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...
Sunday, June 13, 2010
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!
Monday, May 24, 2010
27 weeks
Today, I am 27 weeks pregnant with Baby Elijah.
It feels like it was just yesterday that I had told my mom we were expecting again. It was Christmas time. I had wrapped a new Angel tree-topper for a gift and labeled the gift tag "To: Grandma, From: Baby Cedergren". She was holding Paighton at the time, and he was helping her tear off the shreds of paper from the box as she read the gift tag. She looked up at me, no words, mouth open. Then when her mind came to a slower thinking, out came"Really?", she stammered. Andy and I nodded, with smiles as wide as hers. She started to jump up and down like a 8-year old getting that brand new Barbie doll house, or now-a-days, and new cell phone. The rest of the family stared at her awkwardly as if they didn't know her.
Everyone was excited, especially my husband and I. We wanted to be pregnant again so bad. We even bought our son two different baby dolls to "practice" being a big brother with. He is so sweet towards babies, even real ones. He is the King of Kisses.
I am at the point where Elijah can be born at any time now; or I may still have to endure 13 more weeks of carrying what I call "dead man walking". That's what it feels like. Elijah is alive now, but I know his fate. He is a dead man walking.
My contractions are getting more frequent, and stronger. I am scared. I am scared to go through it all. The labor, the delivery, the birth plan wondering if we are making the right decisions, then the funeral, and finally, the rest of my life without Elijah. My sweet, much wanted son; Elijah.
It is really hard to see and hear of others and their pregnancies right now. When I share a common space at work, whether passing in the hall or in the bathroom, I begin to get a choking feeling. I want to scream. I just imagine them holding, snuggling, and kissing their sweet baby. All of the memories and sleepless nights they will get to have. That is all I want.
I am afraid to hold my son's lifeless body. Growing up as a child, I have always feared death. I couldn't bring myself to attend the funerals my dad would do for us for any pet that passed away, even my most favorite dog when he was purposely hit by a cruel neighbor on his 4-wheeler. I hid in the house and cried. It took me months to even go near where he was buried. That was just a dog. How am I going to manage dealing with my own son? A little tiny human I have carried and felt rolling around inside me? I know we humans are capable of more than we can ever imagine. We do some pretty amazing things when we least expect it. I know I wont refuse to hold my son, alive or dead. I know I wont run and hide. I am just afraid.
I wish I could run and hide from all the evil in this world. I don't want to deal with anything anymore. I want to take my son, my husband, and myself to some place far away where we can explore all the greatness in the world. Where we can touch, smell, and taste everything good; nothing bad and enjoy sharing it with each other. We never have to leave each other. We are never sick, hungry or in pain. All we feel is love.
It feels like it was just yesterday that I had told my mom we were expecting again. It was Christmas time. I had wrapped a new Angel tree-topper for a gift and labeled the gift tag "To: Grandma, From: Baby Cedergren". She was holding Paighton at the time, and he was helping her tear off the shreds of paper from the box as she read the gift tag. She looked up at me, no words, mouth open. Then when her mind came to a slower thinking, out came"Really?", she stammered. Andy and I nodded, with smiles as wide as hers. She started to jump up and down like a 8-year old getting that brand new Barbie doll house, or now-a-days, and new cell phone. The rest of the family stared at her awkwardly as if they didn't know her.
Everyone was excited, especially my husband and I. We wanted to be pregnant again so bad. We even bought our son two different baby dolls to "practice" being a big brother with. He is so sweet towards babies, even real ones. He is the King of Kisses.
I am at the point where Elijah can be born at any time now; or I may still have to endure 13 more weeks of carrying what I call "dead man walking". That's what it feels like. Elijah is alive now, but I know his fate. He is a dead man walking.
My contractions are getting more frequent, and stronger. I am scared. I am scared to go through it all. The labor, the delivery, the birth plan wondering if we are making the right decisions, then the funeral, and finally, the rest of my life without Elijah. My sweet, much wanted son; Elijah.
It is really hard to see and hear of others and their pregnancies right now. When I share a common space at work, whether passing in the hall or in the bathroom, I begin to get a choking feeling. I want to scream. I just imagine them holding, snuggling, and kissing their sweet baby. All of the memories and sleepless nights they will get to have. That is all I want.
