I have had to say this aloud to myself recently....because some days I just don't even believe it. Your baby died. She was born dead. You almost died. You will NOT be having a baby in April. You will never be the same.
Just re-reading those words, I am ticked! I am angry that this happened to me and my family. We wanted this baby. We PRAYED for this baby. We are good parents. I took pre-natal vitamins, ate healthy, exercised and went to all my appointments. I did everything I was supposed to do. Dr. C mentioned to me on several occasions how she wouldn't wish this on anyone....but especially us. I was a good patient! She reminded me over and over that it wasn't my fault that I had that cyst, but how can I not have some form of survivor's guilt? I got to live, but my baby died.
Every night before I can settle down and go to sleep, I replay Monday, November 26 in my head from start to finish. I got up and took Maggie to school, went to the grocery with my mom and Elliott, came home and finished some laundry. My mom and I got all my maternity clothes together from the basement since I had only brought up a couple of pairs of jeans and she began to wash them and organize them for me. Greg came home and we went to the hospital. I got all checked in and ready for surgery. Dr. C came in and assured us that she would work quickly to get my cyst/ovary out and they would monitor the baby before and after. We were laughing and joking. They took me down what felt like the longest hallway ever to the OR. I was scared but knew it would be over soon and then I could just go back to being a "normal" pregnant woman.
Except I woke up and things weren't okay. I don't remember feeling worried for myself, but as soon as machines started beeping, I was definitely worried about Norah. I became more worried as more and more people came in my recovery space and as I saw her slow beating heart on the u/s machine. And I saw the look of concern on Dr. C's face and on the faces of the nurses who worked so diligently to keep me calm. They worked so quickly to save my life, and I will forever be grateful for that. I remember seeing Greg's face, a true adoration for his wife and unborn baby as he shouted at me to keep me awake.
I keep wanting to know what it was like for him and what it was like for my friends and family. Today my friend replayed her side of the story for me again (I have asked her before, but today I wanted to hear it again). She was there in that waiting room while I was fighting for my life. And just as it was all very surreal for me, it was for them too. I feel like the whole reason I go through these scenarios in my head is to see if there is something that have could have gone differently, something I could have changed. But there is nothing I could have done to stop this from happening.
I am angry that I have to do this each and every night before I can go to sleep. That when I wake up in the morning it is like waking up from surgery and quickly realizing that Norah is not safely inside me and she hasn't been for 12 long weeks now. Your baby died. She was born dead. You will have to go visit her at a cemetery, under a heap of dirt. You will never get to know her here on earth.
4 comments:
I'm not sure when "replaying the day" ever goes away...I still do it every day, and it's been nearly 11 months for us. I do know that anger subsides, but I can't guarantee it doesn't rear it's ugly head from time to time. I love you and wish you didn't have to ensure this, friend. :'(
I have been there, except it was our first child, so I was really really mad that I was still alive too, even. (Not that I particularly *wanted* to die but I was so mad that she died and I was still alive.)Three years later and I definitely still get mad at it all sometimes, but I am really glad to still be here, and it's definitely not the overwhelming raw grief that is there in the early weeks and months.
Oh, I had "flashbacks" almost daily the first 6 months (drives to work were the worst!), weekly or twice weekly'ish the 2nd half of the first year, much less the 2nd year, maybe less than once a month the third year...there comes a point where it is just too draining and frustrating to beat yourself up with the "what if's" that often
Elizabeth it truly breaks my heart to read this but I just wanted to say thank you so much for sharing how you feel. I understand anger all too well. When my son was diagnosed with severe autism I remember the moment like it was yesterday (it was 6 years ago) and sometimes it is like a video that replays over and over and over and it is horrible. After Jon was diagnosed, It took a while for me to even admit that I was angry. As a Christian I have always felt that I did not have the right to be honest about how I felt. But yes the anger did come and it was horrific. I am thankful that for the most part now that I can cope. It has honestly taken years to reach this point but my emotions have slowly become manageable. I do still have my moments of anger, depression and sadness and it is mostly when I see typical little boys that are Jon's age that can show love, talk to their parents, doing normal big boy stuff. I sometimes get stuck thinking about the things that Jon will not have in this lifetime and its just all around painful. I have questioned why my son has been born with such a heavy burden and why this has happened to me but then I have had to force myself to understand that this is just the way it is and quite frankly it stinks.
Elizabeth, do you remember the time that you and Greg saw me and the kids at Sams? I remember that day like yesterday and it was a good day. I remember the sincere compassion that you showed Jon and the love you had for him. I remember the way that you and Greg worked to interact with him despite his very limited ability to communicate. I also remember the sadness in your eyes when I told you about his challenges. Please know that I think of your family often and that I do pray for you guys. Please know that on my hardest days, I think of my friends who have experienced such a terrible loss and do not have their children here with them and it humbles me and reminds of what a blessing it is that I still do have my son, no matter how hard it may be to take care of him. I am sorry that I have written so much. But again thank you for sharing this blog. I know it is helping others and I hope that it is helping you some as you go through your healing process.
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