Dear Andrew,
It's been a difficult month. One year since you passed. A couple of weeks until your little brother arrives. There is so much emotion in this month that I feel overwhelmed. I feel like I'm drowning in grief and hope and terror all mixed together.
My grief has returned with more of a bite to it. It never went away but I was able to focus on the future. To get some hope back in my life. This month I have only been able to focus on the way things should have been and how they could turn out again. I've visited you a lot this month. I feel closer to you at your grave, like a little bit of you is waiting there for me. I feel like I let you down when you aren't getting regular visits.
Then there is the utter terror that has taken over my life. The what ifs and what could be. What if we lose your brother too? How will we cope? Will we handle it? In my head I am already planning what we will do if we lose him. The little things we would do differently. Is this normal? Isn't this a bit too morbid for what should be such a hopeful time? We are supposed to be planning for this new life to come into our world and since you were our first the only thing I have to compare it to is death. I can't get excited about him arriving because I'm terrified we are going to be grieving for two now instead of one.
He is 37 weeks and one day today and each day gets a little more terrifying. The type of terror that makes you freeze where you are and not want to move. The terror that can take over your whole body and mind and is very hard to push away. Each day we come that much closer to the timeframe that we lost you. We keep hearing how great everything is and how healthy he is but that doesn't provide the comfort that people think it should. You were the same way. There was nothing wrong with you. There was nothing missed in your scans. You just got caught up in your cord and died. How does that make anything easier when people enthusiastically tell us how great your brother is doing?
It's been a hard year, never mind a hard month. But I can't believe you've been gone for a year. I can't believe all the little things we've already missed out on. A life that was never lived and never will be.
We miss you so much. You are always our first baby and now our forever baby.
Love you.
Thursday, June 26, 2014
Friday, June 13, 2014
Dear Andrew,
I think today is a more difficult day than the anniversary of your birth. A year ago today is the day that we buried you. A year ago today was the last time I saw that face that I was so in love with and the last time I was able to caress those little curls.
We had a ceremony for you in the hospital. You had your post mortem the day before which had deteriorated the look of your skin. There were some red patches on your face that weren't there before and it was heartbreaking to look at. Your father and I spent some time alone with you and then the rest of the family came in.
We had a naming ceremony and a few words were said. I held you in my arms the whole time. I never wanted to let you go.
I don't remember much of the ceremony except holding you and staring at you and being so afraid of letting you go. We had visited you a few times during the week and spent time holding you in the chapel. Those times were a little easier because I knew that we would see you again. This was so final. This was the last thing we had to do where you would physically be there.
We placed you in your little white coffin with a picture of us, the book I read to you, a rattle from my family, and the blanket and sweater that your dad's mother knit for you. You had a little baseball hat on and one of the teddy bears from your memory box. You were wearing the little money footie pjs that I had been so excited to get you in. I never knew when I was buying them that they were what you would be buried in.
As your father wrapped you up in the coffin I had thought people were going to leave and give us more time with you. So I went to sit down but instead they put the top on your coffin and that was the last time I saw you. I didn't know that was going to happen and I was so shocked I didn't get to say anything. I felt like I didn't get a proper good bye for you but my consolation was that I did get to hold and cuddle you during the ceremony. At least I had one last time with you in my arms.
My heart broke as your father put the coffin lid on and slid it into place. It was so tiny and I just couldn't understand why this was happening to us. Only one week before we had been in the same hospital planning your induction and you had been alive. Now we were burying our baby.
After the ceremony ended your grandfather went to get the car and the three of us rode in the back. Me, your father, and you in your tiny white coffin. We headed out to the angels plot in Glasnevin where you would be with other babies. We had gone and looked earlier in the week and knew it would be the best spot for you. There were other babies there and a feeling that we weren't leaving you alone on your own.
When we got to Glasnevin we had another little ceremony for you. My parents said some words and then I did as well. I had written something out from your father and I as he couldn't speak during your burial. It was too emotional for us all. I saw my dad and brother cry for the first time ever at your funeral. You, this tiny little boy was so loved before anyone met you and now we were all heartbroken together.
After all the eulogies were done your uncles and your dad lowered your tiny coffin into the grave. And this is where I lost it. Seeing your tiny box going into the ground seemed so unfair. It's not something any parent should ever have to witness. We stayed for awhile after that and it would the first of my many many vists to you over the first year.
I think today is a more difficult day than the anniversary of your birth. A year ago today is the day that we buried you. A year ago today was the last time I saw that face that I was so in love with and the last time I was able to caress those little curls.
We had a ceremony for you in the hospital. You had your post mortem the day before which had deteriorated the look of your skin. There were some red patches on your face that weren't there before and it was heartbreaking to look at. Your father and I spent some time alone with you and then the rest of the family came in.
We had a naming ceremony and a few words were said. I held you in my arms the whole time. I never wanted to let you go.
I don't remember much of the ceremony except holding you and staring at you and being so afraid of letting you go. We had visited you a few times during the week and spent time holding you in the chapel. Those times were a little easier because I knew that we would see you again. This was so final. This was the last thing we had to do where you would physically be there.
