I was back at Maine Medical Center the other day for Liam's kidney ultrasound. This was not the first time I had been back but it was the first time when we were all healthy and I actually had time to focus on how I felt about being back there. After being there for about 5 minutes, smelling the smells and hearing the sounds of the hospital a knot set up permanent residence in my stomach. This nauseating heartache stayed for the rest of our visit and made me think about the impact that this place has had on my life. As I walked through the hospital I was as usual greeted with a perfect view of Addy's NICU window, passed the entrance to the East Tower, where the NICU is, the courtyard where we sat and ate breakfast the morning after Adeline died and got my jello and chocolate milk fix in the cafeteria where we spent so much time during our hospital stay. Each step through the hospital twisted the knot in my stomach a little bit more. It may sound crazy to someone who has not experienced the NICU but I truly miss this place. I often joke that I am homesick for the NICU and this really is the best way I can describe it.
When Liam and Addy were in the NICU the doctors, nurses, respiratory therapists and all of the other staff we met, were wonderful. I can never express how thankful we are to all of them. From the time the babies were admitted, the doctors and nurses too care of all of us. We were included in their care, allowed and even encouraged, to talk to the babies, touch them and love them. When we were given the news of Adeline's diagnosis and prognosis the doctors came back to help us make sense of what was happening and spent alot of time talking to us, explaining the diagnosis, explaining her chances of survival, discussing our options and just listening to us talk, cry and ask hundreds of questions. We were never pushed to make a decision about Adeline, nor were we rushed once the decision was made. The doctors and nurses went out of their way to ensure that we were taken care of, that Adeline was taken care of. I will never forget how Addy's nurse stayed well beyond the end of her shift just so that she would be the one to take Addy down to the morgue. I will never forget how she loved Addy with us, grieved with us. How she sat down and gave me a hug when I started crying about 5 minute after I met her and told her that I had know that Adeline was a girl from the minute my pregnancy test came back positive. That night Liam's nurse let me hold him for the first time, brought me
dinner and helped me put my horrendously swollen feet up. When I was
finally ready to stumble, bleary eyed, back to the parent room off of
the unit I looked around and realized how trashed the room was from the
day of visitors and overflow from Adeline's room. Liam's nurse just
smiled, helped me get the bags down to the parent room and told me not
to worry about a thing
After Adeline died, the NICU remained my sanctuary. In the days and weeks following Addy's death the nurses and doctors continued to take wonderful care of all of us. One of the neonatologists spent almost an hour, on several occasions, looking at x-rays with me, comparing Liam and Addy's x-rays and explaining everything in great detail. He assured me that even if I had carried to term, Addy likely would not have survived. This helped greatly to relieve my guilt over wishing for the pregnancy to be over. He also explained in great detail how different Liam and Adeline's diagnoses were and how different the outcome would be. This was more helpful that he will probably ever know and I will be forever grateful that he took the time. I think the best part about the NICU was that there were no suprises and alot of support. Everyone knew that Adeline had died, everyone asked how we were doing, made sure that we were taking care of ourselves as well as Liam. There were so many reminders of Adeline on the unit but I knew where they all were. I could sit and look into her room and think about her on my terms, not be blindsided by something that reminded me of her. The doctors and nurses all asked if I wanted to change rooms several times. Liam and Adeline had been in adjoining, twin rooms and Liam remained in the room next to hers. I declined everytime and I feel like they went out of their way to respect my wish to stay where she had been.
This most recent trip back to the hospital was the first time that we have all been healthy and I had a little time to kill so I decided to visit the NICU. I thought this was a weird thing but I was assured by one of our nurses that it is not and people do it all the time. I pretty much wanted to see our nurses and doctors and most of all I wanted to see Addy's room again. Unfortunately, they were busy on the unit and we were not able to go up. As I stood at the guard station at the East tower, where I used to just wave and walk right by, I couldn't help feeling almost exiled. Kicked out of this place that was so wonderful, where so many of my best and worst memories are. I will definitely try to visit again if I ever find myself in Portland with a healthy baby and extra time but I don't think the NICU is really what I am missing. It is that protected, cared for feeling. The bubble that that the NICU provided for us when we were there. I will never be able to go back there.
Wednesday, October 31, 2012
Friday, October 26, 2012
The Light
I was talking to a friend the other day, who lost her son just after we lost Addy. We were talking about the grieving process and she asked "Do you think the light will ever return to our eyes?". I have been thinking about this ever since. I know what she meant, the light is gone, I can feel it. They say the eyes are the window to the soul and a big piece of my soul is missing. I feel it as that tug in the pit of my stomach every time I am happy. That "Wait a minute, something is missing." feeling when I find myself smiling about something cute the boys are doing, or laughing with friends. The reminder is always there.
I really didn't know how to answer this question though. I don't know that the light will every fully return, anymore than the pain will ever fully disappear. As hard as it is to constantly think about Adeline, to constantly miss her, I think it would be worse to loose these constant reminders. It makes me feel like she is still here. she is part of this family and I love that I think of her at important family moments. I love that I think of her every time the sun shines in the window or I look up at a blue sky. She has forever left her mark on me, changed my view of the world, and that is as wonderful as it is difficult.
I think that the light that used to shine in my eyes is in fact gone for good. I don't mean this to be a bad thing though, quite the opposite. I no longer see the world the way I once did. Looking back over pictures I can see a difference in my eyes from before Adeline died to after. However, I can also see a difference from before and after Sawyer was born. There are a few events in life that shape us into a completely new person, these were two of mine, becoming a mother and loosing a child. For better or for worse I will forever be this new person, I will forever see the world differently.
I think that a new light will come. It will never be the same as before, I will never go back to being the person I was before Adeline died, but I think it will come. I am not there yet, not even close, the pain is too fresh and raw. I think though,or at least I hope, that given time and alot of healing the light will come back.
And so, dear friend, this is my answer to your question. Yes, I think the light will come back. I don't know how long it will take, maybe months or years, but I think it will come back. I think they will become the light in our eyes. Someday, when the pain isn't so raw, when we are able to think of them and truly smile at their memory, the light will come back.
I really didn't know how to answer this question though. I don't know that the light will every fully return, anymore than the pain will ever fully disappear. As hard as it is to constantly think about Adeline, to constantly miss her, I think it would be worse to loose these constant reminders. It makes me feel like she is still here. she is part of this family and I love that I think of her at important family moments. I love that I think of her every time the sun shines in the window or I look up at a blue sky. She has forever left her mark on me, changed my view of the world, and that is as wonderful as it is difficult.
I think that the light that used to shine in my eyes is in fact gone for good. I don't mean this to be a bad thing though, quite the opposite. I no longer see the world the way I once did. Looking back over pictures I can see a difference in my eyes from before Adeline died to after. However, I can also see a difference from before and after Sawyer was born. There are a few events in life that shape us into a completely new person, these were two of mine, becoming a mother and loosing a child. For better or for worse I will forever be this new person, I will forever see the world differently.
I think that a new light will come. It will never be the same as before, I will never go back to being the person I was before Adeline died, but I think it will come. I am not there yet, not even close, the pain is too fresh and raw. I think though,or at least I hope, that given time and alot of healing the light will come back.
