The month of October is a blur. I was admitted to the hospital on September 30 - 4 weeks ago yesterday. Elliana was born on October 5. She died on October 6. I came home on October 8. Her funeral was on October 10. Life has been mainly about survival since then.
And now it's October 29. Fall in its prime. This is my favorite time of year. And I feel like I've missed it.
I'm not going to be able to explain this well because I don't really understand it. But fall will forever be more special - more meaningful - because of Elliana. The beauty and the color will be more to me than just 'the most beautiful time of year'. Fall holds significance now. The significance of the birth of our Elliana. And the significance of a life taken far too quickly.
I've driven down the highway several times over the past few weeks. But this year, instead of enjoying the beauty of the fall colors, I've been worrying about what the trees will look like in the coming weeks. I'm dreading the day that I drive down I-85 to visit 'the garden' (our vocabulary for 'the cemetery', for the sake of our little ones who have no idea what a cemetery is) and see it lined with bare, leafless trees. Gray. Lifeless. Another reminder of death. The northeast coast is being pounded by Hurricane Sandy - and all I can think about is how it's going to affect me. How the wind will strip the trees even faster. (How self-centered is that?)
I do know that the trees aren't really dead. They will have leaves on them again in the spring. And then next fall, the leaves will die, turn beautiful colors, and the cycle repeats itself. I know there's probably some really good parallel you could draw between the life cycle of a tree and human life, but I'm way too literal (and cynical at the moment) to do that.
I love the gold-colored leaves this year. They remind me of Elliana's beautiful little blond head. :-)
Monday, October 29, 2012
Friday, October 26, 2012
Contradiction
I feel like a walking contradiction right now. The way I think doesn't seem to make any sense.
I long for life to be normal again. We haven't experienced 'normal' life since July 3 - almost four months ago when we had our 18 week ultrasound. And I feel like 'normal' is completely out of reach right now.
Here's the contradiction: I'm longing for 'normal', but I am so resistant to changing the things that would lead to 'normal'.
I'm still wearing the wrist bands from the hospital. I haven't been able to take them off. I feel like taking them off is sort of ending that part of my life. The part where Elliana was alive, and her heart was beating so strongly, and I was feeling her kick.
Right before I left my room for the c-section, the nurse asked me if I was wearing any jewelry. The only jewelry I had on was my engagement and wedding rings. I hadn't been able to get them off of my finger in years. So I didn't even bother to try - I just told the nurse they wouldn't come off. She put some lotion on my finger and asked me to try. And my rings came off. With hardly any effort. It suprised me. Shocked me. And then it scared me. That little bit of security in having my rings on was going to be gone during the scariest hours of my life. It feels silly - they were only rings, for Pete's sake. But at the time, it felt awful.
I've thought that maybe, when I cut the wrist bands off, I'll 'trade' them for my rings. Maybe putting my rings back on will make it not quite so difficult to put the wrist bands away.
I haven't cut my fingernails in weeks. Since before I went into the hospital on September 30. This is really unusual for me. I break and split fingernails regularly playing the piano, so it makes absolutely no sense to grow them out. And if the piano didn't keep them short, the dishes, laundry and children would. But these new claws of mine are starting to catch on things, and I will have to cut them soon. But for some reason, I'm having a really hard time bringing myself to actually do it.
I haven't played the piano since the funeral. Playing is so personal. I just can't do it. Yet.
There are flowers on my dresser that are dead or dying. I haven't been able to throw them away. I don't want to acknowledge that they're gone. It's like the hospital wrist bands - throwing the flowers away is sort of... moving on. I don't know if I can do it.
I haven't been able to go through the memory box that the hospital put together and gave us. It's still sitting in the same bag, in the same exact spot as the day I came home from the hospital. Right next to my side of the bed on the floor. On our birth plan, there was a section to indicate what items we wanted the hospital to save for us. A lock of Elliana's hair was one of the things that we wanted, although when we were putting the birth plan together, we had no idea if she would have any hair at all. (All of that heartburn was well worth it, wouldn't you say?? (-: ) I'm so afraid that I'll open that box and that there won't be a lock of hair in it. I feel guilty that I didn't make sure we did that. I'm her mom. I should have thought about it when I was holding her and proudly admiring her golden crown.
Eventually, I will cut the wrist bands off. Put my rings back on. Cut my fingernails. Play the piano. Throw the flowers away. Open the memory box.
Longing for 'normal'. But not remembering what 'normal' was. And knowing that whatever kind of 'normal' I settle into will probably look different from life before Elliana.
I miss her so much.
So. Much.
I long for life to be normal again. We haven't experienced 'normal' life since July 3 - almost four months ago when we had our 18 week ultrasound. And I feel like 'normal' is completely out of reach right now.
Here's the contradiction: I'm longing for 'normal', but I am so resistant to changing the things that would lead to 'normal'.
I'm still wearing the wrist bands from the hospital. I haven't been able to take them off. I feel like taking them off is sort of ending that part of my life. The part where Elliana was alive, and her heart was beating so strongly, and I was feeling her kick.
Right before I left my room for the c-section, the nurse asked me if I was wearing any jewelry. The only jewelry I had on was my engagement and wedding rings. I hadn't been able to get them off of my finger in years. So I didn't even bother to try - I just told the nurse they wouldn't come off. She put some lotion on my finger and asked me to try. And my rings came off. With hardly any effort. It suprised me. Shocked me. And then it scared me. That little bit of security in having my rings on was going to be gone during the scariest hours of my life. It feels silly - they were only rings, for Pete's sake. But at the time, it felt awful.
I've thought that maybe, when I cut the wrist bands off, I'll 'trade' them for my rings. Maybe putting my rings back on will make it not quite so difficult to put the wrist bands away.
I haven't cut my fingernails in weeks. Since before I went into the hospital on September 30. This is really unusual for me. I break and split fingernails regularly playing the piano, so it makes absolutely no sense to grow them out. And if the piano didn't keep them short, the dishes, laundry and children would. But these new claws of mine are starting to catch on things, and I will have to cut them soon. But for some reason, I'm having a really hard time bringing myself to actually do it.
I haven't played the piano since the funeral. Playing is so personal. I just can't do it. Yet.
There are flowers on my dresser that are dead or dying. I haven't been able to throw them away. I don't want to acknowledge that they're gone. It's like the hospital wrist bands - throwing the flowers away is sort of... moving on. I don't know if I can do it.
I haven't been able to go through the memory box that the hospital put together and gave us. It's still sitting in the same bag, in the same exact spot as the day I came home from the hospital. Right next to my side of the bed on the floor. On our birth plan, there was a section to indicate what items we wanted the hospital to save for us. A lock of Elliana's hair was one of the things that we wanted, although when we were putting the birth plan together, we had no idea if she would have any hair at all. (All of that heartburn was well worth it, wouldn't you say?? (-: ) I'm so afraid that I'll open that box and that there won't be a lock of hair in it. I feel guilty that I didn't make sure we did that. I'm her mom. I should have thought about it when I was holding her and proudly admiring her golden crown.