We placed you in your little white coffin with a picture of us, the book I read to you, a rattle from my family, and the blanket and sweater that your dad's mother knit for you. You had a little baseball hat on and one of the teddy bears from your memory box. You were wearing the little money footie pjs that I had been so excited to get you in. I never knew when I was buying them that they were what you would be buried in.
As your father wrapped you up in the coffin I had thought people were going to leave and give us more time with you. So I went to sit down but instead they put the top on your coffin and that was the last time I saw you. I didn't know that was going to happen and I was so shocked I didn't get to say anything. I felt like I didn't get a proper good bye for you but my consolation was that I did get to hold and cuddle you during the ceremony. At least I had one last time with you in my arms.
My heart broke as your father put the coffin lid on and slid it into place. It was so tiny and I just couldn't understand why this was happening to us. Only one week before we had been in the same hospital planning your induction and you had been alive. Now we were burying our baby.
After the ceremony ended your grandfather went to get the car and the three of us rode in the back. Me, your father, and you in your tiny white coffin. We headed out to the angels plot in Glasnevin where you would be with other babies. We had gone and looked earlier in the week and knew it would be the best spot for you. There were other babies there and a feeling that we weren't leaving you alone on your own.
When we got to Glasnevin we had another little ceremony for you. My parents said some words and then I did as well. I had written something out from your father and I as he couldn't speak during your burial. It was too emotional for us all. I saw my dad and brother cry for the first time ever at your funeral. You, this tiny little boy was so loved before anyone met you and now we were all heartbroken together.
After all the eulogies were done your uncles and your dad lowered your tiny coffin into the grave. And this is where I lost it. Seeing your tiny box going into the ground seemed so unfair. It's not something any parent should ever have to witness. We stayed for awhile after that and it would the first of my many many vists to you over the first year.
Monday, June 9, 2014
Dear Andrew,
Your one year anniversary has passed. It's hard to believe it's been a year. Some days it feel like it never happened. That it was all some horrible dream. But unfortunately we know now that isn't true. Some days I still get a shock that you are actually gone. It's like the numbness from being told that you were dead is still gradually wearing off. Can that be the case one year later?
A year ago today we left you in the hospital Everyone left the decision up to me but I was physically exhausted and emotionally drained. Our room was a revolving door of midwives and doctors and all I wanted was for people to leave me alone. I wanted the three of us to be alone in our grief but they wouldn't let us.
It was a warm day. It had been a warm weekend. Your cold cot wasn't working so slowly your face was turning more and more blue. I was afraid to look at you as I wanted my memories of you to be as good as they could possibly be given the circumstances. So we left. I needed to be home in the quiet stillness of my house. I needed comfort and familiarity.
We had no plan as to what we were going to do with your remains. No one had spoke to us about it because the people who deal with these things don't work on the weekend. God forbid your child dies on the weekend because there won't be anyone there to talk to you about it. We were told we'd receive a call during the week to go over our options. I know I sound bitter but I've let it go at this point. I just can't comprehend how there is no one there to deal with grieving families over the weekend. Even someone on call. Are you the only baby to have passed on a weekend without any notice?
The day we left the hospital was a Sunday. I just remember leaving you alone in our hospital room as your paternal grandmother pulled me out of the room. That really annoyed me. I know she meant well but I was able to walk on my own and would leave you when I was ready. Not on anyone else's terms! I remember thinking I couldn't believe we were leaving without you. I couldn't believe we were leaving you there on your own and all we had was a memory box filled with little bits of you. It's still heartbreaking to think about. I gave you one last caress, trying to remember every detail of you before walking out of the room and not knowing if we would ever see you again.
I don't remember what we did when we got home. The day is a blank. I'm guessing I sat on the couch and stared at whatever was on tv. I know I opened the door to your room again. I realized closing the door was going to ease the pain we were going though. I couldn't just erase your existence from my life.
I wasn't going to sleep. My parents were still trying to get an emergency flight here and we had left you alone in the hospital with no plan as to what was going to happen. Life felt overwhelming. The grief was there but only on the edges. The numbness had taken over and I just felt lethargic and shocked. Nothing had prepared me to lose you and my mind couldn't and wouldn't figure out how to process what was happening.
Your one year anniversary has passed. It's hard to believe it's been a year. Some days it feel like it never happened. That it was all some horrible dream. But unfortunately we know now that isn't true. Some days I still get a shock that you are actually gone. It's like the numbness from being told that you were dead is still gradually wearing off. Can that be the case one year later?
A year ago today we left you in the hospital Everyone left the decision up to me but I was physically exhausted and emotionally drained. Our room was a revolving door of midwives and doctors and all I wanted was for people to leave me alone. I wanted the three of us to be alone in our grief but they wouldn't let us.
It was a warm day. It had been a warm weekend. Your cold cot wasn't working so slowly your face was turning more and more blue. I was afraid to look at you as I wanted my memories of you to be as good as they could possibly be given the circumstances. So we left. I needed to be home in the quiet stillness of my house. I needed comfort and familiarity.
We had no plan as to what we were going to do with your remains. No one had spoke to us about it because the people who deal with these things don't work on the weekend. God forbid your child dies on the weekend because there won't be anyone there to talk to you about it. We were told we'd receive a call during the week to go over our options. I know I sound bitter but I've let it go at this point. I just can't comprehend how there is no one there to deal with grieving families over the weekend. Even someone on call. Are you the only baby to have passed on a weekend without any notice?
