Sometimes life is just HARD

We had to wake this peaceful thing up VERY early in the morning and take her to the hospital.

Getting her dressed in her mini gown and ready for surgery was stomach dropping. Then as we passed her off to the nurses I think I must have turned ashen because they tried to reassure me that this was something that had been done before and that they would take good care of her--that only made me begin sobbing before I could even get out of the pre-op area.  

I had never left her, now nearly 5 months old, with anyone other than Tyler (and even then it was only for one dental appointment and one session at the temple).  The following 8 hours were incredibly long.  The calls from the operating room did not come as often as we would have liked.  Though, every few minutes seemed like an hour or more, so I'm sure our expectations were irrational.  There wasn't anything that would take our minds off of our baby girl that was now in the hands of strangers, strangers who were using power tools on our baby's head and making her stay asleep.

  I was revisited by those feelings of empty arms, a wretched feeling, and it was hard to disassociate it from the year before when my arms were empty and my heart was in pain for a much harder, different reason. I missed my baby girl and I missed my baby boy, and memories of those final, horrible days with him came flooding back into my mind. Knowing that our next stop would be the pediatric ICU, with all of it's machines, smells, staff, cage beds, etc. I wasn't sure if I really wanted to move forward from this point, but it was already too late to turn back.  I was very scared about the state she would be in once we finally were with her again.  What if I never was going to see those big brown eyes open again, just like before??

The call FINALLY came that we could meet our baby and head upstairs with her to the ICU.  She came out of the operation looking quite pathetic.  Her eyes shut, her head covered in bandages and extremely swollen, tubes surrounding her, but she had her pacifier in her mouth and a tight grip on her crib (which the nurses informed us she had done from the moment she began to come out of her anesthesia).  These were both signs of hope for a less bitter outcome on our second stay at the PICU.

It was definitely hard to stay in the PICU over night.  We encountered several of the same physicians and they remembered who we were, so many feelings came back and hit hard. I never thought it would be possible that I would be in the exact same place, ever again.  It was hard to try and hold her with all of her tubes and machines, it was a bitter sweet reminder of the last time I held Beckett in my arms while he was still breathing.  Trying to "sleep" on the couch was impossible.  I kept watching her machines, so grateful that they were able to tell me that she was doing much better than her older brother ever had done hooked to these same ones.

After a day we were able to go down the hall to more private rooms, but still with more staff to keep an eye on her.  As the surgeon had said, Evaleigh looked worse as the days progressed.  Her eyes became swollen shut, she had a hard time nursing and keeping the milk down, she was incredibly frustrated with her IVs, she hated taking the medications, and she was even more upset that she could no longer see.  She was completely in the dark.

We held her most of the day and most of the night.  Ty went to check on grandma and the kids a few times and gather more supplies for us, but I couldn't bare to leave her side, other than a few short walks down the hall...

After about 2 days with her eyes swollen shut, our poor baby finally started seeing light again.  She was much happier, even if she still looked pretty sad.  She didn't wait for the doctors to tell her it was ok to take out the IVs either.  She worked pretty hard to rip those out and ended up having to drink the nasty antibiotics.  But at least she could move!!!

Finally, on Saturday morning, after fighting with persistent fevers, her heart beating too fast, and throwing up, we convinced the doctors that we could go home.  It helped that Ty knew some of them, so they figured we were smart enough to know if we needed to come back (as if we'd ever do that!).

They did outfit us with this sweet helmet to help protect her head from little bumps that could hurt while she was rolling around on the ground or the kids were playing with her.  It didn't quite fit, but it reminded us a lot of those old school football helmets they used to wear.  She DEFINITELY was just as tough through this ordeal as those guys were. Besides, I'm pretty sure she got snuggled as much or more during the following weeks than any baby EVER.

Grandma and the kids had made a fun sign and got a little "Welcome Home" party ready for our little one.  She was grateful, but still not in much of a mood to play.

After we took the bandages off, the kids (well, everyone) was a little appalled by the ginormous scar that zig-zagged over the top of her little head held together by literally hundreds of tiny stitches.  It really was pretty scary.  But, even with everything swollen and sore (and the unwashable stink of the hospital) we could tell that her head and eye looked much better and that our littlest little was going to do very well.  We've also instituted a strict "No ICU stays" policy at our house.  We recommend you do the same. (Much Belated) thanks to all for your love and support.