Eventually, I will cut the wrist bands off. Put my rings back on. Cut my fingernails. Play the piano. Throw the flowers away. Open the memory box.
Longing for 'normal'. But not remembering what 'normal' was. And knowing that whatever kind of 'normal' I settle into will probably look different from life before Elliana.
I miss her so much.
So. Much.
Monday, October 22, 2012
A Little More Love
I knew I'd leave some things out of my last post. And I'm sure there are still going to be things I'm not thinking of.
More ways we have been loved well...
So many people have been praying for us. People I have never met are praying for us. People who have commented on a blog post. Friends who have asked their churches to pray for us. Physicians and nurses we have come into contact with.
I have several friends (and a couple sisters) who text me regularly. Some to find out if we need anything, others just to let me know that they're thinking about me. So many of these texts just read, 'Thinking about you. Love you.' I have one friend who texts me every single day, and she's been doing this for a few weeks. She writes to distract me, encourage me, make me laugh, or just share a 'life sucks' mood with me. I have another friend who doesn't text (yet), but she emails me frequently, letting me know she's praying for me or offering to come and visit. I have been thankful for all of these people - they have helped me feel not quite so alone in my pit.
And lastly (for today), but most definitely not least, I have a friend who is more like my NC 'family'. She could easily hold the title 'honorary auntie' with my kids. The day I went into the hospital, we dropped our 3 youngest kids off at her house (around 1 or 1:30), and she kept them all afternoon. When we realized I was going to be admitted to the hospital, she fed them dinner, took them back to our house, put them all to bed, and stayed with them until after 10, waiting on my parents to arrive from SC. She's been 'on-call' to help however she can, and has done so several times over the past month. More than a month, actually. This friend has been there for me as long as I've known her. She's loved us well - she's loved our children well, too. I wish Elliana could have met her.
And I'm sure there will be more to write about another day.
More ways we have been loved well...
So many people have been praying for us. People I have never met are praying for us. People who have commented on a blog post. Friends who have asked their churches to pray for us. Physicians and nurses we have come into contact with.
I have several friends (and a couple sisters) who text me regularly. Some to find out if we need anything, others just to let me know that they're thinking about me. So many of these texts just read, 'Thinking about you. Love you.' I have one friend who texts me every single day, and she's been doing this for a few weeks. She writes to distract me, encourage me, make me laugh, or just share a 'life sucks' mood with me. I have another friend who doesn't text (yet), but she emails me frequently, letting me know she's praying for me or offering to come and visit. I have been thankful for all of these people - they have helped me feel not quite so alone in my pit.
And lastly (for today), but most definitely not least, I have a friend who is more like my NC 'family'. She could easily hold the title 'honorary auntie' with my kids. The day I went into the hospital, we dropped our 3 youngest kids off at her house (around 1 or 1:30), and she kept them all afternoon. When we realized I was going to be admitted to the hospital, she fed them dinner, took them back to our house, put them all to bed, and stayed with them until after 10, waiting on my parents to arrive from SC. She's been 'on-call' to help however she can, and has done so several times over the past month. More than a month, actually. This friend has been there for me as long as I've known her. She's loved us well - she's loved our children well, too. I wish Elliana could have met her.
And I'm sure there will be more to write about another day.
Saturday, October 20, 2012
Loved
Life is hell right now, but... we feel very loved.
We are surrounded by family and friends who are loving us so well.
I can even see evidence of our Heavenly Father's love for us. Even though I'm beginning to wonder (in a somewhat angry sort of way) why in the world He did this.
Back to the family and friends...
Our families have been so supportive over the past several weeks. Several family members were able to meet Elliana. My sisters made sure she had something beautiful and warm to be buried in. They loved her so well, and in turn, loved me well.
My parents and siblings have taken care of our kids, fed them, and made sure their needs were met. Someone replaced several burned out light bulbs in our house. And someone even hung a new curtain in our kitchen. They cleaned my house and made my bedroom a sanctuary to come home to. They loved me well.
We have received so many sweet cards. It's such a thoughtful thing to do - to put a card in the mail. Someone wrote a poem for Elliana. Others have told us about how our little girl's short life has been a testimony to them. So many sweet cards. Even one from my brother's 11th grade class. So many people praying for us and letting us know that we're on their minds - they are loving us well.
On the day of Elliana's funeral, we were so grateful for all of the hugs. Friends from college - several friends who drove a distance - came to hug us and tell us how sorry they were. Teachers from Missy's school - last year's teachers, this year's teachers, and her principal. A few new friends - people I barely know - but who I'm certain have prayed for us. Some friends even signed their kids out of school early so they could come. Friends from church, friends from Bible study. A couple of friends who have buried a child of their own. We were loved well.
Several men gave up an afternoon of work to come and lead worship at the funeral. Some sacrificed quite a chunk of time to prepare and set up for it. Some went out of their way to make sure I had a discreetly placed piano to play. Some gave of their time to run sound. Others gave their time to watch our kids during the service. They loved us well.
And meals - so many meals. People have been cooking for us for weeks now. Friends down the street, friends and family who live hours away. They have gone out of their way to help by providing a meal - and let me tell you, it helps tremendously. Feeding our family - relieving this one daily chore several times throughout the week - is loving us well.
My sweet friend, Lisa, has asked, more than once, if she can bring us anything. In fact, a few people have offered to do that. Lisa brought over a gallon of Sunny D (Jason's version of 'orange juice') one night when we were completely out, and then played with a couple of our kids for a while. Loving us well.
And then, there are two particular ways I can see my Father's love for me in the timing of Elliana's birth. I'll probably never be able to say something like, 'I'm thankful that she was born so prematurely. Otherwise, ??? and ??? would not have happened.' I'm not glad she came so early. I'm not thankful that she died when she did.
But...
If her death was inevitable no matter when she entered the world, then I am thankful for these two things.
1 - My friend, Beth, was able to be at the hospital to photograph Elliana's few hours of life. Beth is one of my dearest friends. And she's also a very gifted photographer. In the days preceding Elliana's birth, the doctors were saying that, all circumstances considered, they'd like to see her stay put until 34 weeks. At 34 weeks, they would probably have delivered her, just because the benefits outweighed the risks by that point. But at 34 weeks (tomorrow), Beth would have been out of town.
I'm thankful that Beth was here the night Elliana was born. She loved me so well. She wept with me. She gave me a collection of photos that I will cherish forever.
2 - Our friends, Jeremy and Gina, were also here. They were able to be a part of the most difficult time we have ever been through. They were able to weep with us. Jeremy was able to perform her funeral. They left for Japan 2 days ago. If we had made it to 34 weeks (tomorrow), they would have been gone. I know that they would have grieved with us from Japan had they not been here for her birth, but it helped to have them physically with us.
And I know that Jeremy and Gina are still grieving with us - loving us from across the world.