I am afraid to hold my son's lifeless body. Growing up as a child, I have always feared death. I couldn't bring myself to attend the funerals my dad would do for us for any pet that passed away, even my most favorite dog when he was purposely hit by a cruel neighbor on his 4-wheeler. I hid in the house and cried. It took me months to even go near where he was buried. That was just a dog. How am I going to manage dealing with my own son? A little tiny human I have carried and felt rolling around inside me? I know we humans are capable of more than we can ever imagine. We do some pretty amazing things when we least expect it. I know I wont refuse to hold my son, alive or dead. I know I wont run and hide. I am just afraid.
I wish I could run and hide from all the evil in this world. I don't want to deal with anything anymore. I want to take my son, my husband, and myself to some place far away where we can explore all the greatness in the world. Where we can touch, smell, and taste everything good; nothing bad and enjoy sharing it with each other. We never have to leave each other. We are never sick, hungry or in pain. All we feel is love.
Sunday, May 23, 2010
Birth Plan
Friday, May 21st, 2010, we had our very first visit with amazing people.
At 7:45 A.M. we met with the neurosurgeon to talk about Elijah's spina bifida. As I sat nervously in the waiting room, I heard body movement down the hall. Then I heard my name, someone with a Spanish accent calling out to me asking where I was. I stood up, and his eyes smiled as big as his lips. He said "Hello, Mommy", as if he were a child of mine. He said that he was spending some time doing his math, and asked what my due date was again. I reminded him, August 22nd. He explained to me that his mother is an August baby; a Virgo and that Elijah would be a Virgo as well. If his math is correct, he predicts Elijah will be born August 17th. We will just have to see how well he knows his stuff.
As we walked down the hall, making our way to his office, he tried to escort me, looping his arm into the bend of my arm. I tucked my arm into my side, I am not sure why. I felt uncomfortable at first, having just met him. I also felt a little intimidated. Here is a man that performs miracles, and in the back of my mind I was aware that an hour after talking with us, he will be performing surgery on a little boy with a brain tumor. I thought my bad luck might rub off onto his arm, and the mother of that little boy will have to endure Elijah's fate with her own son. My mind was in a million places at that moment. My body reacted the way it did I guess; whether I knew it or not.
He did however rest my fears about the two methods of delivery Elijah: vaginally or C-section. He assured me that there is no statistical evidence supporting that one is safer or more harmful than the other. The only reason why c-sections are performed are because of knowledge of the condition beforehand. Both show that the outcome is the same and would not make any difference.
He also said that we do not need to make an at-that-minute decision about whether or not we want to perform surgery on Elijah's spina bifida. We are still unsure. Obviously, the sooner the better, but he has done surgery on babies from across the world a whole month after they were born. Those babies do just fine. He also assured us that no matter our decision, yes or no, he will support us either way. It was calming to hear him say that, considering a very evil doctor we previously talked to the beginning of April saying that there was not a single person in the world that would even attempt spina bifida surgery on a triploidy baby. The neurosurgeon did not seem to be bothered that triploidy is a factor to be considered. He did not mention it at all, but I could tell in his eyes he knew the outcome. Elijah will die. When? No one knows, but he will die. It almost seems as if the only reason he is willing to do the surgery, regardless of Elijah's triploidy diagnosis is acting as a comfort measure to us only. He knows it wont save his life, but it might give us more time to be with Elijah. How much time? Again, no one knows.
I am still hanging onto hope that the diagnosis of full triploidy is wrong; false. I am still praying that it is mosaic triploidy instead. Right now, I need all the prayers I can get to once again prove that God decides and no scientific testing can.
After meeting with the neurosurgeon, we toured the Birth Center at Abbott Northwestern. Then we met with the neonatal to talk about what we want and what is expected of others during Elijah's birth. We have to make a birth plan, and it will be kept on file and shared with all the other neonatals. No one can stray from what we say. Our word is our word, and everyone is legally bound to it. The only people who can change what it says is us, and we can change our mind at the very last second if we wish. After talking with the neonatal, we toured the NICU at Children's Hospital. It was very bittersweet. Knowing that so many rooms were being occupied, but also knowing that those babies have a better chance than my sweet Elijah; just a chance at all was comforting to me. My heart felt for all those mothers, sitting there in their babies rooms, sleepless, possibly hungry, sad and scared. I wish I could hug them all at once. They will more than likely have a very hard road ahead of them, but I will lose my baby regardless if he ever makes it to the NICU.
