The Price of Freedom

I dont want to exaggerate, but just imagine that your baby is born and it is taken away from you. Then every morning in a city you have never been before, a doctor who you have never seen before tells you that everything looks fine and you should be discharged. After you pack the car up and cancel your hotel reservations, you head back to the hospital to see how your little boy is doing and another doctor who you have never seen before tells you that 1.) your son may still have a debilitating condition, 2.) that he, the doctor, has no idea what that condition is, 3.) that more tests need to be completed, 4.) that you are definitely not leaving tonight, and 5. ) "I'm sorry I can't answer any of your questions, you'll just have to wait to speak to (insert somebody else's name here)." Yeah this happened THREE TIMES. Three times, we breathed sighs of relief and three more times we cried and prayed for our son. Three times we told everyone we would be going home and three times we called back to say that we would be here another night. Three times we had to find another place to stay the night (out of our own pocket of course). This is brutal. All three of us want to go home.