There are probably so many other ways that we have been loved well that are not coming to mind right now. I know God's ways are much higher than mine, and I can't even begin to see all that He has orchestrated to love us so well. And I'll confess: I live most of the time as if I don't want to see all that He has orchestrated. Because it is so incredibly difficult for me to reconcile these two truths - that He ordained this, and that He is good.
We are surrounded by family and friends who are loving us so well.
I can even see evidence of our Heavenly Father's love for us. Even though I'm beginning to wonder (in a somewhat angry sort of way) why in the world He did this.
Back to the family and friends...
Our families have been so supportive over the past several weeks. Several family members were able to meet Elliana. My sisters made sure she had something beautiful and warm to be buried in. They loved her so well, and in turn, loved me well.
My parents and siblings have taken care of our kids, fed them, and made sure their needs were met. Someone replaced several burned out light bulbs in our house. And someone even hung a new curtain in our kitchen. They cleaned my house and made my bedroom a sanctuary to come home to. They loved me well.
We have received so many sweet cards. It's such a thoughtful thing to do - to put a card in the mail. Someone wrote a poem for Elliana. Others have told us about how our little girl's short life has been a testimony to them. So many sweet cards. Even one from my brother's 11th grade class. So many people praying for us and letting us know that we're on their minds - they are loving us well.
On the day of Elliana's funeral, we were so grateful for all of the hugs. Friends from college - several friends who drove a distance - came to hug us and tell us how sorry they were. Teachers from Missy's school - last year's teachers, this year's teachers, and her principal. A few new friends - people I barely know - but who I'm certain have prayed for us. Some friends even signed their kids out of school early so they could come. Friends from church, friends from Bible study. A couple of friends who have buried a child of their own. We were loved well.
Several men gave up an afternoon of work to come and lead worship at the funeral. Some sacrificed quite a chunk of time to prepare and set up for it. Some went out of their way to make sure I had a discreetly placed piano to play. Some gave of their time to run sound. Others gave their time to watch our kids during the service. They loved us well.
And meals - so many meals. People have been cooking for us for weeks now. Friends down the street, friends and family who live hours away. They have gone out of their way to help by providing a meal - and let me tell you, it helps tremendously. Feeding our family - relieving this one daily chore several times throughout the week - is loving us well.
My sweet friend, Lisa, has asked, more than once, if she can bring us anything. In fact, a few people have offered to do that. Lisa brought over a gallon of Sunny D (Jason's version of 'orange juice') one night when we were completely out, and then played with a couple of our kids for a while. Loving us well.
And then, there are two particular ways I can see my Father's love for me in the timing of Elliana's birth. I'll probably never be able to say something like, 'I'm thankful that she was born so prematurely. Otherwise, ??? and ??? would not have happened.' I'm not glad she came so early. I'm not thankful that she died when she did.
But...
If her death was inevitable no matter when she entered the world, then I am thankful for these two things.
1 - My friend, Beth, was able to be at the hospital to photograph Elliana's few hours of life. Beth is one of my dearest friends. And she's also a very gifted photographer. In the days preceding Elliana's birth, the doctors were saying that, all circumstances considered, they'd like to see her stay put until 34 weeks. At 34 weeks, they would probably have delivered her, just because the benefits outweighed the risks by that point. But at 34 weeks (tomorrow), Beth would have been out of town.
I'm thankful that Beth was here the night Elliana was born. She loved me so well. She wept with me. She gave me a collection of photos that I will cherish forever.
2 - Our friends, Jeremy and Gina, were also here. They were able to be a part of the most difficult time we have ever been through. They were able to weep with us. Jeremy was able to perform her funeral. They left for Japan 2 days ago. If we had made it to 34 weeks (tomorrow), they would have been gone. I know that they would have grieved with us from Japan had they not been here for her birth, but it helped to have them physically with us.
And I know that Jeremy and Gina are still grieving with us - loving us from across the world.
There are probably so many other ways that we have been loved well that are not coming to mind right now. I know God's ways are much higher than mine, and I can't even begin to see all that He has orchestrated to love us so well. And I'll confess: I live most of the time as if I don't want to see all that He has orchestrated. Because it is so incredibly difficult for me to reconcile these two truths - that He ordained this, and that He is good.
Thursday, October 18, 2012
This must be what hell feels like.
Waking up and not being able to go back to sleep. Waking up from the sweet relief of sleep, and realizing that it really happened.
Feeling like each day is going to last an eternity.
A weight on my chest that just makes my whole being feel... heavy. And empty at the same time.
Facing the reality that the doctors were right. She only lived a couple of hours. And feeling like it was so foolish to get my hopes up that I'd have her in my arms for a few days. And downright stupid to think I'd get to bring her home.
I'm so tempted to sugar-coat this so that this doesn't turn into the most depressing post ever. But sugar-coating is not me. I've been completely honest for the past 3 months and 15 days. Why stop now?
Elliana is always at the front of my mind. And so many things strike me in unexpected ways and at unexpected times because of her.
Seth laid his head on my chest this morning and fell asleep. I remembered all of Elliana's 2 pounds and 11 ounces fitting in that same spot.
I walked downstairs and saw a basket full of clothes that don't fit Missy anymore. I thought about how Elliana would never get to wear them.
Levi is so much a 'big brother'. He can be so sweet with Seth and Missy. I would have loved to watch him with Elliana.
I filled out a book-it calendar for Elijah for the month of October. Writing in the dates of Elliana's birth and death, the 5th and 6th, made me cry.
My mom gives raindrop kisses to my kids. And I think about how she was only able to do that once with Elliana.
There are so many people she never got to meet. Cousins she won't get to grow up with.
I wish I knew if her belly button would have been an inny or an outy.
I wish I could see what her hair would look like in a year. Two years. Ten years. How long and beautifully blonde it would be.
I wish I could hold her again. I just want to hold her again.
I do think that this must be what hell feels like. Except that I know there's one big difference.
Hope.
I can't write a whole lot about hope right now. But I know it's somewhere in the months ahead of me.
Waking up and not being able to go back to sleep. Waking up from the sweet relief of sleep, and realizing that it really happened.
Feeling like each day is going to last an eternity.
A weight on my chest that just makes my whole being feel... heavy. And empty at the same time.
Facing the reality that the doctors were right. She only lived a couple of hours. And feeling like it was so foolish to get my hopes up that I'd have her in my arms for a few days. And downright stupid to think I'd get to bring her home.
I'm so tempted to sugar-coat this so that this doesn't turn into the most depressing post ever. But sugar-coating is not me. I've been completely honest for the past 3 months and 15 days. Why stop now?
Elliana is always at the front of my mind. And so many things strike me in unexpected ways and at unexpected times because of her.
Seth laid his head on my chest this morning and fell asleep. I remembered all of Elliana's 2 pounds and 11 ounces fitting in that same spot.
I walked downstairs and saw a basket full of clothes that don't fit Missy anymore. I thought about how Elliana would never get to wear them.
Levi is so much a 'big brother'. He can be so sweet with Seth and Missy. I would have loved to watch him with Elliana.
I filled out a book-it calendar for Elijah for the month of October. Writing in the dates of Elliana's birth and death, the 5th and 6th, made me cry.
