WHAT MY NEWBORN SON TAUGHT ME ABOUT LIFE
Superheroes aren’t just characters we read about in fiction,
Even today when I think of the Man of Steel, I think of my son Luca. Perhaps it’s Luca’s quiet strength that inspires the thought, or that they both overcame adversity at a very young age.
I’ll backtrack four years to the time when my wife, Lyana, and I learned that our three-weekold baby boy’s vital organs were shutting down — specifically, his kidneys. Unequipped to deal with the news, I kept the pain inside, hidden from everyone. This was the worst thing I could have done. I almost self-destructed as a result.
Luca Santino Colasante had arrived after a textbook delivery. Our elation soon turned into wrenching worry. At two weeks my son suffered from frequent vomiting, lack of sleep and severe discomfort. He wasn’t wetting his diaper. He was lethargic, pale and weighed less than his birth weight.
Countless late-night visits to the Emergency Room led us nowhere. We were given feeding and burping advice, leaving us more confused than enlightened, and Luca’s suffering continued.
I felt utterly helpless. And, to be honest, I was very scared.
After almost a week of speculations, we sped back to the children’s hospital and asked for a proper assessment.
Lyana knew something was terribly wrong and insisted on an ultrasound. Sure enough, Luca’s electrolytes were low and his kidneys were shutting down. Luca had pyloric stenosis — relatively rare and more common in boys. In short, it enlarges the pylorus muscle, which connects the lower part of the stomach to the small intestines, making it impossible to digest food or water. The condition can be fatal.
As the doctor explained the condition to us, Luca was being prodded for a vein to insert the IV and undergoing other tests administered to his tiny body. This was extremely hard to witness, making it even harder to concentrate on the explanation about the surgery. I was devastated.
Once Luca was admitted, we settled into a hospital room. It was a surreal experience. I recall every minute detail about the room, even the whimsical animal wallpaper. Basically, I concentrated on anything else to distract me from what was right in front of me: a sick, helpless little baby, barely three weeks old.
The breaking point for me was seeing other children wheeled to surgery before Luca was. All the pain, anger and frustration I’d kept inside exploded. I whipped a chair across the room then saw the look on Lyana’s face. I remember glancing over at Luca who was hooked up to countless machines, fighting for his life. I remember feeling like an idiot. Why did I do that? Lyana just said, “We need to be strong for him, and you need to stay strong for him, he needs us.” It hurt as it does when your parents tell you that they’re disappointed in you, not angry, just disappointed. I lost my cool because I wanted my son to be the next up for surgery. I made assumptions about other children’s needs.
We signed the waivers, walked with Luca to the operating room and let the doctors take over.
I pretended that I had confidence in what was happening in the operating room. But I didn’t.
After the longest hour of my life, the doctor told us that the surgery was a success and that Luca was fine. An enormous weight fell off my shoulders, and we rushed to see him.
Afterward, as weeks became months, Luca thrived in every way. He was functioning like a normal, healthy baby.
Meanwhile, I began to selfdestruct.
I began obsessively analyzing what had happened. I started abusing alcohol; I fought with my wife almost daily; I was easily infuriated by mundane things; I couldn’t sleep; I wasn’t sharp at work; and I lashed out at anyone who crossed me.
With the crisis over, I still needed to deal with the trauma. I couldn’t accept what had happened to Luca. I could not let go of the thought that this, or something worse, could happen again. Remembering Luca’s pain and my utter helplessness to do anything about it, I remained angry over almost losing my son.
When a friend told me that my shoulders are big, but aren’t big enough to fight this battle alone, it was a revelation. And I reluctantly sought professional help.
It took some time, but I finally gained the closure I needed. Talking with professionals, family and friends helped me to realize that focusing on seeing my boy grow was the best way to get my life back on track.
When Luca is old enough to understand, I want to tell him this story.
I want him to know that there’s a possibility that his son or his grandson might suffer the same fate since this is a hereditary disease; I want him to understand that the scar on his belly symbolizes strength. For me, Luca’s scar symbolizes my growth as a dad, a husband and a citizen.
It also makes me think of Superman because of the great strength it took Luca to endure the pain and suffering this disease caused him at such a very young age.
And with this, I can officially close this dark chapter and move on with my life with my incredible family.
Lyana just said, ‘We need to be strong for him, and you need to stay strong for him, he needs us.’