There isn’t anything I wouldn’t do for my children. This giving of myself started when I was pregnant. I gave up my energy, my sleeping habits, and my waistline to the child inside me. I also gave up quite a bit of my stomach contents.

Once my kids were born, I surrendered even more sleep and I turned over my cracked and bleeding breasts to an electric pump. My preemies had this cute thing they did called not latching on, which left me tethered to an electrical outlet for the better part of their infancies.

Parents stay up all night with sick children. They miss important meetings at work so they can make it to recitals. They don’t see their favorite band in concert because they’ll be chaperoning an out of town field trip. And the best of the best give up entire summers to coach Little League teams. Isn’t that right, honey?

All parents give of themselves, but because of my son’s health problems there have been times I needed to give a little more than I felt comfortable.

There was the time I slapped on a lead apron so I could hold him still during a CT scan. The doctor had wanted to sedate him, but I knew I could keep him calm…by singing I’ve Been Working on the Railroad. I kind of forgot there would be a technician running the scanner. Poor lady.

There were the times my boy went into sensory overload at the dentist and I had to lie strategically in the chair with him on top of me, just so he would open his mouth.

And, I’ll never forget doing a song and dance routine in the middle of the hospital’s lab, so the phlebotomist could get get a blood draw. I bet the phlebotomist will never forget it either.

But there are also times as parents, when we just can’t give enough.

Yesterday, in the midst of his nagging, mysterious illness, my son looked at me with tears in his eyes and said, “Mommy, you have to make me better.”

At which point, I just went ahead and gave him the only thing I could. I sacrificed my heart and let it break into a million pieces.

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I do my best to look at life through rose-colored glasses. I’m not saying life is always easy, because it’s not. But, no one will ever be able to convince me that any good comes from being gloomy. That negativity stuff? It can be soul crushing.

But sometimes, you get slapped in the face with something so bad that you can’t find the slightest tinge of rose anywhere. Sometimes, when life gives you lemons you just end up making lemon juice.

My son is sick. He was born sick. The concept of being thrilled about a newborn is something that is completely and utterly foreign to me. When I look back at the birth of my two premature children, I recall anxiety, and in the case of my son, fear that I would lose him before I ever got to see him smile.

That fear kept me from bonding with him. I kept an emotional distance because I didn’t want it to hurt if he wasn’t going to survive. It took me a long time to recognize that, but it’s true, and I hate myself for it.

When my boy was an infant, if not sleeping, he was crying because he was hurting. He didn’t want to be held because he associated touch with pain, thanks to all the poking, prodding, IV’s, nose tubes, and catheters. That made it easy to create a gap between us.

He doesn’t want me, I can’t soothe him, he’d rather be left alone.

Now tell me, what kind of Mother distances herself from her sick child? This kind. You can’t really own up to something like that with rose-colored glasses on.

But eventually, with the right medical cocktail, he stopped crying so much. After lying around lethargically for 13 months, he had his first heart surgery and started to crawl. His pale face with the blue circle around his lips grew chubby, bright and pink. He was awake, alert, and happy, and that black hole in my heart started to close right up.

Somewhere along the line, I can’t say when, I stopped counting hospital stays and started counting my blessings. Compared to a lot of other families, we are one of the lucky ones.

And, after my son survived a strep pneumo infection that almost took his life when he was two, and after he stopped breathing after a surgery when he was four, I became fully aware that my boy means the world to me.

After I finally fell madly in love with this kid, I watched as he struggled and damn-near clawed his way out of more illnesses than I can count. He has had more IV’s, EKG’s, blood draws, CT Scans, x-rays, surgeries, tests and biopsies than most people will in their entire lives, and yet he finds a way to make me laugh every day.

He is kind, sweet and funny. He is also as ornery as the day is long…and I love it! Go ahead and embarrass me, kid. It means you’re alive and kicking.

Losing him now is not an option. The thought of it just makes me mad. Which brings me to this post.