The day we left the hospital was a Sunday. I just remember leaving you alone in our hospital room as your paternal grandmother pulled me out of the room. That really annoyed me. I know she meant well but I was able to walk on my own and would leave you when I was ready. Not on anyone else's terms! I remember thinking I couldn't believe we were leaving without you. I couldn't believe we were leaving you there on your own and all we had was a memory box filled with little bits of you. It's still heartbreaking to think about. I gave you one last caress, trying to remember every detail of you before walking out of the room and not knowing if we would ever see you again.
I don't remember what we did when we got home. The day is a blank. I'm guessing I sat on the couch and stared at whatever was on tv. I know I opened the door to your room again. I realized closing the door was going to ease the pain we were going though. I couldn't just erase your existence from my life.
I wasn't going to sleep. My parents were still trying to get an emergency flight here and we had left you alone in the hospital with no plan as to what was going to happen. Life felt overwhelming. The grief was there but only on the edges. The numbness had taken over and I just felt lethargic and shocked. Nothing had prepared me to lose you and my mind couldn't and wouldn't figure out how to process what was happening.
Sunday, June 8, 2014
Dear Andrew,
So today is the big day. Your one year anniversary.
After my water broke we knew we had to head into the hospital. I cleaned up as much as I could, called your grandmother and packed my bag. Your father and I left for the hospital so excited and nervous at the same time. When we got to the hospital they were extremely busy. They asked us to wait in the entry until we were called up. At this point I was still gushing loads of water and was so embarrassed. It just wouldn't stop and another pair of pants was soaked through and many towels!
We finally made it upstairs where they checked us in and when I told them my water broke they asked for a sample. I went to the bathroom to provide a sample and noticed that it wasn't clear. We'd learned in our classes that that could be a sign you were in distress.. I gave the midwife the vile of liquid and went back out to your father. I told him something was wrong but he told me I was wrong. He said everything was fine.
Due to the meconium in the water they wanted to check your heartbeat to see if you were stressed. They brought us into a ward of sleeping and snoring women and tried to get a heartbeat. The midwife couldn't find one and I started to worry. Suddenly we had a couple of mjidwives around us all trying to get your heartbeat with a Doppler and one was pushing on my stomach asking you to wake up. She even said she felt you move. But in my gut I knew something was wrong. Your father and I just held hands and waited.
After what seemed like ages a doctor came running (literally you could hear her and a midwife running to us). They brought a scan machine in and the stared at the screen for awhile. We finally heard the words I never wanted to hear. I'm sorry but there is no heartbeat. At that point your father and I were in shock. We were on a ward, surrounded by midwives and a doctor giving us looks of pity while people around us snored and slept without a clue as to what was going on next to them.
At this point they asked us to come down to fetal assessment so they could check you again on a higher resolution machine. So numbly we followed the doctor down the stairs where she examined you again. There was no movement on this screen either so she repeated the news again. As if we needed to hear it again!! We could see you weren't moving and we were both shocked. I don't think either of us made a single sound.
Once she told us you were gone I asked how they planned on delivering you. I was told a C-section was not an option and that I had to go through a normal delivery with you. I couldn't believe my baby had died 8 days overdue and now I was being told I had to go through labor. It just seemed so unfair but I was in such a state of shock at the time that I didn't even question it.
They sent us home then and gave us a number to ring. We were told if the contractions started and got strong to come back in and if not to come back in on Sunday to start induction.
We left the hospital feeling numb. I felt like I was walking in a dream land. Nothing made sense. How did this happen to us? Why did this happen to us? All your father said on the way home was that he needed a cigarette. Mind you he hadn't smoked in years. Neither of us had but it seemed we were about to start again. It was 2 am or so and we walked into town to the nearest shop. I was waddling as I was still heavily pregnant with you. There were drunk people everywhere and we were just walking through them all in a daze.
Looking back I often wonder what possessed us to that? We left our apartment to wander among drunk people at 2 am after receiving the worst news of our lives.
I sent your father into the shop and then we walked home. We sat on the deck in silence smoking. It was the only tangible thing I could hold onto at the moment. Tons of thoughts were running through my head. I cant believe my son has died. I can't believe he is still inside of me and dead. I can't believe I have to go through labor now.
We stayed outside for awhile until we knew we had to call our parents and tell them the news. That was one and probably always will be one of my worst memories. Calling your grandmother and telling her the news. She howled on the phone like I had never heard before. She didn't know what to do and my dad just kept yelling what happened in the background. I had to tell them you had died. They didn't know what to say. I just kept saying it's ok trying to comfort them and your grandfather just kept saying "no, its not ok!". At this point I got off the phone with them. Your father proceeded to call your other grandparents who were just as shocked. No one knew what to say to us.
After we got off the phone we tried to get some sleep. But there was no way I was sleeping. My mind was racing. I put all of your things away that were scattered throughout the house and closed the door to your room. I felt like I was closing a door on a whole life I had planned. It had been taken away from me so quickly that I didn't know what do except shut it away.
