I lay awake every night with my thoughts circling about in my mind like a chaotic hurricane. I know its coming, but yet I fail to prepare for it. I think of things that keep me pondering; questions without answers. It is very much like eating soup without a spoon... pointless.
I am asked to help others. My question, am I really of any help right now? I feel like I am more harmful than helpful. A time bomb with just seconds to spare before all hell breaks loose.
I am supposed to be the strong one; well that is how everyone else thinks anyways. Ha, what do you know? Nothing. You have even forgotten about my son anyways. No one remembers except my husband and I.
Then I think about things a little more present time. School, work, friends, and even family.
I have yet to finish my college degree but I feel so busy at work that I wouldn't be able to successfully balance both without taking away from either of them. I want to do my absolute 100% best in both areas; work and school. The how would that take away from my husband and son?
Most of my friends have very different lives than me. It is hard to keep up with them.
Family, well... that would take more time then I have tonight to explain. Let's just say, you can't choose family.
Where there is a will, there is a way right? So you have soup with no spoon?
I'd say wrap both hands around your bowl and lift...
Wednesday, November 10, 2010
Wednesday, October 20, 2010
World of Hate
Is it wrong of me to be so angry at the world right now?
I try my best to always be a good person and respect everyone regardless if they deserve it or not. Regardless of my mood at the time.
Lately, I have been walking around with such an attitude. Although most people cannot tell; they think I am tired. That is usually the excuse I play it off as.
I just don't want to be seen by anyone. I want to hide away again for just a little bit at the very least. I volunteer for an organization called Junior Achievement, teaching 1st graders the meaning of financial literacy. I didn't even want to go today. I am so irritable. It was a good thing I went because there are these three boys I just adore. They get me excited for what my son may be like himself once he hits first grade. Then I start thinking of how I will never know about my other son... he is dead...
It hurts so bad to say that; my son is dead. It is the truth though and I cant change it. I seem to keep going in a circle of emotions. The hardest ones to relive are denial and shock. I am so shocked that my son is not here with me. So much so, I deny it.
I can tell when someone is thinking of their own babies they left behind at daycare for the day; knowing its just a few hours away until cuddle time. Their eyes smile. I can almost hear their heart flutter. Mine feels like a rock. I am happy for them, but so envious at the same time. I am secretly mad at them for having what was taken from me so quickly and without any conditions. I didn't have a choice even if there was anything I could do about it. I start to think self-righteous thoughts and then the attitude sets in. My mother or husband usually sets me straight again, but a few days later it will only come back again.
People have always told me that things like this will only make you a better and stronger person. Well, that's a load of crap.
The only person who had actual decency to be truthful and blunt was a co-worker of my husband's. He told us, "it will tear you apart". And is has.
Losing someone is to lose someone. How do you lose something you never had to begin with? I never got to spend time with Elijah; only to sit there and feel his kicks, punches, and somersaults within me. That was the only interaction I got to have with him. I didn't even get to spend time with him when he was born because I lost myself in the moment and then was knocked out by the doctors and didn't wake up till past midnight. He had already gone by then.
When I think of what it might have been like during the exact moment of Elijah passing, I get so PISSED that I wasn't the one holding him. Not even his own daddy at least. I try to picture my mother sitting in small pale room by herself holding my sweet baby boy. Then I wonder what it might have felt for her, worrying about the life of her daughter all the while the life of her daughter's baby is slipping away.
IT IS NOT FAIR!
NO BODY should have to lose a baby, regardless of age. Why are we put on this earth only to wait around and die?
I just don't know what to write about anymore tonight; I am way too upset to even think straight. I have begun rambling....
I try my best to always be a good person and respect everyone regardless if they deserve it or not. Regardless of my mood at the time.
Lately, I have been walking around with such an attitude. Although most people cannot tell; they think I am tired. That is usually the excuse I play it off as.
I just don't want to be seen by anyone. I want to hide away again for just a little bit at the very least. I volunteer for an organization called Junior Achievement, teaching 1st graders the meaning of financial literacy. I didn't even want to go today. I am so irritable. It was a good thing I went because there are these three boys I just adore. They get me excited for what my son may be like himself once he hits first grade. Then I start thinking of how I will never know about my other son... he is dead...
It hurts so bad to say that; my son is dead. It is the truth though and I cant change it. I seem to keep going in a circle of emotions. The hardest ones to relive are denial and shock. I am so shocked that my son is not here with me. So much so, I deny it.
I can tell when someone is thinking of their own babies they left behind at daycare for the day; knowing its just a few hours away until cuddle time. Their eyes smile. I can almost hear their heart flutter. Mine feels like a rock. I am happy for them, but so envious at the same time. I am secretly mad at them for having what was taken from me so quickly and without any conditions. I didn't have a choice even if there was anything I could do about it. I start to think self-righteous thoughts and then the attitude sets in. My mother or husband usually sets me straight again, but a few days later it will only come back again.
People have always told me that things like this will only make you a better and stronger person. Well, that's a load of crap.
The only person who had actual decency to be truthful and blunt was a co-worker of my husband's. He told us, "it will tear you apart". And is has.
Losing someone is to lose someone. How do you lose something you never had to begin with? I never got to spend time with Elijah; only to sit there and feel his kicks, punches, and somersaults within me. That was the only interaction I got to have with him. I didn't even get to spend time with him when he was born because I lost myself in the moment and then was knocked out by the doctors and didn't wake up till past midnight. He had already gone by then.
When I think of what it might have been like during the exact moment of Elijah passing, I get so PISSED that I wasn't the one holding him. Not even his own daddy at least. I try to picture my mother sitting in small pale room by herself holding my sweet baby boy. Then I wonder what it might have felt for her, worrying about the life of her daughter all the while the life of her daughter's baby is slipping away.
IT IS NOT FAIR!
NO BODY should have to lose a baby, regardless of age. Why are we put on this earth only to wait around and die?
I just don't know what to write about anymore tonight; I am way too upset to even think straight. I have begun rambling....
Wednesday, October 13, 2010
Space
I recently uploaded pictures of my baby Elijah on Facebook. Something I thought I would never do for fear someone would have something horrible to say. I had pictures from our 3D/4D ultrasounds up there for quite some time, but not his birth photos. I took me awhile thinking about it; not sure if I could stomach sifting through them trying to choose which ones to pick and which ones not to pick.
Nevertheless, there are some up and posted. I have many favorites. Every single one is special to me and stands out. There is one particular one I love; Elijah with his three aunties. Well, technically, they are not his aunts. More so long ago high school friends, but better this way because they choose to be my friend instead of forced to due to family ties. After all my crazy antics and embarrassing, maybe even annoying, times, they love me them same. I love them too.
As I opened up that little vanilla colored folder tucked into the corner of my laptop's screen, titled funeral memorial, I bit my bottom lip hoping not to cry. I tried to brace myself for the worst, but then I remembered that the worst that could happen has already happened.
After skimming the ultrasound pictures, I came upon the one where I was holding Elijah literally two seconds after he was born; he was sucking his thumb. I remember the doctors and nurses wiping him down and slipping on a little tiny hat. The hat looked homemade and was tied off at the top with a simple black string of yarn. I had such a horrible look on my face; I wish I would have looked more happy to see him but I was so focused on his death rather than his birth. I hate myself for that. I still can't get over but to blame myself for not trying harder to save him.
Save him...
I wonder what that is even supposed to mean...
In my house sits my son in a box. A box inside a glass case next to other physical items like his pajamas, hat, sea shells that held the holy water for his baptism, and more. This stuff, just plain stuff, takes up space. Yet when I wrap my arms around myself to squeeze empty space, I feel just that... space.
I want to feel my son. I see his pictures, and they remind me that he is real. He happened. He lived, breathed air, cooed soft coos, and even looked right into my eyes like I had begged God for with all my life. Yet no baby...
I find myself sitting alone throughout the day, thinking I have two babies. But I don't. When that realization hits me, I just want to scream. It feels like I am losing him all over again. I start to panic, hyperventilate, and just become detached from what is happening right in front of me. This cycle happens pretty much every hour... I feel like I am stuck in a nightmare of a maze and can't my way out.
My husband called me one day from work. His voice soft and quiet. He just said two simple words with a child-like tone, "I sad". I knew why. There was nothing I could do for him. We were both at work and had no where to go. Stuck...
I wish the pictures could at least help sooth over the empty space that Elijah has left us, make it numb for an hour or two, but they can't.
I was just thinking tonight what I remembered from my son Paighton when he was a baby. It is hard to imagine him now and him then was the same person. I remember how he felt; his tiny just-days-old body against mine while I snuggled against him all day. It upsets me because I struggle to remember Elijah's. I don't want to forget how it felt holding him. I remember... it's just drifting away, something I wasn't prepared for. Then again, I was prepared for anything that has happened.
I am upset that this space exists and feel that I need to play the blame game in order to get rid of it. But who am I to blame? God? Science? Myself? None of them makes sense, well, maybe myself a little, but where do I even begin to start?
Missing Elijah so much just makes my craving for a newborn baby intensify. I think about, if ever, in the future I were to have another baby. My first fears begin to tug on me as I try to prepare myself for the death of that baby. The baby doesn't even exist, yet I am planning its funeral. Secondly, fear sets in about me losing my own life. My husband and son to fend for themselves without a wife, and no mommy. I tears me apart when my mind begins to play mental images of my husband sitting my son down at age 10 and explaining that mommy died. Then I see my son at age 17 with his high school friends and someone cracks a joke about the death of someone's mom. Paighton responds, "well, my mom died, but it doesn't bother me, it's not like I even knew her or remember her, so whatever". I want my children to love me, I fear they won't. After my mind and tears are so exhausted from fretting over those fears, then I begin to fear about not loving the baby because I am so distraught over Elijah still. I fear I will resent the new baby, thinking I should have Elijah and not him/her. I fear I won't have any emotional attachment whatsoever with the new baby.
What am I talking about anyways? I am not even pregnant and I am driving myself crazy. Like mentioned previously, the "What If" Queen.
I'd like to think, what if Elijah was born? Would I have lived? When I think of that, tied into Paighton growing up without a mommy, I thank God for taking care of my ill child and leaving me behind to stay with my family. God spared my husband and son from the pain of losing me, and saved Elijah from pains of having to live a life of surgeries.
I just hurt, so bad, that we all had to go our separate ways so soon.
Nevertheless, there are some up and posted. I have many favorites. Every single one is special to me and stands out. There is one particular one I love; Elijah with his three aunties. Well, technically, they are not his aunts. More so long ago high school friends, but better this way because they choose to be my friend instead of forced to due to family ties. After all my crazy antics and embarrassing, maybe even annoying, times, they love me them same. I love them too.
As I opened up that little vanilla colored folder tucked into the corner of my laptop's screen, titled funeral memorial, I bit my bottom lip hoping not to cry. I tried to brace myself for the worst, but then I remembered that the worst that could happen has already happened.
After skimming the ultrasound pictures, I came upon the one where I was holding Elijah literally two seconds after he was born; he was sucking his thumb. I remember the doctors and nurses wiping him down and slipping on a little tiny hat. The hat looked homemade and was tied off at the top with a simple black string of yarn. I had such a horrible look on my face; I wish I would have looked more happy to see him but I was so focused on his death rather than his birth. I hate myself for that. I still can't get over but to blame myself for not trying harder to save him.
Save him...
I wonder what that is even supposed to mean...
In my house sits my son in a box. A box inside a glass case next to other physical items like his pajamas, hat, sea shells that held the holy water for his baptism, and more. This stuff, just plain stuff, takes up space. Yet when I wrap my arms around myself to squeeze empty space, I feel just that... space.
I want to feel my son. I see his pictures, and they remind me that he is real. He happened. He lived, breathed air, cooed soft coos, and even looked right into my eyes like I had begged God for with all my life. Yet no baby...
I find myself sitting alone throughout the day, thinking I have two babies. But I don't. When that realization hits me, I just want to scream. It feels like I am losing him all over again. I start to panic, hyperventilate, and just become detached from what is happening right in front of me. This cycle happens pretty much every hour... I feel like I am stuck in a nightmare of a maze and can't my way out.
My husband called me one day from work. His voice soft and quiet. He just said two simple words with a child-like tone, "I sad". I knew why. There was nothing I could do for him. We were both at work and had no where to go. Stuck...
I wish the pictures could at least help sooth over the empty space that Elijah has left us, make it numb for an hour or two, but they can't.
I was just thinking tonight what I remembered from my son Paighton when he was a baby. It is hard to imagine him now and him then was the same person. I remember how he felt; his tiny just-days-old body against mine while I snuggled against him all day. It upsets me because I struggle to remember Elijah's. I don't want to forget how it felt holding him. I remember... it's just drifting away, something I wasn't prepared for. Then again, I was prepared for anything that has happened.
I am upset that this space exists and feel that I need to play the blame game in order to get rid of it. But who am I to blame? God? Science? Myself? None of them makes sense, well, maybe myself a little, but where do I even begin to start?
Missing Elijah so much just makes my craving for a newborn baby intensify. I think about, if ever, in the future I were to have another baby. My first fears begin to tug on me as I try to prepare myself for the death of that baby. The baby doesn't even exist, yet I am planning its funeral. Secondly, fear sets in about me losing my own life. My husband and son to fend for themselves without a wife, and no mommy. I tears me apart when my mind begins to play mental images of my husband sitting my son down at age 10 and explaining that mommy died. Then I see my son at age 17 with his high school friends and someone cracks a joke about the death of someone's mom. Paighton responds, "well, my mom died, but it doesn't bother me, it's not like I even knew her or remember her, so whatever". I want my children to love me, I fear they won't. After my mind and tears are so exhausted from fretting over those fears, then I begin to fear about not loving the baby because I am so distraught over Elijah still. I fear I will resent the new baby, thinking I should have Elijah and not him/her. I fear I won't have any emotional attachment whatsoever with the new baby.
What am I talking about anyways? I am not even pregnant and I am driving myself crazy. Like mentioned previously, the "What If" Queen.
I'd like to think, what if Elijah was born? Would I have lived? When I think of that, tied into Paighton growing up without a mommy, I thank God for taking care of my ill child and leaving me behind to stay with my family. God spared my husband and son from the pain of losing me, and saved Elijah from pains of having to live a life of surgeries.
I just hurt, so bad, that we all had to go our separate ways so soon.
Tuesday, September 14, 2010
Letter to Elijah
My Dear Son, Elijah,
As the days pass, there is never a moment I don't think about you. You are always on my mind. I find myself needing to talk about you in order to feel you. To feel you is to feel alive. When I am away from my family, I feel dead inside. You, I can carry with where ever I may go.
Your big brother, Paighton, is now two years old. I see a lot of you in him. He helps me get through lonely nights when I need you most. He will come into my room and jump on your teddy bear that sacredly holds the sound of your heart. We bounce and dance on the bed to its rhythm. I move to the beat of your heart everyday as the sound replays in my head at work.
