The Long Winded Story Part II

The nurses wheels me into a small cramped hallway and goes to check on the c-section room. I felt like I sat in that wheelchair forever. Finally she comes back to get me. Big Johnny has to wait outside until they have me "fully prepped". I sit up on the table, sobbing uncontrollably. All I can think is my baby is inside me and he's dead. DEAD. The nurse tells me to relax and gives me a hug. Dr Rude Anesthesiologist tells me if I don't stop crying and shaking that he will not be able to insert the spinal and they will have to put me under. This goes on for another 20 minutes. They decide to put me under. All is dark. I wake up to Dr. F shaking me telling me to wake up. Big Johnny and my mom are off to the left and this incubator is to the right. I can't see in it. My moms eyes are red. Big Johnny says "I haven't looked at him, I wanted to wait for you".  I felt emotionless....as if I was watching from the outside. It felt surreal like a movie. This couldn't possibly be happening to me right? I don't remember who was first to pick him up, but suddenly my son, my baby Johnny, was in my arms. He was cold. I looked down at him and my heart broke into a million pieces. I have never been the same since that moment. Old Lynda died right then, only to awaken a new Lynda, the one who's baby died. I held him close and I shook with sobs. Tears streamed down my face uncontrollably as I continued to tell my son how sorry I was. I SHOULD.HAVE.KNOWN. I should have known. Guilt that I will carry on for the rest of my life. Each one of us took a turn holding him. The nurse took him "away". It wasn't until months later I realized they took him to the morgue so his body wouldn't decompose so quickly. The nurse came in and connected my morphine drip. I was on constant medication dosed by a little button in my hand. I self medicated the entire time I was in the hospital because I JUST COULD NOT DEAL. Everything went black again. I awoke and realized it wasn't a dream. I asked the nurse for my baby back. Tears again. I coudn't even look at him without the guilt. I kissed his tiny nose and each of his fingers. His fingers were so long. Something I only know from pictures because I was too drugged to remember. The nurse asks if I want to get him dressed but I have no clothes. She brings me clothes that other "Angel Mommy's" have made and donated to the hospital. I choose his outfit and she takes him again to dress him and take pics. His little yellow hat looked like it could fit his whole body. He was so small. We again all take turns holding him. I was the last to hold him. He nose began to bleed. I was confused, afterall I had never held a dead baby before. His body was beginning the decomposing process. It was time to say good-bye. Everyone begins to sob, but I have no tears left. The medicine and the shock has left me numb. I kiss my son good-bye......

The long-winded story Part 1

The day was warm, warm enough to have the car windows up and the a/c on. Perhaps it wasn't that warm, maybe I was just warm because I felt icky. Either way, I remember going around the bend of the 101 on ramp from the I17, looking out the window with a sense of doom in the pit of my stomach. Something just wasn't right, but in hindsight I had no idea what I was in for. I honestly don't remember parking but I do remember walking to the doors of the hospital. My feet felt like they weighed 500 pounds, as if someone had turned my shoes into cement blocks. I don't remember what triage looked like or the waiting room. I don't remember signing in or talking to anyone. I just remember sitting in that bed looking at the pea green blanket and thinking it was the color of baby poop. The nurse tried three different dopplers to find his heartbeat but the room remained quiet, we never did hear his heartbeat that day. She made it seem like it was no big deal. I watched the even face of the ultrasound tech; never changing through the entire exam. She gave nothing away, but left quickly. I didn't hear what she told the doctor but I imagine it went something like this, "Room 3 baby's is dead." When the doctor returned to my room quickly I knew something wasn't right, but again never thought this. Never. The nurse brought him a chair and he sat at the end of my bed, not at the side, but at the end. He sputtered and stuttered something about "these things happening" and "for no reason". After listening to him for what seemed like forever I blurted out, loudly, "Are you saying my baby's dead?" The doctor nodded, never even speaking the word yes, just nod. I heard a blood curdling scream and cries. Didn't realize at the time they were mine. The nurse quickly shut the curtain as if the paper thin sheet would somehow muffle my wails. I screamed for big Johnny to call my mom because mom's fix everything right? Right?? But mo, she couldn't fix this. No one could. This was unfixable. Everything for awhile was a blur. I'm not sure when the wailing stopped, or if it ever did. Doctor F asked if I wanted to go home to get my affairs in order. What affairs could be more important than this? Hindsight is 20/20. I had no clothes for my baby, I had no information. I wasn't prepared. How do you prepare for your childs death? I guess you don't. I declined and chose to have my c-section that night. I was put in a wheelchair and brought through back hallways as to not upset the other pregnant mothers I'm sure. I was brought to a room so that I could be prepared for my c-section....

Just one more day?