Our Birth Plan:
I will share some information about our birth plan, but some things I will not. My husband and I have decided that some things are to be decided by us, and us only. We do not want the feelings or opinions of family, friends, even strangers, influence us. We do not want us to go through the confusion and worry of second-guessing our decision made as husband and wife. It is our life, our child. No one has to live with the cause and effects of our decision but us. So why should anyone be allowed to influence us?
I will labor in a room like any other normal pregnant woman would, but right as I am about to deliver, I will be moved to an operating room to deliver. This will be done for safety measures as anything they would need for me or Elijah is right there. Once Elijah is born, if he is born alive, he will be immediately taken from me to an adjoining room. Daddy will get to go with him.
The neonatal and her team will be present during delivery. As Elijah is taken away to the adjoining room, I will still be able to watch through a window. This is were the importance of our birth plan will be played out. The neonatals have two options: taking an aggressive approach, meaning using every means in their power to stabilize Elijah including breathing tubes and resuscitation; or comfort care and more of a hospice approach. We have made our decision of what is to happen, but it has not been put into writing yet.
Which ever approach is taken, and Elijah is stable enough to even have surgery, we then will make our decision of yes or no to do surgery on his spina bifida. Surgery will prolong his stay in the hospital. If surgery is not done, we may be able to take him home sooner, and let him pass at home with family. We would be risking him dying during surgery, alone and without family. We are not sure what is going to happen yet. The neonatal said don't expect him to even get that far; he might not even make it out of the delivery room. She would be surprised if he was even born alive.
It was hard to hear those words, but I do understand we have to take a logical approach and prepare for anything. I still have my faith, my hopes and prayers, but I also still have my fears.
If he is alive when he is born, more genetic testing will be done again. Blood will be taken straight from the umbilical cord. This would be more accurate then the amnio. Again, I am hoping it comes back mosaic...
With this weekend coming to an end, and the start or another busy week, I still feel stuck in the same spot. My life is on hold; waiting for Elijah to be born... and die..
On a closing note, my husband and I ask of everyone to please respect our decisions and feelings during this difficult time. We love hearing and reading words of encouragement, it helps a lot. Thank you. But please do no share your personal "if I were you" comments. We would appreciate it.
Tonight, I hope I get to see my sweet Elijah in my dreams; I hope they are filled with joy and laughter...
At 7:45 A.M. we met with the neurosurgeon to talk about Elijah's spina bifida. As I sat nervously in the waiting room, I heard body movement down the hall. Then I heard my name, someone with a Spanish accent calling out to me asking where I was. I stood up, and his eyes smiled as big as his lips. He said "Hello, Mommy", as if he were a child of mine. He said that he was spending some time doing his math, and asked what my due date was again. I reminded him, August 22nd. He explained to me that his mother is an August baby; a Virgo and that Elijah would be a Virgo as well. If his math is correct, he predicts Elijah will be born August 17th. We will just have to see how well he knows his stuff.
As we walked down the hall, making our way to his office, he tried to escort me, looping his arm into the bend of my arm. I tucked my arm into my side, I am not sure why. I felt uncomfortable at first, having just met him. I also felt a little intimidated. Here is a man that performs miracles, and in the back of my mind I was aware that an hour after talking with us, he will be performing surgery on a little boy with a brain tumor. I thought my bad luck might rub off onto his arm, and the mother of that little boy will have to endure Elijah's fate with her own son. My mind was in a million places at that moment. My body reacted the way it did I guess; whether I knew it or not.
He did however rest my fears about the two methods of delivery Elijah: vaginally or C-section. He assured me that there is no statistical evidence supporting that one is safer or more harmful than the other. The only reason why c-sections are performed are because of knowledge of the condition beforehand. Both show that the outcome is the same and would not make any difference.
He also said that we do not need to make an at-that-minute decision about whether or not we want to perform surgery on Elijah's spina bifida. We are still unsure. Obviously, the sooner the better, but he has done surgery on babies from across the world a whole month after they were born. Those babies do just fine. He also assured us that no matter our decision, yes or no, he will support us either way. It was calming to hear him say that, considering a very evil doctor we previously talked to the beginning of April saying that there was not a single person in the world that would even attempt spina bifida surgery on a triploidy baby. The neurosurgeon did not seem to be bothered that triploidy is a factor to be considered. He did not mention it at all, but I could tell in his eyes he knew the outcome. Elijah will die. When? No one knows, but he will die. It almost seems as if the only reason he is willing to do the surgery, regardless of Elijah's triploidy diagnosis is acting as a comfort measure to us only. He knows it wont save his life, but it might give us more time to be with Elijah. How much time? Again, no one knows.
