Wade’s Birth Story
*A quick heads up: In this post, Erin discusses a few specifics related to Wade’s progress + outcomes. For families walking through pregnancy complications, NICU stays and/or specifically a Bladder Outlet Obstruction diagnosis, please take care. We have learned a lot about the complexities of interacting with other families walking these roads. If today isn’t the day you need to absorb another family's/another baby’s progress- thank you for putting this aside and listening to your gut. We love you and a part of that is loving, thoughtful, healthy boundaries.
As of today, we’ve had four weeks of Wade. He’s soft and small and sometimes loud (merciful God, these lungs are good). His eyes are just like Phil’s. Is that red hair we see? Or just leftover from where doctors covered my baby’s head in betadine before surgery. He has a Grimson chin, my sister’s underbite. He looks like his cousin Wiley but sounds like his cousin Guston after he sneezes. While we feed him, he gets bouts of hiccups. I hold him up close to me and it feels like he’s in my belly again- hiccups reminding us that he’s learning how to breathe. He started dialysis at three days old. On the hard days, it can be hard to see past his web of lines and tubes. He was nocturnal for his first two weeks, sleep schedules dictated by a miracle dialysis machine we idolized/worshiped and outright hated. Six days before he was scheduled to arrive, I started seeing signs that my body was moving towards labor. We were called in to triage and a few hours and a pelvic exam later, we were cleared to go home. I really wanted his scheduled birthday. I was really attached to it. Through this whole process, through these months of hands being pried open, control being taken away little by little, I was still clinging to his magical birthdate. That following Monday was his final amnioinfusion. Our final day at the clinic. Walking through the halls, saying goodbye to the team, graduating from that team to the next. Sitting in the ultrasound room behind tears “Thank you, thank you, thank you. You got us here, see you tomorrow hopefully.” Then across the hall for one final blood pressure that was too high. Our beloved Maternal Fetal Care specialist burst through the door, “Ok, what is this?!” And we were off to Childrens’. A great cosmic shaking of our shoulders, “Ok McCalls! Have you given up yet? What if today is his day? He’s already grown. He’s ready, he’s done all he can do. Have you released that last shred of control? Give it up, let’s go!” Another visit to triage, I wasn’t preeclamptic, home for the night.
One more dinner, a few episodes of Seinfeld and a nap before a 3:30 am wakeup. A slow flow of tears all morning, just in awe that he was hours away. A drive to the hospital, one last “Every Moment Holy” prayer with the pronouns “we, us” as my body prepared for this great transition. Now we pray in the singular for this little boy that was safely born. By 6 am we were nestled into our Fetal Care room, and sleet was falling outside. At 7:20 am I was wheeled off and prepped for Wade’s c section. Familiar faces started flooding into the room. Phil was next to me when I heard “I could not not come and see the little baby!” as our MFM specialist came behind the curtain and smiled down at us. The hands that gave Wade fluid all through his gestation were there resting on my head. The hands that placed the port that delivered the fluid were the same hands that took the port away, job well done. Wade had this cloud of witnesses to his birth- these brilliant scientists that found a way to usher him into his life. I heard him before I saw him. The quiet presence that had been growing with me for 8.5 months came out with a scream and I swear I left my body. Phil never left his side as he was swept away for testing and procedures and catheter placements and observation. I laid there feeling myself being stapled back into place, staring up at the surgery lights- absolutely blissed out. It snowed all day and all night, we’ll always think of Wade’s birthday on bitter cold nights when the whole city feels snowed in at home.
Recovery ended up being two rounds of spinal headaches and two subsequent blood patches while Wade was prepared to start dialysis by his third day of life. By Saturday, I was discharged and the three of us were moved into the NICU. We’ve somehow been here a month. The days are really long and the nights are really long and the weeks are really long. His team is taking the most beautiful care of him. We could not ask for more compassion, more high level care, more access to innovation for his diagnosis. And we ache at having to ask permission to hold our baby. He is doing beautifully, and he is sick. He is checking boxes and hitting milestones, and no day is perfect. It’s still cold here in Cincinnati, we’re still inside all day, taking care of Baby Wade. Getting him bigger and stronger for the day he can head home to remain on dialysis until it’s time to talk about kidney transplant.
Today, as we celebrate one month of his life, we dream about the first time we take him camping. About his first time seeing the Smoky Mountains. About sitting him down in the sand by the ocean with his cousins. About splashing his feet in The Lake of the Woods. When you imagine his future, would you imagine him a little older, a little stronger, post-transplant, outside.
- Love, The McCalls