Today he complained of neck pain, then he developed a rash, then he wouldn’t eat, then he came down with a fever. The pediatrician thinks it could be a bacterial infection called adenitis. He was immediately put on antibiotics, and we will be following up with the doctor tomorrow.

This could involve draining an abscess, IV antibiotics, and a hospital stay. And, anytime we’re dealing with something bacterial, there is a risk to his already defected and malformed heart.

The thought of this, of him going through a bad illness yet again, causes me to take off my rose-colored glasses, throw them to the floor, jump up and down on them, and as I’m walking away from the crumpled heap of metal, I turn and hock a big, fat, thick, loogie on the twisted mass.

I hate that he may have another up-hill battle and that he will suffer in any way.

This kid taught me that love can be scary and it’s not always easy, but that letting something true and pure into your life can be the most fulfilling experience you will EVER have. He has shown me strength beyond measure and more happiness than I thought possible. I love that kid a lot.

Huh. See that? I already fixed my specs.

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My six year old son was born with multiple heart defects, one of which is very rare. It is called Cor Triatrium Dexter and has to do with the trabeculated anterior, sinoatrial orifice, crista terminalis, and the super-cali-fragil-istic-expi-ali-docious.

Basically, the right side of his heart is jacked up.

For the first year of his life, he was cyanotic a lot. For people who are fortunate enough not to understand that term…it means that he was blue. He often had discolored skin around his mouth, which was a constant reminder that his blood didn’t have enough oxygen in it.

When he was 13 months old, he had angioplasty and valvuloplasty. This wasn’t because he was eating too much butter and bacon, but rather because this one weird defect had created a blockage, and that’s why he looked like Violet Beauregarde from Willy Wonka and the Chocolate Factory.

The benefit of the surgery was that he suddenly had energy he never had before. The downside is, that in stretching out the valve the cardiologist created a leak. Not because he messed up, but because that is what happens when you expand a valve.

And that means in the near future my kid will need open heart surgery.

One good thing? Well, he’s always been too young to understand just how messed up his ticker really is. He knows there is something different about him…and how could he not? He may as well have a stethoscope permanently affixed to his chest. But, we never talk to him about having any limitations.

The other night, we saw that he has grasped what we’ve been telling him all along. Because when my daughter was upset and crying hard (Note to Dad: Let’s not tell the nine year old that someday her dog will die), my son walked over to his sister and said, “It’s okay. Don’t cry. I love you. I love you with all of my special heart.”

And if that doesn’t warm your cockles, I don’t know what will.

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My nine year old daughter was born ten weeks early, during an emergency c-section. I went to the hospital for a routine ultrasound and they didn’t let me leave until they had strapped me to a table, cut my stomach open, whisked my baby away to be put on a ventilator, and fed me Percocet and chicken broth for five days. Ahh. Good times, good times.

Her brother was competitive from the get-go. Although he was only seven weeks early, he came complete with four heart defects, a kidney disorder, a missing right tear duct and a stomach flap that wouldn’t close…thus allowing breastmilk to freely flow out of where it had recently gone in.

Needless to say, my husband and I spent a lot of time in the hospital when our kids were young. And, each and every time we entered that place we had to scrub our hands with a very distinctive smelling anti-bacterial soap.

Now, whenever I visit someplace that has that same soap, be it a hospital, restaurant, or gas station, I get a flood of memories when the aroma hits my brain. Usually that flood is somewhat traumatic.

The smell of ginger takes me to Hawaii, the fragrance of roses to my Grandmother’s back yard, and I can’t even buy apple cinnamon oatmeal because, when warm, I revisit some seriously nasty diapers.

I have read other blogs and comments that make mention of this phenomenon, and my best friend has a story about chopping green beans when she received a phone call from someone bearing bad news. Guess what she thinks of when she smells green beans now?

What I want to know, boys and girls…where does your mind travel when you get a whiff, and what’s that you’re smelling that sends you on your way?

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