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?
Sunday, June 27, 2010
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.
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