And so, dear friend, this is my answer to your question. Yes, I think the light will come back. I don't know how long it will take, maybe months or years, but I think it will come back. I think they will become the light in our eyes. Someday, when the pain isn't so raw, when we are able to think of them and truly smile at their memory, the light will come back.
Monday, October 22, 2012
Mad
It hit me today, that peace that I have had all along has taken a, hopefully brief, hyatus. I'm mad. Not at anything or anyone in particular just mad at the world. Mad that my life is not what I had pictured it would be a year ago, mad that things are not going our way and at this moment, mad that I can't find the charger for Sawyer's power wheels. There is no real rational reason for this anger and nothing that is going to get rid of it; I think i just need to be mad, to get it out. I need to take a day or two to just hate the universe. A day for a little self pity and frusteration. Why me? Why my family? All along I have taken the view that something as terrible as losing a child just doesn't happen to someone who could not bear the burden. That we were blessed with Adeline, and she was taken from us for a reason, to teach us something about ourselves and the world. I still believe this but this doesn't mean I have to like it or be happy about it. In fact I'm kind of pissed. I really don't care much what the grand plan is, I just want my daughter back. I want the absolute, beautiful chaos that I was anticipating a year ago, I want to be able to use all of the cute pink stuff stored away in my basement. I know im whining a bit but I don't really care. I have had a very good outlook for the past 5 months. Never gotten mad, never asked why, never felt resentful, I think I earned a couple of days of self pity and a good rant.
The worst part is that this anger is spilling over into everything else. I am snapping at Sawyer and Bill, getting frustrated that Liam wont sleep for more than 4 hours at night. I totally freaked out on my poor husband yesterday for just being his goofy self and trying to make everything a joke. That was the exact opposite of what I needed but how could he possibly have known that.
I just want things the way they were supposed to be. I want to talk about my twins, not my surviving twin. I want people to be asking what size clothes Adeline is in, not if I have gotten rid of her clothes yet. I want people to smile when I say her name, not cringe. I am so very sick of saying "Liam is a twin, we lost his sister." I am just so ready for this to be over, to wake up from this terrible nightmare and find out that Adeline and Liam are both happy and healthy. I know this will not happen, I know that this is my new normal but that doesnt mean I always have to like it.
The worst part is that this anger is spilling over into everything else. I am snapping at Sawyer and Bill, getting frustrated that Liam wont sleep for more than 4 hours at night. I totally freaked out on my poor husband yesterday for just being his goofy self and trying to make everything a joke. That was the exact opposite of what I needed but how could he possibly have known that.
I just want things the way they were supposed to be. I want to talk about my twins, not my surviving twin. I want people to be asking what size clothes Adeline is in, not if I have gotten rid of her clothes yet. I want people to smile when I say her name, not cringe. I am so very sick of saying "Liam is a twin, we lost his sister." I am just so ready for this to be over, to wake up from this terrible nightmare and find out that Adeline and Liam are both happy and healthy. I know this will not happen, I know that this is my new normal but that doesnt mean I always have to like it.
Saturday, October 20, 2012
Missing the Saddness
Even as I live it, I find it hard to believe that I can have good days, truly happy days or even moments. Today is not one of those days and this is what brings that to mind. There have been days in that last few months where I was really happy. Let me clarify, this is not really my old version of "really happy" where there was nothing weighing on my mind. This is my new version of "really happy" where, although my mind turns to Adeline constantly, I am able to remember her with a smile. I had a few of these days in a row last week, a very nice break from my normal state, now that I look back on them. At the time I felt almost manic, like happy was a foreign emotion. I actually found myself missing the grief, feeling as though it were slipping away from me. I know that this sounds weird, it sounds strange to me now too, but that it what I was feeling. I felt as though if the grief were gone, if I couldn't feel that deep sadness, Adeline was somehow slipping away from me. I found my self worrying that I was forgetting her. I know that this is crazy and impossible but it really was my fear at the time. The last 5 months have been, hands down, the most difficult of my life, but I am reluctant to let go of this time. The pain is crushing, suffocating at times. The stress and all consuming grief are definitely taking their toll on me. Yet somehow I do not want to let go. It feels like the further I get from May 17th, the further I get from Adeline. It still feels like it was just yesterday that I was holding her in my arms and yet somehow it has been 5 months. There are moments, many moments, when I would give anything to go back to May 17th, gladly live the last 5 painful months over again, just to hold her for one more minute, to give her one more kiss, to see her face with my own eyes one more time.
As I said before, today is not one of those happy days, it is not necessarily a sad day either, just a normal day. A day where the sadness is constant, the though of her brings an instant weight to my heart and tears to my eyes. It often occurs to me on days like this that the sadness will always be there. Whenever Sawyer and Liam do something adorable or Liam reaches a new milestone, or we are just having a particularly fun time, my thoughts turn to Adeline. In those moments I realize that every happy moment will always be dampered my the fact that she is not here to share it with us. I don't mean this in a bad way, although I know it sounds like the thought of never being happy is awful. I find myself actually looking forward to these sad moments because when I am sad, when I miss her, I am remembering her and as long as I remember her she will always be here with me.
As I said before, today is not one of those happy days, it is not necessarily a sad day either, just a normal day. A day where the sadness is constant, the though of her brings an instant weight to my heart and tears to my eyes. It often occurs to me on days like this that the sadness will always be there. Whenever Sawyer and Liam do something adorable or Liam reaches a new milestone, or we are just having a particularly fun time, my thoughts turn to Adeline. In those moments I realize that every happy moment will always be dampered my the fact that she is not here to share it with us. I don't mean this in a bad way, although I know it sounds like the thought of never being happy is awful. I find myself actually looking forward to these sad moments because when I am sad, when I miss her, I am remembering her and as long as I remember her she will always be here with me.
Monday, October 15, 2012
Once a Mother, Always a Mother
As I was going about my nightly routine tonight I found myself thinking about a conversation that I had with a patient a while back. It was shortly after Addy died and one of my first per diem days. This woman was giving me a hard time about the amount of therapy she was scheduled for and really trying to talk me out of seeing her for the full amount of time. I said jokingly that she must be a mother because only a mother could guilt like that. To this she replied, with a sad look "I used to be." With those four words my heart broke for this woman. Not just because she had lost her child, actually after talking to her it turns out, both of her children but because she felt that that made her less of a mother in some way. My immediate response was "Once a mother, always a mother." She smiled and proceeded to tell me how she had lost both of her children when they were in their late teens/early 20s.
I read a quote somewhere that has always rung true for me since having children.
I feel like that is true. My heart is now split in three pieces, two here with me and one in heaven. Even though Addy is not here with me, my heart is still with her. I am no less her mother and she is no less my daughter. My heart broke for this patient of mine because she either did not feel this way or did not feel comfortable expressing it. Although I would be more than happy to never have experienced loosing a child, I am glad that it happened now. There are many resources for grieving parents and the loss of an infant is acknowledged for the traumatic loss that it is. It was not that long ago that this was not the case. Infant loss was not discussed, there were no support groups, no candlelight vigils, nothing to keep parents from feeling all alone. We were able to spend time with Addy, hold her kiss her, tell her how much we love her. In another time she would have been whisked away from us without any of that. We are able to talk about her, mourn her loss, and connect with other parents who, unfortunately, know exactly how we feel, For that, for having babies in this time, I will be forever grateful.
