It's 4:08 AM and I'm sitting here in room 10112 at the St. Louis Children's Hospital in a rare moment of solitude. I know in the next hour the door will swing open and begin a near infinite rotation of nurses, doctors, techs, and dietitians who will no doubt interrupt this instance of quiet with their needles and their blood draws and their never-ending questions we've answered a 1000 times already. And that's why we're here. We want answers too and they are trying to give them to us.
I miss my daughter. I miss my dog. I miss the regularity of routine. I miss my messy house. At the same time, I'm scared to go home after what happened yesterday. What if it happens again? What if we had been on the road?
Around 3:00 yesterday afternoon Jack was taken to another room for a fairly invasive rectal biopsy. They told us that while the procedure was fairly routine we could expect some minor bleeding or spotting in his diaper over the next couple of days. Some time around 5:30 Laura and I were starting to think about dinner plans. I was lobbying for Maurizio's downtown because if you can't run 5 miles and eat a Stromboli then what's the point of all of this. Laura was pacing around the room and down the halls with Jack trying her best to settle him down after a crying spell. When she returned to our room I could see the alarm in her face. There was blood coming through his clothes. I laid him down on his bed to examine the situation and opened his diaper. That's when the first rush of blood and all other manner of unspeakable evils shot out of my son like a garden hose. It was the darkest color of red I have ever seen. The second rush came and then I watched as my son turned completely white and became non-responsive. His hands were ice cold and his normal strong grip around mommy and daddy's fingers had gone limp. His eyes closed and for a moment it appeared he was gone. I'm not sure how one's mind is supposed to work when these things happen but for a brief second I thought of the scene in E.T. and the cold white and lifeless body of the alien lying motionless on the table next to Elliot. I don't remember calling for help but there must have been enough panic in my voice to bring in the entire staff on our floor. I didn't want to look anyone in the eye because I didn't want to know. I just wanted to look at Jack, my precious little boy I've only known for 4 months now. Jack this isn't how it ends, is it? Do we lose you here in St. Louis? What am I going to tell Audrey? I promised her I would bring you back. I can't look at your mom right now. I can only look at you. Jack there's so much I want to show you about this great big world. It's more than needles and doctors and questions. If you stay I'll show you everything in this world.
As I would later learn, Jack lost almost a third of his blood. The biopsy had left a nick in a blood vessel which had clotted and backed up in his tiny intestines which began to fill with blood. A bowel movement was all it took for the dam to burst. While a team in scrubs and jackets worked to stabilize my son I held onto his hand. I watched as a very large IV line punctured his unblemished skin and began pumping fluids back into his body. His color started to come back. I knelt by his bed and I sobbed, running my thumb back and forth across his head as he screamed in defiance at the nurses and their damned needles. He was going to be alright. Jack Kennedy was going to be alright. I stood and finally looked around the room. Laura was in tears and we held each other close. The doctors began their explanation.
Within an hour Jack was back to his normal routine, which ranges anywhere from the most beautiful smile you've ever seen (seriously, that boy smiles with his entire body) to the most ear shattering cries (likewise, he also screams with his entire body) you've ever heard. During one of his crying spells while holding him in my arms, Jack reached up and grabbed my bottom lip and pulled hard with all the force of a brand new mouse trap. I laughed when I realized I could taste blood in my mouth. The little guy's strength had returned.
Last night before finally falling asleep after what turned into the longest day of my life, I looked over one last time to make sure he was still with us. I positioned myself so that at anytime during the night I could wake up and look over to confirm the rise and fall of his little chest. I almost lost you today, Jack. I almost lost you. That which once was lost now is found and sleeping peacefully at the moment. Soon the sun will rise Jack Kennedy. The sun will rise and I will show you this world.
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