My mom gives raindrop kisses to my kids. And I think about how she was only able to do that once with Elliana.
There are so many people she never got to meet. Cousins she won't get to grow up with.
I wish I knew if her belly button would have been an inny or an outy.
I wish I could see what her hair would look like in a year. Two years. Ten years. How long and beautifully blonde it would be.
I wish I could hold her again. I just want to hold her again.
I do think that this must be what hell feels like. Except that I know there's one big difference.
Hope.
I can't write a whole lot about hope right now. But I know it's somewhere in the months ahead of me.
Saturday, October 13, 2012
One Week
I wasn't even anticipating the 'one week' mark. Jason said something on Thursday night about 'dreading tomorrow'. I asked why. He said, 'She would have been one week old tomorrow.'
Yesterday, I found myself needing several things. I needed to go visit Elliana. I needed to remember the events of last Friday afternoon with as much detail as I could. I needed to think through the decision to go ahead with the c-section and try to convince myself it really was the right thing to do. I needed to linger on Seth's face and blonde hair a little longer than usual and wonder what his baby sister might look like right now, with a perfectly healthy little body in heaven.
And this one just feels silly - I needed to have chips, salsa, and cheese dip last night. That was our last meal together before our 'goodbye' began.
She was born at 10:56pm. Last night, by 11:15pm, I just needed to go to sleep. I couldn't relive her birth and the few hours following.
And today. Today just feels like it will drag on forever. But I don't want it to end either. Weird, I know.
One week ago, I didn't see how I'd ever be able to let her out of my arms. But I knew that I couldn't hold her forever. I knew that the 'goodbye' was inevitable. I knew that the funeral home man would come and take her tiny body.
I remember being desperate to savor every moment with her. Wanting to memorize everything about her. But I also remember being desperate for rest. And I couldn't rest while she was with me. I think my mommy-heart couldn't believe that she was really gone. I think in the back of my mind, I was sort of just waiting for her to wake up. Waiting for her to move. To breathe again.
The last thing I said to Jason before we went to sleep last night was, 'One week ago right now, she was alive. She was breathing.'
It helps to remember her life.
Yesterday, I found myself needing several things. I needed to go visit Elliana. I needed to remember the events of last Friday afternoon with as much detail as I could. I needed to think through the decision to go ahead with the c-section and try to convince myself it really was the right thing to do. I needed to linger on Seth's face and blonde hair a little longer than usual and wonder what his baby sister might look like right now, with a perfectly healthy little body in heaven.
And this one just feels silly - I needed to have chips, salsa, and cheese dip last night. That was our last meal together before our 'goodbye' began.
She was born at 10:56pm. Last night, by 11:15pm, I just needed to go to sleep. I couldn't relive her birth and the few hours following.
And today. Today just feels like it will drag on forever. But I don't want it to end either. Weird, I know.
One week ago, I didn't see how I'd ever be able to let her out of my arms. But I knew that I couldn't hold her forever. I knew that the 'goodbye' was inevitable. I knew that the funeral home man would come and take her tiny body.
I remember being desperate to savor every moment with her. Wanting to memorize everything about her. But I also remember being desperate for rest. And I couldn't rest while she was with me. I think my mommy-heart couldn't believe that she was really gone. I think in the back of my mind, I was sort of just waiting for her to wake up. Waiting for her to move. To breathe again.
The last thing I said to Jason before we went to sleep last night was, 'One week ago right now, she was alive. She was breathing.'
It helps to remember her life.
Friday, October 12, 2012
Her Daddy's Love
My husband is my hero right now.
Not the knight-in-shining-armor kind of hero.
He loved his Ella Belle in a way that I have not seen before - strong in a meek kind of way, gentle in a protective sort of way, doting in a way that I wish I could watch for years.
I'm pretty sure that Jason's Ella Belle knew his voice. When we'd crash on the couch after the other kids were in bed, she would start moving around a little bit more when he started talking. When he and I 'argued' over what to watch on tv, she kicked more when he talked about football.
We both think she would have been a tomboy. I might have been able to get some pink dresses on her for a while, but she'd have been in torn jeans and muddy t-shirts by the time she and Seth could have played together. :-)
Jason talked to her often. He kissed my belly. During ultrasounds, he was able to recognize body parts faster than me. He would ask the tech all kinds of questions. He prayed for her. He worried about her. He loved her.
When we had to say goodbye to her in the hospital, Jason was the one who took her from my arms and placed her so gently in a basket. A nurse didn't do it. The funeral home man didn't do it. Ella Belle's daddy did.
It took an immeasurable amount of love - for me and his Ella Belle - to do that.
On Monday, before we left the hospital, we had to finish filling out the information for her birth certificate. We had not been able to settle on one of her middle names. Jason did lots of searching after Elliana was born. He searched names and meanings of names. And finally, when it came down to the last minute and we had to pick something, Jason chose. He didn't choose something spiritual and Hebrew and pastor-ish. Which is basically what we've done with our other kids. He chose something French... and really girlie. 'Belle'. He chose it because it means 'beauty'. And he chose it because he likes the nickname 'Ella Belle'.
I agonized over who the pallbearers would be at the funeral. For days. And we were told we really only needed one person to carry her tiny casket. That felt awful. For one person to bear the weight of carrying her. I thought that it might not be quite so unbearable if two people carried her.
My dad and brothers - we couldn't ask them. Couldn't ask my dad to carry his granddaughter. Couldn't ask my brothers to carry their niece.
I thought of close friends, elders from our church. Anyone who could take this burden.
I agonized. Me. Just me.
Jason wasn't worrying about who was going to carry her. Jason was in a different kind of agony. A 'daddy' kind of agony. Loving his baby girl so much that he wanted to carry her one last time, even if it broke his heart all over again.
I wanted a back-up plan, just in case he changed his mind at the last minute. My sweet husband (somewhat reluctantly) did let his control-freak wife have a back-up plan.
But I think he knew we wouldn't need one.
At the end of the service, I watched Jason walk over to Elliana's casket and pick it up. It was probably the moment he felt his weakest as a daddy. But he showed more strength and love and sacrifice in that moment than I have ever seen. As awful as it was, there was beauty in that moment.
Our time with her was so short. It feels like we were robbed of a lifetime with her. But I think one of the things I will miss the most is watching this daddy love his Ella Belle.
Not the knight-in-shining-armor kind of hero.
He loved his Ella Belle in a way that I have not seen before - strong in a meek kind of way, gentle in a protective sort of way, doting in a way that I wish I could watch for years.
I'm pretty sure that Jason's Ella Belle knew his voice. When we'd crash on the couch after the other kids were in bed, she would start moving around a little bit more when he started talking. When he and I 'argued' over what to watch on tv, she kicked more when he talked about football.
We both think she would have been a tomboy. I might have been able to get some pink dresses on her for a while, but she'd have been in torn jeans and muddy t-shirts by the time she and Seth could have played together. :-)
Jason talked to her often. He kissed my belly. During ultrasounds, he was able to recognize body parts faster than me. He would ask the tech all kinds of questions. He prayed for her. He worried about her. He loved her.