I recently had surgery again. I was nervous, not knowing how I would handle surgery after loosing you. The smell and sounds of the surgical center brought back erie feelings. I was calmed as I drifted off to sleep, thinking of and praying that God would give us time together. He did. Danica brought you to see me. You seemed so happy. You looked like you were already a toddler yourself; mirror images of your big brother. It was so short lived though. When I woke up and saw your daddy, I knew you were gone again. My heart ache to see you more.
People try to tell me that everything happens for a reason. I am still trying to figure that out. I do see and understand some things, but deep down inside I want to refuse it. I rather you be here with me than any other 'good' that is supposed to be.
Without you, I wouldn't have certain relationships that I do. now Some are clearer and more appreciated, while others still confuse me. All I ever want is to be loved. Why that never seems to happen no matter how hard I try is beyond me. I just have to keep reminding myself, I can only control myself and not others. For whatever they think or feel, it is not within my means to understand. In time, maybe, in time those that I love will see it and come around to love me back.
I also think about the reality of me ever being able to have more children. After losing you, I am afraid of loving any more. I fear all my love has been claimed for by you and your brother. I fear that I may not be a good mother because I am so angry I have lost you.
I had told someone at work once that I may never be able to get pregnant again anyways. She scolded me by saying "if that were true, you would have had that hysterectomy. You didn't, so you will have another baby". Her philosophy may be right; and of course it should be. She too has lost babies on more than one occasion. My heart aches for her, but I see how happy she is with her beautiful babies that would not have been born had it not been for those that were lost. Her babies now were her "good reason" in life.
Elijah, you brought me closer to people I thought would never love me no matter how hard I tried. You helped me to take down those annoying self-protective walls, if not all the way, at least a little to make it easier to climb over. You made my friendships mean more than just friends; we are sisters. You reminded me that your daddy is not just my husband; he is my best friend. You live everyday within your big brother.
My sweet baby Elijah. I miss you so much.
Love dearly, Your Mommy
As the days pass, there is never a moment I don't think about you. You are always on my mind. I find myself needing to talk about you in order to feel you. To feel you is to feel alive. When I am away from my family, I feel dead inside. You, I can carry with where ever I may go.
Your big brother, Paighton, is now two years old. I see a lot of you in him. He helps me get through lonely nights when I need you most. He will come into my room and jump on your teddy bear that sacredly holds the sound of your heart. We bounce and dance on the bed to its rhythm. I move to the beat of your heart everyday as the sound replays in my head at work.
I recently had surgery again. I was nervous, not knowing how I would handle surgery after loosing you. The smell and sounds of the surgical center brought back erie feelings. I was calmed as I drifted off to sleep, thinking of and praying that God would give us time together. He did. Danica brought you to see me. You seemed so happy. You looked like you were already a toddler yourself; mirror images of your big brother. It was so short lived though. When I woke up and saw your daddy, I knew you were gone again. My heart ache to see you more.
People try to tell me that everything happens for a reason. I am still trying to figure that out. I do see and understand some things, but deep down inside I want to refuse it. I rather you be here with me than any other 'good' that is supposed to be.
Without you, I wouldn't have certain relationships that I do. now Some are clearer and more appreciated, while others still confuse me. All I ever want is to be loved. Why that never seems to happen no matter how hard I try is beyond me. I just have to keep reminding myself, I can only control myself and not others. For whatever they think or feel, it is not within my means to understand. In time, maybe, in time those that I love will see it and come around to love me back.
I also think about the reality of me ever being able to have more children. After losing you, I am afraid of loving any more. I fear all my love has been claimed for by you and your brother. I fear that I may not be a good mother because I am so angry I have lost you.
I had told someone at work once that I may never be able to get pregnant again anyways. She scolded me by saying "if that were true, you would have had that hysterectomy. You didn't, so you will have another baby". Her philosophy may be right; and of course it should be. She too has lost babies on more than one occasion. My heart aches for her, but I see how happy she is with her beautiful babies that would not have been born had it not been for those that were lost. Her babies now were her "good reason" in life.
Elijah, you brought me closer to people I thought would never love me no matter how hard I tried. You helped me to take down those annoying self-protective walls, if not all the way, at least a little to make it easier to climb over. You made my friendships mean more than just friends; we are sisters. You reminded me that your daddy is not just my husband; he is my best friend. You live everyday within your big brother.
My sweet baby Elijah. I miss you so much.
Love dearly, Your Mommy
Wednesday, September 8, 2010
The "Funny" Twos
I have always heard about the "terrible twos", but what about "funny" or "endearing"?
My son recently turned two years old on August 31st. Just like last year, he woke up the next day with a very apparent attitude adjustment. Someone had told me once to be proud that my son is very opinionated; it means he is confident in himself. Thank you. That makes me feel like all the hard work pays off. Low self-esteem for my child is just one of my many fears. I hope he never has to struggle with that.
It also justifies the way I, myself, was raised. Respect, polite manners, and structure really are important. Of course with lots of creativity too!
My son is so funny to watch and play with. I find myself acting so childish at times; running around the house, crawling on the floor, and roaring as loud as I can be as I march a toy dinosaur. He just laughs with me. I can only imagine the thought in his head; "silly Mommy".
At times he is very endearing as well. He stops in the middle of a wrestle match to make sure Mommy is okay. "Wowie?", he says as he rubs his hand along my arm to smooth away an owie.
Right now he is on a freezie kick. All he wants to eat are blue freezies. When I reluctantly give in to his pleading wishes and hopeful filled blue eyes, he skips a victory dance around the dining room table. He repeats over and over, "feezie, feezie, feezie". He does the same for juice, only its more like 'deuce'. Too cute!
The other phase he is going through right now is a mommy-only phase. He doesn't want daddy to help with anything. I think Andy may be feeling a little detached. I hope this will pass soon. Although I am enjoying the attention from my little guy.
My son recently turned two years old on August 31st. Just like last year, he woke up the next day with a very apparent attitude adjustment. Someone had told me once to be proud that my son is very opinionated; it means he is confident in himself. Thank you. That makes me feel like all the hard work pays off. Low self-esteem for my child is just one of my many fears. I hope he never has to struggle with that.
It also justifies the way I, myself, was raised. Respect, polite manners, and structure really are important. Of course with lots of creativity too!
My son is so funny to watch and play with. I find myself acting so childish at times; running around the house, crawling on the floor, and roaring as loud as I can be as I march a toy dinosaur. He just laughs with me. I can only imagine the thought in his head; "silly Mommy".
At times he is very endearing as well. He stops in the middle of a wrestle match to make sure Mommy is okay. "Wowie?", he says as he rubs his hand along my arm to smooth away an owie.
Right now he is on a freezie kick. All he wants to eat are blue freezies. When I reluctantly give in to his pleading wishes and hopeful filled blue eyes, he skips a victory dance around the dining room table. He repeats over and over, "feezie, feezie, feezie". He does the same for juice, only its more like 'deuce'. Too cute!
The other phase he is going through right now is a mommy-only phase. He doesn't want daddy to help with anything. I think Andy may be feeling a little detached. I hope this will pass soon. Although I am enjoying the attention from my little guy.
Last Sunday, a friend of mine from high school did Paighton's 2-year photos. They turned out amazing! I have only seen two pictures so far; I cannot wait for the rest. Here is a sneak peek to awesome cuteness! Later, check out Jill's blog at http://jnicholephotography.wordpress.com/
I am so excited to see what this next year has to bring. I hope we laugh a lot, and hug and kiss even more!
Friday, August 6, 2010
Back to work
This is my last weekend before I have to return to work. I got a little taste of what it would be like to be a stay-at-home mother. Although I enjoyed it very much, it opened my eyes and reminded me of exactly the things I don't want.
There were days I found myself feeling slumped. Usually those were days I still brought my son to daycare. He went because I wanted him to keep somewhat of a normal schedule, yet I didn't bring him everyday. When he isn't with me, I have nothing to do. I become bored, then sad.
When Paighton is with me, we are busy little bees. We have so much fun together. I love taking him out in public; he is so funny to watch. He with blurt out across an aisle at a store to say "hello" to strangers and if you don't acknowledge him, he will continue as he gets louder and louder with each attempt. It's darling. He also does it when we leave, yelling "bye" and waving frantically.
Yesterday I took him to a local splash pad and the county fair. He would hesitantly hold out his hand to touch a stream of watering drizzling out of the side of a giant sprinkler. he would say "cold?" as he looked towards me for approval. I agree. He then turns and runs wildly through it. I love how he is always looking for my approval. Makes me feel like I am doing something right as a mother. He values what I think. I hope he carries forever the same values my husband and I share, especially when it comes to the big important things in life.
At the county fair, I paid $5 for a miniature pony ride for him. He went around the circle once while I walked along side him holding his waist. Then began the tear factory. He lunged towards me and I couldn't keep him up on the pony anymore. The pony began to veer away from me. I just yanked him off and walked out of the carousel area. So much for my $5, but it was worth him having that experience. Hands on experience is more educational than any book or classroom or video. He knew what a duck was when he saw it, and when we were by the pigs he gave his best effort to snort through his nose. He also pointed at the pig and said "nigh nigh". That means "night night"; he sleeps with a plush pig in his crib at night. He got the pig from my girlfriend Rachel for his birthday last year. She was concerned he wouldn't like it because it didn't light up; he LOVES it. He squeezes its tummy and leans his head from side to side as it signs to him about shapes and colors. When we got to the cows, he squatted down and cautiously stuck his hand through the fence to grab the calf's attention. I was squatting with him, but a little back behind him to give him some freedom. He looked back to see if I was still there and swatted his hand towards me and said "go". I laughed so hard. He thinks he is so grown up.
The things I don't want if I were a stay-at-home mom is my son being to dependent on me and not wanting any help from his daddy. The past couple of weeks he doesn't want daddy to get him in or out of the car seat, give him his bath or put him down to bed. Those things my husband always did while I was pregnant with Elijah because I was trying to lessen my activities of heavy lifting. I was always involved in some way, but daddy was the main guy. I wonder if Paighton is trying to compensate for lost time? I can see the sadness and disappointment in my husband. He makes comments like "he doesn't like me" or "he doesn't need me anymore". Other than disagreeing with my husband, I am unsure of other ways to help him see that it is untrue. Paighton just may be going through a phase right now.
That will all change once I go back to work and he is back in daycare full-time again. He will continue going through "phases" all the way up to adulthood. Its just hard to understand and get used to.
I am very excited to get back to work and see good friends I have made over the years. A smile is contagious and I know there are about 400 or more smiles a day at work. That's a lot of smiles! I am also nervous, but that is only natural. I hope I can remember all of the procedures. So much constantly changes within the company everyday, and being gone for so long I may have to start all over. I am exaggerating a little, okay maybe a lot. I have confidence in myself to pick it up easily. Just knowing that I will have lingering thoughts, feelings, events and experiences in the back of my mind, not sure what type of person I am anymore.
I hope I am the same person but only debuting changed qualities that boost my personality for the better; not worse. I want friends, not enemies.
These past ten weeks have been a trial of learning to live a new life. Not necessarily a better life, just different. I have been forced to confront some grudges of people that hurt me in the past and let go. I have been taught how to love differently; more appreciative. My teacher? God.
I have also had more time to ask myself where do I want to be led now? Which direction? Which ever way I choose, there are sacrifices to be had. I want to return to school and finish what I started; double major in Accounting and Finance. The sacrifice would be my family and missing out on my son growing up and changing everyday. I am afraid I will come home when day and not know who he is. The other sacrifice would be no babies until I graduate. Regardless, we have to wait an entire year before trying for another baby. If we don't, I am yet again risking my own life and the life of our unborn child. When I ponder on the facts, I get down. I feel depressed and upset with my situation and having lost my son's life so soon. Then I think, its just a year. It could be worse; the doctors could have performed a hysterectomy instead of an embollization. I still have my uterus. I could be without, but I am not. God blessed me with the ability to try again. My biggest fear about trying a year from now (if we even decide to) is going through all of this again. I had a close call for my life, what if next time I am not so lucky? What if I lose yet another baby?
Again, my mind, the "what-ifs" is my worst enemy.
Hopefully work will numb the chaos in my mind and open new doors for me to grow as a person.
There were days I found myself feeling slumped. Usually those were days I still brought my son to daycare. He went because I wanted him to keep somewhat of a normal schedule, yet I didn't bring him everyday. When he isn't with me, I have nothing to do. I become bored, then sad.
When Paighton is with me, we are busy little bees. We have so much fun together. I love taking him out in public; he is so funny to watch. He with blurt out across an aisle at a store to say "hello" to strangers and if you don't acknowledge him, he will continue as he gets louder and louder with each attempt. It's darling. He also does it when we leave, yelling "bye" and waving frantically.
Yesterday I took him to a local splash pad and the county fair. He would hesitantly hold out his hand to touch a stream of watering drizzling out of the side of a giant sprinkler. he would say "cold?" as he looked towards me for approval. I agree. He then turns and runs wildly through it. I love how he is always looking for my approval. Makes me feel like I am doing something right as a mother. He values what I think. I hope he carries forever the same values my husband and I share, especially when it comes to the big important things in life.
At the county fair, I paid $5 for a miniature pony ride for him. He went around the circle once while I walked along side him holding his waist. Then began the tear factory. He lunged towards me and I couldn't keep him up on the pony anymore. The pony began to veer away from me. I just yanked him off and walked out of the carousel area. So much for my $5, but it was worth him having that experience. Hands on experience is more educational than any book or classroom or video. He knew what a duck was when he saw it, and when we were by the pigs he gave his best effort to snort through his nose. He also pointed at the pig and said "nigh nigh". That means "night night"; he sleeps with a plush pig in his crib at night. He got the pig from my girlfriend Rachel for his birthday last year. She was concerned he wouldn't like it because it didn't light up; he LOVES it. He squeezes its tummy and leans his head from side to side as it signs to him about shapes and colors. When we got to the cows, he squatted down and cautiously stuck his hand through the fence to grab the calf's attention. I was squatting with him, but a little back behind him to give him some freedom. He looked back to see if I was still there and swatted his hand towards me and said "go". I laughed so hard. He thinks he is so grown up.
The things I don't want if I were a stay-at-home mom is my son being to dependent on me and not wanting any help from his daddy. The past couple of weeks he doesn't want daddy to get him in or out of the car seat, give him his bath or put him down to bed. Those things my husband always did while I was pregnant with Elijah because I was trying to lessen my activities of heavy lifting. I was always involved in some way, but daddy was the main guy. I wonder if Paighton is trying to compensate for lost time? I can see the sadness and disappointment in my husband. He makes comments like "he doesn't like me" or "he doesn't need me anymore". Other than disagreeing with my husband, I am unsure of other ways to help him see that it is untrue. Paighton just may be going through a phase right now.
