Welcome to the Family, Linus!
Written by Zach
The hospital clock read 22:10 when the nurse told me I could come meet my son. I knew this would be a truly special moment, but seeing Linus in the flesh after our prenatal journey culminating in an emergency C-section was unlike anything I’ve experienced. His tiny hands, the pudgy face, the head shape bearing a striking resemblance to my own, even the omphalocele itself, were all perfect. This was my son who was made perfect in God’s eyes.
Fear quickly filled my senses when his blue-purple hue and lack of movement became apparent. He wasn’t breathing, nor was he attempting to. The team intubated him and began bringing him to life as he was hooked up to what felt like dozens of wires and tubes. I stood by his side rubbing his grapefruit-sized head in lieu of being able to hold him. Fortunately, he regained his color and liveliness after intubation. Linus and I, escorted by a large transport team, immediately left the room when he was stable enough to transport, and before I knew it we were separated from Anna (before she could meet him) so we could get him to the children’s hospital for surgery.
After a surprisingly quiet five minute ambulance transport, we found ourselves at the Seattle Children’s NICU. What happened next can only be described as a hazy memory. Everyone introduced themselves to me with kindness, the utmost respect, and sincere congratulations on becoming a father. I remember the pediatric surgeon being one of the first doctors to stand at Linus’ bedside to examine the omphalocele; our first postnatal step was to figure out what in the world we would do with it – will the surgery be immediate? Should we wait for up to a year to operate? Are there unexpected internal organs involved? These questions were among many that clouded my thoughts.
The omphalocele was like a water balloon in consistency and size – just big enough to fill one hand. Omphaloceles are derived from umbilical cord tissue, so it was made of a translucent pale yellow structure, through which I could see my son’s small intestines in their proper bundle. When our surgeon tilted the entire mass vertically, the small intestines would freely slide back into the abdominal cavity. This was a great sign. After a few minutes, we had determined that Linus was already a great candidate for surgery, meaning this would be a relatively easy procedure of puncturing the omphalocele, pushing the organs in, removing excess tissue and fluid, then closing him up. The surgeon spoke with a reassuring confidence that Linus would be omphalocele-free within the next day. He was carefully bandaged up to protect the protruding sac, and before I knew it there were geneticists, neonatologists, nurses, and social workers that filtered through to lay eyes on Linus and touch base with me. I want to emphasize the overwhelming kindness I was greeted with that night; there wasn’t a moment that I doubted our son would be in great hands with these people.
Before long, it was 3:00am when the team left the NICU room, and I was able to lay down to rest. It pained me to know that Anna hadn’t even come face-to-face with Linus and that I had begun his medical care at the children’s hospital without her. I got maybe two and a half hours of sleep that night as I tried to get used to the beeping machines and sterile smells. I knew that we would be here a while.
The next morning, I held Linus for the first time while we waited for surgery to take place. Anna and I FaceTimed to shorten the distance between her hospital room and Linus’. That afternoon he went to the operating room, and about three hours later, he returned with nothing but a band-aid covering his surgical site in place of the omphalocele. Surgery was a success and he would fully recover in no time. We were so thrilled to have gotten this done so quickly after his birth. Plus, Linus returned to his room extubated, so I got to see his little mouth and not-so-little tongue in all their glory.