When we had to say goodbye to her in the hospital, Jason was the one who took her from my arms and placed her so gently in a basket. A nurse didn't do it. The funeral home man didn't do it. Ella Belle's daddy did.
It took an immeasurable amount of love - for me and his Ella Belle - to do that.
On Monday, before we left the hospital, we had to finish filling out the information for her birth certificate. We had not been able to settle on one of her middle names. Jason did lots of searching after Elliana was born. He searched names and meanings of names. And finally, when it came down to the last minute and we had to pick something, Jason chose. He didn't choose something spiritual and Hebrew and pastor-ish. Which is basically what we've done with our other kids. He chose something French... and really girlie. 'Belle'. He chose it because it means 'beauty'. And he chose it because he likes the nickname 'Ella Belle'.
I agonized over who the pallbearers would be at the funeral. For days. And we were told we really only needed one person to carry her tiny casket. That felt awful. For one person to bear the weight of carrying her. I thought that it might not be quite so unbearable if two people carried her.
My dad and brothers - we couldn't ask them. Couldn't ask my dad to carry his granddaughter. Couldn't ask my brothers to carry their niece.
I thought of close friends, elders from our church. Anyone who could take this burden.
I agonized. Me. Just me.
Jason wasn't worrying about who was going to carry her. Jason was in a different kind of agony. A 'daddy' kind of agony. Loving his baby girl so much that he wanted to carry her one last time, even if it broke his heart all over again.
I wanted a back-up plan, just in case he changed his mind at the last minute. My sweet husband (somewhat reluctantly) did let his control-freak wife have a back-up plan.
But I think he knew we wouldn't need one.
At the end of the service, I watched Jason walk over to Elliana's casket and pick it up. It was probably the moment he felt his weakest as a daddy. But he showed more strength and love and sacrifice in that moment than I have ever seen. As awful as it was, there was beauty in that moment.
Our time with her was so short. It feels like we were robbed of a lifetime with her. But I think one of the things I will miss the most is watching this daddy love his Ella Belle.
Thursday, October 11, 2012
Her Mama's Love
I played the piano at my daughter's funeral.
That feels a little bit weird.
But it wasn't weird - it was the only thing I could do. My brain could not form words to speak anything at the service. And my heart would definitely not have been able to contain the emotion that would have spilled over if I had tried.
So I played the piano. It's the only language I know that can communicate what's in my soul.
I can not describe with words what music does for me. Or in me. When we walked into the service yesterday, and walked down the aisle towards where our daughter lay, some of my favorite acoustic guitarists were playing. I wasn't expecting that. But oh, how I needed it. It brought peace to my soul. It was one of the most heartbreaking moments of my week, and the sound that filled the room made it feel not quite so... empty. Or awful. Or like death.
The music made that moment tolerable. Even beautiful in some ways. It helped me breathe.
We sang four songs during the service, and I played with the band during three of them. Like I said, it feels a little bit weird.
But I needed it. I so needed it.
It was the only way I could communicate my love, my grief, my sorrow. And it was one of the only ways I could 'hear' hope.
I heard our friend, Jeremy, who reminded us of the Gospel yesterday.
And I could hear the promises of life and hope in the songs that we played and sang.
My sweet Elliana may not have heard me play as many times as I would have liked while in the womb. But I know she heard me yesterday, from the lap of her Savior. She heard her mama's love yesterday.
That feels a little bit weird.
But it wasn't weird - it was the only thing I could do. My brain could not form words to speak anything at the service. And my heart would definitely not have been able to contain the emotion that would have spilled over if I had tried.
So I played the piano. It's the only language I know that can communicate what's in my soul.
I can not describe with words what music does for me. Or in me. When we walked into the service yesterday, and walked down the aisle towards where our daughter lay, some of my favorite acoustic guitarists were playing. I wasn't expecting that. But oh, how I needed it. It brought peace to my soul. It was one of the most heartbreaking moments of my week, and the sound that filled the room made it feel not quite so... empty. Or awful. Or like death.
The music made that moment tolerable. Even beautiful in some ways. It helped me breathe.
We sang four songs during the service, and I played with the band during three of them. Like I said, it feels a little bit weird.
But I needed it. I so needed it.
It was the only way I could communicate my love, my grief, my sorrow. And it was one of the only ways I could 'hear' hope.
I heard our friend, Jeremy, who reminded us of the Gospel yesterday.
And I could hear the promises of life and hope in the songs that we played and sang.
My sweet Elliana may not have heard me play as many times as I would have liked while in the womb. But I know she heard me yesterday, from the lap of her Savior. She heard her mama's love yesterday.
Wednesday, October 10, 2012
My Heart
A piece of my heart is buried underground about 20 minutes from here.
And all I can think about is how cold it's going to get tonight. And how she is all alone there.
Her sweet aunties picked out a warm blanket and sewed it to be just her size. They gave the funeral home specific instructions on how to wrap her up in the blanket - just so I wouldn't worry about her being cold.
I know that she is not really there. I know she's safe. She's whole. She's not struggling to breathe anymore. Levi's sweetest words today - 'Jesus is keeping her safe.'
Even though I know these things, it's taking every rational part of my being to fight the 'mommy' urge in me to just get in the car and go to be with her.
And today, when she would have been 5 days old, my body physically longs for her. Aches for her. And there is no relief from it until I return to my pre-pregnant, pre-baby state.
When I close my eyes, I can still feel the weight of her laying on my chest.
I can feel the softness of her hair under my fingers.
And I can hear her trying to breathe.
Her blanket still smells like her.
I miss her so much. And I wonder if my heart will ever feel whole again.
And all I can think about is how cold it's going to get tonight. And how she is all alone there.
Her sweet aunties picked out a warm blanket and sewed it to be just her size. They gave the funeral home specific instructions on how to wrap her up in the blanket - just so I wouldn't worry about her being cold.
I know that she is not really there. I know she's safe. She's whole. She's not struggling to breathe anymore. Levi's sweetest words today - 'Jesus is keeping her safe.'
Even though I know these things, it's taking every rational part of my being to fight the 'mommy' urge in me to just get in the car and go to be with her.
And today, when she would have been 5 days old, my body physically longs for her. Aches for her. And there is no relief from it until I return to my pre-pregnant, pre-baby state.
When I close my eyes, I can still feel the weight of her laying on my chest.
I can feel the softness of her hair under my fingers.
And I can hear her trying to breathe.
Her blanket still smells like her.
I miss her so much. And I wonder if my heart will ever feel whole again.
Tuesday, October 9, 2012
Tomorrow
Tomorrow, I will see my little girl one last time, attend a service in her honor, and bury her. In some ways, I just want the day to be over. But in so many other ways, I don't want tomorrow to come at all.
Through several pregnancies now, my prayer through the first 20 weeks has been that God would let me carry the baby in my womb long enough to hold him or her before I had to say goodbye. And now I wonder if that was a mistake. If I never should have asked for that. Maybe Elliana would have been perfectly healthy if I'd never asked. But I did. And God answered me. Now I think it's more than I can bear.
