A year ago today, she made her presence known in the form of 2 pink lines on the pregnancy test.
I still remember standing in our driveway, watching chaos drive around on bicycles, tricycles, and scooters, thinking, 'Wow. Another one. Five kids. Wow. Oh my WORD, what are we going to DO???'
Sometimes I wonder - maybe if I'd been only happy and elated, and if there had been no shadow of doubt or fear about handling 5 kids, maybe none of this would have happened. Maybe she'd still be here.
Fast forward one year, almost to the day. One year later, and instead of taking Elliana for a 6-month check-up, I'm going to talk to a doctor about why she died. Tomorrow, I'm supposed to go see one of the neonatologists we talked to during that week I spent in the hospital - one of the doctors who was going to do everything he could to help Elliana, if he'd been present at her delivery. He wasn't there - a different neonatologist was on call that weekend.
I just want to ask some questions. I just want to hear, from a man who sees preemies every day, that there really was nothing more we could have done. I just want to know that we didn't make all the wrong decisions.
Wednesday, March 27, 2013
Sunday, March 17, 2013
If
If I could re-live any part of my life, it would be the hours I had with Elliana laying on my chest.
And if I could do something different, I would have had Elijah, Levi, Missy, and Seth come to the hospital, even though it was so late at night. I wish I had a picture of the 5 of them together.
But then... I wonder. If they had come to the hospital, would this be harder on them?
So many if's.
If I had prayed differently, maybe she wouldn't have had Tetrasomy 9p.
If I'd had more faith, maybe God would have spared her.
If we had waited a little longer, maybe her heart rate would have stabilized and tolerated contractions better.
If I had let her stay skin-to-skin on my chest longer, even though I couldn't see her very well, maybe she would have had a few more hours of life.
If we had told the neonatologist to keep trying, and start CPR, maybe she would still be alive.
So many if's. And no answers.
I'd really like to throw something. Break something. Shatter something.
And if I could do something different, I would have had Elijah, Levi, Missy, and Seth come to the hospital, even though it was so late at night. I wish I had a picture of the 5 of them together.
But then... I wonder. If they had come to the hospital, would this be harder on them?
So many if's.
If I had prayed differently, maybe she wouldn't have had Tetrasomy 9p.
If I'd had more faith, maybe God would have spared her.
If we had waited a little longer, maybe her heart rate would have stabilized and tolerated contractions better.
If I had let her stay skin-to-skin on my chest longer, even though I couldn't see her very well, maybe she would have had a few more hours of life.
If we had told the neonatologist to keep trying, and start CPR, maybe she would still be alive.
So many if's. And no answers.
I'd really like to throw something. Break something. Shatter something.
Friday, March 15, 2013
Still
I am still Elliana's mother.
Someone said that to me today, and it helped me to hear it.
I knew her. I knew that she wasn't particularly fond of ultrasounds. She was really camera-shy - she refused to give us a good clear shot of her face right up until the week she was born. And she had plenty of camera time between July 3 and October 5.
She was active. I had hoped that meant she was a fighter.
She liked football. :-)
She was the pickiest 'eater' EVER. I remember trying Thai food for the first time on my mom's birthday last year, June 3, 2012. I absolutely loved it. So when I was craving it a week later, my sweet husband drove me (AND the kids) to a Thai restaurant 30 minutes away so we could get take-out. (Because who in their right mind would take 4 kids into a Thai restaurant?) We got home, put the kids to bed, and I dove into my plate of Pad Thai.
It tasted awful. I hated it.
That happened a lot during Elliana's life. She did a number on my appetite.
It took me F - O - R - E - V - E - R to figure out what I wanted to eat. Every. Single. Meal.
Little stinker. :-)
I loved her so much. I love her still.
My role as 'mom' didn't stop when her body no longer had life. My longing to take care of her didn't go away when she left my arms.
She knew my heartbeat. She knew my voice.
She knew when I was trying to get her to 'play' with me.
I miss her.
I'm still her mom.
Saturday, March 9, 2013
The Dream, the Babies, the Truck, and the Letter
Several hard days this week. Yesterday was better. Today... how do I describe today?
My day began with a dream about Elliana. I don't have a whole lot of dreams about her, but when I do, they have some similarities. Not sure I want to write about the specifics right now. But those dreams are the kind that put you in a disoriented state of mind. It felt so real. She felt real - in my dream. The end of my dream was just a repeat of the same scene over and over and over again - like I couldn't get out of it.
Seth rescued me. At 6am. Calling for his daddy. Although I was not wild about being awakened at the crack of dawn, I was grateful to him for waking me up from that awful place of being stuck. Like a record skipping repeatedly.
