Hale House Adventures

Monday following Zoey’s birth was extremely hard. The hand specialist had arranged for Zoey’s amputation on that day. Now amniotic band syndrome had already necessitated she have an amputation. The fibrous band in the womb had wrapped around her hand and restricted blood flow to her right hand. The best analogy I have for this is to imagine you wrap a rubber band around your wrist and then double in size. And despite the harm the rubber band is doing you can’t take it off. This is what happened to Zoey.

Monday was the day that I had to face the fact that she really didn’t have a hand. This did happen to my baby and it was permanent. I know you are thinking, “You already knew this. You had seen her, held her.” And you are right. I had held her, loved her, and cuddled her. But from the first time I held her, her right arm had been wrapped. The NICU staff had wrapped her little hand up as soon as she arrived in the NICU. And yes, she had a hand. She had a perfectly formed little skeletal hand. Nick, knowing me, took a picture and showed me months later. And when the time comes, we will give Zoey the option to see the picture. No one else needs to see that. It is an extremely private part of her life. If she decides to share, we will.

But I had been able to fool myself into believing that the doctors would somehow fix her hand before they unwrapped it. That when that bandage came off her sweet little hand would grab my fingers like I had always dreamed. I was able to basically ignore the fact that she didn’t have a hand. Today I had to face it head on. I couldn’t hide anymore.

The staff was amazing at explaining to us what would be happening. We were both listening to what was said but I couldn’t take my eyes off of Zoey. My 1 lb. 13 oz. baby was having surgery. They were going to cut off her hand. Words cannot describe the wave of emotions this caused. Everything in me wanted to just hold her and protect her from the pain she was going through but I couldn’t. I had to let someone do this. So I retreated in a numbness. I focused on what was important. She was in pain and this would help her. So the most important thing was waking up on the other side of surgery.

Staff was brought in to transport her. Someone had to come along to breathe for her while we went through the halls. She was breathing on her own but this was a precaution. Two other nurses also helped transport her to surgery. I was still in a wheelchair because I couldn’t walk that fast or that far yet. So our weird, morbid parade set off for surgery. Before we left the NICU though one of the nurses grabbed a baby blanket and threw it over her isolete. I gave her a quizzical look, I was crying and just couldn’t form the words. She looked at me and said “People always look at the babies especially the littlest ones. Just giving her some privacy.” I nodded thankfully and we set off. And sure enough, as we walked the halls people stopped and stared. It was like the parting of the Red Sea with everyone trying to get a look.

When we got to the prep area for the surgery I was still just watching. I couldn’t leave. Everyone just sort of paused what they were doing and looked at us. Nick told me that we had to go. But I couldn’t go yet, I had to tell her I loved her. Even though she was asleep, had been most of the morning, I whispered “Mommy loves you. And I will be here when you wake up.” Nick and I left and made our way to the waiting room. Nick leaned over and said “I don’t think you left a dry eye in the room”. I honestly don’t even remember looking at anyone else. So I have no clue.

I was in this extremely full waiting room and all the emotions I had held at bay were roaring to life when I had nothing to do but wait and worry. I would not break down here. I would not break down here. I kept saying that to myself. So I found something to focus on. I found a woman sitting a few seats down the row across from me. She was crocheting a scarf. I watched her for the duration of the surgery. Each loop and hook allowed me to escape the worry that I was facing. I know I looked like a freak. A drugged up mommy that had been crying all morning, staring at a woman I had never met. Yep, I looked like a winner. But we did win that day, Zoey came out with flying colors and she would soon be out of pain.