I am still hanging onto hope that the diagnosis of full triploidy is wrong; false. I am still praying that it is mosaic triploidy instead. Right now, I need all the prayers I can get to once again prove that God decides and no scientific testing can.
After meeting with the neurosurgeon, we toured the Birth Center at Abbott Northwestern. Then we met with the neonatal to talk about what we want and what is expected of others during Elijah's birth. We have to make a birth plan, and it will be kept on file and shared with all the other neonatals. No one can stray from what we say. Our word is our word, and everyone is legally bound to it. The only people who can change what it says is us, and we can change our mind at the very last second if we wish. After talking with the neonatal, we toured the NICU at Children's Hospital. It was very bittersweet. Knowing that so many rooms were being occupied, but also knowing that those babies have a better chance than my sweet Elijah; just a chance at all was comforting to me. My heart felt for all those mothers, sitting there in their babies rooms, sleepless, possibly hungry, sad and scared. I wish I could hug them all at once. They will more than likely have a very hard road ahead of them, but I will lose my baby regardless if he ever makes it to the NICU.
Our Birth Plan:
I will share some information about our birth plan, but some things I will not. My husband and I have decided that some things are to be decided by us, and us only. We do not want the feelings or opinions of family, friends, even strangers, influence us. We do not want us to go through the confusion and worry of second-guessing our decision made as husband and wife. It is our life, our child. No one has to live with the cause and effects of our decision but us. So why should anyone be allowed to influence us?
I will labor in a room like any other normal pregnant woman would, but right as I am about to deliver, I will be moved to an operating room to deliver. This will be done for safety measures as anything they would need for me or Elijah is right there. Once Elijah is born, if he is born alive, he will be immediately taken from me to an adjoining room. Daddy will get to go with him.
The neonatal and her team will be present during delivery. As Elijah is taken away to the adjoining room, I will still be able to watch through a window. This is were the importance of our birth plan will be played out. The neonatals have two options: taking an aggressive approach, meaning using every means in their power to stabilize Elijah including breathing tubes and resuscitation; or comfort care and more of a hospice approach. We have made our decision of what is to happen, but it has not been put into writing yet.
Which ever approach is taken, and Elijah is stable enough to even have surgery, we then will make our decision of yes or no to do surgery on his spina bifida. Surgery will prolong his stay in the hospital. If surgery is not done, we may be able to take him home sooner, and let him pass at home with family. We would be risking him dying during surgery, alone and without family. We are not sure what is going to happen yet. The neonatal said don't expect him to even get that far; he might not even make it out of the delivery room. She would be surprised if he was even born alive.
It was hard to hear those words, but I do understand we have to take a logical approach and prepare for anything. I still have my faith, my hopes and prayers, but I also still have my fears.
If he is alive when he is born, more genetic testing will be done again. Blood will be taken straight from the umbilical cord. This would be more accurate then the amnio. Again, I am hoping it comes back mosaic...
With this weekend coming to an end, and the start or another busy week, I still feel stuck in the same spot. My life is on hold; waiting for Elijah to be born... and die..
On a closing note, my husband and I ask of everyone to please respect our decisions and feelings during this difficult time. We love hearing and reading words of encouragement, it helps a lot. Thank you. But please do no share your personal "if I were you" comments. We would appreciate it.
Tonight, I hope I get to see my sweet Elijah in my dreams; I hope they are filled with joy and laughter...
Wednesday, May 19, 2010
Hate you
I hate you because I do not understand you. I don't want to... I hate myself for not wanting to.
I do not hate you because I am incapable of understanding you. It is not your fault... it is my own. Do not hate me for my faults and I will not hate you for your faults.
These are two simple, yet loaded statements of how my feelings pull me from side to side, sometimes up or down and cross ways. I have hired two people to help keep my mind occupied and running smoothly, as 'normal' as possible. They are Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum. They mean well, but somethings their odd behaviour and confusing tactics creates more chaos then needed. In the end, job is done and onto the next... off the go, arguing about a new topic, possible teatime...