I read a quote somewhere that has always rung true for me since having children.
“Making the decision to have a child - it is momentous.
It is to decide
forever to have your heart go
walking around outside your body. ”
- Elizabeth Stone.
Sunday, October 14, 2012
Close To The Edge
It continually amazes me how close to the edge I am all the time. So close to falling into the darkness, into the "bad place". I am generally good at holding it together, putting a smile on my face and going through my day. I owe this more to my wonderful support system that to myself. They keep the world away, at least as much as they can, keep the world from pushing me over the edge. Before Adeline died I was a pretty calm, resilient person. I was the one to keep it together, not get nervous and just do what needed to be done. When my mom had a major medical emergency a few years ago, I was the one who sat with the doctor and calmly listen to him describe how close she had come to dying, I was the one who comforted my sister, asked the doctor questions and relayed the whole thing to my dad when he arrived. I am no longer that person. I would like to think that she is inside of me somewhere but she is buried so deep beneath the saddness and anxiety it is hard to tell. Now I am the one who needs comforting and protecting.
I am a nervous wreck about things that never used to phase me. I know that my parenting style is different. When Sawyer was a baby I never though twice about a little cold. I nursed him in bed with me and often fell asleep with him without a second though. I worried, of course, about the normal mom stuff but not like now. Now it is an all consuming anxiety. What if the cough isn't just a cough, what if its pneumonia? What if he is sleeping so much because he is getting sick again? What if there is something wrong? How will I know? What if I don't figure it out until its too late? I know that these fears are irrational, yet they are still there, they are very real and I can't ignore them. I wake every night several times and put my hand on Liam's chest just to be sure he is still breathing. I freak out if I accidentally fall asleep while nursing him. I constantly picture something awful happening to him or Sawyer. My heart could not take that, this I know for sure. I have come to the conclusion that, aside from the extra stress, there is one big difference now from when Sawyer was a baby. When Sawyer was a baby, babies didn't die. Now they do. Oh sure, I knew of people who had lost babies. I even had a close family member lose a baby when I was pregnant. It's effected me a lot for sure, my heart broke for her and I still think of her daughter daily, but it was not the same. This horrible thing happened to other people, not to me.
It amazes me how this anxiety and sadness can be pulled out by the most insignificant event. It can really be anything, a silly fight, someone cutting me off in traffic, not being able to find my shoe. Anything that messes up this perfect little world that I have tried to keep myself in. I find myself headed into a tailspin of sorts where the anxiety and saddness would overtake me if I let it. It is hard to pull out of, some days harder than others. It is as if there is a giant weight on my chest pulling me down, making it hard to breath and difficult to see the beauty in this world. Some days this weight just hits for no reason at all and all I can do it stop and cry and grieve and let it pass. I am very lucky to have the amazing husband, kids, family and friends that I have. They make it possible for me to pull myself out of my tailspin, make the world seem beautiful again.
I am a nervous wreck about things that never used to phase me. I know that my parenting style is different. When Sawyer was a baby I never though twice about a little cold. I nursed him in bed with me and often fell asleep with him without a second though. I worried, of course, about the normal mom stuff but not like now. Now it is an all consuming anxiety. What if the cough isn't just a cough, what if its pneumonia? What if he is sleeping so much because he is getting sick again? What if there is something wrong? How will I know? What if I don't figure it out until its too late? I know that these fears are irrational, yet they are still there, they are very real and I can't ignore them. I wake every night several times and put my hand on Liam's chest just to be sure he is still breathing. I freak out if I accidentally fall asleep while nursing him. I constantly picture something awful happening to him or Sawyer. My heart could not take that, this I know for sure. I have come to the conclusion that, aside from the extra stress, there is one big difference now from when Sawyer was a baby. When Sawyer was a baby, babies didn't die. Now they do. Oh sure, I knew of people who had lost babies. I even had a close family member lose a baby when I was pregnant. It's effected me a lot for sure, my heart broke for her and I still think of her daughter daily, but it was not the same. This horrible thing happened to other people, not to me.
It amazes me how this anxiety and sadness can be pulled out by the most insignificant event. It can really be anything, a silly fight, someone cutting me off in traffic, not being able to find my shoe. Anything that messes up this perfect little world that I have tried to keep myself in. I find myself headed into a tailspin of sorts where the anxiety and saddness would overtake me if I let it. It is hard to pull out of, some days harder than others. It is as if there is a giant weight on my chest pulling me down, making it hard to breath and difficult to see the beauty in this world. Some days this weight just hits for no reason at all and all I can do it stop and cry and grieve and let it pass. I am very lucky to have the amazing husband, kids, family and friends that I have. They make it possible for me to pull myself out of my tailspin, make the world seem beautiful again.
Thursday, October 11, 2012
There Will Always Be Something
I am realizing that there will always be something that brings you to my mind. I will never go through a day without something triggering your memory. This is terrifying and comforting all at the same time. It is terrifying to realize that my emotions will always be that close to the surface and comforting to know that you will always be with me. The day that you were here was the best, worst, most emotional, most amazing and most horrible day of my life. The though of reliving that day, to one extent or another, everyday for the rest of my life is daunting to say the least. On the other hand, to be able to remember your beautiful face, to feel you here with me everyday, makes all the rest of it tolerable.
I see you in your brother's face, in his smile when he see's himself in the mirror. I like to imagine that that is the smile he would have to see you face. Playing peek-a-boo in the mirror, a normally adorable baby game, is heart wrenching. I see you in the sunshine and the clouds in the sky. I think you said "hello" today. As I was walking outside at work today I looked up at the sky, thinking about you, wanting so badly to see you again. There was a large white cloud in the sky and right in the middle of it there was a small, shadowy, spot shaped exactly like a heart. I think you were listening and knew I needed to know you were there.
I think of you every time I talk about "my kids" even if I don't always talk about you. I think about you every time I look in the back seat of the car and see the empty space next to Sawyer. I think about you every time I see a little girl, the flowers on our hibiscus bush, your stuffed animals on the changing table, an angel, a double stroller, a hundred other things or nothing at all. There will always be something that brings you to my mind and I love that. I love that you will always be with me, that you will never be forgotten.
I see you in your brother's face, in his smile when he see's himself in the mirror. I like to imagine that that is the smile he would have to see you face. Playing peek-a-boo in the mirror, a normally adorable baby game, is heart wrenching. I see you in the sunshine and the clouds in the sky. I think you said "hello" today. As I was walking outside at work today I looked up at the sky, thinking about you, wanting so badly to see you again. There was a large white cloud in the sky and right in the middle of it there was a small, shadowy, spot shaped exactly like a heart. I think you were listening and knew I needed to know you were there.
I think of you every time I talk about "my kids" even if I don't always talk about you. I think about you every time I look in the back seat of the car and see the empty space next to Sawyer. I think about you every time I see a little girl, the flowers on our hibiscus bush, your stuffed animals on the changing table, an angel, a double stroller, a hundred other things or nothing at all. There will always be something that brings you to my mind and I love that. I love that you will always be with me, that you will never be forgotten.