That will all change once I go back to work and he is back in daycare full-time again. He will continue going through "phases" all the way up to adulthood. Its just hard to understand and get used to.
I am very excited to get back to work and see good friends I have made over the years. A smile is contagious and I know there are about 400 or more smiles a day at work. That's a lot of smiles! I am also nervous, but that is only natural. I hope I can remember all of the procedures. So much constantly changes within the company everyday, and being gone for so long I may have to start all over. I am exaggerating a little, okay maybe a lot. I have confidence in myself to pick it up easily. Just knowing that I will have lingering thoughts, feelings, events and experiences in the back of my mind, not sure what type of person I am anymore.
I hope I am the same person but only debuting changed qualities that boost my personality for the better; not worse. I want friends, not enemies.
These past ten weeks have been a trial of learning to live a new life. Not necessarily a better life, just different. I have been forced to confront some grudges of people that hurt me in the past and let go. I have been taught how to love differently; more appreciative. My teacher? God.
I have also had more time to ask myself where do I want to be led now? Which direction? Which ever way I choose, there are sacrifices to be had. I want to return to school and finish what I started; double major in Accounting and Finance. The sacrifice would be my family and missing out on my son growing up and changing everyday. I am afraid I will come home when day and not know who he is. The other sacrifice would be no babies until I graduate. Regardless, we have to wait an entire year before trying for another baby. If we don't, I am yet again risking my own life and the life of our unborn child. When I ponder on the facts, I get down. I feel depressed and upset with my situation and having lost my son's life so soon. Then I think, its just a year. It could be worse; the doctors could have performed a hysterectomy instead of an embollization. I still have my uterus. I could be without, but I am not. God blessed me with the ability to try again. My biggest fear about trying a year from now (if we even decide to) is going through all of this again. I had a close call for my life, what if next time I am not so lucky? What if I lose yet another baby?
Again, my mind, the "what-ifs" is my worst enemy.
Hopefully work will numb the chaos in my mind and open new doors for me to grow as a person.
Wednesday, August 4, 2010
Three years and counting.
Today marks the day. My husband and I have been married for three years. Now that may not be very long, however, it feels longer than just three years. Possibly because we have known each other long before and moved in to share an apartment during our college years.
I credit our dating and living together before marriage to our happy marriage. I strongly believe that. Most people who get married then move in together have never had to share personal space with anyone except parents and siblings; maybe the occasional roommate not intended for marriage. Your personal space is yours. Your tube of toothpaste. Your closet. Your television shows. Now throw in marriage and you and your partner have to learn to share. You learn each others quirks, whether endearing or just pure annoying.
My husband and I learned that, yes, we can live together forever, before we got married. I hear all the time of failed relationships and marriages. I promised myself I would never fall to that statistic. I come from a family of divorce, why would I want to relive my childhood nightmare and subject someone I love to it as well? The first year of a marriage, I believe, is the toughest. We did all of our fighting the first year and a half, enough to last us a lifetime.
The fighting wasn't necessarily fighting. It was more like bickering. I squeeze my tube of toothpaste from the middle, but I always even it out when I am finished. I also close the cap all the way to unsure I don't have a messy end. There is nothing more disgusting than seeing a toothpaste tube with dried up leftover toothpaste stuck to the cap. Now my husband's tube on the other hand is a different story. Complete opposite from mine. He attacks his tube. I smile now, but when we were 20 years of age I couldn't get over it for the life of me. I couldn't change his behavior and he couldn't change mine either. Solution: separate tubes of toothpaste. Solved! We haven't been happier since. I know it sounds silly, but all people would be able to find something in their own life that irritates them to insanity, and be able to laugh at it.
Being we have lived together for so long, and I really cannot find anything in our marriage that needs improvement or change other than we just need more babies, I feel like we are an old married couple. There is nothing left to fight about, to bicker about, or learn about. We know everything about each other. The mystery is gone. We know how to get along, and say sorry if need be. We have gone through everything a couple could together; dating, college, career changes, marriage, children, new house with giant mortgage attached, death of a child. What else is there to do?
We really had hoped to be able to go to Duluth for our anniversary. I love kayaking and he has never gone. He has also fell in love with the North Shore just recently and wants to go camping every weekend. Unfortunately reality is always there keeping us grounded; bills. It is so hurtful when you see medical bills come through the mail for your son that is no longer living. I expected more financial responsibilities when we got pregnant with Elijah, but we also expected to take him home and watch him grow into a beautiful boy and then a man. All of the money we had been saving for daycare and diapers is all gone from many specialty doctor appointments then our week long hospitalization when Elijah was born. It also went towards gas and food expenses since we had to drive to Minneapolis and Maple Grove for everything. I just feel so stressed out about money. I called Abbott's billing department to see if I could get on a payment plan for mine and Elijah's bill. What does she send me in the mail? Some stupid application for a line of credit with an 8% APR. Thanks a lot lady. I called to ask for help, not a way to spend more money! That is not fair. I wasn't looking for a handout, just a little more time.
So I am unsure of what today will be like. Probably like any other day, just a Wednesday. It's such a bummer that my husband has to work today. It would be nice to do nothing together. We both have a lot to do of our own, but to be able to do nothing, together, would be ideal.
I love my husband dearly. I guess what I am sad about is that we do not get as much time together as I want. If I had it my way, we both would work from home and make our own hours. I just really miss him... A lot... I also miss Elijah. I cried myself to sleep last night. I thought about how today could have been so much better with the four of us. My entire family together.
I wish Elijah could see and know his daddy and why I love him so much...
I credit our dating and living together before marriage to our happy marriage. I strongly believe that. Most people who get married then move in together have never had to share personal space with anyone except parents and siblings; maybe the occasional roommate not intended for marriage. Your personal space is yours. Your tube of toothpaste. Your closet. Your television shows. Now throw in marriage and you and your partner have to learn to share. You learn each others quirks, whether endearing or just pure annoying.
My husband and I learned that, yes, we can live together forever, before we got married. I hear all the time of failed relationships and marriages. I promised myself I would never fall to that statistic. I come from a family of divorce, why would I want to relive my childhood nightmare and subject someone I love to it as well? The first year of a marriage, I believe, is the toughest. We did all of our fighting the first year and a half, enough to last us a lifetime.
The fighting wasn't necessarily fighting. It was more like bickering. I squeeze my tube of toothpaste from the middle, but I always even it out when I am finished. I also close the cap all the way to unsure I don't have a messy end. There is nothing more disgusting than seeing a toothpaste tube with dried up leftover toothpaste stuck to the cap. Now my husband's tube on the other hand is a different story. Complete opposite from mine. He attacks his tube. I smile now, but when we were 20 years of age I couldn't get over it for the life of me. I couldn't change his behavior and he couldn't change mine either. Solution: separate tubes of toothpaste. Solved! We haven't been happier since. I know it sounds silly, but all people would be able to find something in their own life that irritates them to insanity, and be able to laugh at it.
Being we have lived together for so long, and I really cannot find anything in our marriage that needs improvement or change other than we just need more babies, I feel like we are an old married couple. There is nothing left to fight about, to bicker about, or learn about. We know everything about each other. The mystery is gone. We know how to get along, and say sorry if need be. We have gone through everything a couple could together; dating, college, career changes, marriage, children, new house with giant mortgage attached, death of a child. What else is there to do?
We really had hoped to be able to go to Duluth for our anniversary. I love kayaking and he has never gone. He has also fell in love with the North Shore just recently and wants to go camping every weekend. Unfortunately reality is always there keeping us grounded; bills. It is so hurtful when you see medical bills come through the mail for your son that is no longer living. I expected more financial responsibilities when we got pregnant with Elijah, but we also expected to take him home and watch him grow into a beautiful boy and then a man. All of the money we had been saving for daycare and diapers is all gone from many specialty doctor appointments then our week long hospitalization when Elijah was born. It also went towards gas and food expenses since we had to drive to Minneapolis and Maple Grove for everything. I just feel so stressed out about money. I called Abbott's billing department to see if I could get on a payment plan for mine and Elijah's bill. What does she send me in the mail? Some stupid application for a line of credit with an 8% APR. Thanks a lot lady. I called to ask for help, not a way to spend more money! That is not fair. I wasn't looking for a handout, just a little more time.
So I am unsure of what today will be like. Probably like any other day, just a Wednesday. It's such a bummer that my husband has to work today. It would be nice to do nothing together. We both have a lot to do of our own, but to be able to do nothing, together, would be ideal.
I love my husband dearly. I guess what I am sad about is that we do not get as much time together as I want. If I had it my way, we both would work from home and make our own hours. I just really miss him... A lot... I also miss Elijah. I cried myself to sleep last night. I thought about how today could have been so much better with the four of us. My entire family together.
I wish Elijah could see and know his daddy and why I love him so much...
Tuesday, July 27, 2010
God's world
This past weekend was very busy. It was filled with laughter, tears, found appreciation, and marvel.
Some really good girlfriends of mine took me out on a Girls' Night downtown Minneapolis and the Comedy Club at Mall of America. It was so nice to hang out with them. They are some of the silliest people I know. When I am with them, I feel as if we do not have to act our age. We can giggle and make faces, and sounds you would normally hear come from a man. There are no social boundaries with us; no table manners allowed!
I also got to spend some time up on the North Shore, about 80 miles north of Duluth, with my husband and friends from Sustaining Grace. I thought I would be tired all day, but somehow I found unused energy from the night before. I wasn't even tired when we went to bed, I felt as if I could have gone on longer yet.
We hiked Temperance River. One word: wow. The water level was low and I could see where the water had once been carving its path into the rock. Up at the top, the water was calm and still. It was cool and refreshing to the touch. Down further the river became more violent, spilling into a 'kettle' like opening. It is strange to look at something so beautiful, so breathtaking, but all the while knowing it can take your life in a heartbeat. Sends chills down my spine. Down past the 'kettle' the water came to a slow, creating a pool where thrill-seeking visitors jumped from the cliff into the dark waters.
We also experienced the Alpine Slide. As my husband and I were on our first trip up the ski lift, we both felt feelings of anxiousness and nausea. I tried my best to enjoy the view but all I could focus on was the sounds of the cable as the chair slowly creaked its way to the top. I thought about my sons, both of them. I thought that one little wrong oops and I would be gone; plummeting to the Earth's slopped surface. Our second trip up, I finally realized that if the chair for some reason did break and fall, I wouldn't die. I would just get hurt, really bad. That helped calm me. I was able to look around more. I could see the Superior's glistening waters. The horizon seemed to have gone on forever. Everything was so gorgeous.
My husband, sadly, decided to prove his manhood to a friend and ignored that his sled had a brake system. Needless to say, he wiped out. Going down a 25,000 foot decline on the side of mountain sized hill, he crashed. I felt so bad for him. It only strengthened my worries about him being an accident waiting to happen. I already had bad feelings about him as I watched him lean over the cliff at Temperance River to see it's violent waters rushing underneath him. My husband is the King of Clumsy. He broke his toe doing laundry! How? It is beyond me. I love him dearly, but he makes me nervous in anything he does.
Later that evening, our friends and us sat out on the beach. It was dark. The moon lit up the water and made the wet rocks close to the shoreline shine. The water crashed up against the rocky beach; my ears were filled with God's music. Out of the four of us, no one seemed to be able to skip a rock. The guys got a couple, but not many. As I sat there, I looked up at the sky. I have always felt very tiny when I did that as a little girl, camping with my father. But this time, I felt really small. Thinking of my son Elijah somewhere up there in Heaven, just hoping he is looking down at me at that same moment, made me feel that infamous lump in my throat again. I didn't want to cry during such a perfect moment. My eyes swelled, but the air's wind helped to dry them. As the guys continued to dig for the perfect skipping rock, I took notice to the rocks around me. I realized that the rocks are just like snowflakes; not one is alike from another. They are all very unique and made specially by God. It is amazing how nature is effected by its own surroundings, and all things are made with the help of each other. Just like humans.
My son Elijah is unique. He may be similar to others, but not exactly alike. God created him specially for me and my husband. He had, and still does have, a plan for Elijah's life. It is not over.
Sunday morning, God blessed me with the company of a hummingbird as we ate breakfast. I have never seen a hummingbird longer than a second. I watched in awe as the little guy floated from flower to flower of a few hanging baskets.
After breakfast, we enjoyed an awesome swim at Gooseberry Falls. The water is low which allowed us to walk across it. I sat right underneath the waterfall. I have never done anything like that before. The water was really cold, but the more I swam at the end of the waterfall, where the water pooled together, I got used to it. I didn't want to leave.
I was so excited to see my son Paighton when we finally got to my in-laws. He screamed "mama" with such intensity. I thought my heart was going to explode. I kissed him with the same amount of intensity back, I wanted to smother him. I just couldn't get enough of him, he felt so good in my arms.
When the three of us went home, I held my son Paighton and we said hello and goodnight to Baby Elijah. I pointed out the urn to him. The urn is a cherry wood box with a square holding a picture of Elijah wrapped up in a fuzzy white blanket and adorned with a blue knitted hat. Paighton pointed to it and said "Baby nigh nigh". That is how he pronounces "night night". It was so cute. He recognized and understood that Elijah was "sleeping". When he is older, we will tell and explain Elijah's story so that he can know and love his little brother as much as we do. I m under of at what age, but I am sure God will let me know when the right time is.
I am so amazed by how beautiful things are, what God has to offer us. Not only in the Earth around us, but also by the people. He has put such beautiful people in our lives to create for us and allow us to create for ourselves.
Tuesday, July 6, 2010
Independence
This year's Fourth of July celebration was my son's second, yet first in seeing fireworks. I was anxious to see how he would react, and to see the look on his face when the first burst of color flickers in the night sky. I wanted to see in his eyes the reflection of the starburst.
To my surprise, he was afraid of them. I thought he would enjoy it. At first, he smiled and laughed, but it was more of a nervous laugh. His body started to tremble and then I saw tears. We left to go home. He got to see a few of them and that is all that my husband and I wanted; a sneak peek. When we got to our vehicle and I took him out of his stroller, we just stood there for a few more minutes thinking he would now be more calm. He was a little, but then a big one went off. He lunged for the door handle. It was so cute. I feel bad for laughing at his expense of feeling frightened, but I couldn't help myself. He was just so darn cute; endearing.
With this holiday passing, I begin to think of how it could have been different had my other son been with us. Elijah would be 5 weeks old now.
The other day the three of us went to McDonald's. I am not particularly fond of McDonald's, but I have not been grocery shopping for awhile due to taking care of my grandmother in the ICU. It was something easy and quick; besides Paighton seemed to enjoy the new experience. We sat in a booth with a highchair at the end of the table. Paighton didn't want to sit in it so he just sat on his knees next to his Daddy. My husband later told me that while we sat there and ate, he imagined our son Elijah sitting there with us in the empty highchair. I tried to make light of the situation and joked that a 5-week old wouldn't be able to sit. He cracked a smile, but still... I knew what he meant and where he was coming from. I often imagine our son being physically present with us too.