I screamed in prayer last night to God.  I know that doesn't really make sense, but nevertheless, I screamed. I just don't understand and my faith is dwindling. The ward that I belong to at church is demeaning and hateful, they gossip and judge. I've never felt so distant from God, from my son, and from religion itself. I desperately want the tranquility that I first felt from the church but I fear that I won't feel that as long as we attend this ward.

I began questioning him again. Why me? Why MY son? I know why but those answers just don't seem "good enough" anymore. I want him back. And its not fair. I know the same shit I've been saying for almost four years now. But with the 14th right around the corner and Christmas right after I'm just....hurting. I'm tired of trying to hide my hurt. Yes its been almost four years but it hurts like it was just yesterday. I can still feel him in my arms, I remember the coldness of his skin, and how light his body was. I remember everything. And if I hear one more person say ..... "Well you have had two more kids, shouldn't that help?" Really? OK choose on of your babies to die since you have others it shouldn't hurt right? IDIOTS.

Can I just have my son back for Christmas??

Another Year

OK so any parent that has ever lost a child will tell you that holidays blow, pardon my french. I LOVED holidays before I lost Johnny. Family getting together, enjoying a meal and company. Thanksgiving was always full of laughter and fun and of course black Friday shopping, but now its just another grain of salt pushed into that open wound of grief. Happy Thanksgiving - your son is dead.....still. Nope won't be here for Christmas either. La De Fucking Da. Thanks. Let me go stuff my face full of food to hide my grief. Let me hide behind my sarcasticness, my fake laughter, and empty smiles so that no one knows that I'm still dying inside because by now "I should be over it". Right?

Sigh.

Happy Thanksgiving.

Lessons Learned

I've learned a lot over the past three years.

I'm not the same Lynda I was before my son, and I never will be again. That took a lot of getting used to. I fought with these thought and myself before I realized that fighting it wasn't going to change the fact that I had changed. That he has changed me and that I will forever be me...but with a dead baby. . I always feel like people on the outside of grief looking in see me as "the poor lady who lost her baby." Maybe thats why I fought it so much. I don't want to be known as "the dead baby lady." I am a mother, a sister, an aunt, and a cousin. Why do I have to be the "dead baby lady"? Don't walk on eggshells around me when you talk about your three year old. Don't whisper behind my back and feel sorry for me. As much as I would have loved for my son to be here, he's not, but that doesn't make your child any less real. Does it hurt when I see your three year old running around? A little. Does it make me sad? A little. But I'm glad YOU didn't have to bury your baby three years ago, be happy about that. Just don't treat me like the "dead baby lady" and we should be fine.

PTSD is real and effect 90% of parents that have had suffered a loss of a child. For a long time I didn't know why I was so angry or why I had outbursts but now that I realize what it is, I can deal with it. However I am the only one that can make me better. I have to push through the grief and make me better. Day by day. Little by little. I see it getting better.

If we talk don't be afraid to mention Johnny's name. He isn't taboo. It still makes me happy that others think about him even though he isn't here. Some people get this strange look on their face when I bring him up. I know you don't know what to say. You don't have to say anything just listen. Sometimes thats all anyone needs, is for someone to listen.

Anger Blows

When does the anger part of grief go away? Isn't three years long enough? Seems like there are times, there are things that set it off, where it becomes 10x bigger, 10x harder.....as if it just happened. When does it finally dissipate? Does it truly ever go away or will I be angry for the rest of my life? Being angry takes so much energy.

I still don't understand it all. Will I ever understand it all? Will it ever make sense why some people still have their children while my son is in heaven? And if I hear one more person say "well you have two rainbow babies, you should be happy." No. Having Anaiese and Abel doesn't make Johnny any more alive. He's still dead. Oh dear God how I hate that word. Can we just erase it from the English language and pretend that dead no longer exists?

I know all my BL friends understand my frustration but I feel like no one else does. Like I continue on this path of grief and every day it gets a little harder (I miss the days where it was getting easier) and everyone around me is waiting and wondering when will I "get over it"; when will I "move on". For those of you wondering I will never get over it. I will never move on. In my world it is and will always be March 14, 2009 at 6:28PM. And for everyone else time has moved on.....

Sleep Where Art Thou?

I think in three months I may have gotten about 4 hours of sleep total. I feel guilty even writing about how tired I am, how draining Anaiese is, how much of a high needs baby she is...when there are so many out there that would love just to fill their arms with an infant, so badly that it hurts. I remember those days. I do. But I feel I need to vent and I hope I don't hurt anyone along the way. I'm just exhausted. She cries nearly all day and all night. She rarely naps and when she does its only for 20 mins or so. She wakes up 5-6 times a night, sucks on a bottle for a few seconds and then goes back to sleep. I wish I could go back to sleep so easily. I toss and turn just long enough to get comfy and then be awoken again. Please BTDT mommies of high needs babies, reassure me this isn't forever, it will end sometime, that there is a light at the end of the tunnel. I'm so tired I can't even think straight. I love my daughter, more than life. I just wish she would sleep.