Monday, October 8, 2012
My Own Silver Lining
I was talking to a friend today about the things people say in an effort to comfort, bring closure etc. I know that for the most part they mean well and these comments come from a good place. They want to help me, and themselves, make sense of something that is senseless, trying to make it not seem as bad as it really is. In doing this however they often accomplish the exact opposite of what they intended, and leave me feeling angry, resentful, offended or frustrated. Over the course of the last few months I have heard a lot of these. I have been told "These things happen for a reason", "Two babies would be too overwhelming", "At least Liam is healthy", "Aren't you glad you don't have to deal with two sick babies?", "Now you have an extra room again", and so many more I could go on and on. Some of these are of course worse than others and I know there are more I just can't think of them right now. I know that these were said in an effort to find the silver lining to a horrible event. But here's the thing, there is no silver lining. There is nothing good about my daughter dying and that really is ok.
It has been pointed out to me that "everything works out". This was mentioned several times after we took in my niece, shortly after loosing Adeline. First of all there is nothing in the world that could make me think that things will work out because of Adeline's death, they will work out in spite of her death. Second, we would have done this anyway, it just would have been a bit more crowded here. Her death did not open new opportunities to us and if it did I would gladly give them up just to have her back. It has also been pointed out to me that I must get more sleep since I only have to get up with on baby. The truth is that I probably get less sleep. Every night when I wake up to feed Liam, I think of Adeline. I think about how she should be here, how I should be awake feeding two babies. I stay awake thinking about her. I do not get more sleep, nor would this make loosing her ok.
I know it seems like common sense to think that I would be happy to not be taking care of two sick babies when Liam gets sick, but in reality I would love to be taking care of two sick babies. In fact I would take just about any pain and suffering just to have her here with me. That is probably selfish, as I know she would have been a very sick little girl if she had lived, but it is true. I would love take care of her, be up to our eyeballs in stress and doctors bills and have many, many sleepless nights dealing with whatever she had to throw at us, just to have her here with us.
I know that it is great that Liam lived and is healthy and growing. Yes, it is wonderful that we have him and Sawyer to help us carry on but that doesn't actually make up for loosing Adeline. I think this is the one that gets to me the most because it makes me think that people think she is replaceable. She is not. Yes, we have two beautiful children but we are supposed to have three. Think about it, which of your children would you be willing to give up without being too upset?
In talking about this with a friend I came to a realization. It is not that any of these comments or conclusions are bad or wrong, but that they are not mine. While there is no silver lining, nothing good about Addy's death, there have been several things that I have found comfort in. For example, she and Liam were rushed to Maine Medical Center because of her obvious illness. Once they got there it became apparent that Liam was in respiratory distress and did, in fact, need NICU level of care. He received this care much faster than he probably would have and had better outcomes than he probably would have because of Adeline. This gives me comfort. I have come to my own conclusions about a greater plan, why this happened and her purpose here on earth and this gives me comfort as well. If you had told me any of these things 4 months ago, when we first lost her, they would not have been well received. These are conclusions I needed to come to on my own. I know that everyone just wants to help, to lessen our pain, to help us make sense of this but the fact is that the best way to do that is to do nothing. Just be there, be supportive, say you are sorry or thinking of her or thinking of us and leave it at that. Let me find my own "silver lining".
It has been pointed out to me that "everything works out". This was mentioned several times after we took in my niece, shortly after loosing Adeline. First of all there is nothing in the world that could make me think that things will work out because of Adeline's death, they will work out in spite of her death. Second, we would have done this anyway, it just would have been a bit more crowded here. Her death did not open new opportunities to us and if it did I would gladly give them up just to have her back. It has also been pointed out to me that I must get more sleep since I only have to get up with on baby. The truth is that I probably get less sleep. Every night when I wake up to feed Liam, I think of Adeline. I think about how she should be here, how I should be awake feeding two babies. I stay awake thinking about her. I do not get more sleep, nor would this make loosing her ok.
I know it seems like common sense to think that I would be happy to not be taking care of two sick babies when Liam gets sick, but in reality I would love to be taking care of two sick babies. In fact I would take just about any pain and suffering just to have her here with me. That is probably selfish, as I know she would have been a very sick little girl if she had lived, but it is true. I would love take care of her, be up to our eyeballs in stress and doctors bills and have many, many sleepless nights dealing with whatever she had to throw at us, just to have her here with us.
I know that it is great that Liam lived and is healthy and growing. Yes, it is wonderful that we have him and Sawyer to help us carry on but that doesn't actually make up for loosing Adeline. I think this is the one that gets to me the most because it makes me think that people think she is replaceable. She is not. Yes, we have two beautiful children but we are supposed to have three. Think about it, which of your children would you be willing to give up without being too upset?
In talking about this with a friend I came to a realization. It is not that any of these comments or conclusions are bad or wrong, but that they are not mine. While there is no silver lining, nothing good about Addy's death, there have been several things that I have found comfort in. For example, she and Liam were rushed to Maine Medical Center because of her obvious illness. Once they got there it became apparent that Liam was in respiratory distress and did, in fact, need NICU level of care. He received this care much faster than he probably would have and had better outcomes than he probably would have because of Adeline. This gives me comfort. I have come to my own conclusions about a greater plan, why this happened and her purpose here on earth and this gives me comfort as well. If you had told me any of these things 4 months ago, when we first lost her, they would not have been well received. These are conclusions I needed to come to on my own. I know that everyone just wants to help, to lessen our pain, to help us make sense of this but the fact is that the best way to do that is to do nothing. Just be there, be supportive, say you are sorry or thinking of her or thinking of us and leave it at that. Let me find my own "silver lining".
Sunday, October 7, 2012
My Alternate Reality
Last night I woke up in the middle of the night to feed Liam in a state of complete confusion and grief. The confusion and grief was due to the dream that I was waking up from. It was simultaneously the best and worst dream I have ever had. For the first time ever I dreamed that Adeline did not die. It was not a particularly long or vivid dream but the I will not soon forget the feeling that it left me with. In the dream I had a toy and I was trying to decide which baby to give it to and they were both laying there in front of me kicking and giggling. I woke up very confused, trying to put that reality and this one together.
That seems to pretty much sum up my life the last 4 months, trying to put the reality of what should have been together with the reality of what is. There are days when I feel like these experiences are just a story I heard once about someone else's horrible experiences. Like I am living someone else's life. There are days when I have to step back and think about it. This really is my life. Don't get me wrong, I am a very lucky person in a lot of respects. I have 3 beautiful children and a wonderful husband. I have a very large, loving, supportive family and a great career that I love. I think that in a way thats what makes the experiences of the last 4 months so surreal. Sure, we have had our share of your typical difficulties, petty arguments, financial difficulties etc. but all in all we lead a pretty charmed life. We were not supposed to loose our baby, that just doesn't fit. Although I have accepted the loss of Adeline, the best I can for the time being anyway, I often find myself in an odd state of denial. I can go through my day in this bizarre, happy state. I think of her constatly but find myself not reacting in a "normal" way. I see baby girl stuff and it doesn't make me sad, I play with the boys or go about my day at work without stopping. The constant state of anxiety is my new normal, it's not healthy but it's true. By the end of the day I am often nauseous, and anxious with no real idea why. I think it is just this, I have gotten pretty good at going through my day without giving validation to all of the mixed emotions rolling around inside of me. The other day I was having one of those days and stumbled on a "twins" picture frame at the pharmacy. After an entire day of brushing that type of thing off I nearly lost it in the middle of a store full of strangers.
