You Can Save A Life

My oldest son is turning seven in a few hours. He almost didn’t make it to seven hours, let alone seven years. He needed assistance breathing when he was born, but, just as importantly, he needed a blood transfusion. He was so severely anemic that had he remained in utero and/or not received a blood transfusion, he would have died. My son is alive because a stranger went to a blood drive or walked into a donation center and donated a little bit of blood and a little bit of time. They were likely thanked by the volunteers and staff. The person who has allowed my son to become the compassionate, brilliant, funny little person he is probably had a cookie and some juice and went about their day. I don’t know if this person gave any real thought to the fact that what they just did could actually be the difference between life and death for someone, the difference between joy and sorrow for a family.

You see, my big boy’s blood type is compatible with mine, but not my husband’s. I am not allowed to donate blood for many reasons, and having just had a c-section, would not have been allowed to give blood to my son, and my husband could not. The kindness of that stranger saved our family in a situation where we were helpless.

I have always been a huge advocate of donating blood. I am not allowed to donate due to my medical history, although I have volunteered at blood drives, and I try to make it as easy as possible for those who can donate to do so. My son’s life is not the only life for which I am personally grateful to blood donors, though. Not two years before my baby needed blood, one of my sisters-in-law was also saved by a transfusion. It is her history, and I shall not divulge too much of it, but I will say two of the people who I love most in the world were saved by people who took the time and ignored any fear of needles they might have and gave blood. It is so simple, but so few do it. The supply of blood is frequently running short. If you can donate, please go out and give. It is simple. It doesn’t take long, and while you may never meet the people you help, you are giving an absolutely priceless gift.

To those of you who take the time, thank you. Thank you from me, from my son, from my family. Thank you for allowing all of us to get to know him; thank you for allowing his welcome to the world to be dramatic, but not a welcome and a farewell all in one day. He’s a wonderful child. He loves to help and care for others. Maybe some of his empathy came from you. Thank you for keeping my sister-in-law with us. We all need her. Thank you from all of the receivers of blood and those who love them. It is so simple, so easy, and so very important. 

Six

I’ve been a mother for six years, now. It wasn’t always certain that I would make such a milestone. At first, it wasn’t certain that I would live to childbearing age, then it wasn’t certain that I could and/or should have children. I jumped those hurdles. I actually practically flew over them.  I went into remission in 1992, and I have been there ever since. Rather than being one of the women whose Lupus flares when she gets pregnant, my numbers improve, if anything, when I am expecting.

Of course in between going into remission and becoming pregnant the first time, a lot of things happened. I graduated three times, met my husband, married my husband, and bought our first house together. Life was good, so we decided to make it better by adding to our little family.

I cannot describe how much more intense everything has become since having a child, especially this child. He is a joy and a wonder. He is one of the most empathetic people I know. He has a heart as big as the world, and has a capacity for forgiveness that is both amazing and awe-inspiring. He is also whip-smart and extremely curious, which is an alternately wonderful and terrifying combination. I fear things it never occurred to me to fear before becoming a parent. Arrows and slings aimed at him cut me deeply, and I hope my wounds save him some pain. I do know that I cannot and should not shield any of my children from all hurts, but there is a very unreasonable, instinctual part of me that would like to do just that.

His birth story is not the typical one. He was transverse and born via c-section. He was whisked away to the NICU for CPAP and a blood transfusion as he had aspirated meconium and was acutely anemic before I could do more than give him a quick hug, and I wasn’t allowed to hold him for over a day and a half. I know many mothers have it much worse, but it was not an easy time. My sweet boy pulled through and thrived. I used to joke that he was such a snuggler because he was trying to make up for that first 36 hours or so. Since both of his siblings are cuddlebugs, I suspect that our kids just are that way.

Now he is six. He talks at the speed of lightning, and often at the volume of a stage performer. He will be in an elementary uniform in the fall. He is tallish and wiry w/ a mop of light brown curly/wavy hair. He aspires to be pretty much everything when he grows up. He used to want to be an emperor, but now he has set his sights on paleontologist, detective, author/illustrator, rock star, and father. I have watched him grow from that teeny baby hooked up to too many machines to a six-year-old who can most often be seen w/ a book in one hand and an apple in the other, and every cliché about it going too fast is absolutely right. He can’t be six, but I am so glad he is.