That dreaded phone call ...

I had a rather unusual flashback to Ryan's last day, and I just can't shake off the horrible feeling I'm reliving yet again.

I can't figure out why this particular memory keeps re-playing itself in my mind. It's not that it's the most terrible thing that happened concerning Ryan, but it certainly isn't a good thing, either. And I don't think something happened in my outside world to trigger it. It literally came out of nowhere.

While I was in the hospital, I had always dreaded hearing the phone ring in my room. The hospital has distinctive rings in place: one ring is an inside call within the hospital and two rings is an outside call. Fortunately, I did receive more two-ring calls than one-ringers, but it's the one-ring calls that rattled me everytime.

I keep remembering two very specific one-ring calls regarding Ryan's condition. Both calls were from the NICU and caught me completely off guard. The nurse on the other end of the phone expressed no specific emotion, but made it painfully clear with her words that my presence in the NICU was urgently needed.

Plain as day, I can still hear these words ... "Mrs. O____, is your husband there with you? Your baby boy isn't doing well. You need to come here right away."

Both of those calls came through while Mike was handling our life outside of the hopsital and the NICU. Everytime he'd leave, I'd pray that nothing would happen while he was gone; he needed to be there if, heaven forbid, Ryan took a turn for the worse. As my luck would have it, each of these frightening calls came through when I was in my hospital room alone, faced with unnerving news about my baby. I was still recovering from my C-section, so I couldn't make the quarter-mile trek to the NICU without being in a wheelchair. I was at the mercy of a nurse who hopefully understood my predicament and would react accordingly. I was frantic, knowing Mike needed to be there, but I was helpless to get him there any quicker than the driving gods would allow. All I could do was pray that my baby would be able to hang on long enough till daddy returned safely to the hospital to be by his side.

The last of those two-ringer calls and the circumstances that followed will haunt me till the day I die. I never - not even in my worst nightmares - envisioned that my final time with my little boy would be spent surrounded by a multitude of doctors and nurses fighting a losing battle. Or, that Ryan would be connected to so many machines and monitors that I wouldn't be able to cradle him, and instead could only comfort and soothe my boy by running my hand over his angelic little head where I wouldn't interfere in the efforts of the doctors. All I wanted to do was scoop him up out of that bassinet, hold him as tightly as possible, and take off running ...

I don't know why I keep thinking about that - it certainly wouldn't have done any good or changed anything if I had done that. Maybe it was my mommy instinct trying to take over, trying to protect him by safely tucking him in my arms, shielding him from the perils of the outside world.

I'm so, so sorry I couldn't protect you and keep you safe, Ryan. I wanted nothing more than to do that again, as I had for those wonderful nine months prior ...