The Fall from Grace to Despair

With the long anticipated arrival of Ian, we experienced joy and a capacity to love that we never thought could be possible. But still lingering in the back of our minds was the abnormal echogenic bowel and the possibility that Ian could have something wrong with his intestines. It was a fear that we would have happily dismissed if Ian was able to pass meconium.

Aileen started feeding him and our little guy latched on almost immediately. However, he would suck for a few minutes and then stop. We were surprised that he was not hungrier, but we assumed that he just really loved to sleep. After feeding attempts, when we would burp him, it looked like he would spit up but immediately swallow it again. I thought it was strange, but didn’t realize until later why he learned to do that. We also thought it was strange that he never really cried. Once in a while, we would hear him whimpering softly. But it seemed like he never wanted to bother anybody. Maybe he was telling us, “Mommy, Daddy, don’t worry about me. I’ll be okay.”

One day after he was born, there was still no meconium and Aileen started noticing that Ian’s belly was getting more distended. I thought it was gas so I started massaging his belly to help move things along. But as I felt his abdomen, I could feel hard loops of bowel. It was at that point that our worst fears were becoming a reality. As much as we wanted to attribute all this to gas or constipation, we reluctantly asked the pediatrician on call to order an x-ray. The x-ray revealed what we have been trying to wish away the past 24 hours—our newborn baby had a bowel obstruction.

Ian was taken away from our room and transferred to the neonatal intensive care unit (NICU). The pediatric surgeon confirmed that he would need surgery, but recommended that he be transferred to either Mott at the University of Michigan or the Children’s Hospital of Michigan (CHM) in Detroit. Due to insurance reasons, he was set up for transfer to the Children’s Hospital in Detroit on Saturday afternoon. We preferred that he stay close by in Ann Arbor but we didn’t want to have to deal with the insurance company if they refused to pay for his care at Mott. As he was leaving, he never cried, he was as alert as ever just looking around and taking in this new world he’s become a part of. We never knew how quickly he would become a part of so many people’s lives.

I had assumed that upon transfer, the pediatric surgeons at CHM would evaluate him and schedule him for surgery on Sunday morning. So I decided to let Aileen rest at home while I went to CHM with Aileen’s dad (who is also a surgeon) to speak with the surgical team and find out their plan. My brother-in-law Israel called and I told him that Ian needed surgery. He asked if I wanted them to drive down from the UP. I told him not to. I was hoping it would be a simple surgery and Ian would be home soon. He told me they would be praying for which I thanked them.

However, while on I-94 en route to CHM, I received a call from Aileen. She was sobbing and told me that soon after his arrival at CHM, Ian had perforated his bowels. He became hypotensive and stopped breathing. They had to intubate him, start dopamine, and planned to take him to surgery as soon as he was resuscitated. My first thought was to stay calm and not to cry since I was driving 80 mph. But when I told my father-in-law what was going on, it was too hard to hold back the tears. Soon afterward, Steve Conway and Dr. Pipim called me on my cell. I don’t know how they found out so quickly, but they assured me that many were already praying for little Ian. It was comforting to hear, but there is truly very little anyone can say to reassure a parent in a situation like this.

My dreams of playing sports with Ian and helping him with schoolwork felt like they were being snatched away as I was trying to push away thoughts of funeral preparations. I thought, “How could a God of love give us such a precious gift and then take it away so suddenly?”

I arrived at the NICU to find the team scurrying to get Ian ready for surgery. When I saw my son in the bed, it was not the Ian I had left just a few hours before. His alert eyes were now glazed over. He was on a ventilator. He was pale and his abdomen was distended with intravenous lines in his umbilicus. I just looked at his ghostly figure but felt so useless. All I could do was entrust my son’s life to the surgeons and to God. I felt like I had already failed on my second day as a father.