Saturday, December 25, 2010

The Christmas Story for the first Time

The holidays this year were the more challenging of my life but it was also the most meaningful of my life. It was hard to hang up Wyatt's stocking or answer my daughter's questions on Christmas morning as to why Santa forgot Wyatt. I wish my son had been here for Christmas. I wish I still wasn't in so much pain that it was hard to eat Christmas dinner. It hardly seems fair that 5 months later we are still dealing with the fall-out of major surgery. My 6 year-old told me she didn't want kids because of the cut I had and they way "they" take babies out. I ended up revealing God's way of having babies be born and she seemed much more ok with that.
This year, however, I can easily say is the first year that I "got it". My entire life I've known why we have Christmas. I've preached that it's not about the presents, it's about Jesus. But really it was still about the presents. And the lights on the house. And the music. And the cool wrapping paper. And the snacks I could bake and feed everyone. And the friends I could impress. I even said "Merry Christmas" instead of "Happy Holidays" and was relieved that my children were still allowed to have "Christmas" parties at school. I passed along those emails preaching to other people about the true meaning of Christmas. I've been a Christian my whole life and I didn't even get it enough to know that I didn't get it.
And then I lost my son.And then a few weeks ago my family sat down to watch the "Nativity Story" on dvd so that I could try and show my kids the true meaning of Christmas. I realized how far off the mark we were when I explained to her that it was only about Jesus and she replied "Then what are all the presents for?" I wanted to answer that it was because the wisemen gave Jesus gifts, but seriously, who are we trying to kid? How far from the wisemen's gifts have we come? For the past two weeks it's taken me 45 minutes to get two blocks down the road because of the shopping traffic. So as we watched the movie I thought of what it really would have been like for Mary. How a mother feels when she is pregnant. She seemed obliging to God for whatever His plan was but certainly she had to love her baby like the rest of us love ours. Hindsight is 20/20 and we all know the details of why Jesus came and what he went through. But take that away for a moment. Try and know only what Mary would have known. God sent His son. He had a plan. He was going to be a king and savior. Did she know he had to die to save all of us from the crap that we do? Would she have been so obliging to that? I know that God is God, but when I look at my children's faces I cannot fathom them being tortured and killed to save everyone on this planet from sin. It might sound terrible but I don't care about anyone else that much. Those are my babies. If people want to make bad choices then that's their own problem. I watched the scene of Mary and Joseph holding their baby in a new way, with a new mind. I started crying looking at the face of the baby and thinking of the scenes in the Passion of the Christ where Jesus is ridiculed and tortured. That poor baby! That poor man! I will never be able to fathom what the weight of the world felt like on his shoulders. Jesus seemed to be obliging to God's plan as well but I'm sure he wasn't thrilled about it. I started thinking about everything bad I've done in my life. From the small things, like tiny lies or being disgruntle with the kids when there was no cause, to the larger things, like less than appropriate behavior, a divorce etc. So much of life was spent thinking certain things were important. Things that I thought were important. But they weren't really. They weren't at all. Everything I've ever thought was important, from my looks to things that I own, are not important at all. I couldn't be a good person if I tried. Not the kind of person God and Jesus want us to be. I could never avoid a snicker here and there at someone's expense. I can't be a perfect mother, although I try so hard. I was a pain in the ass daughter and I'm sure I'm the same kind of wife at times. I can't save myself from the bad things I do. But Jesus did. He did that for people he didn't even know. He did that, literally, for the people who killed him. I can't imagine Mary's pain, watching her son fullfill God's plan. When Wyatt passed away I was mad at God for so long. He and I still have some business to work out. I couldn't believe that was part of His plan. There had to be a better plan. I think Mary thought the same thing- there could've been a better, less painful way. I know that Jesus was part of a plan. I am not sure if Wyatt was, but I can't help but think of similarities in the way a mother feels about their baby. I think a lot of us just assume we going to heaven while we sit down and enjoy our lives in whatever way pleases us. I want to go to heaven. I have a son I need to go meet. And I'm finally learning that earth is not all it's cracked up to be. We get one body and mine is having trouble working right now. Thank God there is more than this life. THANK GOD there is something way better because this place sucks.
So this Christmas I sang the Christmas carols in a different way. I'm much more grateful that Jesus was born. Thank you, Jesus. Thank you for being born. Thank you God for saving me from myself. Thank you for allowing me to go to a better place than earth! I watched the Polar Express with my kids feeling all the magic and wonder of that movie, wishing there really was a Santa Claus. But this year I feel like there is something just as amazing. The story of Jesus being born. Merry Christmas!

Friday, December 17, 2010

Free-thinkers, Society, and Birth

Several weeks ago my husband came home with a story of a fellow co-worker who was almost do for their first baby. "She's sick of being pregnant", "Just wants the baby out", and "The doctor says they'll induce her" were some of the things that were said. Both of us were immediately concerned and confused as to why someone would simply let a doctor interfere with the natural birth process if nothing were wrong. I grabbed one of my resources and started researching induction. The statistics are terrible. Basically, if you don't want surgery, don't let the doctors do ANYTHING! First time pregnancies go an average of 42 weeks. At 40 weeks you haven't even reached full gestation. Babies come when they are ready. Doctors induce at 40 weeks, labor rarely kicks in (unless the baby was about to come anyway) which leads to a c-section since the doctors have now messed with things. When labor does kick in during an induction the contractions are so abnormally strong that the baby often goes into distress therefore creating a need for a c-section. It's most often a one-way road to not a bad birth experience. The following week my husband reported that instead of induction the doctors had decided to simply "strip her membranes". This made my heart drop more. A few weeks prior I had connected with a women who's doctor had done the same procedure. This is essentially when the doctor pushes the bag of waters away from the cervix making it weaker in hopes of inducing labor. This women that I met went home that night and started labor but also developed severe pain, chills, and a high fever. They called the hospital several times and the hospital said that women always have chilld in labor. This is not only not true but usually happens around the time of transition. This women waited at home until her gut feeling drove her and her husband to go in. When they got there someone finally realized that something was very terribly wrong. She ended up having an emergency c-section and treated for a massive internal staph infection. The baby died shortly after birth because it was so severely infected. This had happened because her doctor stripped her membranes. Staph infections come from the outside and wouldn't find their way up the birth canal unless it was brought there by another source, like a doctors hand. The infection was also SO strong that it spread that fast and killed her baby. Virulent infections such as that are only found in hospitals and medical facilities. There was no need for her doctor to have taken any action at all. Our bodies are perfect and know what they are doing, much more so than doctors. This lady, like myself, found herself recoverying from massive surgery and grieving a baby.
My husband and I talked about mentioning the risks to this coworker but decided they weren't close enough and the work environment was conducive enough. Yesterday we heard the baby was born.....via c-section, and mom's "in some pain". Really? No kidding. I started crying when Tyler told me that. Her first baby. Her first birth experience. And she has to spend the next year recovering instead of walking around holding and smiling with her baby. She'll have to fight hospitals tooth and nail to try a vbac, if she even decides to try that route. If not she'll undergo more cesareans only to double and triple her scar tissue, adhesions, recovery time and increase her chances every single time of a twisted bowel, ruptured uterus, blood transfusion, cutting the baby and the list goes on and on. Why would someone simply follow what a doctor wanted without asking questions? Why do any of us do that? Isn't there any intuition left for any of us to follow?
It was very clear to me today in my daughter's first grade classroom. I don't honestly think there is much intuition left or that we allow ourselves to hear it. I think it comes from the society that we are living in. We breed our independ thoughts out of people at an early age. Let's face it, only a nation of followers and not independent thinkers would have voted in the current administration. The less people think, they more they accept. Today was my daughter's Christmas party in her classroom. I volunteered to go in and make Gingerbread houses with the kids. I sat there as the teacher explained the directions. They were very simple: use the frosting as glue, use the graham crackers as sides of the house, use the candy to decorate. The instructions lasted ten seconds but the questions the kids had lasted ten minutes. "Can we make a door?" "Do we need windows?" "Can I make a roof?" "Does the roof have to be pointed?" "Do the colors have to match?" and it went on and on. These kids are so used to following directions to a 'T' that they couldn't understand when the teacher told them "There are no rules. Just have fun". Even after she added that line the questions still came. This was a room full of 6 and 7 year olds and they couldn't even feel free enough to just build a house however they wanted to. It took a long time but it seemed like they were unable to think on their own....already! I'm even guilty of teaching my kids to "read the instructions", and "follow the directions". Unfortunately my son has a teacher who is often wrong and he never stands up for himself. I have a folder of papers that she's mispelled, marked wrong when they are right or marked right when they are wrong. He comes and tells me "but mommy she was wrong" but he doesn't feel like he can say that to her, even when I tell him to. Why? Because she's the teacher. Just like we act around doctors. We're all so good at following directions instead of following common sense. Our doctors tell us "you'll need a c-section" and we nod our heads and go "okay" because they're the doctors and surely they know best. They say we need to be induced and even if their is a voice in our heads that says "my baby's just fine" we nod our heads because that is the almighty doctor. We need to value our own wisdom more. We're smart people and we don't give ourselves enough credit. Question authority. Figure out your feelings. Make decisions for yourself. Teachers are just waiting to retire. Doctors are just avoiding lawsuits and want to make it home for dinner. Take care of you and your family because nobody else is going to.  
It's been four and a half months since my cesarean and I was up all last night in extreme pain. I had to crawl my way out of the bedroom so that I wouldn't wake up my husband. To make matters worse I've shown my records to a list of doctors in several states. The morning my son was born we had an ultrasound that showed things were getting worse. The doctor said "we need to take him now". Other doctors since then have said that according to everything that was happening on the ultrasounds, it was obvious my son was dying and would not just be fine the minute he was born. So my doctor had one of two motivations. Do a c-section to show that you "tried" to save the baby so that I can't turn around and sue her. Or collect the 40k in insurance money that a cesarean costs before you send me home. Doctors are not honest and they very rarely care about you. God did not intend babies to be born in such a way. Surgeries are good when what the doctors will do to you is better than what is happening to you. Unfortunately this is not always the case. Research. Read. Ask questions. Get empowered. Or you'll fall inline like cattle and not be in control of your own life.