I felt useless at that moment, knowing no matter what I said to my husband it wouldn't make things "better". The kind of better we both want, our son to be here with us and not in Heaven.
I think my husband is a stronger person than I am. Either that or more introverted with is emotions than I am. However, he is the most emotionally-open man I know. I am glad to be with him because I don't know how I would survive with the "typical male". Andrew is by no means "typical". I am thankful for that.
In observance of the holiday and thinking of what independence means for me and my family, I think of the soldiers who have fought and lost their lives or returned home for us. They have accomplished many great things. I compare; just as they have fought for us, I fought for my son. Only difference is I did not win. I did not accomplish what I meant to accomplish. I wonder, will I ever accomplish anything worthwhile for Elijah? Not for me, or anyone else, but him. Only him. I will spend the rest of my life trying and continuing to accomplish for him.
The rest of this month, or longer I will spend a lot of my time and energy on my grandmother. I fear for her health and her life. She has been in the ICU now for nine days. I know she is a strong woman, but learning from Elijah, I also know God decides all.
People keep telling me that God never gives a person more than they can handle. I would like to say this to God... "Ok I get it, I am flattered. I can handle a lot, a crap load. You may stop at any time now, I have had enough".
To my surprise, he was afraid of them. I thought he would enjoy it. At first, he smiled and laughed, but it was more of a nervous laugh. His body started to tremble and then I saw tears. We left to go home. He got to see a few of them and that is all that my husband and I wanted; a sneak peek. When we got to our vehicle and I took him out of his stroller, we just stood there for a few more minutes thinking he would now be more calm. He was a little, but then a big one went off. He lunged for the door handle. It was so cute. I feel bad for laughing at his expense of feeling frightened, but I couldn't help myself. He was just so darn cute; endearing.
With this holiday passing, I begin to think of how it could have been different had my other son been with us. Elijah would be 5 weeks old now.
The other day the three of us went to McDonald's. I am not particularly fond of McDonald's, but I have not been grocery shopping for awhile due to taking care of my grandmother in the ICU. It was something easy and quick; besides Paighton seemed to enjoy the new experience. We sat in a booth with a highchair at the end of the table. Paighton didn't want to sit in it so he just sat on his knees next to his Daddy. My husband later told me that while we sat there and ate, he imagined our son Elijah sitting there with us in the empty highchair. I tried to make light of the situation and joked that a 5-week old wouldn't be able to sit. He cracked a smile, but still... I knew what he meant and where he was coming from. I often imagine our son being physically present with us too.
I felt useless at that moment, knowing no matter what I said to my husband it wouldn't make things "better". The kind of better we both want, our son to be here with us and not in Heaven.
I think my husband is a stronger person than I am. Either that or more introverted with is emotions than I am. However, he is the most emotionally-open man I know. I am glad to be with him because I don't know how I would survive with the "typical male". Andrew is by no means "typical". I am thankful for that.
In observance of the holiday and thinking of what independence means for me and my family, I think of the soldiers who have fought and lost their lives or returned home for us. They have accomplished many great things. I compare; just as they have fought for us, I fought for my son. Only difference is I did not win. I did not accomplish what I meant to accomplish. I wonder, will I ever accomplish anything worthwhile for Elijah? Not for me, or anyone else, but him. Only him. I will spend the rest of my life trying and continuing to accomplish for him.
The rest of this month, or longer I will spend a lot of my time and energy on my grandmother. I fear for her health and her life. She has been in the ICU now for nine days. I know she is a strong woman, but learning from Elijah, I also know God decides all.
People keep telling me that God never gives a person more than they can handle. I would like to say this to God... "Ok I get it, I am flattered. I can handle a lot, a crap load. You may stop at any time now, I have had enough".
Sunday, June 27, 2010
Why?
Why? Why does life have to get yet that much harder when it is already hard enough?
I looked forward all weekend to a fun scrap booking day with my girlfriends today. I was sad most of the time as I stared blankly through pictures of Elijah. I got three pages done. I had fun... but was sad on the inside.
I felt miserable for the rest of the night. I ended up going to my mom's house for some motherly comfort.
When I got home, I felt much better and knew tomorrow will be a better day. I was wrong.
My husband told me my dad messaged him to let him know that my Grandmother is in the hospital. She had an aneurysm rupture and barely made it. She has lost over five liters of blood. She had surgery and will need to be sedated for the next 72 hours to prevent any pressure within her body.
Not only did an aneurysm rupture, but the doctors founds more aneurysms, many more. Just sitting there, waiting to take my Grandmother away from me.
How am I to deal with healing from the loss of my son, and now my Grandmother? I cant take any more loss, no more heartache. I need it to stop. I need the people I love most in my life right now to be with me. I love my Grandma, I love my Elijah too.
I really hope that my sweet Angel baby is up there in Heaven, telling God just how much I need my Grandma to stay here with us right now. I hope Elijah is her own personal Guardian Angel.
Life is so unfair. Why?
I looked forward all weekend to a fun scrap booking day with my girlfriends today. I was sad most of the time as I stared blankly through pictures of Elijah. I got three pages done. I had fun... but was sad on the inside.
I felt miserable for the rest of the night. I ended up going to my mom's house for some motherly comfort.
When I got home, I felt much better and knew tomorrow will be a better day. I was wrong.
My husband told me my dad messaged him to let him know that my Grandmother is in the hospital. She had an aneurysm rupture and barely made it. She has lost over five liters of blood. She had surgery and will need to be sedated for the next 72 hours to prevent any pressure within her body.
Not only did an aneurysm rupture, but the doctors founds more aneurysms, many more. Just sitting there, waiting to take my Grandmother away from me.
How am I to deal with healing from the loss of my son, and now my Grandmother? I cant take any more loss, no more heartache. I need it to stop. I need the people I love most in my life right now to be with me. I love my Grandma, I love my Elijah too.
I really hope that my sweet Angel baby is up there in Heaven, telling God just how much I need my Grandma to stay here with us right now. I hope Elijah is her own personal Guardian Angel.
Life is so unfair. Why?
Saturday, June 26, 2010
Parade of Life
The weather has been nice lately. Most people would disagree with me, but I kind of like it. The smell of the sky and the feel of the moist air on my skin reminds me of my high school days. I remember hanging out with friends, running through cornfields to sneak up and spy on the boys, and sitting around the campfire. Those days were so innocent, not knowing my life would lead me to where I am now. I didn't know life would separate me from people I thought would be in my life forever; I thought we would still be doing the same things. We are not.
I also did not know that I would ever have to deal with losing my own child. I knew that some point in my life I would have to deal with death, but not death of a baby less than a day old. Not even death of anyone younger than myself. I was not ready, I was not prepared.
Today my husband and I took our son to a parade. I was so excited, sitting right next to him and watching every emotion in his face change as the floats passed us by. His eyes would light up with excitement when a dog or cool truck would go pass. When the marching bands came close, he would stare and get lost in space. He was so amazed by the drums and flags twirling around. I barely watched the parade. My eyes were focused on him. Every time he smiled, I smiled. My heart would fill with joy. I wanted to sit right on top of him, I couldn't get close enough to him. He even got a couple suckers, and boy did he like that! He was Mommy's lil sticky fingered munchkin.
The moment the suckers went into Mommy's hair, the suckers were in the garbage. Distraction tactic = banana. Mission complete!
Then the MADD float went by. I remember that float from past years. I was in a really good mood until I saw the mangled minivan atop the trailer being pulled from behind. I can envision my own minivan, and where my children would sit. Placed around the minivan on the trailer were pictures of the children; children who lost their lives to a care less drunk driver. I felt sad. Then I felt like I wanted to lose it when I saw the picture of the mother's unborn baby, placed as if he were sleeping and holding a very dainty and wilted daisy. I didn't lose it... I wanted to. I remember how I felt last year when I saw that picture, not knowing that the organization NILMDTS that took that picture of the dead baby would also take pictures of my dead baby. I remember being shocked, thinking the picture was gruesome and controversial for publicly displaying it. It's a picture of a baby; a dead baby! Not everyone would want to see a picture of a dead baby, so why force them by element of surprise? No one knows its coming around the corner, then all of a sudden its there. You don't have time to make the choice of yes or no I am going to look.
Now, knowing what I know, and going through what I am going through, I think about what other people feel when they see pictures of my Elijah. I hope they are not shocked, or think gruesome and horrific thoughts. I hope they don't think ugly thoughts. I hope people don't think my baby Elijah is an ugly baby. Yes, he did not develop what we consider to be 'normal', but he is still a baby. He doesn't know any different, he didn't have any choice.
I can still see that picture very vividly. The baby's head turned to his left. The daisy, held in the baby's left hand, bowing its pedals to the right. The baby's right hand is clenched in a fist, laid to rest on his chest. His face looks soft, and at peace despite the bruising. Elijah had bruising too. It looks so traumatic and painful. I have been told its not, and I remind myself of it always, but it is hard to believe.
As the float went and passed, I felt sick. I tried my best to be happy, for my son. I wanted him to enjoy the parade and have this experience. I didn't want to be selfish. I waited for the Shriner's to go by on their go-karts, and then I said it, "I want to go". The sun was starting to come out and the weather was starting to get hot anyways. None of us like it super hot, we get cranky.
I find it strange how certain emotions can have an actual physical effect on your body. I understanding being sad, and sometimes a person can vomit if they cry too hard. But they way certain things make me feel is odd. It is hard to explain, but its as if my body just wants to say "I quit". I feel hot, dizzy, nauseous and forget to keep breathing. I want to pass out. I abandon what I am doing at the moment and run away for fear I will draw attention to myself.
Life is kind of like a parade. There is excitement, chaos, candy, encouragement and even sadness. I have had every float in life now. There is more to experience though, and I look forward to it. I do not look forward to any more sad floats. I know they will come, and that instills more fear in me. I am afraid to set goals for myself for fear sadness will come along and take it away; take away my happiness.
My son and husband are my happiness. I went through many difficult friendships and relationships to meet my husband. I went through many years of pain, surgery, and treatments to have my son. They are my happiness and I have fought very hard and cried many tears to have them in my life. I am forever grateful to God for putting them in my life. I never want to be apart from them. I want to stare in their eyes all day, every day. I need them and they need me. The feeling of being needed is more than I ever thought it would be.
Thank you Lord. Although I ask of you this, please give me the strength to set personal goals so that I do not stall in life and become numb. I want to continue living life, not to just be "alive". Amen.
I also did not know that I would ever have to deal with losing my own child. I knew that some point in my life I would have to deal with death, but not death of a baby less than a day old. Not even death of anyone younger than myself. I was not ready, I was not prepared.
Today my husband and I took our son to a parade. I was so excited, sitting right next to him and watching every emotion in his face change as the floats passed us by. His eyes would light up with excitement when a dog or cool truck would go pass. When the marching bands came close, he would stare and get lost in space. He was so amazed by the drums and flags twirling around. I barely watched the parade. My eyes were focused on him. Every time he smiled, I smiled. My heart would fill with joy. I wanted to sit right on top of him, I couldn't get close enough to him. He even got a couple suckers, and boy did he like that! He was Mommy's lil sticky fingered munchkin.
The moment the suckers went into Mommy's hair, the suckers were in the garbage. Distraction tactic = banana. Mission complete!
Then the MADD float went by. I remember that float from past years. I was in a really good mood until I saw the mangled minivan atop the trailer being pulled from behind. I can envision my own minivan, and where my children would sit. Placed around the minivan on the trailer were pictures of the children; children who lost their lives to a care less drunk driver. I felt sad. Then I felt like I wanted to lose it when I saw the picture of the mother's unborn baby, placed as if he were sleeping and holding a very dainty and wilted daisy. I didn't lose it... I wanted to. I remember how I felt last year when I saw that picture, not knowing that the organization NILMDTS that took that picture of the dead baby would also take pictures of my dead baby. I remember being shocked, thinking the picture was gruesome and controversial for publicly displaying it. It's a picture of a baby; a dead baby! Not everyone would want to see a picture of a dead baby, so why force them by element of surprise? No one knows its coming around the corner, then all of a sudden its there. You don't have time to make the choice of yes or no I am going to look.
Now, knowing what I know, and going through what I am going through, I think about what other people feel when they see pictures of my Elijah. I hope they are not shocked, or think gruesome and horrific thoughts. I hope they don't think ugly thoughts. I hope people don't think my baby Elijah is an ugly baby. Yes, he did not develop what we consider to be 'normal', but he is still a baby. He doesn't know any different, he didn't have any choice.
I can still see that picture very vividly. The baby's head turned to his left. The daisy, held in the baby's left hand, bowing its pedals to the right. The baby's right hand is clenched in a fist, laid to rest on his chest. His face looks soft, and at peace despite the bruising. Elijah had bruising too. It looks so traumatic and painful. I have been told its not, and I remind myself of it always, but it is hard to believe.
As the float went and passed, I felt sick. I tried my best to be happy, for my son. I wanted him to enjoy the parade and have this experience. I didn't want to be selfish. I waited for the Shriner's to go by on their go-karts, and then I said it, "I want to go". The sun was starting to come out and the weather was starting to get hot anyways. None of us like it super hot, we get cranky.
I find it strange how certain emotions can have an actual physical effect on your body. I understanding being sad, and sometimes a person can vomit if they cry too hard. But they way certain things make me feel is odd. It is hard to explain, but its as if my body just wants to say "I quit". I feel hot, dizzy, nauseous and forget to keep breathing. I want to pass out. I abandon what I am doing at the moment and run away for fear I will draw attention to myself.
Life is kind of like a parade. There is excitement, chaos, candy, encouragement and even sadness. I have had every float in life now. There is more to experience though, and I look forward to it. I do not look forward to any more sad floats. I know they will come, and that instills more fear in me. I am afraid to set goals for myself for fear sadness will come along and take it away; take away my happiness.
My son and husband are my happiness. I went through many difficult friendships and relationships to meet my husband. I went through many years of pain, surgery, and treatments to have my son. They are my happiness and I have fought very hard and cried many tears to have them in my life. I am forever grateful to God for putting them in my life. I never want to be apart from them. I want to stare in their eyes all day, every day. I need them and they need me. The feeling of being needed is more than I ever thought it would be.
Thank you Lord. Although I ask of you this, please give me the strength to set personal goals so that I do not stall in life and become numb. I want to continue living life, not to just be "alive". Amen.
Monday, June 21, 2010
Angel vs. Demon
I often wonder if other people personify their own conscience; create their own idea of a character or characters. Does your conscience have a different personality then the one you own and portray on the outside to other people?
