The Best Memories

Breckenridge Family Trip 1990

I remember Kaylie first of all from church. We did our first communion catechism together in second grade under the strict tutelage of Sister Margaret at St. Martin DePorres Catholic Church in South Boulder. I was an enthusiastic hand-raiser and always eager to discuss our teachings with my little church friends, including Kaylie. She wasn’t too interested in parables, but she loved to play together in between lessons. Even I can admit that mass was *pretty* boring for a second grader, but always better when we sat next to Kaylie! We used to mock the worst singers in the congregation, or giggle when the altar boy rang the bell loudly during the Eucharistic prayer. Once, somebody’s grandpa farted in the pew in front of us and we practically turned purple trying to hold in our laughter.

Kaylie’s mom worked at Ball Aerospace with my dad, and we started spending time together with their family: her mom Lynnette, her dad Scott, and her little sister Corrie. In our family it was my dad Phil, my mom Ema, my little brother Andrew, and my little sister Valerie. We had picnics, parties, and hikes together. Sometimes her grandparents would invite Kaylie and me to play in their tree house and eat special snacks. Soon we started having weekend sleepovers and attending each other’s birthday parties. Then we started playing together very regularly and sleeping-over all the time too.

Girlhood Memories with Kaylie

• The dozens of clubhouses, secret passcodes, and saved treasures hidden under rocks
• Catching water striders in the ditch and naming them after Disney princesses
• Invented bread recipes, hard as a brick, that we gnawed and choked down because we were “master bakers”
• Playing “travel agent” in high heels using an old type-writer and an etch-a-sketch
• Ski trips to Breckenridge: finding empty warming huts, stripping off our wet clothes to heat them on the stove, playing cards, and joking for hours
• The legendary fart pillow (girls can be gross too ok?)
• Selling “special rocks” and dandelion bouquets to joggers along Greenbriar (Free- Tips Accepted) - One guy gave us $20!
• Disney World and Sea World during the year my family moved to Florida
• Getting windswept in a canoe in Florida in alligator-infested waters, calling my dad from some random distant neighbor’s house to rescue us
• Expanding our girlhood “Now-and-Then” group to include Brittany, Megadeth (Mere), Karin, Wendy, and Tali
• Ouija board shenanigans, seances, and scary stories
• Trick-or-treating (well into middle school), Halloween parties
• Wandering the woods alone on family camping trips, building stick forts and wading in the river for hours in our undies.
• Videotaping our own version of Jerry Springer or 90210 
• Spin-the-bottle in 6th grade
• Fashion advice, bad haircuts
• Movies- especially funny and scary ones
• Mix CD’s every 2-3 weeks with ALL the genres mixed in there
• Belting out Motown hits or the B-52’s with very dramatic dance moves (again I always got the boy part)
• Pulling faces- the uglier and freakier the better (think Quasimodo crossed with Jim Carey)
• Joy rides as teenagers, stealing parent’s cars to drive around South Boulder (especially Scott’s Thunderbird. . . shhhh)
• Late night gossiping
• Gawking at boys in Mexico. Family trips in general- having fun with our siblings and parents
• Watching Ren and Stimpy and Spongebob in the middle of the night together
• Smoking pot instead of doing math homework
• Eating goldfish and all the other glorious snacks at the Julliard house
• Listening to Reggae on the houseboat. Again- family trips in general!

Headbands and Vests 1991

A Chilly Day at Seaworld 1992

Mesa Elementary 5th Grade Sock Hop

Casa Bonita with Crusaders Youth Group 1990's

Family Trip to Lake Powell 

The Night Before We Found Her

I awoke from an uncomfortable, light sleep to the sound of my cell phone vibrating on my night stand. I slapped at the phone and fumbled to answer the call. “Hello?”

“Vera!”

“Kaylie. . . ?”

“Vera. Oh my god. He dumped me. He dumped me!” Loud sobbing for a long time. . . “I can’t take this!”

“Oh Kaylie. . . I’m so sorry. . . What happened . . . ?”

Sobbing, mumbling, panting. “It’s over. He doesn’t want to be my boyfriend anymore. . .”

“You’ll get through this. I know it. You just need some time to clear your head. Maybe it’s ok. Maybe it wasn’t meant to be anyway. You’re strong, smart, beautiful. It’s his loss! I promise!”

“I just can’t. . . I can’t do this anymore. It’s not possible. . . I’m so alone. . .” sobbing.

“You just need to sleep. It’s late! Do you have something that can help you sleep?”

“Yes I do, but. . . ” . . . Long, long pause . . . “What I want right now is to go to sleep and never wake up again. . . .”

Long pause, Quiet. Both of us are breathing.

“I . . . I love you Kaylie. . . I wish I could say it would be ok to do that. . . But it wouldn’t be ok. . . You know that right?”

Long pause. “Yeah. . . I know. . .”

“Don’t call him. Don’t go to Fort Collins to see him. Just leave it be. Do you promise?”

“Yeah. I promise.”

“I’m going out for breakfast with Brittany tomorrow. Call me ok? You can join us if you want. I’ll treat you.”

“Yeah. Ok. . .”

“Bye Kaylie.”

“Bye.”

