At Least You Can Take Him Home

Eight years ago this morning, I awoke in a fog.  The night before I'd been gutted during a five minute C-section after fourteen hours of hard labor.  It was about 7:15 am when I woke up, and Liam was twelve hours and ten minutes old.

After holding Liam for a while in the Neonatal ICU, by 9:30 I was back in bed, and a doctor was telling Jim and me that we had three choices:

1. Heart Transplant ("your best option")
2. Several Palliative Heart Surgeries ("higher risk and my confidence is low") 
3. Compassionate Care ("at least you can take him home")

Ultimately, we had to go with #2 because Liam couldn't survive the wait for another heart, and even if he had a transplant, that path was fraught with far more pitfalls than we knew on the morning after he was born.

So, I get a little crazy around the time of Liam's birthday with lots of celebrating.  Tonight we're having a big party and I'll share some photos tomorrow.  Tomorrow, we'll fade away from the intensity of that memory and get back to the routine of every day.

But just for today let me say, THANK YOU, to every other doctor, nurse, tech, advocate, volunteer, chaplain, cheerleader, and prayer warrior along the path that led to being able to take Liam home from school every day and send him again in the morning.  As "over it," as I am most of the time, I never take one minute for granted, and today of all days is the right day to remember how far we've truly come to bring our son home.