6.🤱My Baby #1
Two weeks after my C-section, I returned to the hospital for yet another spine surgery.
After spending three weeks in the hospital, I was finally let go and be the Mother that I have longed to be. Due to the lack of balance and strength of my limbs, I couldn’t bathe Andrew or hold him while I limped on. Other than that, I did everything myself.
The first six months that I got home, my legs were improving, I could even walk, unsteadily, on my own.
Without any doubt, Andrew was the only motivation that I got out of the bed each morning.
He slept overnight when he was three months old. Each morning, I was waken up by his coos and jibbers from the monitor. I washed up and swung to his room with my cane. “Good morning, baby,” I would always say. Andrew kicked his legs and waved his arms in excitement when he heard my voice. I then, steadied my step, held him up and put him on the bed next to the crib cautiously. I changed him, cleaned him and fed him. Then it was our reading and playing time. When the weather was good, his stroller would be my walker, we strolled around our condo, and enjoyed the sunshine.
On the weekends, daddy would take us out for a meal or just to saunter in the parks or malls.
He ate and slept well; he was all smiles and cuddly; he was a healthy baby. This is a miracle come true, no, it was beyond miracle! He was an angel.
My son was my wish-come-true. He made me a mom. His smiles and coos were my boosts every waking morning. I cherished every minute, every second with him. I was bathed in the happiness of motherhood.
Until fate took another twist.
When Andrew was seven months old, I was back to the hospital again.
Andrew was once again, deserted by his mother. I monitored Andrew with cameras in the house. When he was awake, I watched helplessly; when he took a nap, I napped. As if I had an alarm clock built in me, I woke up every night, every 2 hours to check on him.
On the first night, without mommy sitting by his crib, he tossed and turned from 9pm till 1am. Nothing the nanny did could make him sleep. I finally called back home, asked the nanny to put on speaker phone. I whispered, "Andrew, Mommy is here, sleep sleep now." Then I sang the goodnight song that I made up for him. Before the song was over, he was fast asleep.
I hung up the phone.
My pillow was drenched in tears. My heart was torn to pieces.
After that, I was in and out of the hospital every two to three months. I was never fully recovered, before the next surgery. When all the tubes were pulled out, I requested to go home. My surgeon would always ask me in sincere concern, “Are you sure you are going to do this again?”
I nodded in silence, my tears dropped on my laps. He wanted to persuade me not to torture myself anymore.
“If going through all this would only give me one day standing, I will still do it!”
I was right from the start, I wouldn’t make a good mother. There were no comforting words, there was no way I could let my self go. In my shattered heart, there were too many pieces missing.
Among all the surgeons and doctors that we’ve consulted, the answer were all the same, the tumor was more stubborn than I was, and there was no way to get rid out it. It will haunt you and torment you like a nightmare. A nightmare you will never wake up from.
2015, June I was destined to my wheel chair. That was my 16th surgery.
My world was crushed all over again.