The dream left me feeling like Elliana had been with me just moments earlier. As if I'd been able to touch her and feel her just minutes ago. Not 5 months and 4 days ago. It was so disorienting that when I got out of bed and walked to Seth's room, I had to put my hand on my tummy to remind myself that she wasn't there.
Dreams like that just set a tone for the day, don't they? Like when you dream that your husband was a big jerk, you're mad at him all day, right?
Then there were baby girls at Levi's soccer practice. No baby boys. Just baby girls.
I'm not delusional (well, I guess I could be?). I realize that I will see babies every day. Babies are a part of life. And that's a good thing. But I don't go that many places. I don't see that many people. And it seems like the majority of the places I do go, and the majority of the people I do see, have baby girls. They're everywhere.
Still 'recovering' from that dream made seeing those baby girls that much harder.
And on the way home from soccer practice, I got behind a truck whose logo read '_______ Casket Company'. I have never, ever, in my entire life, EVER seen a truck with the name of a casket company plastered all over it. Like an advertisement. I know everyone has to make a living, but it just.feels.so.wrong.
The casket truck was headed into town. In the general direction of the funeral home we used.
A flood of memories washed over me.
I'm not angry about any of those things. I don't resent the dream, the baby girls, or the casket company. It just feels like some days are 'set up' to be especially difficult.
This afternoon, Elijah checked the mail and brought it to me. There was a letter from one of the ladies who was part of my regular medical care between July 3 and October 5. I was really surprised to get a letter from her - I'd be surprised to get a letter from any of the medical personnel who saw us during those months. It's not like we were super friendly and outgoing. I wasn't a fun patient. I cried a lot.
It was such a precious letter. It made me cry - the good kind of cry, if there is such a thing under these circumstances. I think I need to share part of it. I hope she doesn't mind. :-)
"I came to know you and your husband during a very difficult time in your life. You may have thought of me as someone who helped to deliver bad news. During your pregnancy I learned about your blog, and I want you to know how much that changed me. I have been {________} for 12 years, and while working nights in acute care for [the majority of those years], I had lost some passion for my job. Last year, I made the move to [name of doctor's office]. That move and reading your blog restored the passion for me. We see patients over and over but never truly understand what a patient goes through after they leave our department with very sad news. We can assume, but never really know. Your blog about Elliana helped me understand a little more what goes through a patient's mind after they leave my room. I know I can never truly understand what this journey has been like for you, but I want you to know that you, Elliana, your family, and your blog have helped create a deeper understanding about other patients' experiences."
"I had read in your blog that you wanted Elliana's life to mean something so I want you to know how I have been affected in a very positive way. Even though you and your family are deeply saddened by your loss, I am very grateful that I met you and Elliana. I hope this helps even just a little bit."
YES. It helps. Thank you, A. We are so grateful to have met you. Thank you for writing me. Thank you for caring about us. And A, you should know that I wrote a letter to the hospital (the Comfort Committee maybe?) *just yesterday*, telling them about all of the things they did well. You were part of that letter. You cared for us well. You helped me enjoy my baby girl. Thank you.
My day began with a dream about Elliana. I don't have a whole lot of dreams about her, but when I do, they have some similarities. Not sure I want to write about the specifics right now. But those dreams are the kind that put you in a disoriented state of mind. It felt so real. She felt real - in my dream. The end of my dream was just a repeat of the same scene over and over and over again - like I couldn't get out of it.
Seth rescued me. At 6am. Calling for his daddy. Although I was not wild about being awakened at the crack of dawn, I was grateful to him for waking me up from that awful place of being stuck. Like a record skipping repeatedly.
The dream left me feeling like Elliana had been with me just moments earlier. As if I'd been able to touch her and feel her just minutes ago. Not 5 months and 4 days ago. It was so disorienting that when I got out of bed and walked to Seth's room, I had to put my hand on my tummy to remind myself that she wasn't there.
Dreams like that just set a tone for the day, don't they? Like when you dream that your husband was a big jerk, you're mad at him all day, right?
Then there were baby girls at Levi's soccer practice. No baby boys. Just baby girls.
I'm not delusional (well, I guess I could be?). I realize that I will see babies every day. Babies are a part of life. And that's a good thing. But I don't go that many places. I don't see that many people. And it seems like the majority of the places I do go, and the majority of the people I do see, have baby girls. They're everywhere.
Still 'recovering' from that dream made seeing those baby girls that much harder.
And on the way home from soccer practice, I got behind a truck whose logo read '_______ Casket Company'. I have never, ever, in my entire life, EVER seen a truck with the name of a casket company plastered all over it. Like an advertisement. I know everyone has to make a living, but it just.feels.so.wrong.
The casket truck was headed into town. In the general direction of the funeral home we used.
A flood of memories washed over me.
I'm not angry about any of those things. I don't resent the dream, the baby girls, or the casket company. It just feels like some days are 'set up' to be especially difficult.
