Maybe. Maybe Not...

I cannot type much, but I have been admitted into Abbott at Noon today. They want to deliver Elijah because preclampsia is setting in....

I do not want to do this...

I thought I had more time to be with him...

We will know more in the morning, unless things change beyond our control...

Birthday Nightmare

Every year, friends and I get together to celebrate the life and birthday of a very dearly missed friend, Danica. She died in a 4-wheeler accident with her boyfriend; he survived. Her celebration is approaching next month...

Every year, I get excited to see everyone again, but I also get anxiety. Talking about her always brings tears to my eyes. I feel emotions of sadness, regret, guilt, missed opportunities, and confusion. I say I have found closure, but honestly, I think I am lying to myself. I am not sure what I have found if anything through losing a friend I didn't get to say good-bye to. With it fast approaching, my anxiety is doubled, paired with pain for my own son.

As I think more and more about Danica and all the birthdays she is watching from above instead of physically partaking with us, I thought about my own 25th birthday party last year. I started to go through my pictures again. It brought back many memories, then it hit me...

It was October. I found out I was pregnant in November. I am not one to drink much, if I drink at all. I don't even have alcohol in my house. My husband does not buy beer ever. We are just not that kind of people. His weakness is 5-hour energy drinks and Mt. Dew. Mine are lattes. Usually if I do drink it is because we are out at a friend or family function; some kind of special and rare event. I usually only have one drink, like a pina colada or strawberry daiquiri. I sometimes even order it without alcohol because it masks the taste of the delicious strawberries; the whole reason why I order it in the first place.

On my birthday night, friends and I went downtown. I drank, more than one. More than two. I had a ton of fun with some great friends. Yet I cannot help but to think that because of my choices that night, Elijah's life was put to an end before it could barely start. Is God punishing me?

I feel like I am 100% responsible for the things Elijah is going through. All of the physical deformities, the spina bifida, even the triploidy. I feel like I have murdered my own son. I am a murderer.

Looking back at the pictures from that night, I get more and more angry with myself seeing a drink in my hand. With every sip, I am leading Elijah closer and closer to his grave. My own selfishness for one night of "fun", sinful fun, was at the expense of my own son. It could have even effected my other son Paighton, without even realizing it until now. What have I done?!

I remember from that night also that when we all got back to my house, I missed my son Paighton so much, I went into his room and woke him up. It was about 3 A.M. He was upset at first, but then happy to see me. He came out to the living room and "partied" with me and my friends. When I say "partied", I mean in a way a toddler would party. He is such a ladies man. He showed the girls how to have REAL fun, that is with his toys and lots of kisses. He even challenged my girlfriend's boyfriend for rights to her attention. He is such a ham.

This is one picture I do like from that night. My son, around people who love him unconditionally...

Needless to say... he went to bed very soon after this picture was taken. He was tired!

27 weeks

Today, I am 27 weeks pregnant with Baby Elijah.

It feels like it was just yesterday that I had told my mom we were expecting again. It was Christmas time. I had wrapped a new Angel tree-topper for a gift and labeled the gift tag "To: Grandma, From: Baby Cedergren". She was holding Paighton at the time, and he was helping her tear off the shreds of paper from the box as she read the gift tag. She looked up at me, no words, mouth open. Then when her mind came to a slower thinking, out came"Really?", she stammered. Andy and I nodded, with smiles as wide as hers. She started to jump up and down like a 8-year old getting that brand new Barbie doll house, or now-a-days, and new cell phone. The rest of the family stared at her awkwardly as if they didn't know her.

Everyone was excited, especially my husband and I. We wanted to be pregnant again so bad. We even bought our son two different baby dolls to "practice" being a big brother with. He is so sweet towards babies, even real ones. He is the King of Kisses.

I am at the point where Elijah can be born at any time now; or I may still have to endure 13 more weeks of carrying what I call "dead man walking". That's what it feels like. Elijah is alive now, but I know his fate. He is a dead man walking.

My contractions are getting more frequent, and stronger. I am scared. I am scared to go through it all. The labor, the delivery, the birth plan wondering if we are making the right decisions, then the funeral, and finally, the rest of my life without Elijah. My sweet, much wanted son; Elijah.

It is really hard to see and hear of others and their pregnancies right now. When I share a common space at work, whether passing in the hall or in the bathroom, I begin to get a choking feeling. I want to scream. I just imagine them holding, snuggling, and kissing their sweet baby. All of the memories and sleepless nights they will get to have. That is all I want.

I am afraid to hold my son's lifeless body. Growing up as a child, I have always feared death. I couldn't bring myself to attend the funerals my dad would do for us for any pet that passed away, even my most favorite dog when he was purposely hit by a cruel neighbor on his 4-wheeler. I hid in the house and cried. It took me months to even go near where he was buried. That was just a dog. How am I going to manage dealing with my own son? A little tiny human I have carried and felt rolling around inside me? I know we humans are capable of more than we can ever imagine. We do some pretty amazing things when we least expect it. I know I wont refuse to hold my son, alive or dead. I know I wont run and hide. I am just afraid.

I wish I could run and hide from all the evil in this world. I don't want to deal with anything anymore. I want to take my son, my husband, and myself to some place far away where we can explore all the greatness in the world. Where we can touch, smell, and taste everything good; nothing bad and enjoy sharing it with each other. We never have to leave each other. We are never sick, hungry or in pain. All we feel is love.

Birth Plan

Friday, May 21st, 2010, we had our very first visit with amazing people.