Think of it this way. You watch a commercial, or movie perhaps, and there is a woman standing in front of a chocolate cake. There sits atop on her left shoulder a mini version of herself, conservatively dressed in all white and adorned with a halo. On her right shoulder sits another mini self-version scantily dressed in all red and sporting a pitchfork and horns. This scene is all too familiar, and often funny given the right circumstances. Chocolate cake = funny; stealing = not funny. This is personification; the woman has given both sides of conscience a personality and created a complete character separate from herself. This is how I have become lately.
I have always been able to be rational, realistic, positive, and considerate of those possibly effected when making my own decisions about things, both short and long term. Lately seems as if I have lost my control over my thoughts, but not my final decisions.
Everyday is a constant struggle for me. Every minute of the day I have to re-make the same decisions. One side of me wants to stay in bed all day, not eat or bathe, not talk to anyone. I want to become a hermit; a cranky hermit and scare away all those who come knocking at my door. I don't want to go out in the world and see then sun. I want to be selfish and not take care of anyone, not even myself. That is my demon, coaxing me over and over, whispering in my ear of how easy it would be.
My angel is on my other side, gently whispering in the other ear to not listen. Telling me to get out of bed and go outside, even if it is just to get the mail. My angel gives me encouragement to live. She tells me as hard as it may be, it will only get harder if I choose not to. In this case, I always side with my angel and live on.
Other times where I fall victim to my demon is when I forget to filter my thoughts. Its good to let some things out, but I easily forget who might be reading, or listening, or even who I am directly saying my thoughts too. I forget that my emotions may effect others, and not always in a good way. My emotions are what they are, at the moment in time. In no way is it a reflection of who I truly am, or my final opinion about a particular topic. I may feel one way about something and then completely change my mind five minutes later and feel another way. I don't know how to control my emotions, and I certainly don't know how to trust them. They are deceiving and tempting; all too easy to follow.
When I follow one emotion, I become distracted by another and begin to follow that instead. I am happy one moment, but if I hear something or see something, I become sad. As fast as a flick of a light switch, I become sad and cannot get out of it unless I cry. After I am done crying, I become angry and hateful. I write things or say things with that hate in my heart and in my mind because I cannot get rid of it unless I get it out. I do not know any other way at this point in time.
My life seems all so confusing. It doesn't make sense. My mind, my heart, even my physical body feels like I should have a baby here in my arms. I should be changing diapers, and getting no sleep because of late night feedings. Instead I am getting no sleep because I hear the cries of a hungry and wet baby and wake to only find no baby. I feel like my van is empty, driving down the road with my toddler, I look back and hone in on the empty seat where an infant carrier would be strapped in. I think of my son reaching over to our newest family member, holding his hand and giving him toys to play with. I think of my son being all too worried about the baby's cries as I hurry to our destination only to get him out of the seat's constraints and cuddle him.
My demon tells me to be angry; angry at the world for all of its injustices. To be angry at God for allowing this to happen. My angel tells me I will get to see my baby again, and I cannot live on angry at anyone because it is no ones fault. I have to pick a side every time this thought pops into my mind. It is so hard to be forgiving, it is so much easier to be angry and hateful. I find myself in more pain though when I start feeling hate.
It is odd though how I can become so hateful of things completely irrelevant to me or my family. I hear of a sad story in the news, start eavesdropping on a stranger's cell phone conversation, or disagree with a woman's parenting standing behind me in the grocery store. I become so upset about the gasping story I want to rant and rave, and even turn around and smack the woman. Anything that I see or hear of effecting children, those I know personally or not, I want to become so involved. My mind gets lost and my heart floods with that feeling of "I just HAVE to do something". I cant seem to find an outlet.
Maybe I am dealing with things just fine, maybe not. Maybe there is no right or wrong way to deal with the loss of a child, only your own way. Everything seems to come customized these days, why not coping. I have my way, you have yours. I am just really feeling the exhausting energy it takes to constantly choose what is right for me at that very moment because it may happen again later in the day but the choice may need to change. I feel like I am stuck, permanently, taking a final exam for my physics or calculus class. Once you think you have the answer, another variable pops into the equation.
Why cant I argue with my split-personality of a conscience over a caramel soy latte instead?
Tomorrow I am keeping my toddler home from daycare. He always shows me the bright side of life and reminds me to become more like him; worry about what to eat every five minutes and attempt to run around naked. Ah, the freedom of the open air...
Think of it this way. You watch a commercial, or movie perhaps, and there is a woman standing in front of a chocolate cake. There sits atop on her left shoulder a mini version of herself, conservatively dressed in all white and adorned with a halo. On her right shoulder sits another mini self-version scantily dressed in all red and sporting a pitchfork and horns. This scene is all too familiar, and often funny given the right circumstances. Chocolate cake = funny; stealing = not funny. This is personification; the woman has given both sides of conscience a personality and created a complete character separate from herself. This is how I have become lately.
I have always been able to be rational, realistic, positive, and considerate of those possibly effected when making my own decisions about things, both short and long term. Lately seems as if I have lost my control over my thoughts, but not my final decisions.
Everyday is a constant struggle for me. Every minute of the day I have to re-make the same decisions. One side of me wants to stay in bed all day, not eat or bathe, not talk to anyone. I want to become a hermit; a cranky hermit and scare away all those who come knocking at my door. I don't want to go out in the world and see then sun. I want to be selfish and not take care of anyone, not even myself. That is my demon, coaxing me over and over, whispering in my ear of how easy it would be.
My angel is on my other side, gently whispering in the other ear to not listen. Telling me to get out of bed and go outside, even if it is just to get the mail. My angel gives me encouragement to live. She tells me as hard as it may be, it will only get harder if I choose not to. In this case, I always side with my angel and live on.
Other times where I fall victim to my demon is when I forget to filter my thoughts. Its good to let some things out, but I easily forget who might be reading, or listening, or even who I am directly saying my thoughts too. I forget that my emotions may effect others, and not always in a good way. My emotions are what they are, at the moment in time. In no way is it a reflection of who I truly am, or my final opinion about a particular topic. I may feel one way about something and then completely change my mind five minutes later and feel another way. I don't know how to control my emotions, and I certainly don't know how to trust them. They are deceiving and tempting; all too easy to follow.
When I follow one emotion, I become distracted by another and begin to follow that instead. I am happy one moment, but if I hear something or see something, I become sad. As fast as a flick of a light switch, I become sad and cannot get out of it unless I cry. After I am done crying, I become angry and hateful. I write things or say things with that hate in my heart and in my mind because I cannot get rid of it unless I get it out. I do not know any other way at this point in time.
My life seems all so confusing. It doesn't make sense. My mind, my heart, even my physical body feels like I should have a baby here in my arms. I should be changing diapers, and getting no sleep because of late night feedings. Instead I am getting no sleep because I hear the cries of a hungry and wet baby and wake to only find no baby. I feel like my van is empty, driving down the road with my toddler, I look back and hone in on the empty seat where an infant carrier would be strapped in. I think of my son reaching over to our newest family member, holding his hand and giving him toys to play with. I think of my son being all too worried about the baby's cries as I hurry to our destination only to get him out of the seat's constraints and cuddle him.
My demon tells me to be angry; angry at the world for all of its injustices. To be angry at God for allowing this to happen. My angel tells me I will get to see my baby again, and I cannot live on angry at anyone because it is no ones fault. I have to pick a side every time this thought pops into my mind. It is so hard to be forgiving, it is so much easier to be angry and hateful. I find myself in more pain though when I start feeling hate.
It is odd though how I can become so hateful of things completely irrelevant to me or my family. I hear of a sad story in the news, start eavesdropping on a stranger's cell phone conversation, or disagree with a woman's parenting standing behind me in the grocery store. I become so upset about the gasping story I want to rant and rave, and even turn around and smack the woman. Anything that I see or hear of effecting children, those I know personally or not, I want to become so involved. My mind gets lost and my heart floods with that feeling of "I just HAVE to do something". I cant seem to find an outlet.
Maybe I am dealing with things just fine, maybe not. Maybe there is no right or wrong way to deal with the loss of a child, only your own way. Everything seems to come customized these days, why not coping. I have my way, you have yours. I am just really feeling the exhausting energy it takes to constantly choose what is right for me at that very moment because it may happen again later in the day but the choice may need to change. I feel like I am stuck, permanently, taking a final exam for my physics or calculus class. Once you think you have the answer, another variable pops into the equation.
Why cant I argue with my split-personality of a conscience over a caramel soy latte instead?
Tomorrow I am keeping my toddler home from daycare. He always shows me the bright side of life and reminds me to become more like him; worry about what to eat every five minutes and attempt to run around naked. Ah, the freedom of the open air...
Wednesday, June 16, 2010
Pizza Pizza
As most people in my life know, my son Paighton has severe food allergies to dairy, eggs, and nuts. Well, let's just say HAD these allergies.
He is no longer allergic to dairy! He is still allergic to eggs, but not nuts; although his allergist says to still keep him away from any type of nut especially peanuts.
I have searched the nutritional facts and ingredients of common and popular restaurants in the area. I found a complete egg-free menu for Applebees and many items from McDonald's that are safe for him to eat. Not that I am excited about McDonald's, but it is nice to know if I am ever far from home with a hungry toddler.
Today I found myself thinking about pizza. I was in the mood for pizza and wanted to find out how to make my own. Then I started to get lazy and resorted to what I know how to navigate a little better: the Internet. I am not that great of a cook. I usually have to experiment and fail several times before mastering a dish. Tonight was not a night for experiments.
I found that the only local pizza that is safe for him to eat is from Domino's. I called to speak to someone and place an order instead of ordering online, like I would normally do. The guy assured me he would take extra caution in making sure our pizzas were safe for my son. Of course, there was still some risk for cross contamination. Some of their sauces, especially white sauces have egg in the ingredients. They even labeled the boxes to ensure brand new clean utensils were used in handling our pizzas. I was so grateful.
It felt so nice to eat like a 'normal' family tonight. I don't know how long its been since I ate pizza without having to wait for my son to go to bed. He seemed to really enjoy it too. He had double-pineapple pizza and a cinna-stix with some frosting. He was so sticky!
It really makes me feel good as a mom to see happiness in my son's eyes. All these new foods he was once never allowed are now allowed. He is so interested in foods of all kinds. He especially likes string cheese. When he says "mmmm", my heart says "awe".
I think partly the reason why I feel good deep down inside by feeding people is from how I grew up. I come from a large family; a family that likes to eat. You cant walk away from the table without my grandmother sneaking a couple extra spoonfuls of something onto your plate; and then there is dessert. And not just dessert, but lots of desserts. My husband's favorite dessert that my grandmother makes is her cherry cha-cha. He could eat half the pan. I cant wait to share it with Paighton now when the holidays come around.
So Domino's pizza is now an added food to my list of "Paighton-Safe". Although it is challenging at times with his food allergies, it is getting much easier. It is so exciting sharing my food with him. I love my little cutie-patootie!
He is no longer allergic to dairy! He is still allergic to eggs, but not nuts; although his allergist says to still keep him away from any type of nut especially peanuts.
I have searched the nutritional facts and ingredients of common and popular restaurants in the area. I found a complete egg-free menu for Applebees and many items from McDonald's that are safe for him to eat. Not that I am excited about McDonald's, but it is nice to know if I am ever far from home with a hungry toddler.
Today I found myself thinking about pizza. I was in the mood for pizza and wanted to find out how to make my own. Then I started to get lazy and resorted to what I know how to navigate a little better: the Internet. I am not that great of a cook. I usually have to experiment and fail several times before mastering a dish. Tonight was not a night for experiments.
I found that the only local pizza that is safe for him to eat is from Domino's. I called to speak to someone and place an order instead of ordering online, like I would normally do. The guy assured me he would take extra caution in making sure our pizzas were safe for my son. Of course, there was still some risk for cross contamination. Some of their sauces, especially white sauces have egg in the ingredients. They even labeled the boxes to ensure brand new clean utensils were used in handling our pizzas. I was so grateful.
It felt so nice to eat like a 'normal' family tonight. I don't know how long its been since I ate pizza without having to wait for my son to go to bed. He seemed to really enjoy it too. He had double-pineapple pizza and a cinna-stix with some frosting. He was so sticky!
It really makes me feel good as a mom to see happiness in my son's eyes. All these new foods he was once never allowed are now allowed. He is so interested in foods of all kinds. He especially likes string cheese. When he says "mmmm", my heart says "awe".
I think partly the reason why I feel good deep down inside by feeding people is from how I grew up. I come from a large family; a family that likes to eat. You cant walk away from the table without my grandmother sneaking a couple extra spoonfuls of something onto your plate; and then there is dessert. And not just dessert, but lots of desserts. My husband's favorite dessert that my grandmother makes is her cherry cha-cha. He could eat half the pan. I cant wait to share it with Paighton now when the holidays come around.
So Domino's pizza is now an added food to my list of "Paighton-Safe". Although it is challenging at times with his food allergies, it is getting much easier. It is so exciting sharing my food with him. I love my little cutie-patootie!
Our future President?
I recently learned of a man. A man with constant trials and tears; just the same as my own. Could this man really be our President sometime in the future?
His name is Rick Santorum. He has a daughter that was diagnosed with Trisomy 18 during pregnancy. Just like my Elijah and 'Sustaining Grace's' Grace, she was given no chance at life from every angle and every person, except two; her parents. Rick and his wife fought and still fight every day for their daughter's life. She is now 2-years old. Wow.
I wonder if I knew more, had more time, or was better prepared, would I have been able to save or give Elijah more time here on Earth?
Instead of changing my college career path from Pre-Med with intent to finish in Oncology to Accounting and Finance, maybe I would have been more educated in the science and biology of life and would have had a better understanding of which approach to take to sustain Elijah's life. It seems like Rick's wife is always fighting with health care professionals just to get the right care their daughter needs. Would it have been different for Elijah if I knew exactly what care he needed? Did I give him what he needed and not what I wanted? I cant help but to feel selfish for only allowing him to live for 2 hours so that family and I could simply hold him. Had I fought harder, I could have given him the two years Rick's daughter has been blessed to have. More family would have been able to hold him; I would have been able to hold him.
I want my baby back. I feel so uneducated and for those who know me, you know how much I hate that feeling. Education is vital. It is never given, it is earned and it can never be taken away. Without it we would be numb bodies wondering the world like zombies; no direction, no ability to sustain life, even our own. I feel useless, that I was so dumb I couldn't save my own child's life. Do I lack the common sense to fight for my family's God-given right to live?
I wish I knew more. I wish I knew more about life and how it physically functions so that I would have been able to save him. I know that you cant fix everything broken, but why not? What good am I as a person, as a mother, if I just sit back and let life take its course on its own? Why cant I intervene? With the guidance and power of God, why cant he help me intervene?