Sunday, November 14, 2010

Capacity for Love

It's interesting to me that throughout all of the darkness and pain of the past 5 months I've also experienced love on a deeper level. I've always loved my children more than anything, but I have loved them deeper and cherished them more since I've lost a child. To some extent, while loving them, I still took them for granted. We never got pregnant thinking we were asking for a gift from God. We just assumed that most people get pregnant and this is what we wanted for our lives. I took for granted the fact that my children were alive everyday. I've heard before that you can't have one side of an emotion without having the other; like you can't hurt deeply unless you love deeply. In some strange way I am finding that to be very true. I couldn't cherish my children in the same way that I do today without having experienced all of that hurt from losing Wyatt. They amaze me everyday. Every funny thing they say and do. Every independent act the achieve on their own. My daughter is trying to discover her own sense of fashion while checking with us every three seconds that she is still pretty. Lexi is spitting out a new word everyday. I wake up to "Mommy! Where'dya go?" on the baby monitor. My son, bless his heart, has learned how to surf the internet. Not only is it time for parental controls to be installed BUT I'm amazed that he is old enough to surf. I was in 7th grade learning how to "open a window" and "double-click". I look at these things in a profound way, much different than before, although not with more love than before. I almost feel like a philosopher throughout the day and it renders silent most of the time. I haven't spent enough time as an observer in life, I think. I look at my kids and all children for that matter as these tiny, new beings that look at everything we find boring with absolute amazement. They love unconditionally and with their whole heart. When I thought my daughter was being irriating she was really just wanting to be near me. When Lexi wants me to read her the same book AGAIN it's because she love hearing me read it, and I should be honored instead of upset. Birth is amazing. Life is amazing. Children are amazing. They aren't old and tired and boring like I am. I've spent my whole life being as productive as possible every single day until I collapsed into bed for not-enough-sleep ever single night. For once I am getting 8 hours of sleep. I'm not very productive since Wyatt left us. I am not taking classes. I didn't sew the kids Halloween costumes. I've barely started Christmas shopping. But my house is clean and I'm spending a lot of time with the kids. Good time, like I haven't spent in a long while. I'm rested and I'm taking vitamins, things I've never done before.There are moments, at least one a day, that something about Wyatt brings me to tears. It's always right there in my throat, and it comes out when I dust his urn or see his pictures or think about how he was supposed to be in this years Christmas picture. But I'm usually ok. I've developed this thought pattern where I say to myself "That's my son's urn, and that's ok. I'm ok". Something no parent should ever have to say but it works. It calms me down. Aside from feeling a deeper love for my children, I've felt true love from my husband and friends. People have come to love us and support us that I never would have thought. Our church stepped up and took care of us. My husband stepped up and took care of myself and the kids since I was unable, both physically and emotionally. Even my girlfriends who I thought I were lifelong friends anyway pulled through one more time for me while I was in need and didn't even know it. I may never be able to understand it but it's taken a deep pain for me to be able to feel and understand deep love.
As I've survived the past few months I've found myself asking questions about God and life. For the first few weeks I was pretty sure there was no God. How could children die if there were? Now I'm back to knowing that there is a God and I believe Jesus came, but I don't understand a lot. Why did God create us? Why do we mourn if earth isn't all it's cracked up to be? Ecclesiastes 5 and 6 talks about how a person with a sad life is better off never having been born. When Wyatt passed that was what so many people told us, "he just gets heaven before we do". So then why do we have children? Why do we have that deep desire to procreate and love and raise a child? Why does it ruin us when there are fertility issues? Logically shouldn't we just be happy that any children we were to have don't have to live here on earth? What really happened with Wyatt in utero? Has everything in life I've attributed to God really been God? I know He listens, but does He really guide or help us? I asked him all of this and more this morning. I realized I had never actually asked Him, I had just asked everyone else. I'm still waiting for His response. I also reminded Him that He gave me my brain so he must be thoroughly amused with the way that it's working right now. I've asked Him for months to give me a sign that Wyatt is ok and that He is God, but I'm still waiting for that as well.
I've mustered up the courage to be out in the world again with the normal people. I started volunteering at church and it's been really fun. I just hope no one noticed I was late in skipping the screen to the next set of lyrics when I started playing with Wyatt's necklace around my neck and zoned out. I'm not sure I'm feeling the fullfillment that I should be from helping out. I think I'm supposed to be serving. People thank me for helping and I'm not sure what to say. Maybe the feeling will come. We did children dedications today where families gave children back to God. I hadn't thought of my children like that before. I thought I had to raise them right, but I always thought of them as more mine than His. I'm pretty sure that's wrong. I'm also pretty sure that if there were ever a time I considered more children that I would have to understand why we want another child to be on earth and to see the act of having a child as receiving a precious and temporary gift from God to be stewards of.
Aside from church, It actually seems that nothing is really fullfilling me at the moment. I need to find solid ground with God again. I don't feel like I can really go on until I know what in the world I am doing here, why there is so much pain, if I can really rely on God, and if heaven really is as awesome as we think. I need that back in place. Until then I will keep waiting for answers and loving my children more than I ever knew I could.