I am learning one day at a time, one moment at a time to live with and process my new reality. I think I need to stop trying to fit my new reality into the spot where the reality I was expecting is supposed to be. That is part of the grieving process right, letting go of the could have been and should have been and getting on with the what is? I know it will take a lot more time and there is a good chance that I will find myself having a meltdown about something as silly as a picture frame at the pharmacy a year from now or even five years from now. In a way that is comforting because I know that in those moments I am remembering Adeline and she is there with me. Hopefully though, I wil be able to go through my day without the nauseating weight that has currently taken up permanent residence in the pit of my stomach. That I could definitely do without.
That seems to pretty much sum up my life the last 4 months, trying to put the reality of what should have been together with the reality of what is. There are days when I feel like these experiences are just a story I heard once about someone else's horrible experiences. Like I am living someone else's life. There are days when I have to step back and think about it. This really is my life. Don't get me wrong, I am a very lucky person in a lot of respects. I have 3 beautiful children and a wonderful husband. I have a very large, loving, supportive family and a great career that I love. I think that in a way thats what makes the experiences of the last 4 months so surreal. Sure, we have had our share of your typical difficulties, petty arguments, financial difficulties etc. but all in all we lead a pretty charmed life. We were not supposed to loose our baby, that just doesn't fit. Although I have accepted the loss of Adeline, the best I can for the time being anyway, I often find myself in an odd state of denial. I can go through my day in this bizarre, happy state. I think of her constatly but find myself not reacting in a "normal" way. I see baby girl stuff and it doesn't make me sad, I play with the boys or go about my day at work without stopping. The constant state of anxiety is my new normal, it's not healthy but it's true. By the end of the day I am often nauseous, and anxious with no real idea why. I think it is just this, I have gotten pretty good at going through my day without giving validation to all of the mixed emotions rolling around inside of me. The other day I was having one of those days and stumbled on a "twins" picture frame at the pharmacy. After an entire day of brushing that type of thing off I nearly lost it in the middle of a store full of strangers.
I am learning one day at a time, one moment at a time to live with and process my new reality. I think I need to stop trying to fit my new reality into the spot where the reality I was expecting is supposed to be. That is part of the grieving process right, letting go of the could have been and should have been and getting on with the what is? I know it will take a lot more time and there is a good chance that I will find myself having a meltdown about something as silly as a picture frame at the pharmacy a year from now or even five years from now. In a way that is comforting because I know that in those moments I am remembering Adeline and she is there with me. Hopefully though, I wil be able to go through my day without the nauseating weight that has currently taken up permanent residence in the pit of my stomach. That I could definitely do without.
Saturday, October 6, 2012
Thing 1 and Thing 2 and Other Matching Twin Stuff
Halloween has never been one of my favorite holidays. I don't like all of the scary stuff, I never dress up and I really couldn't care less about trick-or-treating. That being said, since I became a mother the holiday took on a whole different significance. It went from being a time that I sort of dreaded, to an excuse to dress the kids up in adorable costumes and teach them how to carve pumpkins. From the time I found out I was expecting twins I began to think of all of the different, funny twin costumes I could come up with to dress them in. As halloween approaches this year, I am left with a pit in my stomach that I didn't see coming. They were going to be Thing1 and Thing 2. They were going to be adorable in their red suits and I was going to crochet matching blue fuzzy hats. Now we are missing our Thing 1. As Sawyer and I discuss Halloween costumes, what he wants to be and what Liam should be, I find myself coming back to this. They were supposed to be Thing 1 and Thing 2. A very large part of me still wants to dress Liam up as Thing 2. I know this might sound weird to some people. A Thing 2 doesn't make sense without a Thing 1. You are right, it doesn't make sense. Adeline should be here, she should be Thing 1 but she's not. It may be silly but I kind of feel like if I do this she will be here with us. Everyone will have to remember her, even strangers.
One of the hardest things about loosing Adeline was that Liam was loosing his twin. When I had to sort out and pack away her clothes after she died, the hardest ones to pack up were the matching twin outfits. On the 4th of July I pulled out their matching "my first 4th of July" outfits and lay them side by side just to see them together. This may seem like adding insult to injury or something but it was really nice to see them together, to think of her and to miss her. It is bittersweet to watch Liam grow. Even as he grows out of the matches to her outfits I can't bring myself to pack his away. It seems silly, they are just things, but they are more than that somehow. They are proof that Adeline was here and a constant reminder of who she was supposed to be. Liam has just grown into his 3-6 month clothes, the last size with these matching outfits. I am not anxious for his to outgrow these and am already dreading having to pack them away for good.
Who knows what we will decide on for Halloween. I have come up with a couple of good alternative costume ideas but none of them seem quite right. No matter what we decide on though, we will definitely be missing our Thing 1 this Halloween.
One of the hardest things about loosing Adeline was that Liam was loosing his twin. When I had to sort out and pack away her clothes after she died, the hardest ones to pack up were the matching twin outfits. On the 4th of July I pulled out their matching "my first 4th of July" outfits and lay them side by side just to see them together. This may seem like adding insult to injury or something but it was really nice to see them together, to think of her and to miss her. It is bittersweet to watch Liam grow. Even as he grows out of the matches to her outfits I can't bring myself to pack his away. It seems silly, they are just things, but they are more than that somehow. They are proof that Adeline was here and a constant reminder of who she was supposed to be. Liam has just grown into his 3-6 month clothes, the last size with these matching outfits. I am not anxious for his to outgrow these and am already dreading having to pack them away for good.
Who knows what we will decide on for Halloween. I have come up with a couple of good alternative costume ideas but none of them seem quite right. No matter what we decide on though, we will definitely be missing our Thing 1 this Halloween.
Thursday, October 4, 2012
Your greater purpose
Since the day the twins were born I have run the gambit of pretty much every emotion a person can feel. I think the one that stands apart from the rest is peace. From very soon after we lost Adeline I have felt an odd sense of peace. This is not to say that I have not also felt lost, confused, angry, sad etc. but the overriding state has been a state of peace. Over the past few months, as I think about her time here with us I feel like she had a greater purpose for being here. She wasn't sent to stay. I have seen the x-rays, I have talked to the doctors. There was no amount of medical intervention that could have saved her. I think she was sent here to teach us about the world, the goodness in people and our own strength.
One of the things that struck me the most about our time at the hospital both before and after we lost Addy, was the kindness and understanding given to us by complete strangers. The kindness I saw from the hospital staff, doctors, nurses, respiratory therapists, etc was amazing. There was even a girl, a complete stranger who happened to be on the fire/rescue in a neighboring town who worked at the hospital in the cafeteria who tracked Bill down and offered to help with anything she could. She even bought us lunch one day. The ladies at the Ronald McDonald house were amazing as well. I cried the first day we were there out of sheer amazement that there were people in this world willing to give of themselves so much to make this amazing resource possible. Throughout the last 4 1/2 months I have received cards, messages, support etc from the most unlikely places. Every time I am truly amazed and honored. I believe in this way Addy was sent to restore my faith in the world, in humanity. I will be forever changed by this experience.