At 7:45 A.M. we met with the neurosurgeon to talk about Elijah's spina bifida. As I sat nervously in the waiting room, I heard body movement down the hall. Then I heard my name, someone with a Spanish accent calling out to me asking where I was. I stood up, and his eyes smiled as big as his lips. He said "Hello, Mommy", as if he were a child of mine. He said that he was spending some time doing his math, and asked what my due date was again. I reminded him, August 22nd. He explained to me that his mother is an August baby; a Virgo and that Elijah would be a Virgo as well. If his math is correct, he predicts Elijah will be born August 17th. We will just have to see how well he knows his stuff.

As we walked down the hall, making our way to his office, he tried to escort me, looping his arm into the bend of my arm. I tucked my arm into my side, I am not sure why. I felt uncomfortable at first, having just met him. I also felt a little intimidated. Here is a man that performs miracles, and in the back of my mind I was aware that an hour after talking with us, he will be performing surgery on a little boy with a brain tumor. I thought my bad luck might rub off onto his arm, and the mother of that little boy will have to endure Elijah's fate with her own son. My mind was in a million places at that moment. My body reacted the way it did I guess; whether I knew it or not.

He did however rest my fears about the two methods of delivery Elijah: vaginally or C-section. He assured me that there is no statistical evidence supporting that one is safer or more harmful than the other. The only reason why c-sections are performed are because of knowledge of the condition beforehand. Both show that the outcome is the same and would not make any difference.

He also said that we do not need to make an at-that-minute decision about whether or not we want to perform surgery on Elijah's spina bifida. We are still unsure. Obviously, the sooner the better, but he has done surgery on babies from across the world a whole month after they were born. Those babies do just fine. He also assured us that no matter our decision, yes or no, he will support us either way. It was calming to hear him say that, considering a very evil doctor we previously talked to the beginning of April saying that there was not a single person in the world that would even attempt spina bifida surgery on a triploidy baby. The neurosurgeon did not seem to be bothered that triploidy is a factor to be considered. He did not mention it at all, but I could tell in his eyes he knew the outcome. Elijah will die. When? No one knows, but he will die. It almost seems as if the only reason he is willing to do the surgery, regardless of Elijah's triploidy diagnosis is acting as a comfort measure to us only. He knows it wont save his life, but it might give us more time to be with Elijah. How much time? Again, no one knows.

I am still hanging onto hope that the diagnosis of full triploidy is wrong; false. I am still praying that it is mosaic triploidy instead. Right now, I need all the prayers I can get to once again prove that God decides and no scientific testing can.

After meeting with the neurosurgeon, we toured the Birth Center at Abbott Northwestern. Then we met with the neonatal to talk about what we want and what is expected of others during Elijah's birth. We have to make a birth plan, and it will be kept on file and shared with all the other neonatals. No one can stray from what we say. Our word is our word, and everyone is legally bound to it. The only people who can change what it says is us, and we can change our mind at the very last second if we wish. After talking with the neonatal, we toured the NICU at Children's Hospital. It was very bittersweet. Knowing that so many rooms were being occupied, but also knowing that those babies have a better chance than my sweet Elijah; just a chance at all was comforting to me. My heart felt for all those mothers, sitting there in their babies rooms, sleepless, possibly hungry, sad and scared. I wish I could hug them all at once. They will more than likely have a very hard road ahead of them, but I will lose my baby regardless if he ever makes it to the NICU.

Our Birth Plan:
I will share some information about our birth plan, but some things I will not. My husband and I have decided that some things are to be decided by us, and us only. We do not want the feelings or opinions of family, friends, even strangers, influence us. We do not want us to go through the confusion and worry of second-guessing our decision made as husband and wife. It is our life, our child. No one has to live with the cause and effects of our decision but us. So why should anyone be allowed to influence us?

I will labor in a room like any other normal pregnant woman would, but right as I am about to deliver, I will be moved to an operating room to deliver. This will be done for safety measures as anything they would need for me or Elijah is right there. Once Elijah is born, if he is born alive, he will be immediately taken from me to an adjoining room. Daddy will get to go with him.

The neonatal and her team will be present during delivery. As Elijah is taken away to the adjoining room, I will still be able to watch through a window. This is were the importance of our birth plan will be played out. The neonatals have two options: taking an aggressive approach, meaning using every means in their power to stabilize Elijah including breathing tubes and resuscitation; or comfort care and more of a hospice approach. We have made our decision of what is to happen, but it has not been put into writing yet.

Which ever approach is taken, and Elijah is stable enough to even have surgery, we then will make our decision of yes or no to do surgery on his spina bifida. Surgery will prolong his stay in the hospital. If surgery is not done, we may be able to take him home sooner, and let him pass at home with family. We would be risking him dying during surgery, alone and without family. We are not sure what is going to happen yet. The neonatal said don't expect him to even get that far; he might not even make it out of the delivery room. She would be surprised if he was even born alive.

It was hard to hear those words, but I do understand we have to take a logical approach and prepare for anything. I still have my faith, my hopes and prayers, but I also still have my fears.

If he is alive when he is born, more genetic testing will be done again. Blood will be taken straight from the umbilical cord. This would be more accurate then the amnio. Again, I am hoping it comes back mosaic...

With this weekend coming to an end, and the start or another busy week, I still feel stuck in the same spot. My life is on hold; waiting for Elijah to be born... and die..