Friday, October 22, 2010

Surgery, Doctors, and Decisions

I started writing this blog with the thought that no one would read it. It's me talking to a computer screen. If I think about people reading this I tend to edit and censor and that's counterproductive to any therapeutic effect. That being said, it is frustrating when things are taken out of context. I usually write when my emotions are high and I need an "out". Perhaps I am not extremely eloquent or don't explain something well enough. I won't apologize; I type extremely fast, let everything out and then I usually feel better. I'm not in a great place right now, that almost goes without saying. I'm not expected to be. I've met families who lost their babies years ago and you can still see the pain on their faces. It changes a person. It has changed us. I'm not sure what I've "changed into" yet, and I know the process is far from done. Some babies are miscarriages, some or stillborn and then some are like Wyatt who live for just a short amount of time. Most scenarios that I hear of are cut and dry- the baby died in the womb for unknown reasons, the cord tied a knot on itself etc. With Wyatt there was so much grey and there still is in the aftermath. Doctors told us things that didn't make sense and could only give us so much evidence. We are supposed to believe them, because they're doctors, but I've been around doctors too long to know that you don't ever take anything at face value. Doctors vary as much as individual humans do. Each hospital has it's own way of doing things. Each doctors operates differenlty based on their worldview, upbringing, location of their schooling, and who they interacted with as a resident. So when a doctor says something HAS to be a certain way, it's almost never true. I never knew how grey the area of medicine was. It's all just a big guess. Some people have felt like the c-section shouldn't bother me. What no one knows is all of the physical mess that has happened (aside from Wyatt) because I happened to get a doctor who (and I quote) thinks "uteruses are overrated". I had the OBs in the hospital telling me "It has to be a c-section" but when I talk to Ob's outside of this region they've only heard of this happening, never practiced it. We made the best choices we could at the time. We had no where to go and very little time. In other places I've lived I would have driven to Oklahoma City or Dallas or San Antonio for second opinions. Boise is this tiny little island in the middle of nowhere with two hospitals for the next 15 hours. So when we are faced with people telling us "Things have to be this way!", what do we do? I fought every doctor that I could. I was wheeled into surgery just wishing to give birth. Turns out instincts are right and that's what is hard to cope with. I should've listened to my instincts. This advice was also coming from the all-wise physicians who told us if we went home at 24 weeks Wyatt would die in less than a week. And then he grew and thrived for another three weeks. It's funny how doctors can be wrong in that case but then still expect you to listen to them in all other aspects. When Wyatt was looked at and was shown growing and well in the womb they looked dumbfounded. They didn't have a clue. So when they told us "It has to be a c-section" what they really meant was "Well, we don't really have a clue what's going on and we can't tell you why. It seems to me that a c-section might be a good route because, well, that's my best guess". I wish doctors would tell you things like that, which are, in fact, the truth. Wyatt died when he wasn't supposed to because another all-wise doctors apparently didn't now when an air tube was supposed to go. So then we get sent home, cut open and with our baby in an urn and there's no accountability to be had. No one is responsible, apparently, for wrong directions, bad procedures, and and just plain bad advice.
So as the weeks go by and these issues circulate through our minds it's natural for me to start doing research. I am researching like I should've been BEFORE all of this happened, if I had had more time. I've stumbled on amazing statistics about America's healthcare system (and I am not for ONE MINUTE advocating government run healthcare! No way!) BUT giving birth is one of the few areas that actually violates several different acts, including Hipaa. A patient always has the right to refuse surgery, unless of course it's a women in labor who doesn't want a c-section, and then she's pretty much left to give birth on the sidewalk. If she wants hospital care, it has to be a c-section. Doctors want to go home, they want to get paid, they don't want to sit around and wait for something natural to occur no matter how many days or hours it takes. For all of our interventions we have one of the highest maternal and infant mortality rates in the world! Some people have acted like c-sections aren't a big deal but what they aren't aware of are the membranes that are cut and never repared, the damage done to your abdominal muscles, your intestines, the damage that adhesions can do, and scare tissue etc. It's not pretty. I'm upset at the surgery but I'm upset at the lack of honesty. Why can't a doctors say "This is what I think, but here are ALL of your options in this situation..."? That would make it easier to think about what our bodies need and want. The lab coats blind us into thinking these are people who know everything.
Without Wyatt here I've had nothing else to linger on and no positive outlook to the surgery that was done. If I was holding him, yes, it would be easy to say "You were worth it buddy". And he was. I begged God to take me, I would've given Wyatt any body part he needed. It's so so easy to lose sight of that when all I have are unanswered questions and pictures of my little boy. It's so easy to forget why we tried to have him in the first place when he was going to die anyway. Hindsight sucks. My faith is rocked. I feel stuck everywhere but in the present. I am in the past worrying about everything that happened and trying to go back and make different decisions. And I am in the future, worrying about everything that might happen because of all of this. It's very hard to just be. Some people think I'm crazy and that's ok. Maybe they're right. It's funny, though, meeting other families who have lost their newborns- they don't think we are nuts. They just cry and say "We've been there, too". So maybe my thoughts and feelings are scary to people who don't understand. Heck, I don't even understand. But I'm letting it happen, one day at a time.

Sunday, October 17, 2010

Due Dates Nearing

Right now I would've been 37 weeks pregnant and Wyatt would have come any day. I never made it past 38 weeks with any of my kids. The house seems especially empty this past week. Just when I thought that I just might be ok it was like the bubble popped. I've been sinking farther down for a few days now. I remember dreading bringing Wyatt home because it would be October and probably pretty cold. But I was wrong, it has been warm and sunny and we've spent a lot of time outside as a family. This would've been perfect to bring him home in. I just pictured October as being much different, completely ready for a new baby. Now there's not one trace to show that we were supposed to be bringing Wyatt home. There's no crib, no infant car seat. Lexi has no little brother to stare at and point to. She recently learned the sign for "baby" and points to baby's when we are out. I wonder if she would've made the sign for Wyatt. I have some of his pictures up by my bed, his urn, and the many signs my 6 year-old has hung around the house. They read things like "I hope you fun up in hevin and spending time with God", "I wish you were here, you would have been a great kid", and "Sleep in peace, Wyatt". Then she drew a picture of her handing Wyatt to God. Why do these things have to be in my life? Why does my young daughter have to draw pictures of her handing her baby brother to God? It's still so painful. It's been 10 weeks and it's like it was yesterday. We are still smoothing out the medical issues that came out of just the c-section. At the very least I'll have another surgery around January but who knows what else needs to be done. The scenarios go around and around in my mind, with the choices we made and what we could've done instead. If we would've lived somewhere with better healthcare, if we had been able to get a second opinion, if we weren't so isolated here in this stupid city, if we would've known that Wyatt would die we would have at least given birth and not bothered with a c-section. Life now would at least be physically less painful for me.
I have so many questions about faith and God. I find myself reading stories about heaven to the kids and realizing that I need this information just as much as they do. I'm like a little kid starting from scratch with the most basic questions about God and the world. I have no answers at all and I've never felt farther from God in my life. One things I have found is that this whole world suffers. My tragedy is not unique. I've met so many other people through this experience that have lost babies. This makes me more sensative to all the different kinds of suffering there are in the world. Starving kids in Africa is no longer a joke at dinner time. The thought of a dying child breaks my heart. It's real and it happens. I don't doubt there's a God. I do doubt how much He is doing on earth. Maybe we are supposed to just pray and have faith and expect nothing from Him. Some people die when they shouldn't, some people live when they shouldn't. It's not fair, so is it really God? Is God unfair? Or is He not responsible for the healing or the dying, maybe those are just things that happen in this crappy world.
So many people have told me that Wyatt just gets to be in heaven before we do. If that's so wonderful than why are we trying to keep people from dying? Doesn't that mean that everyone alive is getting the short end of the stick? Why do we even have kids? Why do we have that desire if we really believed heaven was the best place to be? Even now, in the midst of all of this, I long to hold a baby in my arms. In one day I can come full circle from wanting to get pregnant right now to never ever considering getting pregnant again. My poor husband is helpless to watch, especially because I don't understand my moods either. Life has certainly taken it's toll on us. I knew the world wasn't great but couldn't the suffering have waited a few more years for us? I atleast expect about 15 more years of ignorance to the topic of suffering and tragedy.
The other night we had a good friend over who we hadn't seen in years. He and my husband had been great friends but now looked drastically different. Our friend was light and bubbly while my husband could only force smirks. I couldn't help but notice the dark circles under his eyes and how he looked like life had really beat him down. I feel terrible that life has been this way. It's just been too much for any human to take on. I'm not very content on earth anymore. I don't find enjoyment in songs or car rides or quiet times or even sitting in the sun (my favorite pasttime). Everything seems pointless and nothing seems important. Nothing quenches what I need...and I'm not even sure what that is. I want to be with Wyatt, wherever he is, and I feel guilty that life will suck one day for my kids as well, they just don't know it yet.
So as this week passes I wonder how Wyatt would've been born, if I would have finally gotten to the hospital in time to receive pain medication, if he would've been a good nurser, what doctor would've been there etc. What would his birthday have really been? What would he have been for Halloween? I always pictured standing with our neighbors, holding our newborn as the kids went trick-or-treating. All of these visions are not my reality and it makes me nauseous. We loved Wyatt. We would've been great parents. My husband is the only father on the block who is outside playing ball with the kids and being involved in their lives. He deserved a son. He would've been great.