I left work early last Tuesday, and did not go in today. I do not feel well, physically, but I think a lot of it is due to my emotional state right now. My mind is my worst enemy and it is confusing the rest of my body. I have stopped eating, not completely but pretty much. I just don't care. I have stopped sleeping, maybe 3-4 hours per night. I lie awake at night and listen to the many arguments my bipolar conscience has with itself. I try to mediate the two, but I am left unheard.
So I go into work on Monday, tired, barely functioning due to lack of sleep and poor nutrition. Self sabotage. Not even 5 minutes into the work day, an overheard conversation amongst co-workers triggers my rambling mind to detach itself from my inner chaos and retaliate outwards. A comment is said after my requests for a different public conversational topic that left me feeling heated. I walked away... I had to bring something to the HR department anyways, and thought that was a good time to do it.
Although I may feel clinically insane right now; that is one thing I am not. What I feel is very logical; I wouldn't have a soul if I didn't feel like this. A person who loses, or is losing a child that feels nothing; is just that; they are nothing themselves. I am not nothing; I am a lot of things. I am love, I am compassion, I am fear, I am God's child whom He has given a soul to.
Although I must maintain a professional demeanor at work, I do not feel sorry, nor do I apologize for my actions on Monday. They were warranted and very subtle. Hardly anyone even noticed. I would expect others to understand. If they don't, I do not hate you for not understanding... How can you? You never have had to endure what I am living every second of my life. I do not hate you for being insensitive. How can you measure sensitivity on a scale you have never stepped foot on? If you were to be pinched in the arm and asked to rate the pain on a scale of 1-10, you might rate it a 3 whereas someone else would rate it a 9. Everyone is different. We are snowflakes; no two are the exact same. I only ask of others, friends, family, co-workers, even strangers, that if you do not understand, please do not judge me. Do not hate me because you cannot understand. I do not hate you for not understanding. Please do not assume that the type of person you are seeing right now is the real person that I am; right now I am a mirage... even unto myself...
So on Tuesday, I left work and went to the doctor's office here in St. Cloud. I was crying and screaming the whole way as I drove; I could barely see the road. I was in so much pain, I so badly wanted to go down the highway, press as hard as I could on the gas pedal, close my eyes and let go...
My soul stepped in. It reminded me of my family, my son, and all the other lives that would be effected. Again, I am not clinically insane, nor depressed; just confused...
I think I scared the nurse when I got to the clinic. She was very short and wouldn't look my in the eyes. Of course, understandable; she does not know the situation with my pregnancy. The doctor didn't even know when she walked in. I had to go through the whole story with her. I guess that is what happens when you transfer all prenatal care to a different clinic. I told her I would be better, just a little, if all I could do was sleep. Sleep. Without it, your mind fails and drives your body blindly into life.
She was hesitant. She left the exam room for a few minutes. When she came back, she told me she got off the phone with a different doctor in the Centracare system that I have seen in the past; she was reassured by this doctor that I am not crazy. That actually I am very in touch with my emotions and are handling them better than others have had done in the past. It felt good to hear that. It wasn't only reassurance to her, but myself. I needed some form of justification; that was it. She prescribed me 5 Ambien pills with one exception: I had to promise I wouldn't take them all at once. I laughed; then I saw how serious she was. I promised, of course. She said she believed me, she could see in my eyes, and through my tears that I do want to live. If I am so distraught over losing the life of a child I will never get to know; why would I take my own life and miss out on the life and getting to know the son I already have? I wouldn't. Simple as that.
Tuesday night I took one Ambien. I slept, but woke up feeling worse. I had another doctor's appointment to go to again; a follow up visit from Tuesday. The appointment lasted an hour, and my nose bled the whole time. It wouldn't stop. I am not sure if my nosebleed was a result from me crying so bad, the cold I am trying to get over paired with me violently blowing my nose into a tissue, or an adverse effect from the Ambien. I hate drugs. If it isn't natural, more than likely I do not want it in my body.
Then today I received a phone call from the neurosurgeon's office; asking me to reschedule... yet again. My first thought was pure annoyance, but then I quickly corrected my thoughts and called myself selfish. Why would a children's neurosurgeon need to reschedule? The only reason is obvious. A little boy has a brain tumor and needs to have surgery right away. I felt sad for the little boy, then sad for his mother and other family members. I rescheduled the appointment for the same day, just an earlier time. We have to be there at 7:45 A.M. Wow, Paighton is going to be one cranky little boy having to get up that early in the morning to go to daycare. I feel sorry for his daycare friends. Grumpy little man...
