Thursday
Aug282008
Thankful
It wasn't long after, maybe a month, that I picked up a book. I was still swimming in the mire, crying uncontrollably, dehydrated, Dance Macabre filling my nightmares, heavy empty arms and leaky breasts consuming my days, all the while thinking: I am at the bottom. I am in the trash compactor of hell. This is as bad as it gets.
And I began reading other stories of moms like me.
And found myself, surprisingly -- not often, but occasionally -- thinking: wow, how horrible, I can't imagine, I'm so glad that didn't happen to me.
It's odd to be scraping the barrel and finding yourself giving thanks, but there I was reading about mothers who were denied the right to see or hold their children. Women who were hustled along by the nurses who neglected to give those mothers what was rightfully theirs: footprints, handprints, locks of hair. Worse (to me), women drugged by doctors thinking they would appreciate sleeping through the process.
If some maternal being, even a fellow babyloss mama, came to me, embraced me against her (lavender scented) bosom, clasped my hands in hers and pressed them to her heart, and earnestly implored me while looking tearfully into my eyes:
"Tell me what you're thankful for!"
I would probably scream, "Not a fucking thing," while cramming both our fists down her throat. There is nothing here to be thankful for, not my child's sorry little life, and the unbearable year and half since. Not the loss of my daughter's sibling, not watching my husband grieve. Nothing.
Bite me.
And yet, late at night, while reading through your blogs and comments and words, I often catch my breath, mutter "Oh Shit," and think
It could have been so much worse.
I am thankful I married my husband -- I honestly can't imagine going through this with anyone less than or other than him.
I am thankful Maddy was born where she was, in this town where we had recently moved, and died in Children's -- which was recently rated one of the top Children's hospitals in the country. They did not give me any answers, but they did not leave me with any doubt to her care, and their complete expenditure of resources and attention in trying to figure out what happened. Her medical care was unparalleled. Had Maddy been born in my local hospital, or in the hospital in my former state, we would be left with shrugged shoulders, and undoubtedly, "there's no way of knowing, nothing we can do."
I am thankful for Maddy's nurses. They deserve capes and fancy wrist bands and theme music -- superheroes, all.
I am thankful my labor was quick, my recovery effortless. I was on my feet immediately for a week of walking, crouching, sobbing, all away from home, my water bath and fancy salts and hemorrhoid cream. And physically I was fine.
I am thankful I have pictures, even if they're not good quality. The one with her clenched fist -- which is a sign of seizure, although I choose to forget that when I look at it -- is my favorite. I choose to believe she's fighting.
I am thankful she died at Children's, where there was a bereavement department. Someone spoke to us the day she died, and they kept calling. They sent a specialist to talk to us about Bella, and had a lactation staff who dealt with ending it -- on a Sunday. They sent us things we didn't know they had kept. They still call. They organize a yearly candlelight service. She is not forgotten to them, and it makes it so much easier to drive by the hospital -- which I do on a weekly basis.
I am thankful for a small, but strong handful of friends who wrote me, emailed me, called and left messages for me -- when I didn't correspond back. They didn't care, they didn't ask why, they just kept calling, writing, emailing. They kept me from drowning.
I'm thankful Maddy's nervous system was determined to be mush. She most likely felt nothing during her week here. That relieves me more than you can imagine.
Most of all, I'm thankful I got to set the terms of Maddy's death, and that given what transpired that dreadful week, this one moment, at least, was in our control. Of course I didn't really control it all, who am I kidding -- when a doctor says "she's being kept alive," basically the universe spirals out of control right from under your seat. Sometimes I wonder if I could've done things differently, but ultimately she died in our arms. Given all that happened that week, I don't want to contemplate her end happening in any other way.
Maddy dying is by far the worst thing that has ever happened to me. And yet, I realize, it could've been so, so much worse. And I'm oh so thankful that it wasn't.
In retrospect, comparatively speaking (or perhaps not at all), are you at all, remotely, even a teeny bit thankful for anything that happened surrounding the death of your baby/-ies? And believe me, it's fine if you say "No. Not a fucking thing. Are you crazy?"
And I began reading other stories of moms like me.
And found myself, surprisingly -- not often, but occasionally -- thinking: wow, how horrible, I can't imagine, I'm so glad that didn't happen to me.
It's odd to be scraping the barrel and finding yourself giving thanks, but there I was reading about mothers who were denied the right to see or hold their children. Women who were hustled along by the nurses who neglected to give those mothers what was rightfully theirs: footprints, handprints, locks of hair. Worse (to me), women drugged by doctors thinking they would appreciate sleeping through the process.