Thursday, September 30, 2010

How am I still alive?

In the past I had heard stories of loss and did the typical, gasp, sigh, and "Oh poor them" or "that's terrible". When I had heard stories about child or infant loss I'd usually add the thought or expression of "How did they get through that?" or "How are they even functioning now?". Especially if you can see who the story is about. You might see a woman smiling with her kids, knowing a sad background story of how she lost her spouse suddenly one day. Or parents running errands with their kids, knowing that they had lost a child tragically. They always look normal and you always wonder how they do it. Now I know. I know that they don't even know how they do it. In the last two weeks I've gotten groceries, done homework with the kids and gone to church. I've even cooked a few new tasty recipes. But I don't know how. I don't know where the energy comes from to get out of bed in the morning. I don't know how my clothes match or how I've been able to smile and manage small talk a few times. It's just happened. Somedays I am choking on tears all the way through, forcing the smiles out. Somedays I have moments where I think to myself "I'm ok right this second". Usually the days are followed by sad, lonely nights. I get all the kids to bed and look at the pictures of Wyatt on my night stand and the pain stabs me all over again. My heart feels hollow. It's a pain that I can't describe and I hope that no one else would ever have to feel again. It's empty, like my heart echos. Even if I had more children there would this very silent and still void. I'm not sure if the children feel it. Tyler and I do, and we can confirm it with just a look at one another.
Last night I was talking to my husband about things that have popped into my head during the day. For example, the most recent painful one is remembering giving Wyatt over to the nurses to be taken away. I had handed him to Tyler and Tyler asked if I wanted him back for a moment before he gave him over. I declined at the time, but the other day I panicked. Why didn't I take him back that one last time? Why didn't I tell him I loved him one more time? Or kiss his cheek or rub his soft hair against my cheek one more time? Why would I have said 'no'? The panic grips my heart and then aches as I realize I can't do anything about it. After telling this I then asked him "How are we still alive? How did we go through that and have come out living on the other end?" We both just shook our heads. Surely our hearts should have stopped beating the moment that Wyatt's did. I wish it would have. It only seems natural. How am I here and my son is not? How could I have survived one of those unbearable stories that you only hear about?
It should be noted that things are not great and will never be the same. Before I was in grad school with the three kids at home. Somehow I managed to juggle everything. "there are 24 usuable hours in every day" was my motto. Since Wyatt left us I can't multitask worth a darn. Tyler let me drive down the road to the store the other day. "Where are you going?" he asked on the way home. I had no idea where I was and only realized it when he asked the question. Even after he asked it was difficult to navigate my way back to familiar territory. I didn't know where I was, and honestly I didn't care. At times I have gone to turn the parking break off and turned the blinker on instead. Needless to stay I try and stay home as much as I can. How I ever did homework and took care of the kids I will never know. I'm not sure how I would ever do it again. I literally don't think straight. When I am thinking it's usually about God, and fate, and prayer and why? I don't understand anything anymore. My life has no solid foundation. I have housework to do, birthdays to plan and holidays to prepare for. I have 'thank you' cards still from Wyatt's memorial to be filled out and photo albums to fill of him. It's all happening slowly and in my own time. I hope that doesn't sound selfish but I'm doing all I can.
I miss my boy. I want to hold him again. I want to be with him.

Saturday, September 18, 2010

Daily Reminders

It seems to me that, in the past, my perception of how other people must be grieving was way off. Not that I didn't feel sorrow for other's who lost loved ones, but I just assumed that time healed all wounds. I figured you lose a person and as time passes, it gets easier. My grandparents were very easy to lose-not in a harsh or mean way but it was natural and they had lived long full lives. With Wyatt I have discovered that things will never be the same.
My husband and I have managed to play a few boardgames with the kids and we've had a good time. But our laughs aren't the same as they were. Our enjoyable moments are not without a deep sorrow in our guts that never goes away. One moment we are talking to the children and in the next moment we are opening the mail with our son's birth and death certificates and crying like it just happened all over again. It's always right there, I'm always right on the edge of the greatest sorrow and pain I've ever known. I don't have to try and feel it or reach hard to find. It's there waiting for a small trigger to set it off. It can be a quite moment where my mind wonders back to handing Wyatt to the nurses in the hospital for the last time, or a quick glance at his picture, my daughter (whose face looks just like Wyatt), or a sharp pain from the c-section wound that reminds me I should be holding a baby. There are reminders everywhere, it's constant. And people don't realize it. I tried a postnatal workout tape, but the instructor kept talking about strengthening exercises to help hold our new baby. I ordered a wrap for my c-section incision and the lady on the other end of the phone offered me congratulations on my new baby and asked what gender it was. Someone in the store today was hollaring "Wyatt!". The man at Walgreens pharmacy asked if I was pregnant before handing me a prescription. I should be. I want to say yes. I'd be 33 weeks right now. But I have to say "no" and I don't want to. I keep getting emails from my husbands coworkers announcing the new babies every time they are born. I swear there's one almost every day. The other day it was twins, who had a much higher chance or mortality than Wyatt. I still don't know what to do with his baby clothes. They're just hanging there in the closet. I looked at them today and cried at the irony of a onesie I bought from my University. It says "I'm an answered prayer" across the front. I thought it was true at the time. When we first thought we might miscarry Wyatt and then didn't we thought God had heard us and answered our prayers. Now I don't know what to think. There's a lump in my throat every time I have to answer how many children I have or how many "live births" I've had from doctors. I couldn't even get my OB to take me seriously about some of the c-section problems until I lied and told her I was taking antidepressents. She just kept telling me that I was so depressed it was causing the pain. After I told her I was taking them she announced how "great I looked!" She told me they were working and to stay on them. I'm sure I'm severely depressed but I'd like a doctor to listen to me without thinking I'm crazy. I had packed up all of my maternity clothes but now find I still have to wear the pants. Either my body was badly hacked up in that c-section or it's still swollen. Wearing maternity clothes post pregnancy is something I've never had to experience, it's insult to injury. No baby to show for all of this pain and yet I have to wear maternity clothes. My skin is ragged and looks like an old woman's. Never had that happen before either. All of these things would be worth it if Wyatt were here. But since he isn't I despise my body even more, trying desperately to get it back to the way it was. I couldn't even nurse, which was always my best way to lose the baby fat. I should've pumped, I guess, but I didn't think of it at the time. I was too consumed by it all.
I wondered today what I would've put Wyatt in for halloween. It's the perfect time of year to be born, infant costumes are the sweetest. I wondered what Wyatt's favorite food would have been or what he would have named his kids. There's always a new thought that brings more sorrow, like 'I'll never have grandkids from Wyatt'. There's so many missed chances, missed opportunities to have loved him or to have spent with him. It'll never be the same. Our laughs aren't as happy. Our quiet moments are much quieter. Every family activity is missing a person. There'll always be a hole. I told my husband the worst thing about death is that it's so final. I can't change it. I can't go back and get another chance to do things differently during the pregnancy. I can't make different decisions about giving birth or having a c-section. I can't go back and try different doctors or a different state. I can't make him live. I can't do it. And it drives me insane.