On a closing note, my husband and I ask of everyone to please respect our decisions and feelings during this difficult time. We love hearing and reading words of encouragement, it helps a lot. Thank you. But please do no share your personal "if I were you" comments. We would appreciate it.

Tonight, I hope I get to see my sweet Elijah in my dreams; I hope they are filled with joy and laughter...

Hate you

I hate you because I do not understand you. I don't want to... I hate myself for not wanting to.


I do not hate you because I am incapable of understanding you. It is not your fault... it is my own. Do not hate me for my faults and I will not hate you for your faults.

These are two simple, yet loaded statements of how my feelings pull me from side to side, sometimes up or down and cross ways. I have hired two people to help keep my mind occupied and running smoothly, as 'normal' as possible. They are Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum. They mean well, but somethings their odd behaviour and confusing tactics creates more chaos then needed. In the end, job is done and onto the next... off the go, arguing about a new topic, possible teatime...

I left work early last Tuesday, and did not go in today. I do not feel well, physically, but I think a lot of it is due to my emotional state right now. My mind is my worst enemy and it is confusing the rest of my body. I have stopped eating, not completely but pretty much. I just don't care. I have stopped sleeping, maybe 3-4 hours per night. I lie awake at night and listen to the many arguments my bipolar conscience has with itself. I try to mediate the two, but I am left unheard.

So I go into work on Monday, tired, barely functioning due to lack of sleep and poor nutrition. Self sabotage. Not even 5 minutes into the work day, an overheard conversation amongst co-workers triggers my rambling mind to detach itself from my inner chaos and retaliate outwards. A comment is said after my requests for a different public conversational topic that left me feeling heated. I walked away... I had to bring something to the HR department anyways, and thought that was a good time to do it.

Although I may feel clinically insane right now; that is one thing I am not. What I feel is very logical; I wouldn't have a soul if I didn't feel like this. A person who loses, or is losing a child that feels nothing; is just that; they are nothing themselves. I am not nothing; I am a lot of things. I am love, I am compassion, I am fear, I am God's child whom He has given a soul to.

Although I must maintain a professional demeanor at work, I do not feel sorry, nor do I apologize for my actions on Monday. They were warranted and very subtle. Hardly anyone even noticed. I would expect others to understand. If they don't, I do not hate you for not understanding... How can you? You never have had to endure what I am living every second of my life. I do not hate you for being insensitive. How can you measure sensitivity on a scale you have never stepped foot on? If you were to be pinched in the arm and asked to rate the pain on a scale of 1-10, you might rate it a 3 whereas someone else would rate it a 9. Everyone is different. We are snowflakes; no two are the exact same. I only ask of others, friends, family, co-workers, even strangers, that if you do not understand, please do not judge me. Do not hate me because you cannot understand. I do not hate you for not understanding. Please do not assume that the type of person you are seeing right now is the real person that I am; right now I am a mirage... even unto myself...

So on Tuesday, I left work and went to the doctor's office here in St. Cloud. I was crying and screaming the whole way as I drove; I could barely see the road. I was in so much pain, I so badly wanted to go down the highway, press as hard as I could on the gas pedal, close my eyes and let go...

My soul stepped in. It reminded me of my family, my son, and all the other lives that would be effected. Again, I am not clinically insane, nor depressed; just confused...

I think I scared the nurse when I got to the clinic. She was very short and wouldn't look my in the eyes. Of course, understandable; she does not know the situation with my pregnancy. The doctor didn't even know when she walked in. I had to go through the whole story with her. I guess that is what happens when you transfer all prenatal care to a different clinic. I told her I would be better, just a little, if all I could do was sleep. Sleep. Without it, your mind fails and drives your body blindly into life.

She was hesitant. She left the exam room for a few minutes. When she came back, she told me she got off the phone with a different doctor in the Centracare system that I have seen in the past; she was reassured by this doctor that I am not crazy. That actually I am very in touch with my emotions and are handling them better than others have had done in the past. It felt good to hear that. It wasn't only reassurance to her, but myself. I needed some form of justification; that was it. She prescribed me 5 Ambien pills with one exception: I had to promise I wouldn't take them all at once. I laughed; then I saw how serious she was. I promised, of course. She said she believed me, she could see in my eyes, and through my tears that I do want to live. If I am so distraught over losing the life of a child I will never get to know; why would I take my own life and miss out on the life and getting to know the son I already have? I wouldn't. Simple as that.

Tuesday night I took one Ambien. I slept, but woke up feeling worse. I had another doctor's appointment to go to again; a follow up visit from Tuesday. The appointment lasted an hour, and my nose bled the whole time. It wouldn't stop. I am not sure if my nosebleed was a result from me crying so bad, the cold I am trying to get over paired with me violently blowing my nose into a tissue, or an adverse effect from the Ambien. I hate drugs. If it isn't natural, more than likely I do not want it in my body.

Then today I received a phone call from the neurosurgeon's office; asking me to reschedule... yet again. My first thought was pure annoyance, but then I quickly corrected my thoughts and called myself selfish. Why would a children's neurosurgeon need to reschedule? The only reason is obvious. A little boy has a brain tumor and needs to have surgery right away. I felt sad for the little boy, then sad for his mother and other family members. I rescheduled the appointment for the same day, just an earlier time. We have to be there at 7:45 A.M. Wow, Paighton is going to be one cranky little boy having to get up that early in the morning to go to daycare. I feel sorry for his daycare friends. Grumpy little man...

