Our Sunshine Baby - Part 2

Since the last few days I haven't been able to pray. Every time I think I will or I start, I am unable to see the prayer through. That in itself is scary because prayers have been the mainstay of my life since I can remember. I tell myself its because so many other people are praying for Aarav that I can't. But then a mother's prayers are supposed to be the strongest. So why then was I unable to pray for my baby?

After three days of being hospitalized, Aarav had an MRI to confirm the diagnosis of GBS. And our already shaky world came crashing down around us. The MRI and CT scans showed that he had a collection of fluid which was causing tremendous pressure on the spinal cord and was the reason behind his legs losing sensation and mobility.

The words immediate spinal surgery were all I could hear after the MRI. Then started the process of trying to find the best neurosurgeon and to see if he would even be available in this Covid era. Once we decided on the doctor, we started calling people to find a way to contact him and get an appointment. I don't think I have ever spoken to so many people. From friends to people I hadn't heard from in years to acquaintances to people I had never met but only knew through Whatsapp groups- its like the universe came together to ensure that Aarav was operated upon, not only immediately but also by the best.

There is something surreal about watching your baby being wheeled into surgery. As the doors swished shut, I realized that Aarav was no longer just my baby. He belonged now to the doctors who would do whatever it took to save his life. He belonged also to those hundreds of people who were praying for him; each prayer a thread tying him even more firmly to the earthly realm.

Have you ever had a nightmare where you are in this maze and every time you think you have found the way out it turns out to be a trap? That's where we are currently. We don't know the way out and by now we don't even remember the way in.

Post surgery there have been further complications. He had to be put back on the ventilator and is sedated. The worst part is that I can't sit with him but I have to believe that he knows. He is aware that we are all waiting for him. Somewhere, he knows, that he has to get okay. I envisage his little hands firmly clenched and holding onto the bonds that tie him to us. And I believe he wont let go.

I came close to falling apart yesterday. I thought we were losing him. I was petrified that we would never hear him laugh again. He has this full throated laugh that comes from the depths of his being. I was so scared that I would never hear him say all the adorable things he says, right from the moment he wakes up in the morning. My heart quailed at the thought that my baby, all of 26 months, would never see the world. As I stood at the edge of the precipice that has been my home since the last 7 days, all I could see was his little body, dwarfed by machines and wires, breathing for him, eating for him. Yes, I came close to stepping over the edge. But something pulled me back. Something made me believe that he would be okay. And the moment I believed that, my power of prayer returned. With every chant, I now envisage creating a layer of protection and healing around him, bit by bit, however long it takes, wherever we have to go to get him the best treatment, HE WILL BE FINE.

They say when God gives you a crises, He also gives you the means and the strength to deal with it. Over the last week, we have discovered a support system so strong that we have no choice but to believe it will see us through what is undoubtedly the worst time of our lives. These are people who have gone beyond the call of empathy, duty and friendship, these people have taken Aarav as their own and are praying for him with everything they believe in. From food to help to prayers-we have been showered with it all, giving us the absolute belief that at no time are we alone in this storm.

I am a Type A personality. So is Mom. Everyone who knows us knows that once we decide to do something, it has to be done NOW. We hate waiting. And now all we can do is wait. For test reports, for doctors instructions and for a miracle. I realized yesterday that once you accept that there is nothing you can do but wait, then surrender is the only option. Surrender to a higher power, to the millions of prayers pouring in for my baby, to the hope that testing times cant last forever, to the image of walking out of the hospital with him in my arms.

Our sunshine baby will come home - to his Ayanu didi, his Naanu, his Maasi, his Bruno, his Mama-Papa, and to all the people who are holding onto his existence with all their might. We will emerge from this stronger, closer, better, and with the ability to face any challenge. I believe that with everything I have.


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