Hi.
I am often struck by how lucky I am to have friends with truly kind hearts. Yes, I’ve had my share of being fooled by some people, and taken advantage of now and then, but my inner circle of friends have been remarkably kind (as you can tell, since I am “remarking” on it right now!). I tend to have only a few close friends at a time, but they have always been honest and caring, eager to be supportive and happy to be involved with whatever ridiculous idea I come up with. I am so grateful for the love and laughter we have shared throughout the years.
One of my very best friends, however, never laughed once. In fact, he didn’t even speak. Ever. Yet he was right by my side, helping as best he could, during the scariest night of my life.
I remember the day I brought Alia home from the hospital. We had been in the NICU for 92 days and fortunately, she had gotten strong and healthy enough to come home on her expected due date, December 12, 2011; exactly “on time”. I had such a confusing mixture of feelings as the medical team disconnected the various wires and monitors she had been hooked up to for the past three months. Just the day before, she had breathing episodes that set off the alarms, but today, they told me she was ready to come home.
I was terrified. It seemed surreal and outright reckless for this group of the most highly trained nurses in the country to simply hand over an infant to someone without any medical training at all and only a 30-minute video of infant CPR to refer to if something went wrong. Even as they were demonstrating on the doll what to do, my mind was reeling at the prospect that my daughter might need CPR in the first place. I learned nothing. In fact, I almost needed CPR myself just watching them.
Regardless, they checked us out, which was also confusing. I hated going to the hospital every day to see my daughter. Really, really hated it. But now that they were packing up our stuff and walking us to the door, I was reluctant to go. Is she really okay? What if she stops breathing while I’m driving her home? Why am I suddenly furious with myself for not going to medical school?!
A hospital staff person waited with her while I got my car and drove to the entrance. I put her in her car seat, and as I pulled away, I decided 12 mph was fast enough. I watched her in the rearview mirror as I drove, aware of everything at once. (It took years for me to manage the hyper-vigilance I developed as a response to our time in the NICU.) Eventually, we got home safe and sound.
And my friend was waiting for us right at the door, tail wagging, eager to welcome us home. A mix of Black Lab and Catahoula Leopard Dog, Shadow was a rescue dog with a mottled brown, black and white coat punctuated by a gorgeous glossy black stripe down his back. He had a double coat of fur, so petting him was like petting a (50-pound) bunny. I had adopted him when he was a year and a half old, and he came with his own set of challenges. But those are stories for another day. This day, he was my knight in shining armor. I almost cried at how “normal” he made it all feel – the two of us coming home at the end of the day, greeted by our dog. Hooray, we made it!!! We’re finally, finally home.
I changed and bundled Alia as I was taught, got everything ready for her next feeding, and then watched over her as she slept. Intensely. I couldn’t help it. My little girl—still such a new idea, having a daughter. And only just now feeling like maybe I really would get to keep her, that she would stay in this world, with me.
We had beaten the odds. She was home sleeping peacefully, and didn’t need any special equipment or medication. But it was up to me to keep her safe, to keep her healthy…to keep her breathing. And so I stood over her, listening to every breath and counting in between to make sure they were regular. My heart was pounding like I was being chased. I started to panic. I had been up most of the previous night and then on high alert all day at the hospital, and now it was two in the morning, and my pulse was racing; my chest felt so tight I couldn’t breathe. How could I possibly match the round-the-clock care she received at the hospital?
I stepped back and felt something soft brush against my arm. It was Shadow. He was sitting next to me, nearly rigid at attention, watching over Alia as well. A friend in deed. I no longer felt anxious (just very, very alert!). And so the two of us stayed there throughout the night. Watching. Intensely.
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I’m sharing this story in case you have friends going through a challenging experience. You might feel unsure or even uncomfortable about what to do to support them. Please keep in mind how powerful the simplest acts of kindness truly are. I used to dismiss that popular quote by Woody Allen, “ninety percent of life is just showing up.” I felt it fell short; I wanted to provide something more substantial for a friend in need. But Shadow taught me better. He did not need to know the right words to say. He didn’t have flowers or comfort food or even a card. He showed up, fully present, choosing to join me in a scary experience, and it made all the difference in the world.