One full week of my life was just spent in a hospital bed. It feels surreal. It was like a different life. I had no children (outside of the womb) to take care of. I enjoyed visits with friends and had conversations that were completely uninterrupted by kids. All of my meals were brought to me in bed. I watched the entire first season of Downton Abbey. Conversation about Elliana was common - nobody was afraid to bring her up or ask about her. The whole week was about her. Keeping her healthy and safe.
In a matter hours, everything changed. Friday afternoon, I was talking about what life might be like with a NICU baby. Hours later, the NICU doctor was leaning around the curtain that separated Jason and I from the doctor who was closing my incision, telling us that she'd tried as much as she could, but Elliana's heart rate kept dropping.
A week lived almost in another world.
As we drove back into Lexington yesterday, and as we got on the highway this morning to make arrangements at the cemetery, it struck me how 'normal' everything was. People still driving to work. People still going through the McDonald's drive-thru. People still getting ticked off at other drivers.
Pregnant moms still... pregnant.
I feel like I'm moving in slow motion - my entire world has changed. Yet the world around me keeps moving as if nothing has changed. As if everything is the same. But it is so not the same. Not the same at all.
Through several pregnancies now, my prayer through the first 20 weeks has been that God would let me carry the baby in my womb long enough to hold him or her before I had to say goodbye. And now I wonder if that was a mistake. If I never should have asked for that. Maybe Elliana would have been perfectly healthy if I'd never asked. But I did. And God answered me. Now I think it's more than I can bear.
One full week of my life was just spent in a hospital bed. It feels surreal. It was like a different life. I had no children (outside of the womb) to take care of. I enjoyed visits with friends and had conversations that were completely uninterrupted by kids. All of my meals were brought to me in bed. I watched the entire first season of Downton Abbey. Conversation about Elliana was common - nobody was afraid to bring her up or ask about her. The whole week was about her. Keeping her healthy and safe.
In a matter hours, everything changed. Friday afternoon, I was talking about what life might be like with a NICU baby. Hours later, the NICU doctor was leaning around the curtain that separated Jason and I from the doctor who was closing my incision, telling us that she'd tried as much as she could, but Elliana's heart rate kept dropping.
A week lived almost in another world.
As we drove back into Lexington yesterday, and as we got on the highway this morning to make arrangements at the cemetery, it struck me how 'normal' everything was. People still driving to work. People still going through the McDonald's drive-thru. People still getting ticked off at other drivers.
Pregnant moms still... pregnant.
I feel like I'm moving in slow motion - my entire world has changed. Yet the world around me keeps moving as if nothing has changed. As if everything is the same. But it is so not the same. Not the same at all.
Monday, October 8, 2012
Plans
I've GOT to blog/journal soon. Just don't have the energy for it right now. I know it'll help - once I can do it.
We finished planning Elliana's funeral today. This is, by far, the worst thing I've ever had to do.
The 'funeral' (worship service) is this Wednesday, October 10 at 2pm at Meadowview Presbyterian Church in Lexington, NC. Her burial following the service will be private.
We'd love to see friends before the service - we'll be at Meadowview from 12:45-1:45 that day, ready to receive lots of hugs.
All of our children have 4 names. (Poor kids.) We've had 'Elliana ??? Mackenzie Lindegren' for months. We just couldn't decide on that other middle name.
Jason picked it today. 'Belle' means 'beauty'. His daddy's heart has nicknamed her Ella Belle.
We finished planning Elliana's funeral today. This is, by far, the worst thing I've ever had to do.
The 'funeral' (worship service) is this Wednesday, October 10 at 2pm at Meadowview Presbyterian Church in Lexington, NC. Her burial following the service will be private.
We'd love to see friends before the service - we'll be at Meadowview from 12:45-1:45 that day, ready to receive lots of hugs.
All of our children have 4 names. (Poor kids.) We've had 'Elliana ??? Mackenzie Lindegren' for months. We just couldn't decide on that other middle name.
Jason picked it today. 'Belle' means 'beauty'. His daddy's heart has nicknamed her Ella Belle.
Saturday, October 6, 2012
31 weeks, 6 days - Elliana '?' Mackenzie Lindegren
There's an empty space on my chest. It feels heavy, and even a little warm - it's where my sweet Elliana has been laying on me today.
Short story now - longer version may follow later.
With some concern about frequent dips in Elliana's heartrate, my doctors recommendation was to go ahead and deliver her.
She was born by c-section at 10:56pm last night. She tried to breath on her own for a short while. Once she stopped breathing, her heart continued to beat for a while.
She went on into the arms of Jesus about 2:15 this morning. And all I can say right now is... I miss her so terribly. My baby girl, my sweet Elliana - I miss her so much. This feels impossible.
Short story now - longer version may follow later.
With some concern about frequent dips in Elliana's heartrate, my doctors recommendation was to go ahead and deliver her.
She was born by c-section at 10:56pm last night. She tried to breath on her own for a short while. Once she stopped breathing, her heart continued to beat for a while.
She went on into the arms of Jesus about 2:15 this morning. And all I can say right now is... I miss her so terribly. My baby girl, my sweet Elliana - I miss her so much. This feels impossible.
Thursday, October 4, 2012
31 weeks, 4 days - My Babies
*The medical update: Still having contractions. I'll have them for a period of time about 2 minutes apart. Then they stop. Then for a while longer at 5 minutes apart. Enough to keep me within these 4 walls. :-( I don't think I posted that we decided to go ahead with a steroid treatment that will help Elliana's lung development - it was 2 shots, 24 hours apart. As of 6pm this evening, the steroids are doing their best work and will continue to help her for the next couple of weeks. The downside to that - I've experienced a couple side effects from the steroids. Nothing awful, but my cheeks were BEET RED for a while, and I was short of breath for most of the afternoon today. Most of it seems to have subsided.
On to my babies...
I haven't seen my kiddos since Monday night, and I'm really missing them. Levi and Elijah have both had a stomach bug the last couple of days, so they really can't come see me right now. Can't risk bringing the germs near all the mommies and babies here at the hospital. But I miss them. I got to talk to 3 of them on the phone tonight, and by the time I got to Seth, it took everything I had to not sob through our 'conversation'. Both Levi and Elijah asked me when I was coming home. Elijah accepted my 'I really don't know, Honey' pretty well, but Levi actually suggested days that I should come back. 'When are you coming home, Mommy? Friday? Sunday?' I told him maybe he could come see me on Saturday, and now I'm afraid he'll pester Jason to death about Saturday. Missy was already in bed - hoping to hear her sweet little voice tomorrow.
It's so hard to be here, knowing that it's best for me and Elliana, but knowing that my other babies are so far away. And I can't do anything for them. I know they are well taken care of. My mom and hubby are doing great and loving them well. But I miss their smiles, their laughs, even their mischief. And even Seth following me around, begging for 'Up, pees!' as I try to go to the bathroom without him hanging onto my legs. That never works, by the way.