To answer the many questions I have received about why I haven't posted on my blog for a week, is simple. The past two days have been the answer. My mind was fighting with my heart; fighting for control over my body. That control would include my hands, my fingers... my ability to type. I was afraid of what I might have posted had my mind been given complete control over my hands. I need to think, and speak from my heart. I need to act from the heart. Had my mind posted a blog, it would have offended many people. People I am not out to offend, nor attack. They have nothing to do with my situation. People I like, I respect, and care for regardless of any regards.

Pregnancy is like a roller coaster. It has its ups and downs. You will enjoy it, but you also throw your hands up and scream for your mother; hoping she will come save you. You get to the highest point, and is it creeps to a slow stop that doesn't completely stop, you can see down how far you are going to fall. You white knuckle grip the handlebars for support. You start to have regrets of ever getting on the roller coaster to begin with. Like all roller coasters, they have an end. It comes to the end and you are left with a sick, yet satisfied feeling. "That's odd", you think to yourself. You want to do it again, and again, and again... Even though you know what to expect, all roller coasters are different. The highs and lows might be higher or lower than the last, and the turns will jerk you in a direction you weren't ready for. Yet you get on another one... again... and again... and again...

I have heard of parents of triplody babies getting on that roller coaster again, and some haven't. I wonder which I will be...

I hope work goes well tomorrow. I miss people again...

This picture was taken awhile ago, before my little man got his first haircut. I thought of it as I was writing this post. I stared at it for awhile, trying to contain my laugh from waking the sleeping angel in his room. It kind of puts a view on what I was talking about regarding rollercoasters. He was being pushed by Daddy in an empty diaper box. At times he wanted to get out, but if he stopped, he would get upset and ask for more. He reminds me of the Sour Cabbage Patch Kids gummy candies. At first they are sour, then the are sweet...

Good night my sweet gremlin...

Break Even

When it comes to fads, I am definitely a sucker. I love trends, of all sorts. Although I may not always dress trendy myself, that it mostly due to the nature of being a mother within me. I feel guilt if I spend money on myself for superficial reasons such as clothes when my son is growing and hungry. I rather buy him food and clothes of his own.

One fad I am going through right now is actually on the radio. Doesn't it seem like whenever you turn on the radio, you hear the same 10 songs in a row. Once they are all played, loop it around again and play on.

I really like the song "Break Even" from The Script. Even though it was written with an entirely different meaning from how I interpret it, it makes sense to me to what is going on in my life right now.

"I'm still alive, but I'm barely breathing". This speaks so much to how my body feels; my mind. Like I have said before, someone helped me put this into words; my body is on autopilot. I am alive, my body is alive. I wake up, get dressed, eat, go to work and take care of my family. I cannot breathe without my family, and with Elijah living, but knowing I will have to say goodbye to him soon makes me feel like I can barely breathe. I want to stop breathing... Then I think of my husband and son and the sight of them in my mind gives my lungs a breathe of fresh air, and I can keep going. Until I think of Elijah again... It is a vicious cycle.

"Just pray to a god that I don't believe in". There have been times where I prayed so hard, with so much passion, then anger, then humbling myself, again anger, I felt as if God could not hear me. I felt like I was praying to no one. We just keep praying, but we sometimes find ourselves in a position where we start to lose faith. That happened to me. I wanted to lose faith because I was so angry at God for taking away my baby so soon; for being so cruel to my sweet Elijah. I didn't understand God's purpose for Elijah, or for my need to experience this. I still don't, I am not sure if I ever will. I do have faith though. It is just hard to rely on it right now.

"Cause I got time while she got freedom". Although the lyrics are talking about a female, same rule applies. I feel like we all have time here on Earth. What are we waiting for? What do we strive and work for everyday during our whole life? Freedom. Freedom is priceless. When you think of it, I mean really think and analyze it, does anyone really have complete freedom? Freedom from what? Freedom from our parents when we are younger. That moves onto freedom from college, then work onto retirement. You are old, and your body is slowing. Now it is time for ultimate freedom. Freedom from life. Our bodies will die and go back into the Earth the way God intended it to, but our souls will live on; free. We will feel no pain, no hunger or thirst, no sadness. My sweet Elijah, will have his freedom soon. I still have time, and when my time will end, only God knows. But Elijah, will have freedom; no pain, no suffering, no hunger or thirst, no sadness... Elijah will be free...

"Cause when a heart breaks, no it don't break even". My heart feels like it has broken, and is still breaking in a million pieces. Each piece for a different reason. One piece for my sweet Elijah, that's a big piece. Another piece for my son, Paighton. Paighton will never get to know his little brother in a way brothers ought to. He also has to endure mommy and daddy's "sad time". This will pass in time, but I feel for him. We are keeping him busy of course to divert attention. Another piece breaks for my husband. He too has to endure his wife's "sad time". I am not the same person I once was a month and a half ago. I am more stressed, temperamental, easily triggered, and depressed. I don't eve feel like doing anything anymore, but of course, like keeping Paighton busy, I force myself to join in the business. I have to continue my life. I also feel for him in having to lose our son. Seeing him sad makes me sad. I ache when I see his eyes swell with tears, his lips quivers and curl in attempts to hide and stifle his own cries. Then pieces are broken from my heart for my family; my parents, in-laws, friends, and so on. I feel for them because they too will not get to know Elijah and they have to deal with me being different for awhile.