If some maternal being, even a fellow babyloss mama, came to me, embraced me against her (lavender scented) bosom, clasped my hands in hers and pressed them to her heart, and earnestly implored me while looking tearfully into my eyes:
"Tell me what you're thankful for!"
I would probably scream, "Not a fucking thing," while cramming both our fists down her throat. There is nothing here to be thankful for, not my child's sorry little life, and the unbearable year and half since. Not the loss of my daughter's sibling, not watching my husband grieve. Nothing.
Bite me.
And yet, late at night, while reading through your blogs and comments and words, I often catch my breath, mutter "Oh Shit," and think
It could have been so much worse.
I am thankful I married my husband -- I honestly can't imagine going through this with anyone less than or other than him.
I am thankful Maddy was born where she was, in this town where we had recently moved, and died in Children's -- which was recently rated one of the top Children's hospitals in the country. They did not give me any answers, but they did not leave me with any doubt to her care, and their complete expenditure of resources and attention in trying to figure out what happened. Her medical care was unparalleled. Had Maddy been born in my local hospital, or in the hospital in my former state, we would be left with shrugged shoulders, and undoubtedly, "there's no way of knowing, nothing we can do."
I am thankful for Maddy's nurses. They deserve capes and fancy wrist bands and theme music -- superheroes, all.
I am thankful my labor was quick, my recovery effortless. I was on my feet immediately for a week of walking, crouching, sobbing, all away from home, my water bath and fancy salts and hemorrhoid cream. And physically I was fine.
I am thankful I have pictures, even if they're not good quality. The one with her clenched fist -- which is a sign of seizure, although I choose to forget that when I look at it -- is my favorite. I choose to believe she's fighting.
I am thankful she died at Children's, where there was a bereavement department. Someone spoke to us the day she died, and they kept calling. They sent a specialist to talk to us about Bella, and had a lactation staff who dealt with ending it -- on a Sunday. They sent us things we didn't know they had kept. They still call. They organize a yearly candlelight service. She is not forgotten to them, and it makes it so much easier to drive by the hospital -- which I do on a weekly basis.
I am thankful for a small, but strong handful of friends who wrote me, emailed me, called and left messages for me -- when I didn't correspond back. They didn't care, they didn't ask why, they just kept calling, writing, emailing. They kept me from drowning.
I'm thankful Maddy's nervous system was determined to be mush. She most likely felt nothing during her week here. That relieves me more than you can imagine.
Most of all, I'm thankful I got to set the terms of Maddy's death, and that given what transpired that dreadful week, this one moment, at least, was in our control. Of course I didn't really control it all, who am I kidding -- when a doctor says "she's being kept alive," basically the universe spirals out of control right from under your seat. Sometimes I wonder if I could've done things differently, but ultimately she died in our arms. Given all that happened that week, I don't want to contemplate her end happening in any other way.
Maddy dying is by far the worst thing that has ever happened to me. And yet, I realize, it could've been so, so much worse. And I'm oh so thankful that it wasn't.
In retrospect, comparatively speaking (or perhaps not at all), are you at all, remotely, even a teeny bit thankful for anything that happened surrounding the death of your baby/-ies? And believe me, it's fine if you say "No. Not a fucking thing. Are you crazy?"
40 Comments
Reader Comments (40)
Thank you for this. Sometimes it's too easy to focus on the pain and the hurt and the suck.
Like you, I'm thankful for the medical resources and the team of nurses and doctors that were sensitive and caring, and having a hospital that has appropriate resources for grieving parents.
I'm thankful that she was my first baby. Although I think the quietness of an empty house is deafening after a baby's death, I'm glad I have had the freedom to grieve at my own pace, stay in bed all day if I want to.
I'm thankful she was born alive. We had her for a little over 2 hours and that was very special.
I am thankful that there is a glimmer of hope for us to have future children.
And most of all, my sweet husband, who is still by my side.
Nope not a f*cking thing at the moment. But then, I suspect, I'm one of those people who make others sigh in relief and say, "At least..."
I'll be more upbeat after my cup of tea.
As for things I am thankful for, there are a few. I am glad we surrendered when we did and took our babies off of the life support. They were diminishing so quickly and hope was fading, I was just relieved to end their suffering. I still feel good about that decision. I am grateful we were urged to baptise them at the hospital. I am always eternally grateful for my Mom, she was and is the rock who got me through it.