I wandered around the house for a couple hours as my contractions started and increased in intensity. Finally at 7am I told you father we had to head back to the hospital. At this point things get a bit blurry. I know I was having strong contractions and they brought us into a room to check if I was dilated. Apparently I wasn't so they put me in a wheelchair and brought us to a private room.
We stayed in there for hours. Just your father and I and occasionally a midwife to check up on us. I was in so much pain and couldn't believe I had to go through this. I was trying to concentrate on the contractions and the pain pushed the numbness and grief out of my mind for awhile. Except I knew I wasn't getting to keep you at the end so none of the pain seemed worth it. At some point before noon the pain became too much. I felt like I was going to throw up. I had intense pain in my lower back. I was exhausted and the contractions were coming every 90 seconds or so. I told your father to get a midwife and that I needed an epidural.
I was wheeled back to labor and delivery to be checked again and was told I was 5 cm. I still can't believe they let me get that far without paid medication when we had lost you. I didn't want to feel that pain! I didn't want to go through this knowing what was at the end.
A man came in and administered the epidural and it was the best thing that had happened to me that day. I could finally rest. I was exhausted. The next few hours were spent sleeping. Your father called the grandparents to give them progress updates. My parents were frantically trying to change flights to get here and your father's parents had driven up as soon as we called them. We were in the hospital when we were told your paternal grandmother was there and she wasn't taking no for an answer! It was nice to know there was someone there to support us and cared enough to push her way into the hospital.
I continued to sleep and labor for hours. When I wasn't sleeping I stared out the window. It was a sunny cloudless beautiful day. And I resented it. We live in Ireland where it's mostly overcast. Why couldn't the weather reflect how we were feeling for once? Why did people have to be outside enjoying life and sunshine while we were going through one of the worst experiences of our lives?
I was in and out of it and exhausted. They came in to check around 6 pm that night and I was fully dilated but exhausted. They said I could push now if I wanted but I asked to wait a little bit and they allowed it. It's not like we had to worry about you being stressed anymore.
At 7pm they came in and said it was time. We were going to see you shortly. This little person we had been waiting 9 months for with such anticipation. They asked before I started pushing if we wanted to hold you. I was definitely going to hold you! But then they asked about cleaning you and I said yes as I was afraid all day in meconium had made you scary looking. I wasn't sure if you were going to come out covered in it. I didn't know what to expect. So I blindly answered that I would like you cleaned up before I held you (regret #1 of many).
I started pushing at 7 pm and listed to the midwives. The two of them coached me on when to push. One held one of my legs while your father held the other. When they could see the head your father even had a look as I yelled at him to stop looking! But he was so excited to see you and said they could see your full head of hair! I gave a few more pushed and there you were. 7:23 pm on the 8th of June you came silently into this world.
It was such a quiet room. You always see deliveries on tv that are loud and the baby cries and no one spoke in our room from what I remember. All I remember is silence while your father and I stared at you. The cord was tight around your neck when you came out and around your shoulder. They immediately said this was probably the cause of death. The thing connecting us that kept you alive for nine months was the same thing that had killed you.
They wiped you down, weighed you, and dressed you in the outfit we had given them. You were 8 pounds 15 ounces and 22 inches long. I couldn't get over the size of you! When the midwife handed you to me I felt such awe at how perfect you were. Both your father and I couldn't get over how perfect you were. Every parent knows what to expect when the baby is born but it was still such a feeling of shock and awe that we had created you. That you were here with these big hands, full head of hair, tiny ears and cute button nose. You were better than anything I had imagined or dreamt of.
We spent time holding you and cherishing you. I finally let your father have a turn holding you. He was such a natural! I felt awkward and clumsy holding you and there he was holding you with ease. At some point we asked for your grandparents to come in and meet you. They held you and talked about how beautiful you were. And to all of us you really were perfect.
While in the room we took some pictures. We needed to have something concrete of you. I emailed the pictures to my parents so that they could see what you looked like. My biggest regret from that part of this journey is that I didn't hold you after you came out. I don't remember what you little bum looks like or your feet even though we have footprints. I wish I had spent more time memorizing every detail of you, this little boy who had spent nine months with me.
Eventually we had to move rooms. Your grandparents left for the day. They prepared to move me to another bed and wheel us to a private room down the hall. I threw up probably from the drugs but also from the experience as a whole. We made our way down to the private room and were left on our own. They tried to give us some food but neither of us had any desire to eat. Even after being told we had to eat after the day we had neither of us could stomach any food. Your father went home to collect some things. You were placed in the cold cot beside me and that part of our journey was over.
I spent some time lying in bed starting at you and taking more pictures. At some point I fell asleep but woke up startled that your father wasn't back. I rang him immediately and asked him to come back. He was already on his way but I couldn't cope with him being out of my sight.
He came back and put a mattress on the floor to sleep. In the middle of the night I woke up sobbing as was going to happen a lot in the coming weeks and months. Your father tried to comfort me but nothing was going to make me feel better. I was in a hospital with my deceased son next to me. What kind of life was this?
The next morning we were up early. Midwives came in and out to see you. Everyone commented on how much hair you had and how precious you were. They were very kind but it made us feel like we were some kind of freak show. It was a constant revolving door. Midwives, doctors, people with food. I just wanted to be left alone.