I am curious of the type of person I will grow into after time goes by. People keep telling me I will come out a better and stronger person. I am not sure if I completely agree with that. Different, yes. Stronger? I don't know. Better? Really? I am having a hard time seeing how, in any way, how this can make a person better. Stronger, maybe in a sense of thick-skinned and cold-hearted. Does that count as stronger? I have a very traditional German Grandmother, and some say she is a very strong woman. I agree, she is strong, but you will never hear the words "I love you" come from her lips. I know she loves me, she shows it in the pies and blankets she makes, or the towel whips she throws at you if you are bugging her in the kitchen. One snap in the toosh and you will think twice before getting her fired up. She is a feisty one, and we all love her for that.

There are a few more lines to the lyrics of that song that brings meaning and helps explain certain emotions that I feel. I will leave that up to you next time you listen. Think how it relates to your own life. I hope it brings peace to your current struggle, confusion, or whatever it may be.

I'd like to think that we could just live in a world without struggles, but then it wouldn't be much of a life would it. The grass is always greener on the other side, and in this life we are always trying to get there. We are always in competition with someone or something to get the bigger and better "whatever" in life, we forget what it is really important. Love.

I love my family, my husband and children. I hope that I will not get caught up in life and forget about love.

I love my sweet baby Elijah; God's child, gift given to me. God's Angel...

Infant times again.

My poor little baby boy is sick. I am not sure what he has, but he came down with a fever Sunday afternoon, after his nap. We gave him some Tylenol and that seems to help a little bit. He was given some Motrin right before bed that night.

Well, this morning, he woke up looking horrible. He was heating up really bad, and was super cranky. Oh, my poor baby. All I wanted to do was cuddle him and make him feel all better. I had to go to work...

My husband stayed home with him, and throughout the day, I got phone calls from Paighton himself. He gave Mommy updates on how he was feeling. He had taken three naps; he usually takes one big one. Tired little guy.

When I got home, he greeted me with intense enthusiasm. He was so hyper, I almost forgot he was sick. He didn't really eat much for dinner; kind of played with it instead. After dinner, he started to slow down.

He stood on the couch next to where I was sitting, and let out a little whimper pointing to my lap. Now for those who don't know my son very well, he is not one to cuddle. He is very independent, on the go go go. He doesn't like to sit for very long. If you ask for a hug or kiss, it will be a quick one. He is getting more and more cuddlier as he gets older, but slowly.

I asked him if he wanted to cuddle and he shook his head "yes". I jumped at the opportunity, not wanting to miss a second. I grabbed him and laid his across my tummy and chest. My heart started to melt. I was in a lot of pain, with his weight pushing down on my already sore abdomen and full bladder, but I didn't care. The pain was worth every minute of it. It lasted about forty-five minutes. Forty-five minutes of Heaven.

As he laid there, I struggled through each contraction; harder to breathe with each one. But my baby boy needed me, he needed his Mommy. I hummed a tune my mother use to hum to me when I was younger; a sweet low and slow tune of only three syllables. As I hummed, I slowly rubbed his back with my hand. He fought to keep his eyes open.

He started to snore a little, but that didn't last long. I could then hear him swallowing hard over and over. I wish he could just tell Mommy how he is feeling.

I felt as if he were an infant again. Not being able to move on his own, with his head laid on my chest listening to my heart beat. He would let out a sigh, like a sigh or relief every now and then. I was in a state of utopia; paradise. This is the best feeling in the whole world. I do not want my son to be sick, ever. But when he is, he gets very cuddly, needy; infantile. I love it.

I am sad and proud when I see my son reaching his milestones and becoming a big boy. During times like this, I feel like no matter what he will always be Mommy's little baby. My baby will always need me. Even when he is in his adult years, I think he will need me. No matter what, I will always be there for him to care for him. Hopefully his wife doesn't mind of an overbearing and spoiling In-Law! I don't think I would even be able to help not too if I tried.

This picture was taken tonight, during Mommy's much needed cuddle time.

I love my son so much...

Good night little one...

Look-a-like

The more and more I stare at Elijah's 3D pictures taken yesterday, the more I see my son Paighton. The moment Elijah's face was put up on that big screen, I felt like I had time warped backwards; 20 months backwards.

The look-a-like brothers.

Paighton would be a good big brother. He loves babies. He tries to cuddle with them, gives them hugs and kisses and says "oh da baby baby baby". He makes sure they are okay when he knows they are sad even. I hope he gets the chance to meet Elijah here on Earth before Elijah leaves us. I want to see my son kiss his baby brother just once.

I was going through some of Paighton's pictures when he was younger. I am amazed that I found some pictures that are almost exactly alike in comparison to the pictures of Elijah that I posted last night.

I think this picture looks like the first photo in line of Elijah...

This one looks a lot like the second one...

This one looks like the fourth (I couldn't find one fore the third, kind of an odd pose to match)...

And lastly, this one looks like the fifth picture...

It is strange how fast time passes you by. You don't even notice until you miss it. I miss it.... a lot. Paighton has grown so much is the past 20 months; he will be 2-years old this August. I cannot believe it. I want so much to feel his tiny, sleepy body against mine again. Now he has too many things to do; he is a boy. He wants to wrestle, which is Daddy's job. He will take the occasional time-out, grab his famous blankie, and cuddle in my lap for a minute or two for a quick breather before he is right back at showing his Daddy who's boss. He is so mature, a very good listener, intelligent, loving, apologetic when needed, and just all around my most favorite guy in the world.

