The Correlations

As I stepped into Audrey’s room, one of the doctors asked me to wait outside.  She said that Audrey’s blood pressure was extremely low, and she was worried.  I learned that a positive correlation exists between the number of medical staff in your daughter’s hospital room and your resting heart rate. When I walked into Audrey’s room for the first time, I saw six people in scrubs scurrying around like ants right after somebody stepped on their ant pile.  My resting heart rate immediately shot from 71 to 3312. So, roughly 552 bps (beats per scrub). That is a rough estimate because the heart rate monitor on the Apple Watch Series IV only has three digits and was not designed for parents with children in the cardiac ICU.  Maybe the next series will have four digits. Can someone connected to Tim Cook please share this chapter with him?

I honestly do not remember what happened for the next two hours.  I just sat at the nurse’s station in a daze.  I guess I thought that this whole procedure would be smooth sailing because we caught the defect so early.  My Dad was on a fishing boat in the Gulf of Mexico when Hurricane Camille hit.  He said when they were coming back to shore, the waves crashing over the boat were about twenty feet high.  From what I could tell, that is what smooth sailing looks like in the CICU of a children’s hospital.   

When they finally stabilized Audrey’s blood pressure at an acceptable level, I walked into the room to see my baby.  I immediately noticed an inverse correlation exists between the size of the medical apparatus attached to your child and the size of your world. The bigger the apparatus, the smaller your world. With this particular apparatus, my world was immediately confined to the four walls of this hospital room.  Nothing that happened outside this room really mattered to me except Michelle and Ella, and they were covered by Presbyterian Hospital and Aunt Amy.

After a few hours of emotional decompressing, I checked in with my sister.  I learned that little Ella would not want to come home after being completely spoiled at Camp Evans.  That is what we call my sister’s house when Ella stays over because every day has a new adventure just like summer camp.  Based on the photos my sister sent, I could tell Aunt Amy bought Ella more clothes for her two-week stay than Mommy and Daddy bought for the first two years of her life.

Not only does this apparatus keep my daughter alive before and after her surgery, but we also used it to launch a satellite into space and take atmospheric readings of Mars.  I am sure this setup uses about the same amount of energy as the Clark Griswold Christmas light show in Christmas Vacation. I am just waiting for the insurance company to tell us that the electricity provider is technically out of network, and I am going to have to sell both cars and my left kidney to cover the bill. Luckily, I am already in a hospital so the kidney removal can be done onsite.

Lastly, there is a perfect correlation between the number of wires and tubes hooked up to my baby girl and the number of times I prayed to God that I could trade places with her.

The worst part of parenthood is seeing your child in pain when there is absolutely nothing you can do about it.

The best part about parenthood?  Everything else (except cleaning poop out of their hair).