Wednesday, September 8, 2010

Grief

I haven't written in a while. I've wanted to every single day but honestly....I just haven't been sure what to write. I think this is the "huh" phase of grief. I'm not sure if that's 'technically' a phase of grief, but it is for me. For almost four weeks I've cried uncontrollably at least a few times every single day. Then it subsided. I've still cried once a day this last week, but I've been much more numb. I've also started to talk to people....fairly well, I think. I've managed to go to church and our church group and be ok in those places. I finally got some groceries. It's interesting to me, that I feel like I have more reason than I ever have to be mean and cynical to people. After all, most have no idea what I've gone through and what I'm going through. Losing Wyatt has done something to me, though. I feel even more need to be very polite. I'm very quiet and soft-spoken which have never been traits of mine. I can't tell if I'm worn out and beat down or that I'm seeing life as more fragile and precious. Or possibly both. I haven't gotten short with my children, no matter how much they've acted out. At least they're alive. I want them to know how precious they are to me. I wonder if Wyatt knows how precious he was and is to me still? I never got to hold him while he was living, so I wonder how he would know how very much I love him?
There are many aspects to this "huh" phase. I've changed personally somehow. I'm a different parent. I also stopped my degree and with it all future plans for a career. I don't even know if that's the right career anymore. If it's not, than what do I do with life? When do I go back to school? Where do I go back to school? If I don't go back to school, what do I do? I can't watch hardly anything on TV. It's all so sad and I never noticed it before. Every law show or crime show...someone is always getting hurt. Those are human lives being lost, why would I want to watch that for enjoyment?Then there are reality shows full of stupid people putting priorities in the wrong place and thinking stupid things are important. Really? Why in the world would I watch those? Movies, too, are all so violent and ridiculous. Full of very unimportant things. You know what's important? Family. That's it. Not cars or careers or money or how many people you can date, or who looks better or who can win money....everything seems frivolous. While things are complicated for me right now, they are in some ways very simple. Everything that I thought was important really wasn't. My kids, my husband, their health and my health. That's what is important. I've had to take the past 5 weeks and do everything that I can to try and heal and regain my health. I can finally walk again, and bend somewhat to pick things up. The very small and simple things I had taken for granted I am now so thankful to be able to do. Like sleep without excruciating pain (there is still pain, but the excruciating part has subsided), or go to the bathroom in a somewhat normal manner, or sit up, or get a glass of water by myself. Up until about 5 days ago I couldn't even take a deep enough breathe to speak loudly. Being able to do some of these things again has made me feel grateful for the most basic bodily functions. As I feel like I've regained some ability, however, I have shifted my focus back to Wyatt. I lost a son. It still seems surreal. I have two babies in heaven now before me. It breaks my heart. Even with faith in God death is a scary thing. It's mysterious, people don't come back to tell us it's ok on the other side. Wyatt went there and I wasn't there to protect him or go there with him. I feel very helpless, it was my parental responsibility to protect him and I couldn't do it.
Moving like a sloth is also part of where I am. I feel almost mindless and cannot focus on anything. I haven't driven anywhere since we lost Wyatt and I'm honestly nervous to. There are moments throughout the day when I feel like I'm doing ok, and then I go to do something- like get dressed or shower or get something in another room- and it takes ten times as long as it normally would have. Everything is challenge. It feels like I'm learning motorskills all over again. Tyler will talk to me and I don't hear what he says. It's not that I am thinking about something else or listening to something else....I just didn't hear. This is the first time in my life that my brain is "nowhere". It just goes off, somewhere, like it checks out for moments at a time.
While I don't cry all the time now, crying and becoming hyperemotional is very easy. Even if it's a moment that I am not thinking of Wyatt, I tear up. I was watching a documentary on Jesus last night and I burst out into tears. I am meeting many people who have lost children (it's like a secret club that you never wanted to be a part of) and seeing pictures of their babies or hearing their stories make me cry uncontrollably. Singing in church starts the tears all over again. I sing words to God that I'm not really pleased with. Talking about anything in the future with my husbands makes us cry because Wyatt was supposed to be here on our life journey.
I have strong phobias that popped up in the hospital, the day after they took Wyatt away. I am TERRIFIED of being alone. The dark scares the hell out of me. I feel like life is so fragile that I could lose any other member of my family at any moment. Lexi coughs during the night and I think she's suffocating. She has slept in a few times and I make Tyler wake her up because I'm scared there is something wrong. Tyler drove the kids to a store while I rested and I was in a panic the whole time that they would get in a car accident and I would lose the rest of my family. I've never been gripped by so much fear before. I have this urgent need to hold everyone I love close and cherish them.
The whole shape of our family is changing again. I believe we have 9 months of pregnancy to prepare emotionally and physically for an addition to the family. By the time the baby comes you have a good grasp that life will include one more person. In one instant our family went from 6 to 5 and we don't have months to adjust to that number. A doctor told us that they had heard it takes about year before you feel "normal" moments again. Initially that seemed like a long time but I get it now. Wyatt was going to be with us forever. But certainly everything in the next year was planned with him. The holidays we planned around having a new baby. The winter we counted on combatting a new infant with my infamous seasonal depression. The summer we planned on getting easier with Wyatt getting older and then back around to his first birthday. All of these things remind us of him. Our family Christmas ornament has Wyatt on it. We were about to order his personalized Christmas stocking to match the rest of ours. I don't have a use for the infant car seat winter cover that I bought to help with the strong Idaho winters. I kept trying to recover physically so I can get on with life, but I don't think that will happen. I don't think there will be a "get back to normal". I don't think you're ever the same again. That can be good or bad, and right now I don't feel either.  
There is a grief creed that the hospital chaplains sent us. I think it accurately describes my life right now.

I believe grief is a process that involves a lot of time, energy, and determination. I won't "get over it" in a hurry, so don't rush me!
I believe grief is intensely personal. This is my grief. Don't tell me how I should be doing it. Don't tell me what's right or what's wrong. I'm doing it my way, in my time.
I believe grief is affecting me in many ways. I am being affected spiritually, physically, emotionally, socially, and mentally. If I'm not acting like my old self, it's because I'm not my old self and some days I don't even understand myself.
I believe I will be affected in some way by this loss for the rest of my life. As I get older, I will have new insights into what this death means to me. My loved one will continue to be a part of my life and influence me until the day I die.
I believe I am being changed by this process. I see life differently. Some things that were once important to me aren't anymore. Some things I used to pay little or no attention to are now important. I think a new me is emerging, so don't be surprised-and don't stand in the way.

Saturday, August 28, 2010

Post Funeral

Last night was Wyatt's funeral. My whole life I've heard the saying "A parent should never have to bury their child". I always agreed, but never really knew. I'm tired of people who want to share some common experience with us so they tell us that they lost their great-grandfather. I'm sorry, but as sad as death is, that is not as sad. I've lost all of my grandparents. It was sad. But it was also the natural order of things. It happened and we all knew it would happen. I cried but I didn't hurt. I didn't feel like life stopped. Heaven was easy to believe in. Babies and children, however, are not supposed to die. Their bodies haven't suffered yet, they don't long for heaven. They still think earth is heaven. They haven't sinned against anyone yet, they haven't abused drugs or alcohol. They are pure and wonderful. This has made it much harder to believe in heaven. As opposed to the suffering of an elderly person, babies are young and vibrant and it's hard to imagine a place better for them than swaddled and loved by their family. The loss of Wyatt has left a hole in our family that will never be filled. I wish it wasn't there, but I can't change that. I can't go back and make him live.

I'm amazed at the turnout for Wyatt. Many people I had never met from the squadron and our church came to support us and love us. Some of the nurses who got to meet Wyatt in the NICU came. I'm the most amazed at the two couples we met who had lost babies as well. I don't know how they were strong enough to make it through the service, and then come share their stories with us. I find the most comfort right now from others who have survived this.