I want so badly to know and see if Elijah would have been like Paighton. They look alike, but would they act alike? Would they be best friends? I would like to think so. Paighton would look out for him and love him as much as my husband and I love both of them; unconditionally.

I love my children, born and unborn the same. Mommy's little look-a-likes...

Baby Elijah

Today we got to see our sweet baby Elijah in a 3D/4D ultrasound at Bella Angel Imaging in Maple Grove. I do not have any words that can even begin to describe our day.

First of all, I want to say "thank you", well actually, a thank you is not enough, to two wonderful people named Scott and Diane. They have a beautiful baby daughter named Grace who was born into Heaven. Their sadness turned into strength to help others turn their sadness into their own strength. They started a foundation called Sustaining Grace (http://www.sustaininggrace.org/) to give the gift of 3D/4D ultrasounds to parents who have received a fatal diagnosis of their unborn children. Today, we received this gift; because of Grace, my husband and I and our families were able to see Elijah alive. Whether you know me personally, or don't know me at all, please consider donating to their cause. Without them, I never would have been able to have these pictures after my baby's body leaves this world and his soul enters into Heaven, waiting for his mommy and daddy.

Although I may not get to keep Elijah in my life for as long as I want; I have amazing 3D pictures, 4D live footage, and a very soft teddy bear that holds inside of him the sound of Elijah's very own heartbeat. Hearing my baby boy's heartbeat come from inside the bear makes me feel as if the bear has a soul of its own, my sweet, precious child Elijah. It will live on forever and never die. I will listen to it always.

Please meet our gift from God, Elijah Andrew...

Hospital visit

Well, I am home. After a long night at the hospital, things seem to be moving along, but not quite ready yet.

I was supposed to have an OB appointment today with my OB here in St Cloud, but since all my care has been transferred to Abbott Northwestern in Minneapolis, I guess I forgot about it.

The nurse called me; she is aware of everything going on. She wanted to check in with me and we talked about how I was feeling. I didn't really think anything of it, expect stress and lack of sleep. She sounded alarmed that I didn't call sooner, and wanted me to be seen tonight. So I dropped my son off at the In-laws and headed for the Birthing Center a the St Cloud Hospital.

I was hooked up to monitors. My contractions are becoming more frequent, but they aren't all painful. My cervix is softening but closed. I was also given an I.V. for dehydration. She poked my right hand twice until she gave up and went over to the left. When anyone ever asks me if an epidural hurts, I say "no, the I.V. does". I hate getting I.V.'s put in.

They also took blood and a urine sample. Basically testing to see if I have signs of preclampsia. To have preclampsia you need protein in your urine and elevated blood pressure. I have both... But they also took blood to see how it is effecting my liver, kidneys, things like that. I didn't really pay attention to it all. All my blood work came back fine and normal. They did say however that my hemoglobin and platelets were low, and suggested an iron supplement.

They offered me a shot to stop my contractions, but said it may cause my heart to race. I refused. It already feels like my heart is jumping gout of my chest. It is the only thing that reminds me I am alive and not dead; I am not dreaming, and that I am actually living this nightmare and will not wake up from it.

They cannot do anything for my pain, my headaches and backaches, the dizziness. Nothing. She offered another drug though to help me relax, said it has the same effects as Benadryl. I also denied this. I need to be able to function for my husband and son. My previous posts talked about my dangerous comfortness with percocet. I too, refused this drug.



I am 24 weeks and 5 days pregnant with Elijah...

Feelings

When I talk to people about how I am feeling, I cannot fully describe enough to help them understand completely what I actually feel; what I am actually going through. You can only tell me you understand when you, yourself, have gone through this. Then will it be that I listen and take your words, advice, even criticism into consideration.

For those of you who have gone through this, let me first thank you. Thank you for walking along side me. Thank you for finding your own strength in your moments of weakness and darkest hours to now use your found strength to carry me in my time of weakness; while I walk through my darkness in search for light. Thank you for understanding. Thank you for just listening.

For those who have not gone through this, I do not mean disrespect. These are my feelings, my opinions. You cannot put factual weight and importance on an opinion. Facts and opinions are not one in the same. With that said, please do not tell me it will be okay. Do not tell me it is for the best. Do not tell me how to feel.

Have you carried a child knowingly it will die before or shortly after its born? Then how do you know it will be okay? I know it will be okay, but right now it is not okay. I am hurting, and you telling me everything will be okay hurts more.

How do you know it is for the best? You never went through this. What if it isn't the best for me, or my Elijah? In a way, I do know. I know it is for the best, but you telling me its for the best hurts because I am at the point of still grieving. I will not stop grieving until I feel well and ready.

Do you really know how I feel? Let me help you understand, yet again...

Take two people. One person is a man, in his 40s. He is having a mid-life crisis because he wants that hot new viper that was just set out on the car lot for sale. He feels bummed because no matter how badly he wants it, he knows he cannot have it. He cannot have it because it is for the best; he has a wife and children to take care of. If he gets the viper, he will not be able to afford the needs in his and his family's life. He accepts the facts, sadly, walking away. He is OK. Life goes on.