And my other baby - the one here with me. Her heartbeat has been like music in the background most of the day. When she starts squirming around, the monitor makes this weird noise, and that's not quite as musical. :-) But she's had a quiet day - not moving around as much. She was busier yesterday. I think she must have worn herself out.
I realized this evening that all of this time here in the hospital without the 'music' of my other children in the background is giving me more time to focus just on Elliana. My ear tunes into the monitor when I shift positions in bed and 'lose' her heartbeat. I'm aware of how often she kicks these probe thingies on my tummy, and I wish that I could just take them off and feel her with my hand. I have more pictures of her from ultrasounds this week - the tech printed out about ten 3D/4D pics for me, so now I'm getting to study her face. She reminds me so much of Seth.
I'm so torn. I want so much to enjoy her now, but I'm so afraid of getting even more attached to her. I don't want to struggle with that. But I do. The more I know her and enjoy her and feel her, the harder it will be to say goodbye to her... IF we have to say goodbye. Talking with those neonatalogists was wonderful - the best medical conversations we've had in the past 3 months. But dadgum-it, they gave me hope. Hope, because the things they've read in her ultrasound reports don't look immediately life-threatening. Hope that they can help her. Hope that they may just need to keep her for a few weeks, and then maybe we could take her home. Hope that I'll have time to mommy her. They made no guarantees, by any means, but these are the doctors who treat newborns every day. And they seem to think that we can't make any judgments about how she'll do until her body is forced to work on its own, and not depend on me anymore.
A friend asked me if being in this situation made me wish that I could just stay pregnant forever. Yes. If it meant life for Elliana, I think I would stay pregnant forever.
On to my babies...
I haven't seen my kiddos since Monday night, and I'm really missing them. Levi and Elijah have both had a stomach bug the last couple of days, so they really can't come see me right now. Can't risk bringing the germs near all the mommies and babies here at the hospital. But I miss them. I got to talk to 3 of them on the phone tonight, and by the time I got to Seth, it took everything I had to not sob through our 'conversation'. Both Levi and Elijah asked me when I was coming home. Elijah accepted my 'I really don't know, Honey' pretty well, but Levi actually suggested days that I should come back. 'When are you coming home, Mommy? Friday? Sunday?' I told him maybe he could come see me on Saturday, and now I'm afraid he'll pester Jason to death about Saturday. Missy was already in bed - hoping to hear her sweet little voice tomorrow.
It's so hard to be here, knowing that it's best for me and Elliana, but knowing that my other babies are so far away. And I can't do anything for them. I know they are well taken care of. My mom and hubby are doing great and loving them well. But I miss their smiles, their laughs, even their mischief. And even Seth following me around, begging for 'Up, pees!' as I try to go to the bathroom without him hanging onto my legs. That never works, by the way.
And my other baby - the one here with me. Her heartbeat has been like music in the background most of the day. When she starts squirming around, the monitor makes this weird noise, and that's not quite as musical. :-) But she's had a quiet day - not moving around as much. She was busier yesterday. I think she must have worn herself out.
I realized this evening that all of this time here in the hospital without the 'music' of my other children in the background is giving me more time to focus just on Elliana. My ear tunes into the monitor when I shift positions in bed and 'lose' her heartbeat. I'm aware of how often she kicks these probe thingies on my tummy, and I wish that I could just take them off and feel her with my hand. I have more pictures of her from ultrasounds this week - the tech printed out about ten 3D/4D pics for me, so now I'm getting to study her face. She reminds me so much of Seth.
I'm so torn. I want so much to enjoy her now, but I'm so afraid of getting even more attached to her. I don't want to struggle with that. But I do. The more I know her and enjoy her and feel her, the harder it will be to say goodbye to her... IF we have to say goodbye. Talking with those neonatalogists was wonderful - the best medical conversations we've had in the past 3 months. But dadgum-it, they gave me hope. Hope, because the things they've read in her ultrasound reports don't look immediately life-threatening. Hope that they can help her. Hope that they may just need to keep her for a few weeks, and then maybe we could take her home. Hope that I'll have time to mommy her. They made no guarantees, by any means, but these are the doctors who treat newborns every day. And they seem to think that we can't make any judgments about how she'll do until her body is forced to work on its own, and not depend on me anymore.
A friend asked me if being in this situation made me wish that I could just stay pregnant forever. Yes. If it meant life for Elliana, I think I would stay pregnant forever.
Wednesday, October 3, 2012
31 weeks, 3 days
I'm still in the hospital. And as of this moment, there's no light at the end of the tunnel. I'm here until either contractions and leaking stop, or Elliana is born. Every time I make a comment about 'if I'm still here in a couple days', the nurses look at me like, 'Really?' They all seem to believe I'm here for the long haul. Yippee. I miss home - my husband and kids - and sleeping in my own bed. But I think I've finally come to accept that this really is best for Elliana. And me. We don't want to increase the risk of infection to either of us, and the best place for them to keep a close eye on both of us is here. And the best place to watch for the onset of pre-term labor is here. So... here we are.
The nurses - there are a couple who are quickly becoming like friends. Some have walked into my room, asked me how I'm doing, and when I burst into tears, they sit down beside me and get all teary-eyed with me. Even one of the midwives who makes regular rounds for the doctors has been openly moved in talking with us about having as much time with Elliana as we possibly can. A couple of the nurses just try to make me laugh. And one even brought me my favorite Starbucks drink this morning.
I have a distinct memory from September 17, 2009. It was the day our twins were delivered at 12 weeks gestation. I was so angry with God - couldn't speak to Him, couldn't even acknowledge Him. But I knew that I was safe - I knew that my salvation didn't depend on how much I was trusting my Savior at that moment. I knew that His grace was enough when I couldn't speak to Him.
But there came a point in the hospital that day that Jason could not be with me - they wouldn't allow him into the surgery prep area. I panicked - I couldn't bear the thought of being alone right before this awful surgery. I couldn't stop crying. I still knew that I was safe - that Jesus had me, but that wasn't what I wanted. I didn't care about being safe. I didn't want to be alone. I wanted - needed - Jason to be with me, and he couldn't. I was alone. And I was so angry with God that I couldn't ask for or acknowledge His presence.
But...
The last thing I remember before that surgery is this: one nurse putting meds into my IV, one nurse holding my hand, and one nurse wiping my tears.
I couldn't see it at the time - not for days. But those nurses were Jesus to me at that moment. Even when I couldn't ask for His help, He still came.
There's a part of me that does not want to admit this, but I know... even though I haven't asked... He's been here the past few days. He does hurt with me. He is sovereign over all of this. I just can't see how right now.
Enough with the deep thinking. For tonight anyway.
They won't give you a glass of wine in the hospital, but they will give you benedryl. Yay for sleep. :-)
The nurses - there are a couple who are quickly becoming like friends. Some have walked into my room, asked me how I'm doing, and when I burst into tears, they sit down beside me and get all teary-eyed with me. Even one of the midwives who makes regular rounds for the doctors has been openly moved in talking with us about having as much time with Elliana as we possibly can. A couple of the nurses just try to make me laugh. And one even brought me my favorite Starbucks drink this morning.