One of the midwives came in with a memory box for you. It had a blanket and a teddy bear. We were able to take your handprints and footprints. We were able to cut off some locks of that curly hair. These little things that we would never have thought of are now my most precious possessions. Your hair is in a locket around my neck and your handprints and footprints are framed on our wall with your picture. I cherish those few items so much since you've been gone.
After we were done with the memory box I knew I wanted to go home. I was still feeling numb and couldn't believe all that had happened in 30 hours. As everything was fine with me they let us go mid-afternoon that day. This would become regret #2. I now feel I didn't spend enough time with you. I didn't kiss you enough, tell you I love you enough, or cuddle with you enough. I was so afraid and didn't realize that in the future these were some of my biggest regrets. The cold cot wasn't working, it was a warm day, and you were turning more blue by the minute. I didn't want my memories of you to be ones where you were blue and bruised.
We left you behind that afternoon and it was one of the hardest things I have ever done. To leave you in that cot by yourself just seemed so unfair. What was the point of the last nine months? Why did we have to go through all of that? What did this mean for our future?
I still can't believe that was a year ago today. How is that possible? To me it still feels like it was yesterday. To your father he has said it feels like it was lifetimes ago. But to both of us it has been an incredibly hard year. Everywhere we go there are reminder of you. We always wonder what life should be like now if you were here and today we should be celebrating your first birthday. Would you be eating cake? Would you be walking? All of these things that we will never know and my heart breaks anew every time I think of you.
Since I didn't say it enough when you were here, I want you to know that we love you. We have always loved and you and will always love you. You mean the world to us and we are so glad you were in our lives even if it was for a short period of time.
.JPG)
So today is the big day. Your one year anniversary.
After my water broke we knew we had to head into the hospital. I cleaned up as much as I could, called your grandmother and packed my bag. Your father and I left for the hospital so excited and nervous at the same time. When we got to the hospital they were extremely busy. They asked us to wait in the entry until we were called up. At this point I was still gushing loads of water and was so embarrassed. It just wouldn't stop and another pair of pants was soaked through and many towels!
We finally made it upstairs where they checked us in and when I told them my water broke they asked for a sample. I went to the bathroom to provide a sample and noticed that it wasn't clear. We'd learned in our classes that that could be a sign you were in distress.. I gave the midwife the vile of liquid and went back out to your father. I told him something was wrong but he told me I was wrong. He said everything was fine.
Due to the meconium in the water they wanted to check your heartbeat to see if you were stressed. They brought us into a ward of sleeping and snoring women and tried to get a heartbeat. The midwife couldn't find one and I started to worry. Suddenly we had a couple of mjidwives around us all trying to get your heartbeat with a Doppler and one was pushing on my stomach asking you to wake up. She even said she felt you move. But in my gut I knew something was wrong. Your father and I just held hands and waited.
After what seemed like ages a doctor came running (literally you could hear her and a midwife running to us). They brought a scan machine in and the stared at the screen for awhile. We finally heard the words I never wanted to hear. I'm sorry but there is no heartbeat. At that point your father and I were in shock. We were on a ward, surrounded by midwives and a doctor giving us looks of pity while people around us snored and slept without a clue as to what was going on next to them.
At this point they asked us to come down to fetal assessment so they could check you again on a higher resolution machine. So numbly we followed the doctor down the stairs where she examined you again. There was no movement on this screen either so she repeated the news again. As if we needed to hear it again!! We could see you weren't moving and we were both shocked. I don't think either of us made a single sound.
Once she told us you were gone I asked how they planned on delivering you. I was told a C-section was not an option and that I had to go through a normal delivery with you. I couldn't believe my baby had died 8 days overdue and now I was being told I had to go through labor. It just seemed so unfair but I was in such a state of shock at the time that I didn't even question it.
They sent us home then and gave us a number to ring. We were told if the contractions started and got strong to come back in and if not to come back in on Sunday to start induction.
We left the hospital feeling numb. I felt like I was walking in a dream land. Nothing made sense. How did this happen to us? Why did this happen to us? All your father said on the way home was that he needed a cigarette. Mind you he hadn't smoked in years. Neither of us had but it seemed we were about to start again. It was 2 am or so and we walked into town to the nearest shop. I was waddling as I was still heavily pregnant with you. There were drunk people everywhere and we were just walking through them all in a daze.
Looking back I often wonder what possessed us to that? We left our apartment to wander among drunk people at 2 am after receiving the worst news of our lives.
I sent your father into the shop and then we walked home. We sat on the deck in silence smoking. It was the only tangible thing I could hold onto at the moment. Tons of thoughts were running through my head. I cant believe my son has died. I can't believe he is still inside of me and dead. I can't believe I have to go through labor now.
We stayed outside for awhile until we knew we had to call our parents and tell them the news. That was one and probably always will be one of my worst memories. Calling your grandmother and telling her the news. She howled on the phone like I had never heard before. She didn't know what to do and my dad just kept yelling what happened in the background. I had to tell them you had died. They didn't know what to say. I just kept saying it's ok trying to comfort them and your grandfather just kept saying "no, its not ok!". At this point I got off the phone with them. Your father proceeded to call your other grandparents who were just as shocked. No one knew what to say to us.