To answer the many questions I have received about why I haven't posted on my blog for a week, is simple. The past two days have been the answer. My mind was fighting with my heart; fighting for control over my body. That control would include my hands, my fingers... my ability to type. I was afraid of what I might have posted had my mind been given complete control over my hands. I need to think, and speak from my heart. I need to act from the heart. Had my mind posted a blog, it would have offended many people. People I am not out to offend, nor attack. They have nothing to do with my situation. People I like, I respect, and care for regardless of any regards.
Pregnancy is like a roller coaster. It has its ups and downs. You will enjoy it, but you also throw your hands up and scream for your mother; hoping she will come save you. You get to the highest point, and is it creeps to a slow stop that doesn't completely stop, you can see down how far you are going to fall. You white knuckle grip the handlebars for support. You start to have regrets of ever getting on the roller coaster to begin with. Like all roller coasters, they have an end. It comes to the end and you are left with a sick, yet satisfied feeling. "That's odd", you think to yourself. You want to do it again, and again, and again... Even though you know what to expect, all roller coasters are different. The highs and lows might be higher or lower than the last, and the turns will jerk you in a direction you weren't ready for. Yet you get on another one... again... and again... and again...
I have heard of parents of triplody babies getting on that roller coaster again, and some haven't. I wonder which I will be...
I hope work goes well tomorrow. I miss people again...
This picture was taken awhile ago, before my little man got his first haircut. I thought of it as I was writing this post. I stared at it for awhile, trying to contain my laugh from waking the sleeping angel in his room. It kind of puts a view on what I was talking about regarding rollercoasters. He was being pushed by Daddy in an empty diaper box. At times he wanted to get out, but if he stopped, he would get upset and ask for more. He reminds me of the Sour Cabbage Patch Kids gummy candies. At first they are sour, then the are sweet...
I do not hate you because I am incapable of understanding you. It is not your fault... it is my own. Do not hate me for my faults and I will not hate you for your faults.
These are two simple, yet loaded statements of how my feelings pull me from side to side, sometimes up or down and cross ways. I have hired two people to help keep my mind occupied and running smoothly, as 'normal' as possible. They are Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum. They mean well, but somethings their odd behaviour and confusing tactics creates more chaos then needed. In the end, job is done and onto the next... off the go, arguing about a new topic, possible teatime...
I left work early last Tuesday, and did not go in today. I do not feel well, physically, but I think a lot of it is due to my emotional state right now. My mind is my worst enemy and it is confusing the rest of my body. I have stopped eating, not completely but pretty much. I just don't care. I have stopped sleeping, maybe 3-4 hours per night. I lie awake at night and listen to the many arguments my bipolar conscience has with itself. I try to mediate the two, but I am left unheard.
So I go into work on Monday, tired, barely functioning due to lack of sleep and poor nutrition. Self sabotage. Not even 5 minutes into the work day, an overheard conversation amongst co-workers triggers my rambling mind to detach itself from my inner chaos and retaliate outwards. A comment is said after my requests for a different public conversational topic that left me feeling heated. I walked away... I had to bring something to the HR department anyways, and thought that was a good time to do it.
Although I may feel clinically insane right now; that is one thing I am not. What I feel is very logical; I wouldn't have a soul if I didn't feel like this. A person who loses, or is losing a child that feels nothing; is just that; they are nothing themselves. I am not nothing; I am a lot of things. I am love, I am compassion, I am fear, I am God's child whom He has given a soul to.
Although I must maintain a professional demeanor at work, I do not feel sorry, nor do I apologize for my actions on Monday. They were warranted and very subtle. Hardly anyone even noticed. I would expect others to understand. If they don't, I do not hate you for not understanding... How can you? You never have had to endure what I am living every second of my life. I do not hate you for being insensitive. How can you measure sensitivity on a scale you have never stepped foot on? If you were to be pinched in the arm and asked to rate the pain on a scale of 1-10, you might rate it a 3 whereas someone else would rate it a 9. Everyone is different. We are snowflakes; no two are the exact same. I only ask of others, friends, family, co-workers, even strangers, that if you do not understand, please do not judge me. Do not hate me because you cannot understand. I do not hate you for not understanding. Please do not assume that the type of person you are seeing right now is the real person that I am; right now I am a mirage... even unto myself...