Over the last 4 1/2 months I have also learned my own strength, the strength of my wonderful husband and the strength of our love for our family and for one another. If you had asked me 5 months ago how I would deal with the events of the past 4 1/2 I would have told you that I couldn't that I wouldn't be strong enough. I hope that I never forget the feeling I had in the hospital after the twins were born. Both before and after Addy died. I had given birth to two beautiful babies with no interventions, walked out of one hospital and into another to stand at the beds of my two sick babies. I loved and said goodbye to my little girl, like saying goodbye to a piece of my soul. I lived in a chair in the hospital an hour away from my husband and son for 19 days until I could take Liam home. I was invincible. This was my superhero moment. I will never doubt myself as a mother or a person again and I have Adeline to thank for this. In her beautiful, short little life, she taught me more about the world than I had learned in the previous 26 years and more than I could hope to learn for the rest.
One of the things that struck me the most about our time at the hospital both before and after we lost Addy, was the kindness and understanding given to us by complete strangers. The kindness I saw from the hospital staff, doctors, nurses, respiratory therapists, etc was amazing. There was even a girl, a complete stranger who happened to be on the fire/rescue in a neighboring town who worked at the hospital in the cafeteria who tracked Bill down and offered to help with anything she could. She even bought us lunch one day. The ladies at the Ronald McDonald house were amazing as well. I cried the first day we were there out of sheer amazement that there were people in this world willing to give of themselves so much to make this amazing resource possible. Throughout the last 4 1/2 months I have received cards, messages, support etc from the most unlikely places. Every time I am truly amazed and honored. I believe in this way Addy was sent to restore my faith in the world, in humanity. I will be forever changed by this experience.
Over the last 4 1/2 months I have also learned my own strength, the strength of my wonderful husband and the strength of our love for our family and for one another. If you had asked me 5 months ago how I would deal with the events of the past 4 1/2 I would have told you that I couldn't that I wouldn't be strong enough. I hope that I never forget the feeling I had in the hospital after the twins were born. Both before and after Addy died. I had given birth to two beautiful babies with no interventions, walked out of one hospital and into another to stand at the beds of my two sick babies. I loved and said goodbye to my little girl, like saying goodbye to a piece of my soul. I lived in a chair in the hospital an hour away from my husband and son for 19 days until I could take Liam home. I was invincible. This was my superhero moment. I will never doubt myself as a mother or a person again and I have Adeline to thank for this. In her beautiful, short little life, she taught me more about the world than I had learned in the previous 26 years and more than I could hope to learn for the rest.
Thank you random co-worker
I had the greatest conversation today with a lady I hardly know. I ran into a woman who works in my school district and she asked about the baby. She knew I had lost one of them but mistakenly thought that we had lost Liam not Addy. When I corrected her and told her the story her response was wonderful. She asked about them both. How long we had had Addy and how Liam was doing. She did not get akward or change the subject or only want to hear about Liam. She wanted to hear about my babies, both of my babies. It was truly wonderful.
I completely understand why people do not usually want to talk about Addy. Although everyone's comfort and reasons for changing the subject vary, there are a couple of reasons that I know go through most people's minds. First, they are uncomfortable with the subject and don't know what to say. I have been on the other side. I understand that this is an uncomfortable subject and that really is ok. However, on the occasions that someone pushes past that discomfort I truly appreciate it. Second, they are afraid it will upset me. I promise you this, if I get upset it really has nothing to do with the fact that you brought her up or wanted to know about her birth/life/death. I am upset because she died and that is always there no matter the topic of conversation. Talking about her is wonderful for me. She is my beautiful baby girl and I am no less proud of her than I would be if she were still here.
In talking to this woman today I had a moment in my day when I did not feel alone in my grief and that is priceless. That this woman whom I had only met a handful of times cared enough to talk with me for several minutes about a subject that cannot have been easy for her and was genuinely supportive was amazing. These are the moments, and there have been many like this, that stand out in this whole terrible experience. These are moments that stay with me and give me comfort long after the moment has passed. So, thank you random co-worker. You made my day.
I completely understand why people do not usually want to talk about Addy. Although everyone's comfort and reasons for changing the subject vary, there are a couple of reasons that I know go through most people's minds. First, they are uncomfortable with the subject and don't know what to say. I have been on the other side. I understand that this is an uncomfortable subject and that really is ok. However, on the occasions that someone pushes past that discomfort I truly appreciate it. Second, they are afraid it will upset me. I promise you this, if I get upset it really has nothing to do with the fact that you brought her up or wanted to know about her birth/life/death. I am upset because she died and that is always there no matter the topic of conversation. Talking about her is wonderful for me. She is my beautiful baby girl and I am no less proud of her than I would be if she were still here.
In talking to this woman today I had a moment in my day when I did not feel alone in my grief and that is priceless. That this woman whom I had only met a handful of times cared enough to talk with me for several minutes about a subject that cannot have been easy for her and was genuinely supportive was amazing. These are the moments, and there have been many like this, that stand out in this whole terrible experience. These are moments that stay with me and give me comfort long after the moment has passed. So, thank you random co-worker. You made my day.
Wednesday, October 3, 2012
A Unique Loss
It so often strikes me how unique the loss of a multiple is. I feel as though I do not fit in anywhere. In the loss groups I am the only one talking about a surviving baby and in the mommy groups I am the only one talking about a loss. I fit into both groups but into neither at the same time. It is difficult to talk to other people about the loss of a twin. My new mom friends understandably do not want to talk about Adeline's death. I can understand this, as a parent this is just somewhere you can't let your mind go. Children are not supposed to die. Conversely, I cannot talk to the moms I know who have lost babies about Liam. How can I talk about my beautiflu boy who is doing so well when I know all too well the pain they are feeling? I feel like there is a serious hole in the supports that are available to parents who have lost babies.
One of the things I grieve most when I grieve Addy is the twin relationship that will never happen. I feel like Liam has to go through life missing a part of himself. This is heat breaking to me. When I found out I was expecting twins I felt like I had just been inducted into an exclusive club. I am a mom of twins and always will be but I feel like I do not fit in with this group anymore. Just today I saw a beautiful set of boy/girl twins that were probably about 8 months old. They were gorgeous to me not just because they were cute kids but because I could see all that they would have that Liam would never get to experience.
The day Adeline died I feel like I was inducted into a new group, one I never wanted and would happily give up membership to. I am a loss mom. While it is extremely comforting to know that I am not alone and to have people to talk to who do not cringe at the mention of Adeline's name, I cannot help but feel guilty when I am with these amazing women. How is it ok for me to talk about my loss, to mourn my baby girl when I also have what they do not, a healthy baby. My child died and that would hurt the same regardless if she were an only child or one of 3 or 5 or 10. I know that these moms are wonderful people and they share in my pain but it is hard to not think that they are looking at me thinking "Who the hell do you think you are? What are you complaining about?"
In some ways I feel like my grief process was easier, at least in the beginning. I had to keep going, I had to hold it together. I had a beautiful baby boy who needed all of my energy and that was very helpful. I also got to stay in the NICU, in the room right next to Adeline's until I was ready to leave. I had a chance to talk at length with the doctors until I understood every aspect of her life and death. On the other hand, I have a constant but wonderful reminder of Adeline. Every time I look at Liam I see her, I think of her and I miss her. I mean every time. Every time I watch him play on the floor I can imagine her playing there next to him. Avoiding the baby stuff was not an option. I was not able to let myself ease into it. We had to go to babies r us just a couple weeks after she died to get bottles and diapers for Liam. I had to walk past the baby girl stuff. I had to face it, I didn't have a choice.