I'm thankful that there were two of them. I imagine them keeping one another company in some shadowy afterworld.
I'm thankful that I was asleep when it all happened, so I never had to see them.
I'm thankful that there are no photos or mementoes to haunt me.
I'm thankful that I had low expectations of my family and friends, so I wasn't disappointed or surprised by their reactions.
But mostly I'm thankful that I'd already had things that were infinitely worse (from my perspective, anyway) happen to me, that, everything considered, it really wasn't all that bad. For some people, the loss of a child is by far the worst loss they can imagine or experience. I'm thankful that, for me, that wasn't even close to the truth.
For a doctor who understood that I needed all the ultrasound photos, even though they were of a dead baby.
Mostly just tiny things here and there - little spots of kindness and caring in the midst of the big ugly. Like stepping stones across the raging torrent of grief.
I am thankful that, although my pregnancy was a complete roller coaster ride, I got to be pregnant for 26 weeks.
I am thankful that I was given the option -- and said yes -- to see and hold my baby, even for a brief while.
I am thankful that I was given the option of burial/cremation and the rituals of a naming ceremony & funeral, & that my daughter's resting place is known to me (picked by me) & marked. She did exist.
I am thankful that I delivered at a big city hospital where I had good care from nurses who handle stillbirths frequently, in a wing apart from the maternity ward, as well as the support of a social worker. I didn't realize how fortunate I was until I started hearing stories from people at our support group who delivered at smaller hospitals.
I am thankful for the keepsakes & photos I have. They may be few, and the photos are lousy, but they are infinitely precious to me.
I am thankful that my mother was there with me & took care of both dh & me afterwards.
I am thankful for the weeks I was able to spend at home afterward before returning to work. Having time to read, think, scour the Internet, was a big help.
I am thankful for the friends I've made IRL through the support group we have been involved with for the past decade.
I am thankful that I found supportive women on the Internet who have sustained me and made life so much more bearable over the past 10 years.
I'm thankful for the nurses, at both hospitals, who were sweet and solicitous. I'm especially thankful for a nurse at our local hospital, S, who spent hours with us; I can't think of something she did specifically, she was just very kind. I'm thankful for J, the OB nurse/grief counselor at our local hospital who called often (even if I didn't call back), and listened long, who cried with me, and shared her own story.
I'm thankful for some doctors, generous in their prescriptions; they helped me get through the day: sometimes with a little chemical help, sometimes just knowing I had something with me if I needed it. I needed it less than I thought I would.
I'm thankful for friends who have supported me, in providing shoulders, checking in with me without expectations. I'm thankful that they didn't shy away, that they were glad to see me, treated me normally, if a little more gently.
I am amazed by and thankful for the community of smart, strong women who have lived through something horrible, something most people don't understand, and are moving through it, supporting others.
I am thankful for the opportunity to think about this, and articulate my gratitude. Especially when I am feeling so sad and bitter and hating everyone and everything and wondering what the hell the point is to anything. It's good to know I can feel this, too.
Your post has given me a way to "look on the bright side" again - however morbid.
Thank you.
I'm thankful for the perspective I gained from going through this hell.
I'm thankful for the medical technology that allowed us to find out about our child's diagnosis before birth, while we still had the choice to stop the pain and horror that would have come.
I am thankful I was able to end the pregnancy quickly and not wait through days or weeks of torture.
I am thankful that the nurses at the hospital were kind but cool with me. I wouldn't have wanted to be coddled.
I'm thankful we were away at our cabin when it happened, so we immediately had that space we need, and the surrounding nature to comfort us.
I'm thankful we were at the small town's small hospital; did not hear other babies being born, and the two nurses who attended to us were the sweetest.
I'm thankful my midwife and her assistant (all friends now) drove up to be with me through labor and birth. all two days of it.
I'm thankful my husband took care of most things when I just could not step out of the house.
I'm thankful for my friends who stayed with me and abided with my grief. For understanding, supporting, and for just being incredible.
I'm thankful for our neighbors who looked after the girls while we were at the hospital, and respected our request for space and quiet.
I'm thankful for the funeral house, who took care of Ferdinand, so gently.
I'm thankful for my friend who offered to pay for an artist's rendition of Ferdinand's photo, because we just did not know how to electronically removed the ravage he had gone through.
I'm thankful for the internet; I can blog and write all I wish, and so far I've not encountered any trolls. ha.