So on Tuesday, I left work and went to the doctor's office here in St. Cloud. I was crying and screaming the whole way as I drove; I could barely see the road. I was in so much pain, I so badly wanted to go down the highway, press as hard as I could on the gas pedal, close my eyes and let go...
My soul stepped in. It reminded me of my family, my son, and all the other lives that would be effected. Again, I am not clinically insane, nor depressed; just confused...
I think I scared the nurse when I got to the clinic. She was very short and wouldn't look my in the eyes. Of course, understandable; she does not know the situation with my pregnancy. The doctor didn't even know when she walked in. I had to go through the whole story with her. I guess that is what happens when you transfer all prenatal care to a different clinic. I told her I would be better, just a little, if all I could do was sleep. Sleep. Without it, your mind fails and drives your body blindly into life.
She was hesitant. She left the exam room for a few minutes. When she came back, she told me she got off the phone with a different doctor in the Centracare system that I have seen in the past; she was reassured by this doctor that I am not crazy. That actually I am very in touch with my emotions and are handling them better than others have had done in the past. It felt good to hear that. It wasn't only reassurance to her, but myself. I needed some form of justification; that was it. She prescribed me 5 Ambien pills with one exception: I had to promise I wouldn't take them all at once. I laughed; then I saw how serious she was. I promised, of course. She said she believed me, she could see in my eyes, and through my tears that I do want to live. If I am so distraught over losing the life of a child I will never get to know; why would I take my own life and miss out on the life and getting to know the son I already have? I wouldn't. Simple as that.
Tuesday night I took one Ambien. I slept, but woke up feeling worse. I had another doctor's appointment to go to again; a follow up visit from Tuesday. The appointment lasted an hour, and my nose bled the whole time. It wouldn't stop. I am not sure if my nosebleed was a result from me crying so bad, the cold I am trying to get over paired with me violently blowing my nose into a tissue, or an adverse effect from the Ambien. I hate drugs. If it isn't natural, more than likely I do not want it in my body.
Then today I received a phone call from the neurosurgeon's office; asking me to reschedule... yet again. My first thought was pure annoyance, but then I quickly corrected my thoughts and called myself selfish. Why would a children's neurosurgeon need to reschedule? The only reason is obvious. A little boy has a brain tumor and needs to have surgery right away. I felt sad for the little boy, then sad for his mother and other family members. I rescheduled the appointment for the same day, just an earlier time. We have to be there at 7:45 A.M. Wow, Paighton is going to be one cranky little boy having to get up that early in the morning to go to daycare. I feel sorry for his daycare friends. Grumpy little man...
To answer the many questions I have received about why I haven't posted on my blog for a week, is simple. The past two days have been the answer. My mind was fighting with my heart; fighting for control over my body. That control would include my hands, my fingers... my ability to type. I was afraid of what I might have posted had my mind been given complete control over my hands. I need to think, and speak from my heart. I need to act from the heart. Had my mind posted a blog, it would have offended many people. People I am not out to offend, nor attack. They have nothing to do with my situation. People I like, I respect, and care for regardless of any regards.
Pregnancy is like a roller coaster. It has its ups and downs. You will enjoy it, but you also throw your hands up and scream for your mother; hoping she will come save you. You get to the highest point, and is it creeps to a slow stop that doesn't completely stop, you can see down how far you are going to fall. You white knuckle grip the handlebars for support. You start to have regrets of ever getting on the roller coaster to begin with. Like all roller coasters, they have an end. It comes to the end and you are left with a sick, yet satisfied feeling. "That's odd", you think to yourself. You want to do it again, and again, and again... Even though you know what to expect, all roller coasters are different. The highs and lows might be higher or lower than the last, and the turns will jerk you in a direction you weren't ready for. Yet you get on another one... again... and again... and again...
I have heard of parents of triplody babies getting on that roller coaster again, and some haven't. I wonder which I will be...
I hope work goes well tomorrow. I miss people again...
This picture was taken awhile ago, before my little man got his first haircut. I thought of it as I was writing this post. I stared at it for awhile, trying to contain my laugh from waking the sleeping angel in his room. It kind of puts a view on what I was talking about regarding rollercoasters. He was being pushed by Daddy in an empty diaper box. At times he wanted to get out, but if he stopped, he would get upset and ask for more. He reminds me of the Sour Cabbage Patch Kids gummy candies. At first they are sour, then the are sweet...
Good night my sweet gremlin...
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