Maybe the possibility of Rick Santorum being our President someday could be the "intervention" for our babies when everyone is telling us "no", when the people in health care and insurance/benefits tells us "no, your baby's life is not worth saving or sustaining".
I am still trying to understand what Elijah's purpose is, although he has already changed the lives of others. I know he has a purpose, I see some of it, but not all of it. I need to know and understand his entire purpose as a whole. That may take some time. I need to know what my purpose is as well. What am I suppose to do with this experience? What am I suppose to learn and teach others from knowing Elijah for such a short time, but loving him for an eternity?
Maybe Rick's purpose from his experience with his daughter is to become our President. Maybe his purpose is to help us parents who want to say "yes" instead of "no". Seems like people who choose termination when given a fatal diagnosis get more help and support than those who choose continuing their pregnancy. Again, just to clarify, I am not passing judgement on those who have chosen termination, as it is a very personal situation and I do not know all the facts. I cannot pass judgement when I am uneducated on the matter. I am just simply saying that there is more help to terminate than there is to sustain. If the United States government is all for choices, where is my choice? My choice to sustain is almost impossible. Maybe Rick can help us forgotten people to be given an easier way to choose life, with the help and education of the health care system. We and our children need options to; we deserve it.
Please visit this link below to read an article written by Rick Santorum and his journey thus far in raising a 2-year old daughter with Trisomy 18. He has given her two years of life, something I wish I could have been able to give my sweet baby boy Elijah. I respect this man so much for not giving up. http://www.philly.com/inquirer/opinion/20100505_The_Elephant_in_the_Room__Two_years_worth_every_tear.html#axzz0r2CzVUNg
His name is Rick Santorum. He has a daughter that was diagnosed with Trisomy 18 during pregnancy. Just like my Elijah and 'Sustaining Grace's' Grace, she was given no chance at life from every angle and every person, except two; her parents. Rick and his wife fought and still fight every day for their daughter's life. She is now 2-years old. Wow.
I wonder if I knew more, had more time, or was better prepared, would I have been able to save or give Elijah more time here on Earth?
Instead of changing my college career path from Pre-Med with intent to finish in Oncology to Accounting and Finance, maybe I would have been more educated in the science and biology of life and would have had a better understanding of which approach to take to sustain Elijah's life. It seems like Rick's wife is always fighting with health care professionals just to get the right care their daughter needs. Would it have been different for Elijah if I knew exactly what care he needed? Did I give him what he needed and not what I wanted? I cant help but to feel selfish for only allowing him to live for 2 hours so that family and I could simply hold him. Had I fought harder, I could have given him the two years Rick's daughter has been blessed to have. More family would have been able to hold him; I would have been able to hold him.
I want my baby back. I feel so uneducated and for those who know me, you know how much I hate that feeling. Education is vital. It is never given, it is earned and it can never be taken away. Without it we would be numb bodies wondering the world like zombies; no direction, no ability to sustain life, even our own. I feel useless, that I was so dumb I couldn't save my own child's life. Do I lack the common sense to fight for my family's God-given right to live?
I wish I knew more. I wish I knew more about life and how it physically functions so that I would have been able to save him. I know that you cant fix everything broken, but why not? What good am I as a person, as a mother, if I just sit back and let life take its course on its own? Why cant I intervene? With the guidance and power of God, why cant he help me intervene?
Maybe the possibility of Rick Santorum being our President someday could be the "intervention" for our babies when everyone is telling us "no", when the people in health care and insurance/benefits tells us "no, your baby's life is not worth saving or sustaining".
I am still trying to understand what Elijah's purpose is, although he has already changed the lives of others. I know he has a purpose, I see some of it, but not all of it. I need to know and understand his entire purpose as a whole. That may take some time. I need to know what my purpose is as well. What am I suppose to do with this experience? What am I suppose to learn and teach others from knowing Elijah for such a short time, but loving him for an eternity?
Maybe Rick's purpose from his experience with his daughter is to become our President. Maybe his purpose is to help us parents who want to say "yes" instead of "no". Seems like people who choose termination when given a fatal diagnosis get more help and support than those who choose continuing their pregnancy. Again, just to clarify, I am not passing judgement on those who have chosen termination, as it is a very personal situation and I do not know all the facts. I cannot pass judgement when I am uneducated on the matter. I am just simply saying that there is more help to terminate than there is to sustain. If the United States government is all for choices, where is my choice? My choice to sustain is almost impossible. Maybe Rick can help us forgotten people to be given an easier way to choose life, with the help and education of the health care system. We and our children need options to; we deserve it.
Please visit this link below to read an article written by Rick Santorum and his journey thus far in raising a 2-year old daughter with Trisomy 18. He has given her two years of life, something I wish I could have been able to give my sweet baby boy Elijah. I respect this man so much for not giving up. http://www.philly.com/inquirer/opinion/20100505_The_Elephant_in_the_Room__Two_years_worth_every_tear.html#axzz0r2CzVUNg
Sunday, June 13, 2010
Cousins
This afternoon my husband and I read together three letters written to Elijah. These letters were very sweet and brought tears to our eyes. They also brought a smile to our face, even a couple giggles.
These three letters written to our sweet baby Elijah are from our nephews Dylan (age 14), Austin (age 12), and Ben (age 9). They were so sweet, I couldn't help but share them.
Dylan's letter:
"Dear Elijah,
My name is Dylan. I'm your oldest cousin. So basically what this letter is is to let you know what we would have done together and such. The first thing I would have taught to do is to be an All-American Quarterback (with help from your dad). The second thing I would've taught you is how to swing like Joe Mauer and throw like Joe Nathan. We would have went to a lot of Twins games granted how expensive they are. We would have found a way. We all love you and miss you. Love, Dylan."
Austin's letter:
"Dear Elijah,
It would have been awesome to have you as a cousin. To hang out and play sports and stuff. To watch you grow up to be whatever you wanted to be. You would've been really smart just like your parents. Sincerely, Austin"
Ben's letter:
"Sorry you only lived for two hours and I didn't get to see you but I saw pictures of you. You look so cute in the pictures. It's sad that you didn't get to live for a long time, but you still got to see Ryan and Shelby. Hope you have a good time up there."
Reading these letters make me think of what our son Paighton would have written or said about Elijah, if he were old enough to talk or write of course. Paighton would have been a really good big brother, just as our nephews are with each other. Brothers by chance; best friends by choice.
Just today Paighton pulled out from the bottom of his toy box a baby doll we got him when we found out we were pregnant with Elijah. I thought it would have been a good way to introduce him to babies. It was. He is always so concerned of the baby doll. He makes sure she gets lots of kisses and feeds her food from a kitchen set that was a gift from Grandma and Grandpa. He holds her and pokes his finger at her mouth, then kisses, then squeezes a hug, then more kisses. The kisses never end. Sometimes I get a little jealous of this plastic doll. I want these kisses he is giving out so freely! It melts my heart to see how well he is with babies, both plastic and real. It brings me comfort, and a little sadness, knowing he would have been a great big brother and a big helper.
I wonder what is to come of our future as a family. Will he ever get to be a big brother?
Brothers by chance; best friends by choice...
These three letters written to our sweet baby Elijah are from our nephews Dylan (age 14), Austin (age 12), and Ben (age 9). They were so sweet, I couldn't help but share them.
Dylan's letter:
"Dear Elijah,
My name is Dylan. I'm your oldest cousin. So basically what this letter is is to let you know what we would have done together and such. The first thing I would have taught to do is to be an All-American Quarterback (with help from your dad). The second thing I would've taught you is how to swing like Joe Mauer and throw like Joe Nathan. We would have went to a lot of Twins games granted how expensive they are. We would have found a way. We all love you and miss you. Love, Dylan."
Austin's letter:
"Dear Elijah,
It would have been awesome to have you as a cousin. To hang out and play sports and stuff. To watch you grow up to be whatever you wanted to be. You would've been really smart just like your parents. Sincerely, Austin"
Ben's letter:
"Sorry you only lived for two hours and I didn't get to see you but I saw pictures of you. You look so cute in the pictures. It's sad that you didn't get to live for a long time, but you still got to see Ryan and Shelby. Hope you have a good time up there."
Reading these letters make me think of what our son Paighton would have written or said about Elijah, if he were old enough to talk or write of course. Paighton would have been a really good big brother, just as our nephews are with each other. Brothers by chance; best friends by choice.
Just today Paighton pulled out from the bottom of his toy box a baby doll we got him when we found out we were pregnant with Elijah. I thought it would have been a good way to introduce him to babies. It was. He is always so concerned of the baby doll. He makes sure she gets lots of kisses and feeds her food from a kitchen set that was a gift from Grandma and Grandpa. He holds her and pokes his finger at her mouth, then kisses, then squeezes a hug, then more kisses. The kisses never end. Sometimes I get a little jealous of this plastic doll. I want these kisses he is giving out so freely! It melts my heart to see how well he is with babies, both plastic and real. It brings me comfort, and a little sadness, knowing he would have been a great big brother and a big helper.
I wonder what is to come of our future as a family. Will he ever get to be a big brother?
Brothers by chance; best friends by choice...
Friday, June 11, 2010
Going Home
Today was Elijah's funeral. It was a very bittersweet day.
I first walked into the church, thinking all is well. I held my head up high and choked back the tears. Emotionally I was doing better than I had prepared for, but physically I was in a lot of pain. My body hasn't quite healed back to its normal state of a 25-year old woman. I feel brittle, slow, and simple exhausted. I feel old; older than I would like to be at the moment.
Once I past the church doors, I felt as empty as the space of the lobby and the bodiless pews and overflow chairs.
I looked down the aisle to the front of the church, where a casket would normally be. I saw a small table. There sat my sweet baby Elijah; his ashes in a cherry wood box; a window giving portal to his face printed on a piece of paper. Under his sweet innocent face was typed his full name and date of birth. Oh how did that ever yank at my heart. I could feel my face start to heat up and then it happened; a tear. I remember like it was just seconds ago that I was holding my two pound baby boy, and now his body no longer exists. He is just dust stuffed in a box. I can no longer call on the nurse and have my baby's body brought to me so that I may hold him for as long as I please. All I can do is hug a wooden box and tell myself that no matter what form he is in now, he is still my child. He still exists, just in a more powerful way now. I still yearn for that bodily connection though; that human touch.
All of the gifts we have received over the past two months for Elijah were daintily placed throughout the church so that visitors may see how much Elijah was loved; loved by not only family and friends but also complete strangers. Strangers who have lost their own babies and continue the lives and spirits of their children through beautiful gifts of blankets and keepsakes. I am thankful for strangers. They become instant friends; instant family.
Everything was set and time for visiting was approaching. My husband and I were asked to view the tables to make sure things were as we wanted them. It didn't matter any way to me, I was confident in knowing the funeral director would take care and attention to detail as if Elijah were his own. I knew all would be fine just as he has placed things; and it was. It was beautiful; bittersweet.
Familiar faces started to flow through the church doors. I was so happy that my feeling of loneliness started to fade and be filled with comfort. My husband also said to me later tonight how happy he was that so many people, not even knowing Elijah, has shown up for us. It made us feel loved. It made us feel that Elijah was loved; unconditionally.
The sermon was to be very casual and it was. It felt like just a group of great people telling stories and sharing words from the Bible. It was just how Elijah's short lived life was; casual. No big fancy show or party; just hanging out. Elijah just went with the flow and so did we. We wouldn't have changed a thing.
My favorite part was listening to my husband speak his few words. He talked about being selfish. He was selfish when Elijah was born; not running out to family right away to meet them and not letting Elijah look out the window to see the clouds and sun. He was selfish for twenty minutes, holding Elijah all by himself. Elijah gripped his pinkie finger as he sang "My Bonnie" to him, my favorite high school choir warm up. I sang that song to both my sons while I was pregnant with them, and still to Paighton to this very day when he is sad, sick, got a boo-boo, or whenever I feel he wants to hear it. He always smiles with a giant teeth-filled grin; crinkling his little nose at me. I know he loves me when he does that. I never got a chance to sing "My Bonnie" to Elijah while he was alive. I am thankful of my husband for taking my spot and making sure our son got to hear it.
I do not think my husband was selfish at all during those twenty minutes he spent alone with our son. They needed that alone time for daddy-and-son bonding time. My husband if anything has sacrificed more in those twenty minutes than he has all 28 weeks of our pregnancy; it couldn't have been selfishness. He talked about a bond that I have with Elijah that he will never know or feel. I feel selfish. I wish I could give up what I know and feel about that bond I made while being pregnant with Elijah and give that to my husband so that he may feel it too.
Last night I talked about which direction to take from here. What's left? My husband expressed that same feeling as we sat at the front of the church earlier on before visitation hour started. It was nice to know we shared the same feeling. I hope that we can help each other remember our son. What he felt like; his smell and touch. I know we will, but I cant help to worry.
I know the direction Elijah has gone. Home. He has gone home to Heaven to be with his Creator, our Lord Jesus Christ. God may not have created Elijah to have a perfect body functional to sustain life here on Earth, but that doesn't matter where he went. He doesn't need a body in Heaven. God created him perfectly the way he is. God created my sweet baby Elijah in His own image.
We brought Elijah's ashes home with us in a wood box.
God brought Elijah Home in a fiery chariot. Elijah knew no death... words of a wonderful Pastor that I didn't understand until tonight. It all fits; it all makes sense.
Mommy and Daddy forever love you sweet baby Elijah. Thank you for changing our world.
I first walked into the church, thinking all is well. I held my head up high and choked back the tears. Emotionally I was doing better than I had prepared for, but physically I was in a lot of pain. My body hasn't quite healed back to its normal state of a 25-year old woman. I feel brittle, slow, and simple exhausted. I feel old; older than I would like to be at the moment.
Once I past the church doors, I felt as empty as the space of the lobby and the bodiless pews and overflow chairs.
I looked down the aisle to the front of the church, where a casket would normally be. I saw a small table. There sat my sweet baby Elijah; his ashes in a cherry wood box; a window giving portal to his face printed on a piece of paper. Under his sweet innocent face was typed his full name and date of birth. Oh how did that ever yank at my heart. I could feel my face start to heat up and then it happened; a tear. I remember like it was just seconds ago that I was holding my two pound baby boy, and now his body no longer exists. He is just dust stuffed in a box. I can no longer call on the nurse and have my baby's body brought to me so that I may hold him for as long as I please. All I can do is hug a wooden box and tell myself that no matter what form he is in now, he is still my child. He still exists, just in a more powerful way now. I still yearn for that bodily connection though; that human touch.
All of the gifts we have received over the past two months for Elijah were daintily placed throughout the church so that visitors may see how much Elijah was loved; loved by not only family and friends but also complete strangers. Strangers who have lost their own babies and continue the lives and spirits of their children through beautiful gifts of blankets and keepsakes. I am thankful for strangers. They become instant friends; instant family.