I have a distinct memory from September 17, 2009. It was the day our twins were delivered at 12 weeks gestation. I was so angry with God - couldn't speak to Him, couldn't even acknowledge Him. But I knew that I was safe - I knew that my salvation didn't depend on how much I was trusting my Savior at that moment. I knew that His grace was enough when I couldn't speak to Him.
But there came a point in the hospital that day that Jason could not be with me - they wouldn't allow him into the surgery prep area. I panicked - I couldn't bear the thought of being alone right before this awful surgery. I couldn't stop crying. I still knew that I was safe - that Jesus had me, but that wasn't what I wanted. I didn't care about being safe. I didn't want to be alone. I wanted - needed - Jason to be with me, and he couldn't. I was alone. And I was so angry with God that I couldn't ask for or acknowledge His presence.
But...
The last thing I remember before that surgery is this: one nurse putting meds into my IV, one nurse holding my hand, and one nurse wiping my tears.
I couldn't see it at the time - not for days. But those nurses were Jesus to me at that moment. Even when I couldn't ask for His help, He still came.
There's a part of me that does not want to admit this, but I know... even though I haven't asked... He's been here the past few days. He does hurt with me. He is sovereign over all of this. I just can't see how right now.
Enough with the deep thinking. For tonight anyway.
They won't give you a glass of wine in the hospital, but they will give you benedryl. Yay for sleep. :-)
Monday, October 1, 2012
31 weeks, 1 day
Quick update - I'm still in the hospital, and it looks like I'll go home tomorrow evening. The goal is to get a full 48 hours of IV antibiotics in me - leaking fluid puts Little Miss and me at risk for infection. Once I get home, I won't be on bedrest, but I'm supposed to limit my activity (umm... right), refrain from picking up anything over 25 lbs (which includes Seth), stop any activity that causes contractions, and watch for signs of infection. We really want Elliana to stay put until at least 34 weeks (which would be October 21), but it's still a little unclear to me what happens once we get to 34 weeks.
At this moment, I'm hooked up to two monitors - one for Elliana's heartbeat, and one for contractions. Elliana likes to kick the probes.:-)
It's been such a long day. I've lost track of how many doctors I've seen. The day is just a one big long string of nurses, doctors, consults, IV's, monitors. The nurses have been so kind - so thoughtful and understanding. They've treated me like I'm their only patient. The doctors have been helpful in making decisions about how to proceed over the next several weeks.
We've spoken with two neonatalogists in the past 24 hours - I so wish that they had been among the first of the physicians we'd consulted with after receiving Elliana's diagnosis. After speaking with them, I feel like I know what to expect in the minutes and hours after her birth. I know what they consider 'normal interventions' for preemies and what they consider 'heroic measures'. And now I know - they're on my side. They want Elliana to live. They want us to be able to take her home. They are for her.
There has been no shortage of tears today. At times just because I was overwhelmed with all of the information. Other times because I'd remember that just around the corner and down another hallway are lots of happy mommies and healthy babies. And other times, because someone was just going about their job, not really thinking about the patient they were speaking to.
I *think* tomorrow will be a quieter day. In some ways, I'm glad for that - I'm not sure my brain could handle much more information. In other ways, it scares me - 'quiet' gives me time to think, and most of the time, thinking leads to tears.
Earlier today, I caught up on reading some blog comments. One comment completely caught me off guard. This sweet girl, who I've never actually met, lost her 2 month old son a little over a year ago. And I commented on her blog. She reminded me of what I wrote to her...
"You are free to feel however you need to feel - angry, sad, confused, livid, questioning everything, struggling with hope or faith. It's ok. Your Father's love for you won't change. Don't feel like you need to put on a face for anyone - it's ok if you don't feel that Christian 'joy' for a while. And Jesus' reputation is not at stake - your struggling and/or grieving is not going to ruin Jesus' reputation - He can handle it. And when you're wondering if you even have any faith at all, just remember that there are lots of people who love you - and they have faith FOR you right now. You will probably never know the answers to the 'whys'. But there is something you can be completely certain of - Matthew was created for a purpose. A specific purpose - God made him for a reason. And that purpose is being fulfilled RIGHT NOW. His life and death were NOT for the sole purpose of teaching you some valuable lesson, although losing him will change you forever. Matthew is doing exactly what he was created to do - at this very moment."
Somewhere in the recesses of my soul, I know this truth is still there. Just can't see it in these circumstances. Yet.
At this moment, I'm hooked up to two monitors - one for Elliana's heartbeat, and one for contractions. Elliana likes to kick the probes.:-)
It's been such a long day. I've lost track of how many doctors I've seen. The day is just a one big long string of nurses, doctors, consults, IV's, monitors. The nurses have been so kind - so thoughtful and understanding. They've treated me like I'm their only patient. The doctors have been helpful in making decisions about how to proceed over the next several weeks.
We've spoken with two neonatalogists in the past 24 hours - I so wish that they had been among the first of the physicians we'd consulted with after receiving Elliana's diagnosis. After speaking with them, I feel like I know what to expect in the minutes and hours after her birth. I know what they consider 'normal interventions' for preemies and what they consider 'heroic measures'. And now I know - they're on my side. They want Elliana to live. They want us to be able to take her home. They are for her.
There has been no shortage of tears today. At times just because I was overwhelmed with all of the information. Other times because I'd remember that just around the corner and down another hallway are lots of happy mommies and healthy babies. And other times, because someone was just going about their job, not really thinking about the patient they were speaking to.
I *think* tomorrow will be a quieter day. In some ways, I'm glad for that - I'm not sure my brain could handle much more information. In other ways, it scares me - 'quiet' gives me time to think, and most of the time, thinking leads to tears.
Earlier today, I caught up on reading some blog comments. One comment completely caught me off guard. This sweet girl, who I've never actually met, lost her 2 month old son a little over a year ago. And I commented on her blog. She reminded me of what I wrote to her...
"You are free to feel however you need to feel - angry, sad, confused, livid, questioning everything, struggling with hope or faith. It's ok. Your Father's love for you won't change. Don't feel like you need to put on a face for anyone - it's ok if you don't feel that Christian 'joy' for a while. And Jesus' reputation is not at stake - your struggling and/or grieving is not going to ruin Jesus' reputation - He can handle it. And when you're wondering if you even have any faith at all, just remember that there are lots of people who love you - and they have faith FOR you right now. You will probably never know the answers to the 'whys'. But there is something you can be completely certain of - Matthew was created for a purpose. A specific purpose - God made him for a reason. And that purpose is being fulfilled RIGHT NOW. His life and death were NOT for the sole purpose of teaching you some valuable lesson, although losing him will change you forever. Matthew is doing exactly what he was created to do - at this very moment."
Somewhere in the recesses of my soul, I know this truth is still there. Just can't see it in these circumstances. Yet.
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