Three years after he was born— and 13 years after we married— my husband and I were expecting again
D
uring Akiva’s first cleft surgery, the surgeons sewed the lip and muscles closed. With his lip covered in stitches and gauze, it was nearly impossible for our child to eat.
He couldn’t nurse or use a bottle — both were not only painful, but could risk splitting his incision again. Instead, we fed him via syringe. Drop by drop, we squeezed milk into his mouth. My mother-in-law was an unbelievable help, often taking over the feedings so that we could rest. She supported us and gave us chizuk as only a loving mother and bubby could.
Each meal took hours, which was hard for us as parents, but it was even harder for us to watch Akiva suffer. It wasn’t only the way he waited hours to get his full meal. For two weeks his arms were in restraints so he wouldn’t touch his face or pull at his wounds and damage the delicate work the surgeon had performed.
He was so uncomfortable, and I often found myself crying as I soothed him. “This is for you, Akiva. I promise that we’re doing this for your own good.”
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