Wednesday, January 26, 2011

Six years old. Six years - post heart transplant.



Six years ago today, Jordan had a heart transplant. He was eight days old. Long before he said his first word, before he took his first step, or even his first bite of food - he faced the biggest challenge anyone could ever face - survival.

So much of those early days now feels like a blur. The doctors walking into the hospital room to tell us there was something wrong with his heart, the agonizing hours spent in the waiting room wondering what would happen next, the prayers said by Jordan's bedside while he lay hooked up to a heart-lung bypass machine. I can recall my tears, those endless tears. Yet, even then ; I remember how much I hoped.

Hope is a strange, ephemeral thing. It burst upon me at the oddest times. Often, when I sat by Jordan's bedside, I felt a surge of hope that almost illuminated his face. Sometimes, I would sit alone, in the hospital's lactation room, and cry. It was one of the few places I could hide. Even there I felt hope. Every time I retrieved a small milk bottle to store for future use, I believed it would not go to waste. I hoped.

My memories fade, but I will never, ever forget the moment we received the phone call.

THAT phone call.

The one which reminded us to believe that where hope exists, miracles will happen. The phone call was from Jordan's cardiac team doctor. She simply said, "We have a heart."

That was six years ago.



Jordan was eight days old.



Today. Jordan at six years old.

Miracles happen, but not in a vacuum. Without the heart angels who blessed our path, our story might have been a very different one. Jordan survived because someone made the decision to donate her baby's heart. Every day, others face that same choice. Some choose to say yes. Some aren't even aware of the option.

Donate life. The gift you give transcends a lifetime.



Thank you Nikki. Thank you Breanna.

Forever.
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