The Days They Almost Died (Part 2)

From the womb, my second son has always been quite different from his siblings. He was the one I suffered from Polyhydramnios with, making me the biggest I ever was during any of my three pregnancies. He was also very fussy in the womb and moved around quite a bit, so we nicknamed him Earthquake. He was our pot-bellied little man with hardly any hair with the loudest cry at birth.

Just like with his older brother, I wasn’t able to be home long before returning to work. In his case, I got two additional weeks, making it a total of four weeks before my mom came from Nigeria to help me transition back to work again. It had been less than six months since she left, so I felt really bad having her return so soon. However, there’s nothing like your mom’s help when you’re growing your family and still trying to figure things out for yourself.

Soon after, when he was ten months old, my mom was in town again, and I totally appreciated her presence. Even ten months in, juggling work, a baby and toddler was still taking some getting used to. That night, my mom and I had stayed up late talking and watching TV. We were both engrossed in our conversation but began getting tired.

As we were saying our good-nights, I thought I heard some noise. I asked my mom, but she said she didn’t hear a thing. I decided to check on my boys, starting with the oldest, but he didn’t make a peep. I leaned over his bed and kissed him. As I was heading toward the baby’s room, I thought I heard something and stood by the door for a moment. I couldn’t hear much but figured it must have just been him coughing, so I quickly tiptoed past his room and over to the loft. I decided to linger a little longer, just in case, until I dozed off on the couch for a few minutes.

Once again, I thought I heard a noise but was more certain this time. It was a funny noise, a somewhat muffled sound. I checked my oldest son again, and he was still fast asleep. I ventured inside my baby’s room this time and slowly made my way toward his crib but hastened my pace when the noise continued. I looked over the crib with a smile and couldn’t believe what I thought I saw. I grabbed my baby boy and turned on the light. He had vomit all over his face, nose, and covers and was still vomiting.

Like last time, I screamed for my mom. I quickly walked him out of his room into the loft, where my mom met me. My baby was still throwing up and seemed to be having difficulty breathing. My mom took him from me and sat him up, leaning him over her arm. She was praying. I was praying. Each time we cleaned him up, it was in vain. Vomit and mucus was coming out of his nose and mouth, and his eyes were blank.

After what seemed like an hour, all of a sudden, all the fluid ceased. He rubbed his eyes with his yucky hands and reached out to me. My mom handed him over, and as he started to babble, we both sighed in relief and started thanking God. I decided to have him sleep in our room downstairs, just so I could monitor him. That night, I could hardly sleep; I just kept checking on him.

The next morning, I called the pediatrician’s office and told the nurse what had happened. She asked me a few questions and told me to call if there were any issues. I asked her if I should be concerned, and she just asked that he be monitored closely. After doing some research online, I realized that if I had not arrived sooner, my baby could have aspirated on his vomit. The very thought sent chills down my back.

I relived that memory so many times and still do from time-to-time. Parenthood is a big responsibility. Lives are dependent on us. It can be both scary and rewarding, but sometimes the scary moments are really scary, and every moment counts.