One of the things I grieve most when I grieve Addy is the twin relationship that will never happen. I feel like Liam has to go through life missing a part of himself. This is heat breaking to me. When I found out I was expecting twins I felt like I had just been inducted into an exclusive club. I am a mom of twins and always will be but I feel like I do not fit in with this group anymore. Just today I saw a beautiful set of boy/girl twins that were probably about 8 months old. They were gorgeous to me not just because they were cute kids but because I could see all that they would have that Liam would never get to experience.
The day Adeline died I feel like I was inducted into a new group, one I never wanted and would happily give up membership to. I am a loss mom. While it is extremely comforting to know that I am not alone and to have people to talk to who do not cringe at the mention of Adeline's name, I cannot help but feel guilty when I am with these amazing women. How is it ok for me to talk about my loss, to mourn my baby girl when I also have what they do not, a healthy baby. My child died and that would hurt the same regardless if she were an only child or one of 3 or 5 or 10. I know that these moms are wonderful people and they share in my pain but it is hard to not think that they are looking at me thinking "Who the hell do you think you are? What are you complaining about?"
In some ways I feel like my grief process was easier, at least in the beginning. I had to keep going, I had to hold it together. I had a beautiful baby boy who needed all of my energy and that was very helpful. I also got to stay in the NICU, in the room right next to Adeline's until I was ready to leave. I had a chance to talk at length with the doctors until I understood every aspect of her life and death. On the other hand, I have a constant but wonderful reminder of Adeline. Every time I look at Liam I see her, I think of her and I miss her. I mean every time. Every time I watch him play on the floor I can imagine her playing there next to him. Avoiding the baby stuff was not an option. I was not able to let myself ease into it. We had to go to babies r us just a couple weeks after she died to get bottles and diapers for Liam. I had to walk past the baby girl stuff. I had to face it, I didn't have a choice.
Tuesday, October 2, 2012
And Then There was One...
I often think back to the days and hours surrounding Adeline's death. I am always left with the same conclusion: I have no regrets. There was nothing more we could have or should have done. I saw the x-rays I talked to the doctors. It is very simple, she was just not sent to stay. Her lungs did not grow, they simply weren't big enough to support her. After they delivered the news that Adeline did in fact have polycystic kidney disease and told us in no uncertain terms that her chances for survival were very small, the doctors spent a lot of time talking to us, explaining, trying to make sense out of the senseless. I will forever be grateful to them for this. There is no amount of information that could take the pain away but it is helpful, at least to me, to have some answers. They are not good ones but at least I have them. Many parents never get that kind of peace.
We first knew that the outcome was not going to be the one we wanted when the nephrologist finished her examination that first day in the NICU. She came into Liam's room with the neonatologist and told us that the cysts were very visible now, although they had not been prenatally. It was definitely PKD and given the comorbid pulmonary hypoplasia, her chances were not good. They gave us this news as if they were spitting it out at us, trying to get rid of it, get it over with. That must be one of the worst parts of their job, to have to watch as faces of happy parents turn to pure terror. After this rather abrupt delivery however, they were wonderful. They spent many hours with us, checking on Adeline, discussing her chances and our options and how we wanted to proceed. It was always our choice it was never forced. After that first day I had gained a bit of hope. It was only a tiny glimmer but I was holding onto it for dear life. I was leaving that hospital with two babies and that was that.
During that first night we were woken up by the neonatalogist, who will forever remain one of my least favorite people. She informed us that Addy had developed another pneumothorax and that this was a sign that her little lungs were just too little. In the morning she had stabilized and had been holding her own but was recieving all of the help they could possibly give her. If she took a turn for the worse there was nothing more they could do. In talking with the doctor we let him know that we wanted to see what she would do and let her fight if she was able to but did not was any heroic, painful measures taken that would likely do little to extend her life. We did not want to let the go but we did not want her to suffer either. I pray that this is the hardest decision I ever have to make as a parent. We were able to visit with her, talk to her, hold her hand and give her all of the love we could possibly pack into one short day. Sawyer came to visit and was so taken with his new brother and sister. I feel like he could sense how sick she was, although we did our best not to let on. He spent a lot of time checking out her machines and checking on her through the portholes in her isolette.
Adeline was able to maintain her oxygen levels throughout the day and the respiratory therapist came in to adjust the settings on her respirator to see if she could tolerate a slightly lower setting. Her oxygen dropped almost imediately and did not return once the settings were turned back up. As we watched the numbers on her monitor continue to drop we realized it was time. This was her sign. She was done fighting.
We were able to hold her while she was still on the respirator she opened her eyes and looked at us. She had big blue eyes just like her brothers. Sawyer was able to come back into the room and spend time with us and with her while we said goodbye. I am so very glad he got to meet his sister and I know that she will always hold a very special place in his heart. I do not know how I could have made it through that day without him there.
I cannot possibly express how amazingly grateful I am to all of the staff at the NICU for all that they did for us the day that we lost Addy. We were never pushed, we were never rushed. They protected us and grieved with us as if we were their own family. I will forever be amazed that I was able to come away from such a horrible day with beautiful memories and no regrets.
We first knew that the outcome was not going to be the one we wanted when the nephrologist finished her examination that first day in the NICU. She came into Liam's room with the neonatologist and told us that the cysts were very visible now, although they had not been prenatally. It was definitely PKD and given the comorbid pulmonary hypoplasia, her chances were not good. They gave us this news as if they were spitting it out at us, trying to get rid of it, get it over with. That must be one of the worst parts of their job, to have to watch as faces of happy parents turn to pure terror. After this rather abrupt delivery however, they were wonderful. They spent many hours with us, checking on Adeline, discussing her chances and our options and how we wanted to proceed. It was always our choice it was never forced. After that first day I had gained a bit of hope. It was only a tiny glimmer but I was holding onto it for dear life. I was leaving that hospital with two babies and that was that.
During that first night we were woken up by the neonatalogist, who will forever remain one of my least favorite people. She informed us that Addy had developed another pneumothorax and that this was a sign that her little lungs were just too little. In the morning she had stabilized and had been holding her own but was recieving all of the help they could possibly give her. If she took a turn for the worse there was nothing more they could do. In talking with the doctor we let him know that we wanted to see what she would do and let her fight if she was able to but did not was any heroic, painful measures taken that would likely do little to extend her life. We did not want to let the go but we did not want her to suffer either. I pray that this is the hardest decision I ever have to make as a parent. We were able to visit with her, talk to her, hold her hand and give her all of the love we could possibly pack into one short day. Sawyer came to visit and was so taken with his new brother and sister. I feel like he could sense how sick she was, although we did our best not to let on. He spent a lot of time checking out her machines and checking on her through the portholes in her isolette.
Adeline was able to maintain her oxygen levels throughout the day and the respiratory therapist came in to adjust the settings on her respirator to see if she could tolerate a slightly lower setting. Her oxygen dropped almost imediately and did not return once the settings were turned back up. As we watched the numbers on her monitor continue to drop we realized it was time. This was her sign. She was done fighting.