After we got off the phone we tried to get some sleep. But there was no way I was sleeping. My mind was racing. I put all of your things away that were scattered throughout the house and closed the door to your room. I felt like I was closing a door on a whole life I had planned. It had been taken away from me so quickly that I didn't know what do except shut it away.
I wandered around the house for a couple hours as my contractions started and increased in intensity. Finally at 7am I told you father we had to head back to the hospital. At this point things get a bit blurry. I know I was having strong contractions and they brought us into a room to check if I was dilated. Apparently I wasn't so they put me in a wheelchair and brought us to a private room.
We stayed in there for hours. Just your father and I and occasionally a midwife to check up on us. I was in so much pain and couldn't believe I had to go through this. I was trying to concentrate on the contractions and the pain pushed the numbness and grief out of my mind for awhile. Except I knew I wasn't getting to keep you at the end so none of the pain seemed worth it. At some point before noon the pain became too much. I felt like I was going to throw up. I had intense pain in my lower back. I was exhausted and the contractions were coming every 90 seconds or so. I told your father to get a midwife and that I needed an epidural.
I was wheeled back to labor and delivery to be checked again and was told I was 5 cm. I still can't believe they let me get that far without paid medication when we had lost you. I didn't want to feel that pain! I didn't want to go through this knowing what was at the end.
A man came in and administered the epidural and it was the best thing that had happened to me that day. I could finally rest. I was exhausted. The next few hours were spent sleeping. Your father called the grandparents to give them progress updates. My parents were frantically trying to change flights to get here and your father's parents had driven up as soon as we called them. We were in the hospital when we were told your paternal grandmother was there and she wasn't taking no for an answer! It was nice to know there was someone there to support us and cared enough to push her way into the hospital.
I continued to sleep and labor for hours. When I wasn't sleeping I stared out the window. It was a sunny cloudless beautiful day. And I resented it. We live in Ireland where it's mostly overcast. Why couldn't the weather reflect how we were feeling for once? Why did people have to be outside enjoying life and sunshine while we were going through one of the worst experiences of our lives?
I was in and out of it and exhausted. They came in to check around 6 pm that night and I was fully dilated but exhausted. They said I could push now if I wanted but I asked to wait a little bit and they allowed it. It's not like we had to worry about you being stressed anymore.
At 7pm they came in and said it was time. We were going to see you shortly. This little person we had been waiting 9 months for with such anticipation. They asked before I started pushing if we wanted to hold you. I was definitely going to hold you! But then they asked about cleaning you and I said yes as I was afraid all day in meconium had made you scary looking. I wasn't sure if you were going to come out covered in it. I didn't know what to expect. So I blindly answered that I would like you cleaned up before I held you (regret #1 of many).
I started pushing at 7 pm and listed to the midwives. The two of them coached me on when to push. One held one of my legs while your father held the other. When they could see the head your father even had a look as I yelled at him to stop looking! But he was so excited to see you and said they could see your full head of hair! I gave a few more pushed and there you were. 7:23 pm on the 8th of June you came silently into this world.
It was such a quiet room. You always see deliveries on tv that are loud and the baby cries and no one spoke in our room from what I remember. All I remember is silence while your father and I stared at you. The cord was tight around your neck when you came out and around your shoulder. They immediately said this was probably the cause of death. The thing connecting us that kept you alive for nine months was the same thing that had killed you.
They wiped you down, weighed you, and dressed you in the outfit we had given them. You were 8 pounds 15 ounces and 22 inches long. I couldn't get over the size of you! When the midwife handed you to me I felt such awe at how perfect you were. Both your father and I couldn't get over how perfect you were. Every parent knows what to expect when the baby is born but it was still such a feeling of shock and awe that we had created you. That you were here with these big hands, full head of hair, tiny ears and cute button nose. You were better than anything I had imagined or dreamt of.
We spent time holding you and cherishing you. I finally let your father have a turn holding you. He was such a natural! I felt awkward and clumsy holding you and there he was holding you with ease. At some point we asked for your grandparents to come in and meet you. They held you and talked about how beautiful you were. And to all of us you really were perfect.
While in the room we took some pictures. We needed to have something concrete of you. I emailed the pictures to my parents so that they could see what you looked like. My biggest regret from that part of this journey is that I didn't hold you after you came out. I don't remember what you little bum looks like or your feet even though we have footprints. I wish I had spent more time memorizing every detail of you, this little boy who had spent nine months with me.
Eventually we had to move rooms. Your grandparents left for the day. They prepared to move me to another bed and wheel us to a private room down the hall. I threw up probably from the drugs but also from the experience as a whole. We made our way down to the private room and were left on our own. They tried to give us some food but neither of us had any desire to eat. Even after being told we had to eat after the day we had neither of us could stomach any food. Your father went home to collect some things. You were placed in the cold cot beside me and that part of our journey was over.
I spent some time lying in bed starting at you and taking more pictures. At some point I fell asleep but woke up startled that your father wasn't back. I rang him immediately and asked him to come back. He was already on his way but I couldn't cope with him being out of my sight.
He came back and put a mattress on the floor to sleep. In the middle of the night I woke up sobbing as was going to happen a lot in the coming weeks and months. Your father tried to comfort me but nothing was going to make me feel better. I was in a hospital with my deceased son next to me. What kind of life was this?