The other person is a 3 year old. This 3 year old is taken with on a grocery shopping trip. He is given a delicious sucker to hold in his hands, wrapper taken off. The sucker is sweet smelling, shiny and new. His mouth starts to water as his eyes are hypnotically fixed on the sucker. He is told to hold the sucker tight, but he cannot eat it. Not even a single lick. He may hold it up to his little button nose and take in the sweet sugary smell if he wants to, but he must not eat it. He is also told, that after grocery shopping, before going home, he will have to give away the sucker. He may not take it home with him. During the whole trip, he is holding the sucker, caring for it ensuring it does not bump into anything, drop on the ground or get dirty. He is aware of the sucker's presence at all times. He also knows, when the shopping ends, he will loose the sucker forever. Sure, he may get another sucker someday, but it wont be "that" sucker. He will never hold that exact same sucker in his hands ever again. This makes him sad.

I feel like the 3 year old. I am carrying my sweet precious Elijah. He dances within me. I can feel his life, but I will never get to taste his life. I will not get to fully enjoy what he has to offer; my sweet baby Elijah. I do not get to take him home with me. He is so shiny and new; I will never get one like him again. No other child will be the same as him, because they are not him. I want him. My pregnancy is the shopping trip. Short lived with an apparent end. I know the ending to this chapter. What chapter comes after, I do not know for I am not looking that far ahead yet. I cannot see that far, my view is foggy and delusional.

It seems like a cruel joke to give a 3 year old a sucker and tell him he cannot have it. He has it, yet you doesn't HAVE it. A 3 year old cannot comprehend life, the fair and unjust, like a 40 year old man is able to. My mind is the mind of a 3 year old. I want what I want, and that is all that matters to me right now. I do not care about the science or logistics behind it, all I know is I want it.

Tonight I cried just as hard as I did on that horrible day my world crashed on April 1st. I start to panic because I think I cannot breathe. I start to hyperventilate; feeling my tears drown me. I am left with an unwanted salty taste in my mouth from my tears rolling off my cheeks and into the corners of my lips. I cannot cry with my mouth closed, since I cannot breathe any other way. The harder I cry, the harder my heart pounds on my chest. Then sweats start to kick in, then Braxton Hicks contractions. My body feels like it is being attacked. Only thing though is its attacker is itself. All I can do is shove my face into my pillow to breathe in stale air and force myself to calm down. The lack of fresh oxygen slows my brain, slows my heart rate and breathing. I feel calm until another burst comes through due to a thought. A thought my mind has thrown at me like a bomb, and I am under attack again.

Strange things have been happening to my body this past month. I know about 'normal' pregnancy symptoms, I am not an idiot. What I am finding strange is how the affects of emotional stress actually has on you physically. Today, sitting at my desk, I got the weird sensation that I was drunk. I actually felt drunk, from alcohol. I even smelled the scent of beer. My vision was blurred, I had a hard time focusing on people's faces, the room was spinning and I felt nauseous. I felt if I attempted to speak, it would come out slurred. I was afraid to speak. I just sat there hoping it would go away, that no one would notice. I was embarrassed. I wanted to sleep, or pass out; whichever came first.

Tomorrow my son has a doctor's appointment to be retested to see if he has or has not outgrown his food allergies. I am fearful that I am getting him tested too early, I wonder if I should wait until he turns 2. I do not want to see him get retested. It is not fun. The skin test isn't as bad as the blood test. Last time they took blood for this purpose, they pricked his itty bitty finger and milked his finger to fill more than one tube. I think it was like four or six tubes, small tubes. He cried and kicked to get away. I am fearful that I will not be able to physically and most importantly, emotionally handle his appointment tomorrow. I feel guilty as a parent, subjecting him purposely to pain. I do not want him to become afraid of me. I love my son, and I want to do all that I can to protect him from all pain, the physical and emotional.

Tonight I pray to God, please take away the pain from both of my sons, the born and unborn. Please hold my hand and give me strength for my son tomorrow; as he will need his mommy to be strong for him and to hold his mommy's hand. Lord, please let his food allergy tests, both skin and blood come back negative so that he may enjoy 'normal' food and not have to live a life of "cannot have". He does not deserve to watch others enjoy the "sucker" in life while he cannot partake in that same enjoyment. Amen.

Walls

Tonight I cried. I haven't cried for about 3 days in a row. It may be possible due to me being kidnapped for the weekend.

Saturday morning I went garage-selling with my in-laws. I knew I had prior plans with two friends form work to also scrapbook later in the day, but I just didn't want to sit around all morning waiting for our little get-together. When I got home, all my scrap booking items were already packed. I thought that was strange that my husband had already done that for me ahead of time, especially since he never wants me to go; he misses me. What was even stranger though, was my toothbrush, deodorant and toothpaste were missing from my bathroom drawer. It was in our closet in our bedroom. Now why would I put that there? Simple.... I wouldn't. My husband just gave me the "husband look" and said "I don't know" when I asked him how it got there. I just assumed it was our little guy rearranging the house again.

As I was about to leave to go to my friend's house, my doorbell rang. It was both of my friends who I was going to see! I was so surprised! I was really confused as well. I turned around to look at my husband and he was standing there with my bags and said "have fun, see you tomorrow". My girlfriends kidnapped me. Apparently, Saturday was dubbed National Scrapbooking Day. We stayed at a really nice hotel in Maple Grove, went to Archiver's (thee best scrap booking store EVER), ate at Buca's and laughed at the naughty pop-culture portraits hanging in the ladies bathroom, went swimming, and then stayed up all night scrap booking. I was exhausted, but I didn't want it to end.

In the morning, we went shopping again for more scrap booking items. What else would we do? We then went to the Chocolate Factory. YUM! I finally had my first chocolate made with chile powder. Ever watch the movie Chocolat, starring the all-delicious himself, Johnny Depp. I never knew spicy chile mixed with decadent chocolate could make such a married match of perfection and pure indulgence. I need more...not want....need...

