The second in a six-part series chronicling the birth of Michelle and Dennis Teravainen’s second child, August, who was born with Down’s syndrome.
[Read Part I here.]
By eleven or so, we were in our hospital room waiting to be reunited with Gus. He was in the nursery undergoing what I assumed to be regular tests. After a little while, I went to check on the little guy.
The pediatrician told me that Gus’ body temperature wasn’t quite stable enough yet for him to be with us, but it shouldn’t be too much longer. I updated Shell and we continued calling and texting our good news to loved ones.
At around 1 a.m. the pediatrician came into our room. I knew immediately that something was wrong. She closed the door.
Then she hit us with a sledgehammer: Gus had several characteristics of a baby with Down’s syndrome. They would not know for sure until completion of a certain blood test, but they were pretty sure.
I wanted to vomit. Instead, I comforted my wife.
Shell was angry, hurt, and scared. The doctor was telling us that our beautiful son—whom she carried in her belly for nine months, and held in her arms for the first time only hours ago—was not the baby we thought we were having.
Shell engaged the pediatrician, challenging her to defend her position. I sat by numbly holding Shell’s hand. Moments passed in a blur as they spoke. Finally, Shell and I were left alone with our son to think and talk.
When I saw Gus shortly after he was born, I noticed that he had a lot of skin going all the way around his neck—almost like a huge double chin turtleneck. I presumed there was simply a lot of fetal fluid or something. He was only minutes old and still transitioning from the womb to the world. I didn’t say anything, because I didn’t want to alarm Shell unnecessarily.
The doctors didn’t say anything, so I had no reason to worry.
When I saw Gus in the nursery for the first time, his neck was still unusual to me. Even though the temperature thing seemed reasonable, I sort of thought they were spending a lot of time with Gus. Then I remembered that I was sleeping before they brought Greta to us for the first time so I tried not to overreact.
No need to panic.
But for some reason when the pediatrician came in to see us, the little voice inside my head said, “don’t say Down’s—don’t say Down’s,” over and over, until she actually said it.
Holy shit, I knew it.
Only two minutes after the pediatrician left us alone, Shell and I were sitting together, still dumbfounded, when we realized that Gus was turning blue.
I ran for a nurse, who grabbed him and started running down the hall. I looked at Shell to see what she wanted me to do. “Go with them!” she yelled, bawling.
I ran, following the nurses to the nursery. I feared that our son was about to die in front of my eyes.
This isn’t happening right now.
I wanted to wake up and start this day over again.
Please save my son.
Finally, they gestured to me that he was okay, and breathing. I returned to Shell and we held each other.
♦♦♦
On July 23, 2010, everything changed and nothing changed.
Greta is now a big sister. Our siblings have their first nephew. My parents have their first grandson. Nana has her fifth grandchild. My grandfather has his third great-grandchild! We all loved August Thomas before he even got to the party.
I don’t believe in religion. But I do believe in goodness, karma, and an energy that is greater than all of humankind. Whatever we call this unknown force, it gave my wife and I a gift.
Gus is our flesh and blood. He is our gorgeous baby boy. He is a Teravainen! He happens to have Down’s syndrome.
I refuse to let an extra chromosome define him as a person. And I will strive to be the best father I can possibly be, just as I have since the arrival of Greta in February last year.
Our family and friends have asked what they can do to help and support us. Here is our confident answer: Celebrate Gus’ arrival with us.
Congratulations are what we want to hear. High-five me. Bro hug me. Drink a toast to Gus. Love our son dearly with us just as you love our daughter. We are not sorry that we have a path ahead of us that was different from what we expected. When you sign up to be a parent, you inherit all of the unexpected things that come with that child.
♦♦♦
Gus is still in intensive care. He can’t breathe on his own yet. I understand from the doctors that his respiratory issue is unrelated to Down’s. We will know more as the week progresses. Fortunately, his heart appears to be healthy.
Michelle and I are going home to reunite with Greta, and to sleep in our own bed. Gus will be staying at the hospital for the time being. We are disappointed that we won’t be bringing him home with us right away, but we know he needs to be a bit stronger before that can happen.
We appreciate all of the kind words and offers of support our loved ones have extended.
For the time being, just say a prayer for Gus that he will be breathing without oxygen soon.
—Dennis Teravainen
Congratulations on the birth of your son! On July 23, 2003 I gave birth to my first child … also not the daughter I was quite expecting to have. Yes, my daughter, born 7 yrs to the day before your son, also has Down syndrome 🙂 We knew it was a possibility during the pregnancy as my AFP results indicated a higher risk, but we declined the amnio. So when she was born and I looked at her face for the first time I just knew. I loved what you said here: “When you sign up to be a parent,… Read more »
Being three years farther down this road, I can echo nearly everything you say. It’s hard for people to understand that DS is not a tragedy. We’re all conditioned to think that “perfect” has only one set of standards.
My little girl was five weeks old when she nearly died on us. RSV. Ventilator. Lovely stuff. She was 3 when she nearly died again. Pneumonia. Ventilator again. But in between, she’s done more to enrich our lives than her two brothers put together–and her two brothers are pretty darned enriching, themselves.
Kathleen:
My apologies for the late reply. I’ve been in hiding – actually just a bit under the weather.
Thank you for sharing about your little girl. I trust that she is doing great today. She sounds strong and wonderful from what you wrote.
I appreciate you taking the time to comment and share.
– Dennis