The next morning we were up early. Midwives came in and out to see you. Everyone commented on how much hair you had and how precious you were. They were very kind but it made us feel like we were some kind of freak show. It was a constant revolving door. Midwives, doctors, people with food. I just wanted to be left alone.
One of the midwives came in with a memory box for you. It had a blanket and a teddy bear. We were able to take your handprints and footprints. We were able to cut off some locks of that curly hair. These little things that we would never have thought of are now my most precious possessions. Your hair is in a locket around my neck and your handprints and footprints are framed on our wall with your picture. I cherish those few items so much since you've been gone.
After we were done with the memory box I knew I wanted to go home. I was still feeling numb and couldn't believe all that had happened in 30 hours. As everything was fine with me they let us go mid-afternoon that day. This would become regret #2. I now feel I didn't spend enough time with you. I didn't kiss you enough, tell you I love you enough, or cuddle with you enough. I was so afraid and didn't realize that in the future these were some of my biggest regrets. The cold cot wasn't working, it was a warm day, and you were turning more blue by the minute. I didn't want my memories of you to be ones where you were blue and bruised.
We left you behind that afternoon and it was one of the hardest things I have ever done. To leave you in that cot by yourself just seemed so unfair. What was the point of the last nine months? Why did we have to go through all of that? What did this mean for our future?
I still can't believe that was a year ago today. How is that possible? To me it still feels like it was yesterday. To your father he has said it feels like it was lifetimes ago. But to both of us it has been an incredibly hard year. Everywhere we go there are reminder of you. We always wonder what life should be like now if you were here and today we should be celebrating your first birthday. Would you be eating cake? Would you be walking? All of these things that we will never know and my heart breaks anew every time I think of you.
Since I didn't say it enough when you were here, I want you to know that we love you. We have always loved and you and will always love you. You mean the world to us and we are so glad you were in our lives even if it was for a short period of time.
Friday, June 6, 2014
Dear Andrew,
A year ago today (June 6th) at this time I was preparing for one of my last antenatal visits. I was 40+6 days and it was time to start induction. I was doing everything I could to get you going. I was walking five miles a day and bouncing on those yoga balls but you were too content to stay. You were happy where you were.
We went to our appointment that afternoon and had the longest wait we have ever had at the hospital. We were there three hours before being seen by anyone. And when we got in there it was a student doctor! Your father was disgusted. He was already late for work due to the incredibly long wait and then we had to deal with a student doctor. She did all the checks she was supposed to and then we started talking about counting kicks. I told her how I counted your kicks with a touch of OCD. I was obsessed with making sure you moved which was difficult because you were a quiet baby. I will forever remember her telling me not to worry, that nothing happens this far along in the pregnancy.
Finally a doctor came in to see us and checked you. Everything was functioning normally. You had a lot of fluid, the placenta looked good, and you had a strong heartbeat. What more could we ask for? We were scheduled to come back on the Monday if you hadn't arrived so that we could discuss induction. You were coming out the following week whether you were ready or not!
We left there annoyed at the waiting but glad everything was looking ok. A woman on my rollercoaster group kept talking about monitoring our babies closely now as they were high risk once you were overdue. She had me paranoid and so afraid that we had made it that far only to lose you. I couldn't bear the thought. We were both so excited and near the end.
Those trainee doctor's words had encouraged me though. What could go wrong at this point? You were ok. You were healthy, everything looked good, and whether you liked it or not you were going to be out in the next week.
Your father headed off to work after the appointment and I hung out around the house. I was already on my third week of maternity leave waiting for you to get here! I decided to lie down for awhile. At some point around 5 o'clock or so I got up to pee (as you do frequently when you have a baby in you at 9 months) and then came back to bed. You started going berserk as soon as I laid down. Movement like I had never felt from you. It probably only last ten - fifteen seconds but it was enough to catch my attention. I talked to you and told you to calm down. That if you were that excited it was definitely time for you to come out.
Little did I know that you had died at that time. Your cord was around your neck and shoulder and you moved in such a way that it tightened enough to cause you to die. Your movements were you struggling to live and let me know something was wrong. I didn't know at the time that would be the last time I would feel you inside me. I didn't know as I lie there imagining what life was going to be like in a week that you weren't going to be a part of it. Our lives were going to change so quickly and in such a terrible way that neither of us imagined. I didn't know that those movements meant something was wrong.
And for a whole 24 - 30 hours after I was blissfully unaware that you had passed. I woke up the next morning, I went for my two hour walk, I cleaned the house and then I started worrying about your movements. I took a bump picture for my mom telling her I thought you had moved into an awkward position and maybe that meant you were ready to arrive. That afternoon, I thought about the fact that I hadn't felt you move all day. This was normal though when I was moving around a lot. You were a calm baby who really only moved if I sat still for long periods of time. So I sat on the couch and waited. You still didn't move. I got some pees from the freezer and that didn't get you to move (your grandmother told me she did this to me when she worried about my movement. Apparently it made me crazy every time). I thought about going into the hospital but I had been there the day before and everything was perfect.