The surprised didn't stop there. Not only had my husband been planning this scrap booking getaway (his own idea), but when I arrived home Sunday afternoon he had seven trees planted in our sad and bare yard; 4 maples and 3 elms. I am so proud of him! I feel so loved to have him as my husband; he truly does care and think of little things. Although, I am worried now of how I am going to top this and out-do him someday. This might take more than a year of thinking.

Even though I had a lot of fun this weekend, I couldn't help but to feel empty. I tried my best to be my normal, quirky, and sometimes obnoxious self that people like so much. Seems like that's why people want to be around me; I can make them laugh.

I love to scrapbook, but my main focus was to scrapbook our ultrasound pictures of Baby Elijah taken on April 1st. As I shopped, my next favorite hobby, I was trying my best to stay away from baby-themed items that involved "baby's firsts". I know that Elijah may not have very many "firsts", if any at all. I bought a smaller scrapbook, small enough to only fit one picture on each page. I was able to finish 3 pages, until I had to move on to finish a page for Paighton instead.

As I stood there in Archiver's, looking at the wall of empty books, some with fill-in pages for baby's "firsts", I felt my eyes starting to swell again. I didn't want to cry, not then, not now. I couldn't help to think that I am never going to be able to fill in those empty lines for the wonderful milestones Elijah is never going to have. I felt as empty as the pages. I wanted to come unglued; rip all the books off the shelf in a violent hurricane of hate and sadness. I wanted to scream as loud as I could until my voice would allow no more. I really needed my husband at that point...

I didn't want to be a downer on this very special trip that my husband and friends had put so much work and thought into. This was supposed to make me happy; and although it did, I just had to put my wall up. The wall I put up whenever I feel the need to protect myself and my emotions. My wall is my worst enemy.

Later that evening when I was looking at Elijah, a vague black and white, two-dimensional picture of my love, I felt my hurricane swirling again. I clenched down on my teeth, tried to swallow the lump that was hardening in my throat, and pushed forward. I didn't even shed a tear even though I could see the swell in my eyes. It was beginning to blur my vision. I didn't want to cry in front of my friends, or worse yet, drop tears on what could be the only pictures I may ever get of Elijah.

I think that sometimes when people hold their own walls up for too long, they don't just come down eventually. The wall comes crashing down in a huge matter that creates chaos, confusion, and just a plain mess. If we didn't work so hard to put up our wall each and every time in crumbles to the ground, it wouldn't hurt as bad. Why do I self-sabotage?

Like I said before, my wall is my worst enemy. It is being built stronger and tougher as the days go by because I do not want to face reality; reality of Elijah dying. Yet my walls are infamous of keeping others out of my life as well. I do not like to get hurt; you cross me once and that wall flies up so fast you'd think it was built on a catapult. I am not trying to say I am an unforgiving person; I am, it just takes a little while. I grew up in a certain way where I have become untrusting of the human population. I am very naive and fall into traps that have not only put my reputation of a good person at risk, but also my life. I love people, maybe a bit too much. There is so much evil out there in the world, and even more disguises.

If I could build a wall to keep out all the people I know, with the exception of my husband and son, knowing that is the only way to save Elijah and live with him forever, I would. No question. I am sorry Mom and Dad, and everyone else whom I love very much, but I would do anything at this point if I knew it would guarantee Elijah's life. He is my son. I do not want him to leave me so early. I do not want him to leave me.... ever.

If I knew he would stay alive forever, pregnant with him, I would bear all the horrible things of pregnancy. Just to know he is alive, comfortable and content; ever so innocent. I would take on morning sickness every minute of every day for the rest of my natural life. We could go "home" together then.

I am in my second week now of being back at work. I am glad to be back, but it certainly is tough. I have to carry my wall around with me. There isn't anything about work that it hard, it actually helps take my mind away from reality and into something productive. The hard part is when I stop. I stop to think about non-work stuff. My mind stalls and I have a hard time jump starting it again. I start to think about how fragile life is; that at any second, any one around me could die including myself. I start to think what would happen if I started to miscarry at work. Would I feel embarrassed? How would people react; and then act when I came back a couple months later? I also think about consequences. I know that seems strange, but just think. Without consequences the world could be a very chaotic place. That is how my mind feels right now. What if I unleashed my hurricane and stomped on my keyboard? Or the next time I went to the bathroom, I punched the mirror in front of me; an ugly image of a failed mother and flawed human starring back at me. I know there would be consequences; not just embarrassment, shame, and physical harm but HR type of consequences. It isn't until someone needs help, or has a question about work does my mind snap back and re-focus on work.

I keep hearing and reading from people that with this experience, I will come out a stronger and better person. How? The only result I can see is me being a very cold and bitter crab apple. Someone who not only didn't trust people, but doesn't trust herself or God after this. How is one to grieve and live on? How do people even think about having more babies after losing one? The pain is so intense, I cannot even begin to explain.

Right now I feel like I have my highest ever made wall, up for good. I only hope that with Elijah's birth, he may live long enough that my wall comes down. It will be the biggest mess one will ever hold witness to, but it may grant me the stepping stones to walk across the mess to a much brighter ans happier side of life. I hope that no matter what kind of break down I may have, that my friends and family are on the other side waiting for me. I hope I am not abandoned.

I feel alone...abandoned right now...

Maybe because I am the only one hiding behind my selfish wall...