I'm thankful for the wonderful people I met through all the blogs.
I am thankful for a husband who was never out of reach, who gave me his strength when I had none of my own.
I am thankful for a NICU nurse who told us from the very beginning "touch her. Let her know you are here. She spent 24 weeks being held by you and she still needs that" when we were so afraid of doing anything wrong. That same nurse ran to me as they fought to save Zoe and forced me to stay calm, to remember the feel of Zoe's head against my chest, to find calm in the middle of the storm. She'll never know it, but she saved me then and in the middle of the night, when the nightmare wakes me up, it is often her voice I try to remember.
I am thankful that lactation stopped so easily.
I am not thankful that I have to pick these things to be thankful for. I should be thankful for two infants wearing me ragged. I should be thankful for a night when babies sleep without waking, not thankful for a night when I don't relive every second of watching a roomful of people trying to restart my daughter's heart. I am not thankful for learning that I am strong enough to survive this.
I suspect with time I will feel differently about this, and that the innumeration of our blessings will no longer seem a lie.
I am thankful that we know that both of our babies are girls. It helped me to give them an identity and names. It makes me feel like they were more real even though I never got to hold them.
I am thankful for my wonderful husband who was my rock through the whole thing even though he was dying a little inside just like I was.
I am thankful that I kept the ultrasound picture of Adrien. That is all I have. The only proof that she existed. I wish I had gotten up the balls to ask for a picture of Alex.
I am thankful that I was asleep when they were taken from my body. And I am thankful to know that they were buried in an infants cemetery instead of incinerated as medical waste.
And of course, I am thankful that I had the guts to try again after I lost them. The strength to try again gave me my second son. Even though I feel two small holes in my heart, I am glad for my two beautiful boys who survived.
And lastly, I am thankful that my older son is not embarrassed to talk about his sisters. Sometimes that is what keeps me from feeling like I am completely insane.
I'm glad my baby didn't suffer, that it felt like he was sleepy instead.
I'm thankful the nurses made me hold him when I got back from the recovery room.
I'm thankful for my husband, although I wish he didn't have to go through this pain.
But most of all, I'm immensely thankful for the experience of having been Liam's mother for six weeks. Even though it was the most fearful, most nightmarish six weeks of my life, the moments I spent with him cuddling, whispering through the portholes, attempting to breastfeed, bathing... he gave me peace and rest and respite in those moments.
I'm just honoured that he chose me as his mother, even if he couldn't stay. He chose me, and he made me, just as much as my other sons have, and for that I am thankful.
I am grateful that, due to uncanny circumstances, my mother happened to be with me and my husband when we received the news. She made the hard phone calls and was able to drive us home (my Dr. sent me home to get "a good night's sleep" before the next mornings' induction).
I am grateful for the pictures, because I was one of the ones that was "drugged" and only have a few flash memories of my hospital experience.
I am grateful for the amazing compassion of others. Most people in my life have been extremely acknowledging and speak her name often.
I am grateful that my 9 months of pregnancy were not tainted by the knowing of how things would end. I don't know that I would've been able to enjoy my pregnancy as much as I did.
And although it wasn't nearly enough, I am grateful for my 9 months with her. Even knowing the outcome, I would do it all over again.
and she was in my arms when she died. I think I would feel imfinitely worse had I not been there.
I am extremely thankful for my son. He gives me a reason to get up in the mornings.
I'm with Tash on this one. I think what I went through was absolutely awful but having read other people's blogs I can see how some of my experiences were more positive than others.
I can't believe I just said that. This world is insane.
i am thankful for most things in other's posts.
i am thankful that i am grateful for what i do have and that week by week i'm moving through my grief, accepting that my perfect, healthy, full term baby was born still. i'm thankful that the autopsy didn't give me reason to believe it was my fault. i'm thankful that my guilt and anger are lessening and that i'm able to parent my other 2 children.whom i am so thankful for, realizing how precious and miraculous birth is.
i am thankful for all the amazing people in my life, there are so many.
i am thankful for my midwife, who, if my baby did not die in my womb, would have birthed him at home. she is a beatiful woman who also encouraged me to birth him as i birthed my other 2, naturally, without pain meds (i did have pitocin). it was an important part of the process for me, i realize it now more than ever.
i am thankful to be thankful.
It's hard to find something to be grateful for in a time like that, But I think it's important.
As horrible as it all was, it really could have been so much worse.
I am thankful for the extreme kindness, prayers and sometimes tears of my nurses.
