The doctor who had performed the original surgery to correct the hypoplastic left heart syndrome Millie was born with was called once more the day she died. This time it was to seal her closed. Her chest had been open after the surgery because her heart was so swollen. It was covered by this thin wrap… it looked almost like plastic wrap but I’m sure there was a proper term for it.  There was a plan to close her chest once the heart reduced in size and was functioning the correct way, I suppose. That day never came. 

During the couple of hours that I got to spend with her after she passed, I asked the nurse if her doctor could close her chest. She told me she would page him but warned me that perhaps he wouldn’t be able to come if he had other patients to tend to. I knew he would come, though. And he did. Shortly after, he walked into the room. He addressed me by saying, “I’m sorry for your loss.” 

We had to leave the room while the doctor performed the last surgery, which ended up being Millie’s successful surgery. My husband asked to stay to witness it. The doctor allowed it, which is what my husband needed. I didn’t know the exact details of what happened during that particular time…during the final surgery. Months later, my husband told me that he requested to kiss Millie’s bare heart once the dressings were removed. He said the nurses pushed back a little, but the doctor allowed it.

When the plastic was removed from her heart, and Millie was cleaned up, my husband tells me that he got to kiss her forehead, then her cheeks, then her toes, and then her bare heart. He tells me that he told her he loved her very much and that he was sorry he allowed her to stay that long in that hospital. He wished he could have brought her home to be a baby for a few days. Sometimes I wonder what it would have been like having her home a few days knowing her death was upon us. That idea, however, is so unnatural that it doesn’t make me feel better at all. But I think it would have helped my husband.