I'm slowly emerging from a two year fear-of-the-Fontan-induced fog.
(How's that for some mean alliteration?)
I've said to a few people that I feel like we left the hospital with a newborn. Not in the sense that we had this helpless creature to take care of, but instead we left with one with a future wide open in front of him. When we left after he was born, we had steps to get through - we'll let ourselves think about that after the Norwood or we can plan for that when we get through the Fontan. While I would sometimes think about Sammy's life as he grew older, I never let myself fully imagine all the possibilities that lay before him. I never let myself imagine him at 6 playing t-ball, or at 10 riding bikes with his friends. I couldn't embrace these dreams that parents have for their children's lives. Everything always stopped at the Fontan, and while it was my own doing, I resented it. I resented how easily others could envision their child's world as they grew, resented how I felt so trapped by the what-ifs of the three surgeries.
So when we left this time, I imagined it's how new parents feel, leaving the hospital with a whole new life in their hands. I know nothing is a given and simply making it through (simply - ha!) the three surgeries is no guarantee, but it's a damn good start.
I'm still plagued by the mini-anxiety attacks I would have pre-Fontan, and I have to talk myself down from them. I'm often still caught off-guard that we are now through the very thing that's been over our heads for two years. I'm amazed that it is now June, and May - oh, how I dreaded May - is behind us. Is it really June 1st? How did it all go by so quickly? How is it that for two years this surgery loomed so large, and now it's done? It's not even two weeks past and Sammy's quickly getting back to the little boy we love so much. I'm grateful that my brain does a good job of protecting me, as I'm already blocking out a good portion of the whole experience. That's not my job now - now I can focus on raising one amazing little boy.
My name is erika-renee, but call me eka - pronounced "eh-ka." I'm suddenly somehow 32, though I still love pigtails and overalls and silly, happy things. I live north of Boston, and I'm happily married to 
I'm a mama!
