I cried during those two hours. My husband, Richard, lay with his head in his hands praying.
My husband and I received a referral to Lucile Packard Children’s Hospital at Stanford from my aunt. Within a week of the diagnosis from the first cardiologist, I was sitting in the children’s hospital getting a second opinion. Two to three hours later — yes, the doctors were THAT thorough in their echo — we given a ray of hope. The doctors at Stanford were horrified that we had been not only mistreated by the first cardiologist, but that the cardiologist was WRONG in his methodology.
“You mean, you weren’t told your son would live into his teen years?” asked the Stanford cardiologist on call that day.
We shook our heads, crying.
In fact, the Stanford Cardiologist explained that the first cardiologist’s methods were dangerously obsolete.
Now, we were given the option of delivering at Stanford. I knew before I even arrived that we would turn our lives upside down to make it work. Somehow.
I agreed. And we were given a multitude of paperwork, transfer orders, housing contacts and more. We had one week to transfer my care and relocate me as a high risk pregnancy.
Two weeks from the time we found out about our son’s condition, I was moved down to Palo Alto, from my home in Sacramento, to be closely monitored until my induction date three weeks later. Now living alone, away from my husband and three-year-old daughter, I struggled each day to stay positive and not be afraid.
I knew that the people at Lucile Packard Children’s Hospital at Stanford
would take care of me. I’d never believe that any business could hire ONLY nice, helpful people. Every. Single. Person. Everyone was soothing, supportive and outright amazing.