Then around 8:00 that night I thought that I had felt movement. It wasn't much but it was enough to make me think you were ok. Which made me relax because I was really starting to panic. Your dad was on his way home from work and if you hadn't moved we were heading into the hospital. So I remained happily unaware that you were dead. Convincing myself that you were ok and I was just a paranoid mother. We had already gone in a couple times over my concern for your movements and everything was fine. I just assumed I worried too much and didn't want to keep scaring your poor father.
I went to bed around midnight on the 7th of June and as soon as I laid down I felt a pop and just knew. My water had broken. Our world was about to change and you were about to be a major part of it.
A year ago today (June 6th) at this time I was preparing for one of my last antenatal visits. I was 40+6 days and it was time to start induction. I was doing everything I could to get you going. I was walking five miles a day and bouncing on those yoga balls but you were too content to stay. You were happy where you were.
We went to our appointment that afternoon and had the longest wait we have ever had at the hospital. We were there three hours before being seen by anyone. And when we got in there it was a student doctor! Your father was disgusted. He was already late for work due to the incredibly long wait and then we had to deal with a student doctor. She did all the checks she was supposed to and then we started talking about counting kicks. I told her how I counted your kicks with a touch of OCD. I was obsessed with making sure you moved which was difficult because you were a quiet baby. I will forever remember her telling me not to worry, that nothing happens this far along in the pregnancy.
Finally a doctor came in to see us and checked you. Everything was functioning normally. You had a lot of fluid, the placenta looked good, and you had a strong heartbeat. What more could we ask for? We were scheduled to come back on the Monday if you hadn't arrived so that we could discuss induction. You were coming out the following week whether you were ready or not!
We left there annoyed at the waiting but glad everything was looking ok. A woman on my rollercoaster group kept talking about monitoring our babies closely now as they were high risk once you were overdue. She had me paranoid and so afraid that we had made it that far only to lose you. I couldn't bear the thought. We were both so excited and near the end.
Those trainee doctor's words had encouraged me though. What could go wrong at this point? You were ok. You were healthy, everything looked good, and whether you liked it or not you were going to be out in the next week.
Your father headed off to work after the appointment and I hung out around the house. I was already on my third week of maternity leave waiting for you to get here! I decided to lie down for awhile. At some point around 5 o'clock or so I got up to pee (as you do frequently when you have a baby in you at 9 months) and then came back to bed. You started going berserk as soon as I laid down. Movement like I had never felt from you. It probably only last ten - fifteen seconds but it was enough to catch my attention. I talked to you and told you to calm down. That if you were that excited it was definitely time for you to come out.
Little did I know that you had died at that time. Your cord was around your neck and shoulder and you moved in such a way that it tightened enough to cause you to die. Your movements were you struggling to live and let me know something was wrong. I didn't know at the time that would be the last time I would feel you inside me. I didn't know as I lie there imagining what life was going to be like in a week that you weren't going to be a part of it. Our lives were going to change so quickly and in such a terrible way that neither of us imagined. I didn't know that those movements meant something was wrong.
And for a whole 24 - 30 hours after I was blissfully unaware that you had passed. I woke up the next morning, I went for my two hour walk, I cleaned the house and then I started worrying about your movements. I took a bump picture for my mom telling her I thought you had moved into an awkward position and maybe that meant you were ready to arrive. That afternoon, I thought about the fact that I hadn't felt you move all day. This was normal though when I was moving around a lot. You were a calm baby who really only moved if I sat still for long periods of time. So I sat on the couch and waited. You still didn't move. I got some pees from the freezer and that didn't get you to move (your grandmother told me she did this to me when she worried about my movement. Apparently it made me crazy every time). I thought about going into the hospital but I had been there the day before and everything was perfect.
Then around 8:00 that night I thought that I had felt movement. It wasn't much but it was enough to make me think you were ok. Which made me relax because I was really starting to panic. Your dad was on his way home from work and if you hadn't moved we were heading into the hospital. So I remained happily unaware that you were dead. Convincing myself that you were ok and I was just a paranoid mother. We had already gone in a couple times over my concern for your movements and everything was fine. I just assumed I worried too much and didn't want to keep scaring your poor father.
I went to bed around midnight on the 7th of June and as soon as I laid down I felt a pop and just knew. My water had broken. Our world was about to change and you were about to be a major part of it.
Thursday, June 5, 2014
Dear Andrew,
A year ago today was the last day that you were alive. I didn't know it at the time but it was the last full day that I would feel your kicks and be the old me. The happy and naïve pregnant me without a worry. A year ago tomorrow my life changed completely which in turn changed me completely.
Today we have the scan for your little brother to find out if he is doing ok. I can't believe a year ago I was so excited to meet you and now we are trying to have faith that we will get to meet your brother. I can't believe what a difference a year makes.
A year later and I still miss you like it was yesterday. I love you so much.
A year ago today was the last day that you were alive. I didn't know it at the time but it was the last full day that I would feel your kicks and be the old me. The happy and naïve pregnant me without a worry. A year ago tomorrow my life changed completely which in turn changed me completely.
Today we have the scan for your little brother to find out if he is doing ok. I can't believe a year ago I was so excited to meet you and now we are trying to have faith that we will get to meet your brother. I can't believe what a difference a year makes.
A year later and I still miss you like it was yesterday. I love you so much.
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)