Everything was set and time for visiting was approaching. My husband and I were asked to view the tables to make sure things were as we wanted them. It didn't matter any way to me, I was confident in knowing the funeral director would take care and attention to detail as if Elijah were his own. I knew all would be fine just as he has placed things; and it was. It was beautiful; bittersweet.
Familiar faces started to flow through the church doors. I was so happy that my feeling of loneliness started to fade and be filled with comfort. My husband also said to me later tonight how happy he was that so many people, not even knowing Elijah, has shown up for us. It made us feel loved. It made us feel that Elijah was loved; unconditionally.
The sermon was to be very casual and it was. It felt like just a group of great people telling stories and sharing words from the Bible. It was just how Elijah's short lived life was; casual. No big fancy show or party; just hanging out. Elijah just went with the flow and so did we. We wouldn't have changed a thing.
My favorite part was listening to my husband speak his few words. He talked about being selfish. He was selfish when Elijah was born; not running out to family right away to meet them and not letting Elijah look out the window to see the clouds and sun. He was selfish for twenty minutes, holding Elijah all by himself. Elijah gripped his pinkie finger as he sang "My Bonnie" to him, my favorite high school choir warm up. I sang that song to both my sons while I was pregnant with them, and still to Paighton to this very day when he is sad, sick, got a boo-boo, or whenever I feel he wants to hear it. He always smiles with a giant teeth-filled grin; crinkling his little nose at me. I know he loves me when he does that. I never got a chance to sing "My Bonnie" to Elijah while he was alive. I am thankful of my husband for taking my spot and making sure our son got to hear it.
I do not think my husband was selfish at all during those twenty minutes he spent alone with our son. They needed that alone time for daddy-and-son bonding time. My husband if anything has sacrificed more in those twenty minutes than he has all 28 weeks of our pregnancy; it couldn't have been selfishness. He talked about a bond that I have with Elijah that he will never know or feel. I feel selfish. I wish I could give up what I know and feel about that bond I made while being pregnant with Elijah and give that to my husband so that he may feel it too.
Last night I talked about which direction to take from here. What's left? My husband expressed that same feeling as we sat at the front of the church earlier on before visitation hour started. It was nice to know we shared the same feeling. I hope that we can help each other remember our son. What he felt like; his smell and touch. I know we will, but I cant help to worry.
I know the direction Elijah has gone. Home. He has gone home to Heaven to be with his Creator, our Lord Jesus Christ. God may not have created Elijah to have a perfect body functional to sustain life here on Earth, but that doesn't matter where he went. He doesn't need a body in Heaven. God created him perfectly the way he is. God created my sweet baby Elijah in His own image.
We brought Elijah's ashes home with us in a wood box.
God brought Elijah Home in a fiery chariot. Elijah knew no death... words of a wonderful Pastor that I didn't understand until tonight. It all fits; it all makes sense.
Mommy and Daddy forever love you sweet baby Elijah. Thank you for changing our world.
Thursday, June 10, 2010
Disconnected
Lately I have been feeling a little disconnected from the world around me. I feel lost. I am unsure of which direction to take, if any direction at all. Do I stay stalled where I am at, or do I move left or right?
The only direction I can think of is to move forward. But how? My husband and I wanted a baby so much. We planned down to every detail, even trying to get Elijah's birthday as close to the month of August as we could. Elijah's due date was August 22nd. We were married in August, bought our first house together, and brought our first son into the world in August. August was always a good month for us.
We so badly wanted a new little someone in our lives. Tiny fingers, tiny toes, dirty diapers and spit up, all of it. It is all worth it.
But now what? Move forward? Here I go with the what-if's. Just don't tell my mother, she will tell you that I am the "What-If Queen". But what if? What if we move forward and choose to try again? What if we cant get pregnant again? What if we do get pregnant but then lose the baby... again? What if my life is at risk... again? What if our son has a harder time adjusting to a new family member when he is older? My mind is spinning in a giant 'what-if' tun drum and I cannot find my way out.
My husband and I are actually quite laid back when it comes to planning our future. We basically say "if it happens, it is meant to be". That was his main way of deciding whether or not to get up in the morning to attend his college classes. He never double checked our alarm clock, he would just say "if it goes off, it is meant that I attend class today". He lives by his own philosophy. I love him dearly for that. He is the most laid back person I know and is always teaching me to let go once in awhile and stop fretting so much about "what-ifs".
I know and understand that everything that has happened in our lives thus far has happened for a reason. Some reason or another, it has happened, whether or not we have been shown the reason yet. I can see the stepping stones of our friendship, into our marriage and then into parenthood. Each placed so strategically yet not all were planned by us alone. God has played a major role in the planning and placement of our stones; again whether we know it or not. We make thing we were in control of our very fate, our future, but God really has complete control. We just like to think we do.
I feel disconnected from the world recently because everything seems to have been pulled out of my control; I don't like that feeling. I lost control over my own body. I lost control over my family, my children. I am supposed to keep them safe. I am supposed to make sure they eat well and get enough sleep and have clean clothes to wear. I am the wife and mother of this family, that is my responsibility. I feel ashamed and disappointed in myself that I was unable, and still am a little bit, to do that.
I feel disconnected from my son. Seems like lately he has forgotten who his own Mommy is. He looks at me with eyes of confusion, eyes of distrust. Today, for the first time in a couple of weeks, he brought his favorite blanket and puppy to me for safe keeping. He used to always do that; wanting me to hold on to them while he played. He hasn't for awhile, until today. It brought tears to my eyes, but I choked them back. I didn't want him to see Mommy cry... again.
I feel disconnected from friends and family. People wanting to hang out, help out, or just simply talk. I don't know how. I want to, but never make the effort to their invitations. Partly, I believe its because I miss my husband and son so much I don't want to leave them. The other part is a mystery. I feel something, but cant put my finger on it. I just feel blah; no ambition.
I feel disconnected from my body. I am still in pain from my surgery, but I don't really own that pain. I lay in the bathtub and stare at my belly. I look at it and touch it, hoping I will see a wiggle. It is so flat, and soggy. I remember when I was just so recently pregnant with Elijah, how he would interact with me. He would poke back at every teasing poke I would throw his way. As I lay in the bathtub now, I cross my arms around my tummy and waist, squeezing and hugging, hoping I would just feel something. Nothing. All I feel is emptiness. A worthless uterus and messed up insides that make me feel sick and painful to even use the bathroom. I hate my body now.
Tomorrow is Elijah's funeral. I don't want to go, just like I didn't want to go through with labor. If I do it, it is done, and I can never go back. How am I to remember him if I let him go completely? I spent such a short time with him. It was not enough. I feel, and am afraid, that I will forget his face, his smell and his touch. I will forget how it felt holding his two pound body in my arms. Cupping his tiny face in the palm of my hands and sneaking my pointer finger under the fold and grip of his tiny 6-fingered hand. I don't want to forget. I am afraid.
I know that I will become connected again, but when? Soon I hope.
The only direction I can think of is to move forward. But how? My husband and I wanted a baby so much. We planned down to every detail, even trying to get Elijah's birthday as close to the month of August as we could. Elijah's due date was August 22nd. We were married in August, bought our first house together, and brought our first son into the world in August. August was always a good month for us.
We so badly wanted a new little someone in our lives. Tiny fingers, tiny toes, dirty diapers and spit up, all of it. It is all worth it.
But now what? Move forward? Here I go with the what-if's. Just don't tell my mother, she will tell you that I am the "What-If Queen". But what if? What if we move forward and choose to try again? What if we cant get pregnant again? What if we do get pregnant but then lose the baby... again? What if my life is at risk... again? What if our son has a harder time adjusting to a new family member when he is older? My mind is spinning in a giant 'what-if' tun drum and I cannot find my way out.
My husband and I are actually quite laid back when it comes to planning our future. We basically say "if it happens, it is meant to be". That was his main way of deciding whether or not to get up in the morning to attend his college classes. He never double checked our alarm clock, he would just say "if it goes off, it is meant that I attend class today". He lives by his own philosophy. I love him dearly for that. He is the most laid back person I know and is always teaching me to let go once in awhile and stop fretting so much about "what-ifs".
I know and understand that everything that has happened in our lives thus far has happened for a reason. Some reason or another, it has happened, whether or not we have been shown the reason yet. I can see the stepping stones of our friendship, into our marriage and then into parenthood. Each placed so strategically yet not all were planned by us alone. God has played a major role in the planning and placement of our stones; again whether we know it or not. We make thing we were in control of our very fate, our future, but God really has complete control. We just like to think we do.
I feel disconnected from the world recently because everything seems to have been pulled out of my control; I don't like that feeling. I lost control over my own body. I lost control over my family, my children. I am supposed to keep them safe. I am supposed to make sure they eat well and get enough sleep and have clean clothes to wear. I am the wife and mother of this family, that is my responsibility. I feel ashamed and disappointed in myself that I was unable, and still am a little bit, to do that.
I feel disconnected from my son. Seems like lately he has forgotten who his own Mommy is. He looks at me with eyes of confusion, eyes of distrust. Today, for the first time in a couple of weeks, he brought his favorite blanket and puppy to me for safe keeping. He used to always do that; wanting me to hold on to them while he played. He hasn't for awhile, until today. It brought tears to my eyes, but I choked them back. I didn't want him to see Mommy cry... again.
I feel disconnected from friends and family. People wanting to hang out, help out, or just simply talk. I don't know how. I want to, but never make the effort to their invitations. Partly, I believe its because I miss my husband and son so much I don't want to leave them. The other part is a mystery. I feel something, but cant put my finger on it. I just feel blah; no ambition.
I feel disconnected from my body. I am still in pain from my surgery, but I don't really own that pain. I lay in the bathtub and stare at my belly. I look at it and touch it, hoping I will see a wiggle. It is so flat, and soggy. I remember when I was just so recently pregnant with Elijah, how he would interact with me. He would poke back at every teasing poke I would throw his way. As I lay in the bathtub now, I cross my arms around my tummy and waist, squeezing and hugging, hoping I would just feel something. Nothing. All I feel is emptiness. A worthless uterus and messed up insides that make me feel sick and painful to even use the bathroom. I hate my body now.
Tomorrow is Elijah's funeral. I don't want to go, just like I didn't want to go through with labor. If I do it, it is done, and I can never go back. How am I to remember him if I let him go completely? I spent such a short time with him. It was not enough. I feel, and am afraid, that I will forget his face, his smell and his touch. I will forget how it felt holding his two pound body in my arms. Cupping his tiny face in the palm of my hands and sneaking my pointer finger under the fold and grip of his tiny 6-fingered hand. I don't want to forget. I am afraid.
I know that I will become connected again, but when? Soon I hope.
Wednesday, June 9, 2010
Life's Second Chance
I finally got to meet my beautiful son, Elijah. I also had to say good-bye to him. I feel lost without him. I have been waiting a little while to write this. Mainly because I have been too physically weak and in a lot of pain. I am exhausted. Also because my mind and soul feel weak, but I know I heal faster when I talk about it. So here it goes...
Friday - May 28th
I had a very normal routine OB appointment in Maple Grove. I drove myself. I know I haven't been feeling well, but I have been trying my best to ignore it; trying my best to get as far along as possible in my pregnancy for Elijah. My blood pressure was'ok' but not perfect. It wasn't considered in the dangerous zone yet, just as it has been for a few months now. The doctor seemed concerned however due to 4+ protein in my urine sample that was given minutes prior to talking with him. I asked "so it is a 4, on a scale of what? 10?" He said "on a scale of 4". That hit me like a brick wall. I thought I was doing good.
He told me I need to be admitted to Abbott Northwestern in Minneapolis for a 24-hour urine collection testing. I was not allowed to drive or leave the clinic; I had to wait for my husband to come pick me up.
When we got to Abbott, one of our worst fears came true. The 'doctor' that bullied us into a decision to terminate our pregnancy earlier on, the one who roadblocked us and said "no" to all of our requests for second opinions and ultrasounds, was the only doctor working the floor that day. We said absolutely not, we will walk out and go home right now. It took two hours for the nursing staff and care coordinators to come up with a different game plan. We are very pleased that they were able to work with us on this. They didn't seem to mind; actually they seemed to understand all too well.
We were set up in Station 65 of the Birth Center. This station handles high risk and premature pregnancies. Throughout our entire stay, we got to know just how sad Station 65 really is. We weren't the only family crying for our beloved baby each day.
I was hooked up to an IV right away. It took the nurse two times and failing to get my IV in. She eventually called the anesthetic people to come to it themselves. It was even difficult for them, but third time is a charm I guess. I was also given magnesium through the IV. The magnesium was a preventative measure to ward off any seizures and possible strokes, a common risk that comes with preclampsia. My blood pressure was being taken every hour. So far, it was still considered in the safe zone.
Saturday - May 29th
I woke up in an immense amount of pain. I was grabbing at my chest in hopes to pull off whatever it was that was trying to kill me. Only thing is there was nothing there. It felt like an elephant was sitting on my chest, a hand had my heart in its palm squeezing it, and two more hands were wrapped around my neck, squeezing and choking me. I felt like I couldn't breathe. With every sycronized squeeze from the three hands and lazy elephant, I would feel the pressure rise to my head, almost like my eyes, ears, and temples were going to explode. The pain also would shoot down my left arm. My left arm felt like it was on fire, but the IV sight seemed to look fine.
They shut off the magnesium and said sometimes that can make people feel sick. A few hours later, I only felt worse. I couldn't take it anymore. They re-checked my IV and still agreed it looked fine. They tested the sight anyways to see if the catheter had become infiltrated. It was. They took the IV out and hours later I started to feel better.
A few hours before the 24-hour urine collection testing was finished, the doctor had come in to explain that I have been diagnosed with mild preclampsia and there was no positive outlook for me going home until Elijah is delivered. My husband and I had a very difficult decision to make: induce now or wait until I get more sick and then induce then. Either way, an induction was going to happen. The sicker I get, the sicker Elijah gets and may not be born alive. The sicker I get, the less better ability and outcome for me to handle delivery as well. We chose induction that night; induction to save my life, and give Elijah a few seconds of life.
Cervadil, a hormonal medication was applied to my cervix to jump start the thinning and dilation process. I felt numb; numb in my body and numb in my heart. I prayed that having to go through all of this, to at least God grant Elijah a few seconds of life, and grant me at least one look from him in my eyes. I wanted my baby boy to see his mommy.
I had a very normal routine OB appointment in Maple Grove. I drove myself. I know I haven't been feeling well, but I have been trying my best to ignore it; trying my best to get as far along as possible in my pregnancy for Elijah. My blood pressure was'ok' but not perfect. It wasn't considered in the dangerous zone yet, just as it has been for a few months now. The doctor seemed concerned however due to 4+ protein in my urine sample that was given minutes prior to talking with him. I asked "so it is a 4, on a scale of what? 10?" He said "on a scale of 4". That hit me like a brick wall. I thought I was doing good.