The hardest moment for me came before the service even started. My husband and I were alone in the church aside from a few others who were setting up tables. I set up the small table with his urn and pictures and some flowers in the front...and then I just sat there. Just me, Wyatt, and the hum of the building's air conditioner. It was the first time Wyatt and I had been alone and I wished like hell it had been me holding him instead of staring at his urn. For a week now I hadn't been able to get a good cry out-it was always burning behind my eyes or sitting in my throat but it wouldn't just come out. But right then it did and it felt ok. I cried the rest of the night. I'm sure I looked like hell, I didnt even bother with make-up, that would've been more of a hassle with all the tears. I'm proud of my husband who was brave enough to speak about Wyatt infront of everyone. I certainly wasn't that strong. I'm proud of my church who gave us a beautiful service. Many people told us how beautiful it was but I'm not sure an infant's funeral can ever be beautiful. Most of the night I didnt know what to say to people giving us their condolescences, or I said the wrong things, or I spaced out. I was constantly thinking of how much pain I was feeling and that I wished like hell there was a chair or couch around so I could sit down and take the pressure off of the stitches. For a few hours I was ok with my body being the victim of bad doctors. I was staring at my son and he was worth it all. He was worth me dying if I had to. The disconnect comes in the fact that he isn't here to hold and love. He isn't here as a constant reminder of why I am sliced to shreds. Only when I see his picture do I remember.

Last night was very much like watching a movie. I have been to other funerals where I see the parents or the remaining spouse and wonder how they are dressed and are eating and functioning. Now I can say firsthand that I know. It just happens. I got myself showered and did my hair and then wondered how the hell I was able to sit there and do my hair. It's like when you drive somewhere and then aren't sure how you got there because you weren't paying attention. Refusing to get dressed and go to the funeral wouldn't have brought him back, so I went. Thank God there were people to help do the footwork. Not only was I not physically able to do much, my brain certainly wasn't there either. During the time we spent at the church, for set up and the service and the clean up, I thought that maybe this would be it. This would signal the road to emotional recovery. We honored Wyatt, most of the sympathy cards have come and been put away in his baby box, the department of records has sent us the birth and death certificates....there should be nothing left really. No more constant reminders or work to do for our dead baby. With all the extreme pain that I am in I can only pray that I do recover and return to normal. I don't want my constant reminder of Wyatt to be that I can't breathe well or live in pain for the rest of my life. I'd rather just see a small faded scar and know that I tried to save him. Despite the funeral, however, this morning feels no different. I still look at Tyler and ask "What do we do now?" He just shakes his head. Niether of us know. So the question remains for me....What happens now?

Wednesday, August 25, 2010

Relationships and life on hold

As the days go by I feel more empty and dead as I contemplate and think about everything that happened. I'm sure it doesn't help that I am trying to prepare for Wyatt's memorial service so I am constantly looking at his pictures and handling his few small belongings. If things weren't bad enough, today I received his social security card in the mail. It was like a knife in the heart. One more tangible thing to prove that he was here and yet I can't be with him.
As the days pass and I remain in intense pain I feel myself start to become full of hate. It's hate on a level that I have never ever experienced before. It's consuming which makes me nervous and yet I am unable to do anything about it. I hate the doctors who walked me through all of this. Not only can no one tell me what happened, no one could see it coming even with ultrasounds at 2 and 4 week intervals. I am still highly confused how a baby and placenta can be "perfect" at week 20 and have my baby be on the verge of death at week 24. Please tell me how that happens with all of the medical technology that we supposedly have today. I'm infuriated at the c-section and my lack of recovery. I have a massive, painful lump on my stomach and the same doctors are still scratching their heads, even though they were the ones who sewed me up. I'm starting to feel like no one wants to take any responsibility around here. I don't care about my scar, I care about my insides functioning. No one ever told me that I would be faced with weeks and possibly months of unbearable pain, no only at the incision site, but around my entire back and up my entire abdomen. Why does it hurt when I eat? Why does it STILL hurt just to walk. It's been three weeks and I cannot physically continue on with life...not just because I am grieving my son but because I just can't! And I am SO pissed about it. Too little too late but I've spent two days doing research on a classical c-section cut (which is apparently what I received because my uterus and Wyatt were small) and I've found no evidence saying that's what had to happen. Everything that I can find talks about how classical cuts aren't done anymore because of their danger. It takes away any shot of future normal births and- get this- increases your chances of the placenta tearing off the uterine wall! No kidding, so now I can go through this entire thing all over again and lose other children in the future because I happened to live in a place with uneducated medical professionals. I just took their word for it and I let it happen. My husband constantly reminds me that we thought Wyatt would live, at 27 weeks he should have. At the moment we were doing what we could for him. Now it's hard for me, knowing that he is not here. He died anyway and I'm left all torn up...physically and emotionally. It's easy for me to forget that it was for Wyatt when the pain never stops.
As guilty as I feel saying this, Wyatt is gone and I do have a small voice inside of me that wants to get on with life. Because of the surgery, however, that has been impossible and has severely hindered life at home and my own grieving process. I want to cuddle with my husband. I want to curl up like a baby and cry and have him hold me but I can't even fathom being able to get into that position, let alone have someone touch me. I want to get my daughter out of her crib from her naps and I don't feel enough strength or lack of pain in my pinky finger to do that. I want to play with her on the floor, I want to push her around the sidewalk in her coupe car but all of that hurts unbearably. I want to play soccer in the front yard with my kids and I can't imagine ever being able to kick a ball again. The family has learned after three weeks that mommy is in pain and no one asks me to play anymore. My toddler doesn't reach for me to pick her up anymore. As my heart breaks for Wyatt, it breaks for the rest of the relationships in my family. My marriage and motherhood are on standstill for the chance that maybe my body will ever be normal again. With every jagged pain and ache, with every sneeze or attempt at a chuckly my body reminds me that I've been torn open and carelessly put back together and....this is the worst part....I'll never be the same again. I don't care about scars but I would like to digest food without pain. I would like to laugh or go to the bathroom without breaking into tears from pain. I'd like to walk around and bend over to pick things up. I'd like it to take less than 10 minutes to climb into our car. I don't think any of this is too much to ask. The fact that I can't bring Wyatt back or change the course of the pregnancy is hard enough on my brain. Knowing I can't change a medical procedure that has negatively altered my life tops it off. I had known Wyatt was destined for heaven I would have given birth. I'd be perfectly healthy by now and at least the very least I would be physically able to attempt to continue on with life. I want my son back, but I also want my strength and health back. One look at my toddler makes me want to hold and hug her be the best mom that I can be. As it is, I can't even shower alone, let alone love her the way she needs. So I sit here, restless and depressed, wishing I had made better decisions, or lived in a place with better doctors, so that I could have a better outcome for the rest of the family. The hate for my situation, myself, my body, my poor decision-making skills, the Ob who did my surgery, the NICO doctor who couldn't manage to get a breathing tube into my son, and everyone else involved in the situation is poisoning. I am full of pure hate.  