We were able to hold her while she was still on the respirator she opened her eyes and looked at us. She had big blue eyes just like her brothers. Sawyer was able to come back into the room and spend time with us and with her while we said goodbye. I am so very glad he got to meet his sister and I know that she will always hold a very special place in his heart. I do not know how I could have made it through that day without him there.
I cannot possibly express how amazingly grateful I am to all of the staff at the NICU for all that they did for us the day that we lost Addy. We were never pushed, we were never rushed. They protected us and grieved with us as if we were their own family. I will forever be amazed that I was able to come away from such a horrible day with beautiful memories and no regrets.
The Birth of an Angel
I started this blog, on the suggestion of a friend, to help me to express and work through all of the many feelings surrounding the birth of my twins and the death of my beautiful girl, Adeline. I though a good place to start would be the beginning.
Last October, only a couple of weeks after my birthday, I was delighted to learn that I was pregnant. As the weeks went by I became convinced that I was having twins. When we went for the 8 week ultrasound I was not surprised at all to see two little shapes on the screen. We were ecstatic and terrified all at the same time. Everything progressed as expected throughout the pregnancy until they noticed baby A had slightly enlarged kidneys at our 13 week ultrasound. Though not terribly concerned, the midwife sent us for a consultation with a specialist from Dartmouth to assess and monitor the kidney abnormality. We continued to see this specialist for all of our ultrasounds and found out the sex of both babies at the 20 week ultrasound. A girl and a boy, the perfect combination. As the pregnancy progressed and we continued to see the specialist it became clear that Adeline's kidneys were growing at an alarming rate. I remember them telling me at an ultrasound later in the pregnancy that her kidneys were average size for a 3 month old baby. Even with this definite anomaly the doctor was not terribly concerned. He told us that it could be one of many conditions but they would not be able to tell for sure until she was born. He said that her amniotic fluid levels were normal which didnt fit with any of the diagnoses he was thinking it may be and outcomes with normal fluid levels were generally good. I do have a vivid recollection of him mentioning polycystic kidney disease and thank God everyday that I did not Google this condition.
The twins decided to make their appearance in the very early hours of May 16, 2012. I woke around 12:00am with contractions. This was nothing new I had been having contractions bad enough to wake me for several months now. I quickily realized that these contractions were different though. These were definitely labor contractions. By the time I started timing them they were 7 minutes apart. By the time I got ahold of the doctor they were 3 minutes apart. By the time my sister arrived to stay with Sawyer they were just about every minute. These babies were not messing around! We rushed to the hospital and arrived at 1:15 am. I was already 8cm diatated. Once the midwife realized how quickily things were progressing she called the OB, anesthesiologist and an entire surgical team. We knew that Liam was breech and there was a chance that I might need an emergency c-section. That entire hour is a big blur as people rushed in and out of the room starting my IV, helping me change into a johnnie and preparing to wheel me to the OR. By the time we got to the OR I was 10 cm dialated and the anesthesiologist was no where in sight so we decided to just go for it! Adeline was born after only 3 pushes at 2:28 am. She cried and was placed on my chest just as I had imagined. My perfect, beautiful 4lb, 4 oz baby girl. I will never forget that perfect moment before we knew anything was wrong when she was just our baby girl. Almost immidately the doictors and nurses noticed that her color wasnt right. She wasn't "pinking up" like they wanted and they whisked her over to isolette nearby to check her out. I turned to Bill and said "We have a daughter" and it was one a the three greatest moments in my life. Liam was born almost an hour later. We were talking and laughing with the nurses and doctors. I could never have imagined giving birth like this, in a bright, crowded OR but it was the most amazing experience. Liam was born breech, in his amniotic sac at 3:18 am. It was an amazing sight and all of the probably 15 doctors and nurses crowded around to watch as he was born. No one in the room had ever witnesed a baby born " in the call".
Both babies were transferred to the stage 2 nursery and it quickly became clear that they were not equipped to handle the challenges that Adeline was having. Two teams were called from Maine Medical Center and both babies were stabilized and transferred to their NICU. I was discharged shortly after and Bill and I headed to Maine Med to be with our babies.
Last October, only a couple of weeks after my birthday, I was delighted to learn that I was pregnant. As the weeks went by I became convinced that I was having twins. When we went for the 8 week ultrasound I was not surprised at all to see two little shapes on the screen. We were ecstatic and terrified all at the same time. Everything progressed as expected throughout the pregnancy until they noticed baby A had slightly enlarged kidneys at our 13 week ultrasound. Though not terribly concerned, the midwife sent us for a consultation with a specialist from Dartmouth to assess and monitor the kidney abnormality. We continued to see this specialist for all of our ultrasounds and found out the sex of both babies at the 20 week ultrasound. A girl and a boy, the perfect combination. As the pregnancy progressed and we continued to see the specialist it became clear that Adeline's kidneys were growing at an alarming rate. I remember them telling me at an ultrasound later in the pregnancy that her kidneys were average size for a 3 month old baby. Even with this definite anomaly the doctor was not terribly concerned. He told us that it could be one of many conditions but they would not be able to tell for sure until she was born. He said that her amniotic fluid levels were normal which didnt fit with any of the diagnoses he was thinking it may be and outcomes with normal fluid levels were generally good. I do have a vivid recollection of him mentioning polycystic kidney disease and thank God everyday that I did not Google this condition.
The twins decided to make their appearance in the very early hours of May 16, 2012. I woke around 12:00am with contractions. This was nothing new I had been having contractions bad enough to wake me for several months now. I quickily realized that these contractions were different though. These were definitely labor contractions. By the time I started timing them they were 7 minutes apart. By the time I got ahold of the doctor they were 3 minutes apart. By the time my sister arrived to stay with Sawyer they were just about every minute. These babies were not messing around! We rushed to the hospital and arrived at 1:15 am. I was already 8cm diatated. Once the midwife realized how quickily things were progressing she called the OB, anesthesiologist and an entire surgical team. We knew that Liam was breech and there was a chance that I might need an emergency c-section. That entire hour is a big blur as people rushed in and out of the room starting my IV, helping me change into a johnnie and preparing to wheel me to the OR. By the time we got to the OR I was 10 cm dialated and the anesthesiologist was no where in sight so we decided to just go for it! Adeline was born after only 3 pushes at 2:28 am. She cried and was placed on my chest just as I had imagined. My perfect, beautiful 4lb, 4 oz baby girl. I will never forget that perfect moment before we knew anything was wrong when she was just our baby girl. Almost immidately the doictors and nurses noticed that her color wasnt right. She wasn't "pinking up" like they wanted and they whisked her over to isolette nearby to check her out. I turned to Bill and said "We have a daughter" and it was one a the three greatest moments in my life. Liam was born almost an hour later. We were talking and laughing with the nurses and doctors. I could never have imagined giving birth like this, in a bright, crowded OR but it was the most amazing experience. Liam was born breech, in his amniotic sac at 3:18 am. It was an amazing sight and all of the probably 15 doctors and nurses crowded around to watch as he was born. No one in the room had ever witnesed a baby born " in the call".
Both babies were transferred to the stage 2 nursery and it quickly became clear that they were not equipped to handle the challenges that Adeline was having. Two teams were called from Maine Medical Center and both babies were stabilized and transferred to their NICU. I was discharged shortly after and Bill and I headed to Maine Med to be with our babies.
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