This afternoon, Elijah checked the mail and brought it to me. There was a letter from one of the ladies who was part of my regular medical care between July 3 and October 5. I was really surprised to get a letter from her - I'd be surprised to get a letter from any of the medical personnel who saw us during those months. It's not like we were super friendly and outgoing. I wasn't a fun patient. I cried a lot.
It was such a precious letter. It made me cry - the good kind of cry, if there is such a thing under these circumstances. I think I need to share part of it. I hope she doesn't mind. :-)
"I came to know you and your husband during a very difficult time in your life. You may have thought of me as someone who helped to deliver bad news. During your pregnancy I learned about your blog, and I want you to know how much that changed me. I have been {________} for 12 years, and while working nights in acute care for [the majority of those years], I had lost some passion for my job. Last year, I made the move to [name of doctor's office]. That move and reading your blog restored the passion for me. We see patients over and over but never truly understand what a patient goes through after they leave our department with very sad news. We can assume, but never really know. Your blog about Elliana helped me understand a little more what goes through a patient's mind after they leave my room. I know I can never truly understand what this journey has been like for you, but I want you to know that you, Elliana, your family, and your blog have helped create a deeper understanding about other patients' experiences."
"I had read in your blog that you wanted Elliana's life to mean something so I want you to know how I have been affected in a very positive way. Even though you and your family are deeply saddened by your loss, I am very grateful that I met you and Elliana. I hope this helps even just a little bit."
YES. It helps. Thank you, A. We are so grateful to have met you. Thank you for writing me. Thank you for caring about us. And A, you should know that I wrote a letter to the hospital (the Comfort Committee maybe?) *just yesterday*, telling them about all of the things they did well. You were part of that letter. You cared for us well. You helped me enjoy my baby girl. Thank you.
Wednesday, March 6, 2013
Tuesday, March 5, 2013
Worth It
Over the last couple of days, I've found a few other blogs by moms who have experienced the death of a baby, either by stillbirth, or a few hours/days after birth. Can't really explain why I'm reading other blogs - maybe just to connect with someone? Even if it's in a virtual sort of way? I have two friends who have been through something similar - carrying a baby with a poor prognosis. It helps to connect with others who have been there, or who are currently living through it.
As I've read through some of the blogs, I've commented on a couple of posts, and one of the moms found her way back to my blog. I think she read our story from the beginning. She probably didn't make it all the way through all of my posts - it's a long story. But one of the comments she left has been on my mind a lot today.
Today. March 5. My little blond Elliana would have been 5 months old today.
This other mom commented on something I wrote when I was 24 weeks and 4 days pregnant. I was struggling with how to 'view' this pregnancy. It was so difficult to accept that all of the really hard things that come with pregnancy were worth it, when there would be no bundle of joy to take home in the end.
This other mom reminded me: Elliana was worth it.
Looking back, as the weeks of carrying Elliana went on, all of the hard things that pregnancy brings became easier to accept. And not just accept - embrace. It was all worth it. The heartburn, the aches and pains - everything. It was worth it. She was worth it.
And...
I would do it all over again. Not just the heartburn and aches and pain. The heartache. The tears. The gazillion appointments. The doctors telling us over, and over, and over again that her prognosis was not good. The agony of knowing that I would give birth to a baby who was not going to live.
I would do it all over again.
The jabs in the ribs. The my-mom's-bladder-is-a-trampoline game.
Her kicks. Her hiccups.
I would do it all over again. I would choose her.
She was worth it.
As I've read through some of the blogs, I've commented on a couple of posts, and one of the moms found her way back to my blog. I think she read our story from the beginning. She probably didn't make it all the way through all of my posts - it's a long story. But one of the comments she left has been on my mind a lot today.
Today. March 5. My little blond Elliana would have been 5 months old today.
This other mom commented on something I wrote when I was 24 weeks and 4 days pregnant. I was struggling with how to 'view' this pregnancy. It was so difficult to accept that all of the really hard things that come with pregnancy were worth it, when there would be no bundle of joy to take home in the end.
This other mom reminded me: Elliana was worth it.
Looking back, as the weeks of carrying Elliana went on, all of the hard things that pregnancy brings became easier to accept. And not just accept - embrace. It was all worth it. The heartburn, the aches and pains - everything. It was worth it. She was worth it.
And...
I would do it all over again. Not just the heartburn and aches and pain. The heartache. The tears. The gazillion appointments. The doctors telling us over, and over, and over again that her prognosis was not good. The agony of knowing that I would give birth to a baby who was not going to live.
I would do it all over again.
The jabs in the ribs. The my-mom's-bladder-is-a-trampoline game.
Her kicks. Her hiccups.
I would do it all over again. I would choose her.
She was worth it.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)