I am thankful for the bits of hair and the foot prints and the plaster cast of his hands and feet that they took.
I am thankful for the wonderful woman who made a beautiful box and tiny little baby clothes to dress my little boy in.
I am thankful to the nurse who dressed him so sweetly for me, as I was still too groggy from anesthesia to handle it.
I am enternally and immensely grateful for my husband who held me, and named his son, and took care of every detail of cremation arrangements.
I am grateful forever to my sister who was with me during the terrifying moments as we began to lose him, and held him after the csection while they took care of me. He was no longer with us, but she still took gentle care of him for me.
I am grateful for my husband, who still understands and allows me to grieve in my way several years later.
I am eternally grateful for the gift of my unplanned, but cherished daughter, who came 1.5 years after William left. She's my heart. God knew I needed her.
I've felt encouraged though, by my own strength and presence of mind in those moments of horror and impossible decision. I learned that in the face of the impossible, I can count on myself.
I have few regrets about our time with our children and our decisions. My only regrets have to do with other people's behaviour (horrible funeral director for Soren in particular) and feeling too bloody polite to just stick it to them where it counts. I've learned that I don't have to be polite, I don't have to be nasty either, but I don't have to be polite. Soren helped us to know what we wanted 'if this should happen again', which it did.
I would have rather gnawed off my arm with my teeth than have to go through this again, but I knew when we were faced with Imogen's demise, we'd have to make another life/death decision. In order to give her 'the best last day in the world', we'd have to fully be there with her and savour our time. I recognized then and there, that our desire was to set the stage for her to experience a 'good death'. Did we want that? No. But not being there for her was not going to change the outcome for her. I learned that parents make big personal sacrifices for the wellbeing of their children.
The same with Heloise. I learned after Heloise died that other peoples opinions about our desire to have a family didn't have anything to do with us.
I learned that despite having 7 children die, hope is hard to completely extinguish. That little ember amongst the ashes persists.
There is so much that I am thankful for.
I am thankful for the chance to birth vaginally.
I am thankful that we had five days with our son, one of those days, he was alert and responsive.
I am thankful for my beautiful midwife and friends who travelled great distances to be with us.
I am thankful that William brought my family together.
I am thankful for the nurse who was on the day we turned off the ventilator and for all of the photos she took.
I am thankful that my other kids were old enough to never forget William but young enough to feel grief in a child like way.
I am thankful that because of William's birth and death, things changed in the NICU and in the hospital for the better.
I am thankful for the memories.
I am thankful for the friendship I have found in others who have been through a similar thing.
I am thankful for the understanding I have for others who have experienced the death of a baby.
I am thankful for the chance to bring Ivy and Noah into the world and the courage I found to carry them.
-my husband got home just as I was about to leave. I can't imagine finding out alone or having to call and tell him.
-my own maternity doctor was on call that night
-I could go through labour and deliver my son
-we had as much time as we wanted to hold him
-we have pictures, footprints, hand prints
-we gave him his name, Oliver
-we had our daughter to go home to. Without her it would be a lot harder to get out of bed in the mornings
-my husband who has been a huge source of strength
-there are things to be thankful for even when going through the hardest thing I have ever had to
I am thankful for our families, who are some of the most compassionate, caring people I have ever known. Who have never told me to get over it. Who accept Devin as a nephew, a grandson. Who stand with me when I need support.
I am thankful that the hospital was wonderful. I had the "perfect" birth - other than him being dead. Labor was easy. I was physically fine afterwards. The nurses were incredibly sensitive and took good care of him. I felt like they did all the right things.
I am thankful I have a photo of him that I love. That I got to see my son. I carried him inside me for 8 months, and I finally got to see his little nose, and lips, and hands. and I knew that we had made a perfect little creature.
but on reflection, I am thankful for the joy I felt while I was pregnant. because I never conceived before or since.
and I'm thankful for the way my husband held me up -- without him I never would have had a reason to rejoin the living. or so it felt.
Sometimes, when you have a preemie that doesn't survive, people have trouble picturing an actual baby. I have heard very young preemie being described in derogatory, almost non-human terms by others. Frogs. ALiens. I cannot show our picture of our stillborn daughter to people, but I do show that of her very small (1 1/2 pound) 28 week sister, and I cannot tell you how many times that head of hair has humanized her to people. Then, I can say, her sister had hair like that, too.........and so did our older (living) daughter when she was born.
I did not get many keepsakes, but I did get locks of their hair.