Monday, August 23, 2010

Guilt, pain, and second-guessing

It's interesting the more people we meet that have lost babies and tell us of their comfort and peace. I don't feel peace and I feel less comfort as the days go on. Things that I found comfort or had confidence in have slipped away.
On the Tuesday before Wyatt died we got a remarkable sonogram report: baby has grown, is practicing breathing, and blood flow studies are stable. Within two days there was no amniotic fluid and I could feel him moving less and not as strong. We took that as our sign to have a c-section so he could live but I wonder if we should have taken him on Tuesday, when all things were good. Would he have lived then? What if I had rested more? Eaten better? It seems God wanted Wyatt no matter what so now I find myself angry at having a c-section at all. Recovery is slow and painful and I've had infections, mysterious & painful bumps, trouble sleeping because of pain, and adverse reactions to medications. I've also lost the ability to give birth naturally again. Wyatt was so small I had to have a classical c-section which makes laboring again impossible unless I wanted to chance a ruptured uterus and risk another baby. While I mourn my son, I also mourn my body's natural ability to give birth as well as the thought of any more children. I cannot imagine voluntarily having a c-section ever again. With past children I've been healed and up and running after 48 hours. I'm going on 2 1/2 weeks with almost nothing to show for it. I can barely sit down. The only thing that does seem to heal is the scar itself, which makes me angry as well. I don't care what the scar looks like or if it ever goes away. It's a symbol that Wyatt was here. If it disappears I have no mark left to show that he was born. I don't understand it when doctors praise how nice your scar looks. I'm more concerned about having been put back together correctly on the inside, and that's the one thing that doesn't seem to have happened. Great, no scar, but your muscles were sewed up wrong and your bowels don't work anymore and there's severe pain when you eat and sitting and standing and walking are all excruciating. Grieving for Wyatt has been side-tracked numerous times by trying to physically heal and figure out what in the world is went wrong with my surgery. Most of my tears have turned into anger and fury that I still cannot function-even if I wanted to-for the children that I have here at home. All of this has led me to second-guess having tried to save him at all. It would've been better to let him pass in the womb and then give birth to him. I'd be recovered by now and the end wouldn't have been different. It looked to me like he suffered more at the hands of medical personel than he would've any other way. That is exactly what my husband and I were trying to avoid. Seems like it was all for nothing, so where did we go wrong?
I look at the pictures up in my house of days before I knew what this kind of pain was like. My bedroom is full of pictures of my husband and I dating and taking vacations. You can almost smell the naivete. We didn't have a clue what was in store for us. Our life together has been hard and this has been, by far, the worst and hardest thing ever. I feel like running away honestly, to live a life I did as a single mom. Maybe being married has brought me bad luck. But I suppose something like this never gets away from you. We could leave each other now and never have contact again and we would never be the same people. The damage is already done. I miss the days of being happy and confident in life with the ability to give love to my husband and children. I miss the days of my husband jumping and dancing around the house in lightheartedness that hadn't been disturbed yet. Life has hit us hard and doesn't seem to want to give us a break. I wonder why some people go through life untouched and others get pounded like we have? I wonder what we did in life to deserve this. I didn't appreciate being pregnant, like really appreciate it. Is God teaching me a lesson? Are we not good enough people that our prayers aren't listened to? Did we have to lose a baby? Do I have to have such an impossible recovery? What did we do that was so bad? In the past two weeks I've gone over the pregnancy a thousand times, the information the doctors gave us as well as all of my sins ever committed. I've come up with a million things that could've been different, as if I could go back now and change any of it. I feel like I can...it's the oddest thing. I get "ah ha" moments where I feel like I know where things went bad with the pregnancy and then I get disappointed that there is nothing I can do about it now. I admire my husband who is content to just leave things as they happened and accept that God has a better plan. This whole thing has just made me more skeptical and given me more questions that could ever possibly been answered. I look at the photos of my deceased son and I think to myself "I did that. I killed him". In exactly what way, I'm not sure, but I didn't give him life.

Friday, August 20, 2010

Faith...or lack thereof

Faith is an odd thing at this point in my life. I've had the hardest time explaining death to my children. The concept that your spirit is not attached to your body is mystifying to a 6 year old. Sometimes they think Wyatt's body is in the urn, sometimes my daughter thinks a person doesn't go to heaven until they put their body in the ground. I had already explained cremation last week to my daughter but I had to endure that talk once again today when she looked at me and said "You didn't burn him, did you?!". How does a mommy answer that? What kind of a mom gets her baby burned down? I tried to explain souls vs. a human body using the analogy of a car without a driver, but that didn't work at all.
As if the conversation with my kids wasn't defeating enough I found myself hardly believing what I was saying at all. "Heaven is better than earth, we don't need our bodies there, Wyatt is in a great place...blah blah blah". It doesn't feel like Wyatt is in a better place. It didn't look like Wyatt was taken anywhere by anyone loving. He just looked blue. And bluer and bluer as the day went on. And did you know that ALL the bodily fluids come out after death, not just urine? So my poor baby continued to get a bloody nose throughout the day as we spent time with him. Who am I kidding? We're not spiritual beings. We're just smarter animals walking around the planet. Our bodies do very animalistic things after we die. We're just bodies, I've never felt it more. Following all of the tough questions from my children came out nightly Bible stories. My daughter picked starting at the begininng with Adam and Eve again. I've never read a Bible story and not believed it...until tonight. As I read to her about the serpent and the garden I thought to myself, "what a load". Seriously. Why would God stick a tree in the garden that the only two people on the planet weren't allowed to eat? Why even put it there? And then why punish them when you're the one who put it there? And if Jesus died so we could all go to heaven what happened to everyone in the old testament? That doesn't seem fair. And if he's such a loving and merciful God why would he put Job through all of the things that he did? he didn't have to strike a deal with the devil. He didn't have to send Jesus, he could've snapped his fingers and changed the rules. He only needed Jesus's blood because he made that up. I'm tired of hearing that God loves my dead son more than I do and that God lost a son, too. Well, only because he said that was the way it had to be. None of this makes sense to me anymore. I can't imagine not teaching it to my children because I can't fathom teaching them there is no hope.
On top of everything that has happened we've also taken three trips to the hospital for a uterine infection that went undetected. Focus on Wyatt and our family has been side-tracked by my difficult recovery. My milk continues to come in even though there is no baby. And although I can't imagine ever being pregnant again I get extremely angry thinking of the fact that I've lost the ability to give birth for the rest of my life. Due to Wyatt's size he required a classical c-section that prevents any chance of any other vaginal birth. It's all insult to injury. I've never had more support or more people praying for me and my family in my entire life and I've never felt more punished by God or fate or whatever it is exactly.        

All Cause Wounds: Infant urns and keepsake boxes and pottery plates

There seems to be no end to the amount of wounds that are caused after the official one-that one that really matters; the death of my son, The urn that we picked out in the hospital was shipped to us....but it was not the right one. SOOOOOOO then we spend hours on the computer trying to find an infant urn for Wyatt to be in. The act itself is psychologically odd. We are picking out the materials, statues and emblems that Wyatt's remains will live in forever. Making this choice is the most painful choice I've ever made, since everyone knows Wyatt was supposed to live with me...in the house. There are thousands of urns to pick from, mostly by style; teddy bear holding a small urn, shiny, pastel "ABC" blocks or a blue baby booties. Generally you need one cubic square per one pound of body weight. Wyatt required 2 cubic squares of room. We decided on a urn with a picture that brings peace to my heart whenever I look at it.The urn itself was a little larger than the one Wyatt needed; It was 40 cubic squares, but is small and beautiful. It's a mohagany wood block and that has an applique on the front depicting two angels tucking in a baby to sleep. This is the only picture I could fathom on my son's urn and I am so thankful that it's there. It shows me someone else is taking care of Wyatt in the same way that I would have. Not that I wouldn't take those angel's jobs any moment; I'd take my little son back down to earth and into our home where he is supposed to be. Then again, if heaven really is that great, maybe I'd just stay up there with him. We could cuddle every night and I'd talk to him all day. I still have some milk, too, I wonder if he would nurse. I know there's no hunger but I'd really like to nurse Wyatt. This train of thought has me dreaming of being in heaven with Wyatt. I've always believed in heaven but it doesn't seem like a great place with Wyatt being alone. I take comfort in the thought of being there with him-just me and my boy up in heaven....*sigh* Just the thought of cradling him again lifts me like a butterfly. But here in reality we sat in the cremation society and handed over our carefully picked wooden urn. I was shocked when in just three minutes the urn was handed back to us with more weight to it. Wyatt?? My heart dropped. His body doesn't exist anymore. Even his lifeless body isn't there to go pick up if I wanted to. It was all right here in our box on my lap. As we left my husband and I nit-picked over fingerprints in the wood and how to carry it. He kissed the urn but it didn't look as nice as kissing my son's golden head. Carrying Wyatt home in my lap was heart-wrenching. No one ever wants their son in a box, I would rather have strapped him into an infant seat. As we left, the lady who worked there told us that she had lost twins and knew how we felt. Well, there's one more person in my club. I'm slowly losing faith in the durability of the creation of life itself.
A week before Wyatt passed I purchased an infant keepsake box for him, just like his sisters have. In the girl's boxes I have put their hospital hats and clothes and bracelets and all the cards and well wishes that we had received. Now that things have changed, in Wyatt's I put all the sympathy and condolence cards that we've received, plus thoughts and prayers and well wishes from a large network of people who were praying for him. Wyatt also has a hospital hat- it's half the size of the others, bracelets from the NICU and two small cards where there are beautiful Wyatt hand and foot prints, Another small card states the date and time of birth and death. One nurse gave us the picture off our door-the leaf with the tear and a poem on the back. That will go in there, too. A friend crochet an infant hat for him when we thought he would live, but he did get to wear it for one day. That hat will be safely stowed away. I didn't know what closet to put his keepsake box in. The girl's boxes are in the girl's closests. Wyatt would have had a closet as well. I suppose for now it will go in my closet.
I received a box a week ago from a friend down in Florida. The kids and I had taken a trip down there and stopped at a pottery store. We painted two large plates for the parents and four small plates for the kids. We got all the plates painted and then put all of our handprints and names in middle. They looked super. Since my husband and Wyatt were not there those two plates were taken home with paint so that Tyler and Wyatt could do their hand prints and finish the set. We were very proud of our new family project. These colorful plates were a sign of our family and would be displayed around the house. There was nothing but more pain as my husband and I opened the box to see the plates several days after Wyatt had passed. All of the plates had come out beautifully, but then there was Wyatt's plate, blank and wrapped up all alone, just waiting for a handprint and name. It was one more sign of the emptiness.We piled the plates on top of the fridge not knowing what to do with them. We are still redefining who are family is and how many of us there are. How much Wyatt is included in household decor seems to vary based on where we are in our grieving. Put up pictures everywhere? Write Wyatt's name on the plate anyway and put it up? How do you cherish and remember a baby that you lost without decorating the house in a way that's as if they are physically present all the time?

