year, We Can Breathe

It was supposed to be our first Thanksgiving. I pictured us piling in the car, the baby snug in his seat, and driving to Grandma’s house, where we would enjoy sharing our first child with extended family. Sometimes life doesn’t work out the way you’ve planned.

Instead we sat at the table, tears welling in our eyes, and tried to care about the tofurkey, stuffing, and mashed potatoes on our plates. I looked over at my sweet five-month-old, unaware of the oxygen taped to his tiny face. He looked so pale and fragile in my husband’s arms. Only this morning we’d been to the “Suction Shack” at Primary Children’s—probably the sixth trip this week. I’d dressed him in his Thanksgiving outfit, the one that I’d picked out for his first big holiday. Now it made me sad, a painful reminder of an attempt at normalcy.

Thanksgiving 2012

My baby was diagnosed with RSV for the first time at four months. He lived on 24-hour oxygen for two months because he couldn’t sustain the blood oxygen levels needed to breathe. On Christmas day, he was finally well enough to take off the oxygen, but only during the day. Two weeks later, he got RSV for the second time. This time we ended up in the emergency room—where he stopped breathing for the longest seconds of my life—then the hospital for a week. My world was full of darkness—a dark hospital room filled with beeping machines, driving home for a few hours of rest in the dark of night, and the darkness inside my head. I held my sweet, sick son every minute I was at the hospital. I refused to let him go. I soothed him to sleep, read to him, and loved him with everything I had.

When we finally brought our son home, he was still weak, and once again required oxygen 24 hours a day. My husband and I were emotionally and physically exhausted. My son continued to refuse sleep, as he’d done since birth. My mother-in-law moved back in, having stayed with us for two long months during the previous illness. She made us meals and held the baby when I couldn’t hold my head up any longer.

Several months passed. The darkness of winter began to lift, and, unwilling to put our son back in daycare, we hired a nanny. Slowly I began to breathe again. Our nanny was sweet and patient with the baby. In late spring, our son was able to come off oxygen during the day.

Summertime came and went. We celebrated our child’s first birthday. This milestone brought change, and our son finally started sleeping—and breathing. Magically, he was able to come off oxygen altogether. I soaked up everything around me and did my best to show my baby how beautiful the world can be. We continued to loathe giving our son a frightening amount of drugs every day, but we began to accept his asthma diagnosis.

Out of the Darkness: A Time for Gratitude

I still worry about my son every minute of every day, but this Thanksgiving, I’m thankful for everything in my life. I’m thankful for my sweet, beautiful child, and for every glorious moment we get to spend together. I’m thankful that my husband and I survived the toughest time in our lives. I’m thankful that I’ve learned how resilient I can be, and I feel good about being a mom. I’m thankful that we found an amazing nanny, someone I trust with my precious child when I need to be at work. She has no idea how much peace of mind she gives me. I’m thankful that when I go to work, I’m surrounded by caring people who make me smile. I’m thankful for my friends, all of whom have supported me through the lows of the past year. I’m thankful for my in-laws, who have become my family. I’m thankful for my sister, who has finally found her place in the world. I’m thankful for my health.

Most of all, I’m thankful that this Thanksgiving will be different: A day surrounded by family, a toddler who can run, jump, and play, and me—a very thankful mom.