Our pregnancy was pretty uneventful. We had one ultrasound at 7 months, which showed we were finally having A Boy (!!!) Everything seemed "normal". At birth, William had 2 very "congested-sounding" cries, and was placed on my belly. He still sounded congested and seemed to be gasping for air, so I asked the nurses to suction more of the amniotic fluid to clear his airway. The labor nurses told me he was ok, and he was quickly placed on the warming table next to my bed for "cleaning". We were donating cord blood, which my OB was collecting, when I heard one of my labor nurses say, "Remember, no matter what happens, your baby just saved another baby's life." I was happy, yet scared. When I turned towards the warming table, I saw 4 nurses working on William. I had not seen them come into the room. I wanted for them to finish what they were doing and leave, so I could hold my baby and get acquainted with him. I wanted so badly to hear that he was alright. An hour later, they were still in our room working on him. This was our third birth, so I knew something was wrong (cleaning a baby doesn't take that long). I was very frightened. I phoned my MIL (who works with infants in the NICU), and she tried to reassure me saying that if something was really wrong there would be at least one doctor in the room and William would be whisked away to the NICU. There were no doctors in the room at the time, but as soon as she hung up (sure enough) a doctor walked into the room and William was whisked away... I was so scared. I must have been in shock because I didn't even ask what was going on. I remember sitting still and not uttering a word for hours. I also remember thinking of all the other happy families, in the rooms around us, and of all the other babies who had been born at the same/approximate time as William and felt jealous and sad. Whenever the doctor on-call at the NICU came in, all he could say was that we had a very sick baby, and that they didn't know what was wrong. He started asking questions about the pregnancy, the labor, but everything seemed "normal". For the next hours, all we heard was that we had a very sick baby, and that they didn't know what to do to help him. Five hours after William's birth, the NICU doctor-on-call was about to tell us that we could go see our baby (for whom there was still no hope), when William's second lung collapsed. (the first had collapsed at birth) The doctor had a hunch, and he called a specialist. As he informed us of the second lung and the hunch, the specialist arrived and was examining William. I wanted to go see my baby, look into his eyes, memorize his face. I also had an urge to nurse him. I guess it was my way of expressing my need for bonding with him. We went to see William. He was the most beautiful boy I had ever seen (in his mommy's eyes, of course). In the five hours that we had spent waiting to meet him in the LDRP room, there were some things I had deemed necessary to let him know. I wanted him to know that I loved him and that I knew how strong he was. I told him, and was told not to talk to him because it might excite him and make him worse. I wanted him to sense that I knew he could and would make it. I wanted to transfuse all my strength into him. I caressed his forehead with the palm of my hand, and was told not to do that either. For the first time in my life, I felt absolutely helpless. I couldn't talk to him, touch him, or nurse him...the only things I knew how to do to ease his discomfort. The NICU doctor must have read my mind, my face, or my eyes, may be, because he then told me that I could touch his index finger (gently) with mine. I wanted to sneak a kiss to the side of his forehead, but couldn't reach. (I've never been angrier at my height!!) I wanted to take him out of there and show the world what a beautiful boy we had. The specialist came in and introduced himself to us. I'll never be able to describe the relief I felt when this man, a cardiologist, told me that he knew what William had, that it could be fixed, that he knew who could fix it, and that they were the best-most experienced and knowledgeable- at fixing this specific defect. He gave me the best present of them all (at the time); he gave me hope. He diagnosed William with TAPVC, a defect which is very rare and hard to detect and diagnose. (and he still dares to insist that he didn't save William's life!) :) We were sent to Children's in Boston where William underwent surgery. We didn't get to ride with him in the ambulance because he needed the nurses and doctors there. It took them less than 20 minutes to get him to Children's. It took us 20 minutes (usually, an hour-and-a-half drive). On the way there, I baptized William "my little ET" ('cause I could only touch his index with my index) and "my little tank engine" (upon his father's request). When he was 12 hours old, William went in for surgery. It was meant to take 8 hours, but fortunately, it took 5, all of which we spent in a parent waiting room getting reports of the ongoing surgery. I also spent them reminding myself (and everyone else) that William was a very responsive little boy. In my womb, he'd always let me know when he saw light or darkness and when he felt hot or cold around him, so (I knew) he'd "respond" well to the surgery. Two days later William was taking a breath or two by himself. It was so exciting to see the couple of breaths in-between the ones the ventilator took for him. He was fighting! :) I got to hold him on the third day!! (I learned to make my way through all those tubes and iv's, phew!) The vent came off by the fourth day. As he came out of sedation and recovered, we learned to cherish and enjoy every little success. I remember watching for signs that he was (still) doing well; rejoicing seeing his little toes move, holding our fingers in his tiny fist, then his eyes moving under his eyelids, his eyes opening, "celebrating poop" (as some of my friends say), and finally hearing him cry (music to our ears!). They successfully weaned him off everything else, but not without some new grey hairs for us... :) He came home 10 days after birth (breastfeeding, and at 6 lbs 3 oz-a pound lighter than at birth). He was on lasix (diuretics) for about a month after that and also on aspirin for about 2 months (see his updates). He's off all medications now. I hope it stays that way. He is our precious, little miracle, one of the best presents we've ever gotten!

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