Wednesday, August 18, 2010

All over the place...

Today I have begun to panic as I realized that I am not crying every moment of the day and have gone minutes without thinking about Wyatt. I haven't recovered well from the c-scetion and feeling this ill has started taking up some of my thoughts. Can it be that I've put Wyatt aside so soon? What kind of a mother does that? There is so much to plan for the memorial...so much at least for the level of functioning that I am at, which is almost none at all. I find that I am all over the place; I get mad when there are too many people calling or stopping by but then I am upset when I feel like we are forgotten or when people are not coming to the memorial. Don't they realize Wyatt was a person? Last night my husband rocked our toddler talking to her about how she looked like her brother. I see him so much in her, I don't know whether I should be happy or cry every time I look at her face. At one ultrasound the technician looked at me and said "they have the same profile, they'll look a lot alike". It's true. They were identical.
As with any other stressful time in a family, the fighting has begun. Just as my husband and I clung to each other around Wyatt's death now we seem to push each other away. Everything is fight: who said what, who feels worse, who has to cry and why someone suddenly doesn't have to cry, who has changed for the better, who is functioning more etc. It makes me feel even more alone.
We received another token of loving friends today- an edible arrangement that was just gorgeous. I observed the neighborhood kids pointing to the truck and screaming "they're lucky!". Yes, that's us. We're so lucky. I used to be the homemaker babysitting kids and making dinners. Now I find myself the recipient I never wanted to be. My husband took the statistics of infant deaths and figured out the odds of this happening. This happens to 1.5 babies per state per day. That's not much when you realize how much hospitals there are per state and how many women are giving birth in them per day. The hospital that I just left played a lullaby chime every time a baby was born. That stupid thing went off three times in 15 minutes one morning that I was there. Who was the tacky person who kept playing it and why didn't at least ONE of the nurses point out that there was couple here who had just lost a son? Maybe we could shut that off for a few days, huh? It was sickening when we realized that our door had been decorated with a painting of a leaf with a tear drop in it as a "sign" to people entering. I didn't want that label. It was like being dirty and not being able to wash it off. I almost took it off but I knew it wouldn't bring Wyatt back. The only hospital worker I didn't mind was a lady in charge of bereavement. Apparently she had lost twin girls at 30 weeks sometime in her past. Why she would want to surround herself with this kind of pain by having that job is beyond me, but when she cried with us I knew it was genuine. I knew that she knew. As much as I appreciate support and love from everyone around us, it's a different kind of tear that they cry. People look at us with a face that says "I don't have any idea what you feel but that must be sad". I don't like that look. Fear of that look has kept me away from phone calls and visits. I want to still be on that other side-with people who are ignorant of this kind of pain.

Tuesday, August 17, 2010

Dreams

I keep dreaming about you, Wyatt, the same way I pictured you would be in life. You're a sweet toddler running around our yard in a baseball jersey that's a little too big. You have a big heart and are emotional, like your dad. You love baseball but you're calmer than your older sister. These are the visions I had of you when you were inside me and these are the dreams that haunt me now. Not so much that the dreams themselves are terrible; they usually interchange between the beautiful but too-silent baby that you were at the hospital to this image of you in a jersey. I wake up feeling the emptiness as if it were brand-new everyday since it seems that I have just interacted with you, when infact I cannot even touch you. You're spirit was here with us and it was felt very strongly. We already knew your personality and you were already a member in this family. Just because you weren't born yet didn't mean you weren't here. You had a bed and a room, some clothes and some toys. You were part of our everyday conversations and our entire future together as a family included you. Some of the most painful realizations after you passed were that I would never hear your voice, know what your favorite ice cream flavor was, or celebrate your birthday with your friends- whoever they would be. All of these things that should have been were suddenly no more. I would never say "I have four children", now I am back to having three. That's not my family. I have four children. I have a son named Wyatt, and he is beautiful.

Monday, August 16, 2010

August 16, 2010

Ten days ago today I lost my son, Wyatt Gabriel Stef. That is an almost impossible sentence for me to write down and believe. Four weeks ago I was happily pregnant and busy taking my life for granted. How can ultrasounds every week for 24 weeks show a perfectly healthy baby boy and suddenly he "isn't growing"? How is there such a large hole in the medical field? Or, what would happen so suddenly to cause my baby to not thrive? I've hated God and myself for 10 days now. It is so needless...it didn't have to happen. Either my body failed my son or my God failed me. Now I sit, feeling more emotional pain than a body can handle. My uterus is empty and my arms should be full. My son is gone and I can't protect him, or swaddle him, or feel his soft hair against my cheeks. I watch my husband cry with such torment it almost parallels the pain I have for my son. Not us. Why us? Doesn't God know I cannot survive this? I guess He's not really listening, though, is He?
After the news our son wasn't growing we made the decision to keep him inside the womb and wait it out. We prayed for a miracle. After two weeks Wyatt has mysteriously grown, much to the doctors disbelief. His heart rate was good and his blood flows were stable. Three days later there was almost no amniotic fluid to speak of. We went in right away for a c-scetion. He never took a breath. He died thirty minutes later, for other "unexplained" reasons. "Something" was blocking his airway, some "other things" might have been wrong with him...not very settling answers. I want to know how and why. What caused these things and why did he recover just to turn around and perish? Did he feel pain? Why wouldn't God take me instead when I begged him to? Why couldn't I have willed Wyatt to live? Why couldn't I produce a placenta that functioned? I'm still so close to the life before my son died that I can hardly believe things. I've had to endure the unspeakable; posing my son while his pictures are taken, picking out a funeral song, creating memorial cards, opening the package on our doorstep containing an infant urn, explaining cremation to my six year old, and sitting here waiting for a c-section wound to heal as a constant reminder of my loss.
The pain is unbearable. I want to be with my son. I want to give him life. I want to hold him on my chest again. He is somewhere without me and that's not right. I can't bear this trial. Thanks for nothing God.