He told me I need to be admitted to Abbott Northwestern in Minneapolis for a 24-hour urine collection testing. I was not allowed to drive or leave the clinic; I had to wait for my husband to come pick me up.
When we got to Abbott, one of our worst fears came true. The 'doctor' that bullied us into a decision to terminate our pregnancy earlier on, the one who roadblocked us and said "no" to all of our requests for second opinions and ultrasounds, was the only doctor working the floor that day. We said absolutely not, we will walk out and go home right now. It took two hours for the nursing staff and care coordinators to come up with a different game plan. We are very pleased that they were able to work with us on this. They didn't seem to mind; actually they seemed to understand all too well.
We were set up in Station 65 of the Birth Center. This station handles high risk and premature pregnancies. Throughout our entire stay, we got to know just how sad Station 65 really is. We weren't the only family crying for our beloved baby each day.
I was hooked up to an IV right away. It took the nurse two times and failing to get my IV in. She eventually called the anesthetic people to come to it themselves. It was even difficult for them, but third time is a charm I guess. I was also given magnesium through the IV. The magnesium was a preventative measure to ward off any seizures and possible strokes, a common risk that comes with preclampsia. My blood pressure was being taken every hour. So far, it was still considered in the safe zone.
Saturday - May 29th
I woke up in an immense amount of pain. I was grabbing at my chest in hopes to pull off whatever it was that was trying to kill me. Only thing is there was nothing there. It felt like an elephant was sitting on my chest, a hand had my heart in its palm squeezing it, and two more hands were wrapped around my neck, squeezing and choking me. I felt like I couldn't breathe. With every sycronized squeeze from the three hands and lazy elephant, I would feel the pressure rise to my head, almost like my eyes, ears, and temples were going to explode. The pain also would shoot down my left arm. My left arm felt like it was on fire, but the IV sight seemed to look fine.
They shut off the magnesium and said sometimes that can make people feel sick. A few hours later, I only felt worse. I couldn't take it anymore. They re-checked my IV and still agreed it looked fine. They tested the sight anyways to see if the catheter had become infiltrated. It was. They took the IV out and hours later I started to feel better.
A few hours before the 24-hour urine collection testing was finished, the doctor had come in to explain that I have been diagnosed with mild preclampsia and there was no positive outlook for me going home until Elijah is delivered. My husband and I had a very difficult decision to make: induce now or wait until I get more sick and then induce then. Either way, an induction was going to happen. The sicker I get, the sicker Elijah gets and may not be born alive. The sicker I get, the less better ability and outcome for me to handle delivery as well. We chose induction that night; induction to save my life, and give Elijah a few seconds of life.
Cervadil, a hormonal medication was applied to my cervix to jump start the thinning and dilation process. I felt numb; numb in my body and numb in my heart. I prayed that having to go through all of this, to at least God grant Elijah a few seconds of life, and grant me at least one look from him in my eyes. I wanted my baby boy to see his mommy.
Sunday - May 28th
Sunday was kind of an off day. Not a lot of action, but still a lot of pain. The doctor wanted to do another dose of Ceravdil, but also informed me that the "doctor" we don't like was the doctor on the floor for the rest of the day and into tomorrow. If I were to be given another dose of Cervadil, it is possible I could go into labor and deliver that day. My husband and I felt very strongly against working with this "doctor". So we were given the option to wait it out, and the Cervadil will be given late that night, and pitocin started in the morning.
Sunday was kind of an off day. Not a lot of action, but still a lot of pain. The doctor wanted to do another dose of Ceravdil, but also informed me that the "doctor" we don't like was the doctor on the floor for the rest of the day and into tomorrow. If I were to be given another dose of Cervadil, it is possible I could go into labor and deliver that day. My husband and I felt very strongly against working with this "doctor". So we were given the option to wait it out, and the Cervadil will be given late that night, and pitocin started in the morning.
We did just that...
Monday - May 31st
When I woke up, I was in a lot of pain. It felt as if a giant truck had hit me, then backed up, and hit me again. The throbbing pain all over just would not stop. Medications were given to help ease the pain. It never helped take away the pain except to help me close my eyes for an hour or two and try my best to ignore it.
Pitocin was started. I was already contracting on my own without it, but this was to help speed things up; and it did. I was given an epidural, and soon after that the doctor broke my water. There was a lot of fluid, which is common for triploidy pregnancies I guess. It just kept coming. I don't remember that much fluid with Paighton. When it was all done, I looked at my tummy. It looked as if I wasn't even pregnant, there was barely a bump.
Shortly after my water broke, I was contracting about every two minutes. I told the nurses and the doctor that I felt like something was going to happen...very soon...
They quickly moved me to the OR room. This was done for safety and preventive measures. The OR room has everything I and Elijah may need. My husband and I had asked the parents of Sustaining Grace to video and photograph the birth for us. I am so appreciative that they did.
I felt the need to push, so I did; and then that was it. I lost all feeling to push, it felt like 5 minutes went by without a contraction. So I pushed without the help of a contraction. On the third push, Elijah was born; 5:14 P.M.
He was so beautiful, and didn't even whimper one cry. I saw his chest move and I knew he was alive and breathing. He was only able to open one eye; the left one. I cried so much, I was happy to see him and even more happy that he could see me. God heard my prayer for sight.
My husband got to baptize his own son,, he even cut Elijah's umbilical cord; and then the hospital's Chaplin came in and did a Naming Ceremony for us.
I wanted to spend more time with Elijah, but I was being distracted; distracted by pain. I handed Elijah off to Daddy, and looked down to see what was going on. Why was I in so much pain? There were two nurses, one on each side, jumping and pounding on my stomach. All I could do was scream. I felt every ounce of their hands clenched onto my abdomen. I was having a lot of bleeding and the staff were trying to get it to stop. They gave me two shots of something in the leg, and that didn't work. They were trying to get me to pass the placenta. Nothing would come.
The nurse on my right, I ended up punching. It didn't even phase her, she just kept going. I tried to get her to stop pounding on me, I hooked my right arm into the fold of her left arm and was trying to pull her off of me. Still, nothing, she didn't flinch.
The nurse on my right, I ended up punching. It didn't even phase her, she just kept going. I tried to get her to stop pounding on me, I hooked my right arm into the fold of her left arm and was trying to pull her off of me. Still, nothing, she didn't flinch.
At that time, I felt very woozy, like I wanted to sleep. I had major tremors all over my body and started to shake the table. I couldn't control anything. That is when the doctor reached in and ripped the placenta out of my body. That moment was the worst of them all.
The doctor said that she needed to do a D&C to stop my bleeding. I wasn't sure of what that all consists of, but how I understand it is that they would use a tool to scrape out remaining pieces of the placenta that was still in my uterus. I was told it would take about 15-20 minutes. I looked at Elijah, and told him how much Mommy loves him. I asked him to hold on, that Mommy will be right back very soon, I wasn't ready to say goodbye yet. I agreed and told my husband to hurry, take him to our families so that they may see him alive.
He and Elijah left. I remember still screaming, asking to be knocked out. I couldn't take the pain anymore. I was knocked out. The last thing I saw was my doctor standing next to me, covered in blood from arms to feet. The floor was a pool of blood.
Tuesday - June 1st
When I woke up, I could hear a lot of commotion. I could see very little, my vision was blurry but I could make out my husband and my mom standing next to me. I asked where I was; I was in the ICU. I didn't understand why. I asked what time it was. It was midnight. Again, I had a hard time understanding, but I knew something didn't add up. Elijah was born at 5:14 P.M., I handed him off to Daddy a few minutes before 6 P.M. I was sure I would have been back by 7 P.M. at the very latest. I wasn't.
I then asked about Elijah, where was he? Is he alive? No. He had past, at 7:37 P.M. He lived a little over two hours. I was devastated. I wanted to see him more, I wanted to say goodbye and be the one holding him when he left this Earth to go to Heaven. I was also so very proud of him. He did what his Mommy had asked of him; hang in there, be strong because I will be back very soon. I am proud of my baby Elijah for fighting for more time for his mommy. I am disappointed in myself that I didn't hold up my part of the bargain. I didn't come back soon; it was later... much later.
No one would give me a straight answer as to what happened. They just said, the doctor will talk to you later. My entire body was numb, yet I felt so much pain. My mind was there and coherent but I could not control my body. My body had some kind of tick, where every few minutes I could feel a tightening from my neck to my legs. My legs would raise themselves up off the table and I would let out some kind of moan during each "tick" episode. I could hear the doctors scold my husband, "don't let her move her legs, especially the right one". He was trying his best, and so was I. I couldn't help it, I had no control. My husband held my legs down for me. The more and more my legs would try to lift up, the more the doctors would strain importance of the issue. I was confused why I wasn't allowed to move my legs, especially the right one.
Then I heard a doctor say "well, I'm going to go talk to the family". The more I laid there on the table and the more I asked questions and never received answers, even from my own husband and mother, the more I got upset. I started to get furious actually.
I started making demands. I yelled out, "why cant I move my legs?" and "tell the family what? How about telling ME what happened, what about me, tell ME?" and "what the hell is going on?". Still, no answers. I saw my mother and husband give each other strange looks, like they wanted to but didn't want to tell me.
The doctors must have given me something in my IV drip because I remember falling asleep and waking up in a different room and seeing my husband next to me. I was calm, much calmer than before. I asked, again, what happened. My husband said he almost lost me. Lost me? I didn't understand. He didn't collaborate a whole lot on things. Later, my mother came to talk to me. I asked her too what happened. She just said I gave everyone a scare.
Finally, the doctor came in later in the day. I asked her what happened. She told me everything. I couldn't believe what I was hearing. My heart sank. I thought of my husband and my little boy Paighton the whole time as I strained to pay attention. From what I remember of our conversation that day in the ICU, was this...
When the doctor had ripped out my placenta, I bled profusely. She couldn't get it under control. She did the D&C which should have stopped the bleeding, but it didn't. My placenta had grown into the wall of my uterus. Usually the only fix for these type of complications is a hysterectomy, from what I understand anyways, I could be wrong. While I was under, she came out to talk to my husband. She gave him three choices. Choice #1 - do nothing. Which obviously isn't an option because the result was I would die. Choice #2 - do a hysterectomy. Result, we would never be able to have more children. Choice #3 - do a procedure called 'uterine artery embolization'. Result, I may or may not be able to keep my uterus, so a hysterectomy was still possible and chances of having more children drop. At least there was still a chance. My husband told the doctor to do the third option, save my uterus, but if it wasn't saving my life, then just do whatever she needs to do to same my life. I was in surgery for 4 hours.
Uterine Artery Embolization is a procedure done under an X-ray machine. They have to go through a main artery located in the groin area of the right leg. They use a dye to follow the main artery blood flow to the uterus. The dye guides them to the spots where blood is still coming from. Then they flush particles that follow the blood and dye to the uterus. The particles then get 'stuck' in the spots where blood is leaking from. It creates a 'plug', and permanent clot. This permanent plug is what causes infertility. At least there is still a chance, some chance is better than none. That is why I wasn't supposed to move my leg. Now I understand.
We were told that they were the only hospital in the state that performs this type of procedure. Had I delivered here in St. Cloud, I would have died. My husband told me how grateful he is of all the staff at Abbott, and our decision to deliver at Abbott instead of St. Cloud; it was a given option to us a few times throughout our pregnancy.
The doctor also told me I was given about four and a half units of blood. I lost a lot. She said for someone my size, six units is the average for total blood count. I lost over half my own blood. It wasn't even my blood anymore that was running through my body.
I am so happy for my husband, in making the decision to attempt in saving my uterus, but more focused on my life. Save my life. I owe everything to him. I couldn't even begin to imagine what he would have done in losing not only our sweet baby Elijah, but me as well on the same day. I cry everyday thinking about how that would have effected him and our son Paighton. I am so grateful to God for giving me a second chance at life. Thank you Lord.
My husband told me that he would have understood though if I had gone to Heaven with Elijah. He would understand that our son needed me with him in Heaven. I had to disagree with him. I wouldn't been as strong as him to understand something like that. I know our baby boy is safe and without pain in Heaven now. My husband and other son need me here, on Earth for as long as possible; and I need them. Oh, do I ever need them more than ever before.
Later in the day, I was able to go back to the Birth Center instead of having to stay in the ICU. I was also able to have pictures done with Now I Lay Me Down To Sleep; the photographer came back for me since I wasn't able to do them while Elijah was alive. I was so happy for that. When Elijah was brought to my room, he had come from the morgue. He was cold, and stiff. He was still beautiful, just as I remembered. I wanted to stay with him forever, but I could only take so much. The more I stared at him, the more I swore I could actually see changing expressions in his face. He would smile when daddy made mommy laugh; he would pout his lipswhen mommy and daddy began to cry. I wanted to believe so badly that he was still alive. I wanted him to wake up, open his eyes and look at his mommy just once more. Just once. He never did.
Thursday - June 3rd
I was discharged from the hospital on this day. I felt empty as I was wheeled out in a chair, no baby in my arms and no baby within my belly. Emptiness. A feeling I would never wish on anyone. I feel less than a woman, less than a mother. I feel like I am stuck in a body that isn't mine and for some reason I am to carry all the pain.
I miss my sweet Elijah so much. On Friday, June 11th, we are holding the funeral service for him. I never imagined I would have to say goodbye to any child of mine so soon. Why us? Why me? I may never know, but one thing I do know is that Elijah is mine. He belongs to my husband and I. We will forever carry him in our hearts.
Thank you Lord for giving my sweet son a chance at life and allowing our families to meet him. Thank you Lord for giving me a second chance at life. For allowing me to live with a new and different perspective. Thank you for allowing my husband and our son Paighton more time with me. I wasn't ready to come home....
Thursday, June 3, 2010
Elijah's Birthday
May 31st, 2010 - Elijah Andrew was born at 5:14 P.M.
He weighed 2 pounds and 7 ounces. He is 14 inches long.
He was held by many people who love him before he passed away to meet God in Heaven at 7:37 P.M. He is now with his very first best friend, Grace and Auntie Danica.
He never cried. He cooed, blew bubbles and wiggled his tongue the entire time.
Mommy and Daddy will miss you forever and love you always, Baby Elijah. 
He weighed 2 pounds and 7 ounces. He is 14 inches long.
He was held by many people who love him before he passed away to meet God in Heaven at 7:37 P.M. He is now with his very first best friend, Grace and Auntie Danica.
He never cried. He cooed, blew bubbles and wiggled his tongue the entire time.
Mommy and Daddy will miss you forever and love you always, Baby Elijah.
Friday, May 28, 2010
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...
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...
Tuesday, May 25, 2010
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...
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!
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