3 months in.

Lets recap.

At this point, Hannah had been poked more times than I could count. She was drowning in IVs that supplemented her drugs and total parental nutrition (A special formula given through a vein provides most of the nutrients the body needs. The method is used when someone can’t or shouldn’t receive feedings or fluids by mouth -MedlinePlus) and at last, her tracheostomy was in place. I really thought once we got to this last procedure, we were done. Home would be the next stop for sure. Unfortunately, that was just wishful thinking. We were nowhere close to going home at this point.

If I’m honest with you, this last procedure really took me into a place of despair. It was difficult to shift gears and become comfortable with the direction our journey into parenthood was headed. I tried to make the best out of my circumstances. I tried daily to see past the IVs, breathing tubes, and the constant hospital alarms, but to say it was hard would be an understatement. Nonetheless, there were moments I just took time to see Hannah and not miss the peaks of joy that would present themselves ever so often. Looking back now, I am so happy I did. If I could give anyone going through something even remotely close to what we experienced, it would be to never stop seeing the child in front of you. Make memorable moments, smile, and laugh in front of them even in those dark times.

During this time, it felt like I had put my faith to rest. I hadn’t completely given up on the Lord or the expectation of his healing, but my hope was beginning to run dry, and as far as our future… I couldn’t come up with anything in my head that was worthy of fantasizing about. I couldn’t see us out of this dark hole. If I’m honest, listening to worship was the one thing that kept me holding on to a thread.

As mentioned before, Hannah had been on IV drip pain medications for an entire month. I recall her ENT surgeon coming up to me after the surgery and telling me, how everything went well and that she didn’t need to be on pain medications simply because she now had a Trach. I was elated to hear this news because I thought I could finally hold her without the fear of pulling her IV out or getting tangled in them. No more wires I’d say. What I failed to realize, was that we’d now be entering the period in our journey I’d title as withdrawal.

I had no idea how much this portion of our journey would mentally exhaust me. We went through a 3-month long rehabilitation process in order to get Hannah off of these medications and let me tell you, watching my child go through withdrawal is easily one of the memories we have in the hospital I wish could forever be erased from my memory. There were days and nights, interchangeably between my husband and mother, that we would hold her for over 6+ hours as she uncontrollably experienced sweats, insomnia, nausea, etc. just to get her through. I remember there being a night I was reading Hannah a bedtime story and it felt as though the hospital walls were closing in on me. All I remember was running out of the hospital crying because it was as though I couldn’t breathe. I was having a panic attack. That night my husband and I ended up at a park by the riverside drive and my mom was able to take over for me at the hospital. I needed to breathe. For those of you who do not know, I stayed bedside with Hannah for her entire hospital stay, which means I basically lived there also. I never left and I rarely ever allowed myself the opportunity to step away.

I could have never anticipated this fight and I was shaken to the core at my inability to see the light at the end of the tunnel as they would say.

One thing is certain, despite it all, the Lord would constantly show me the magnitude at which he was at work just by looking into my daughter’s eyes. Something so precious would beam through her, so maybe, just maybe, not all hope was lost I thought to myself.

There’s more to her life, our life, than these four hospital walls.