The Photo Albums will Have to Wait
Since we arrived home in December, I’ve been trying to get myself to organize our photos in order to create albums for Arden. I would love to be able to do an album outlining his time in hospital, and everything he overcame to make it home, and then begin a second album for the wonderful time we’ve spent since we’ve been home. However, I’ve realized that it’s more difficult than I anticipated.
It’s not that the task itself is difficult. Usually I love taking, organizing, and reminiscing with photos. But with these pictures, it’s difficult to look back and see where Arden’s journey began. It’s heartbreaking for me to see how unwell he looked during those first months in the NICU, when he was fighting to utilize every breath he was given while intubated. He was tiny, frail, and pale, and his life began in a much harder way than anyone should ever have to endure. In his eyes I can see how afraid, unsure, and uncomfortable he was. I recall the pain that Arden experienced in so many of his first days with us. I can see him struggling to open his eyes after being sedated for days in order to maintain his stability. I can see the love that he instantly had for Brodi and I, and that he just wanted to be embraced and held and comforted. I knew days where I longed just to be able to pick up my baby without the help of 2 nurses and a respiratory therapist. The hours I spent tied down to one spot in a chair, with his endotracheal tube taped or strapped to my body, pushing myself further and further without peeing or pumping, just so that I could hold him for a little longer. I can see the agony that he felt after each surgery that he had. I can recall how his pain impacted his breathing and set his progress back weeks at a time. I remember the days where no one mentioned the word “home” and we felt that we would never make it.
On top of that, I can see how sunken, dark, and swollen my eyes look in photos of the two of us. I recall the pain I felt after enduring a caesarean section where the spinal anesthetic didn’t work. I can vividly remember the nights I spent crying in a strange bed, after I had to leave my baby at the hospital each night. I can remember being endlessly tired, trying to pump 8 times per day, remembering medical terminology and medications I had just learned, making decisions for Arden, and spending 12-14 hour days at the hospital, all while unable to sleep or eat properly. I can still feel my heart ache as I watched Brodi drive away when he had to go back to work, knowing that I would now do this journey alone 4-5 out of 7 days per week. I remember standing in a room full of neonatologists, intensivists, respiratory therapists, residents, dieticians, charge nurses, pharmacists, and surgeons, asking questions and demanding answers until I fully understood everything that was taking place in Arden’s care. Feeling terrified inside but pushing through in order to advocate for our boy.
The photos mean everything to me, because they are a window into the incredible journey that Arden, Brodi, and I took on. But the memories and the wounds are still so fresh. We have been home just over 3 months. Arden has absolutely thrived during that time, but it’s still less than half of the 7.5 months, or 230 days, that he spent in hospital. I was in Edmonton from April 22nd to December 15th, 2020. 237 days without setting foot in our home. I don’t say these things because I desire pity or praise, but because I’m proud. I feel strength for enduring and persevering through everything that our family experienced, and continues to overcome. But I also want to honour our struggle. I want to honour the trauma that I experienced, and know that it may take time to fully heal.
I’m so grateful that as a teacher, I have studied mental health and the impacts that trauma has on the human brain. I know that slowly but surely, I will push through all of these barriers, and every day I will heal a little bit more. Sharing our story has helped me to bring our truth to life, and allow our friends, family, and community to share in our journey. For me, it’s a way of honouring our story. It’s real, it’s raw, and sometimes it hurts. But it’s helping me to move forward.
Moving forward, being present, and enjoying all the amazing moments we currently have is most important to me. The moments we’ve had as a family in the past 3 months have been incredible, and I’m so grateful. Every night, I get to kiss my baby goodnight, and sleep in the same house as him. I get to wake up and check on him whenever I want. I get to hold him and kiss him and play with him all day long. I get to see him growing, changing, and looking well day after day. The photo albums might have to wait, and that’s okay. Right now, we’re living in the moment, and it’s a dream come true.
XO, Rayel
😘