I was 8 months pregnant that night, and it was late, maybe 12:30 am. The call was surprising, but not shocking. I had been very close with Kaylie through her relationship challenges. I had been close with her through all her mental health struggles, since we were just 8 years old. By now we had been friends for 18 years.

In high school Kaylie was diagnosed with bipolar disorder, which to me, made a lot of sense. She had already had many bouts of very deep depression by then, but always rebounded with passion, vigor, and renewed creativity. Kaylie had been on various medications since high school, with adjustments and changes many times over the years. 

That night she was once again living on her own in Denver, and she was changing her meds, with the close supervision of a psychiatrist. She had been with this boyfriend for a few months, and had high hopes for a “true love” connection. But the signs had been trickling through that this relationship might not last. I guess the signs had been trickling through that her mental health was precarious too, but we all missed those signs. . . How did I miss the signs? I didn’t realize the words we exchanged that night would be the forever-goodbye.

Guilt, remorse, shame, regret

 - It comes from not recognizing, this time, that she was on a precipice, a thin edge of ice leading to oblivion.

 - It comes from being too physically and mentally exhausted to listen more carefully to the silence between the words we exchanged the night before she died.

 - It comes from the tiny (but growing) thought, at that time, that maybe her soul deserved rest. She seemed exhausted, like a battered mast weathering storm after storm.

 - It comes from brushing something off and losing my laser vision, from just rolling over and going back to sleep without a second thought. From not thinking about it again until it was far too late.

Did I know, somewhere in my clunky, pregnant brain, that those were the words of a forever-goodbye we spoke that night? How did I miss my chance to save my friend?

Traumatic Memories (Triggering- Beware)

On the night we found that Kaylie had died, I remembered her apartment being completely trashed- clothes everywhere, broken mirrors and picture frames, and sticky notes on the walls with messages of self hatred. “You’re unlovable. . .” “You’re fat and ugly. . .” “You’re an embarrassment. . .” My eyes welled at the sight of those sticky notes. The night was a blur of extreme emotions. Our close friends and family had so many questions over the next few days. I recounted the scene to people who asked. Without giving details, I explained that the place was in a terrible state. . .

But when we went back to clean up Kaylie’s things, to set everything in peaceful order, none of the chaotic scenes I remembered were real. The apartment was tidy. Nothing was broken or trashed at all. Her records were stacked neatly on her shelf beside her turntable. The bed was made, and the laundry was all folded. The dishes were washed and put away. Photos of her friends and family smiled from unbroken frames around the apartment. Every mirror was perfectly intact. And the sticky notes with self-hate messages? There weren’t any of those- not one on any wall or door- as I had seen just days before. Her apartment was actually organized and clean. . . a seemingly calm space despite the harrowing events of that first evening.

So what happened? Did somebody come in before me and clean it all up? Did they remove every chaotic and broken element I had witnessed the night we found Kaylie? No. What happened is this: The terror of that moment. . . finding my friend deceased in her apartment. . . impacted my senses on such a deep level that my brain invented an even more terrible scene. I think I was subconsciously trying to reconcile the horror of that night with the actual calm and quiet of the surroundings in her space. My heart and brain felt the mental agony she had been suffering leading up to her death, and an image of physical chaos was born in my psyche.

Now I sometimes question my other memories of that night, even though there is evidence to corroborate the truth of my experience. One vivid memory is the feeling of Kaylie’s leg- rigid, cold, and gray- blocking our entrance into the bathroom. My sister remembers that part too. . . I also remember the image the coroner showed me, on his digital camera, of Kaylie’s face- swollen and bruised, with dark stringy hair like a giant black wreath atop the bathroom tiles. I thank God I didn’t see her face in person- just on a tiny camera screen. We were never able to enter the bathroom because the door was blocked by her body. Only the emergency responders really saw her where she had died.

My most vivid memory of that entire horrible night was the guttural wail of Kaylie’s mother on the phone. When I called and told her what happened, the sound she made is burned into my heart. . . “Lynnette, Kaylie’s not ok . . .” I said. “It’s really, really bad, Netty. It’s the worst possible. . . Kaylie died. She’s gone. . .” Netty’s voice on the phone in that moment was unbearable. It broke my soul. It was like a wild animal whose limb was broken in a spiked leghold trap, a howl of unspeakable agony. The sound was haunting- leaving me with chills and incredible pain in my gut- even worse than I already felt that night, which doesn’t seem possible given my terror and grief already.

Our memories and our senses deceive us, but in some ways they provide a deeper truth. For months after Kaylie died, I dreamt of black walls covered in eyes looking down at me. Even when awake, I would see a gray leg through a crack in a door or a mat of stringy hair creeping out from dark shadows- just like a horror movie. In the months after Kaylie died, the beautiful colors of Colorado were muted, and the birds never sang. The breeze didn’t blow. Everything moved in slow motion and a dull static sound rang in my ears. The sky was dark. The time after Kaylie’s death was a horror movie made real.

Time has passed now, and many memories of that night have faded like pebbles worn down to sand along a coastline. The pain isn’t gone, but it has dulled enough that I can finally sit down and write about what happened. Almost 16 years after Kaylie died it feels, at last, like a starting point for looking back and beginning to process it.

Mother's Day Dreams

I was not sad on Mother's Day.  To my surprise, I didn't even think of Baby Evie, our little girl who died 3 years ago in the NICU.  Instead, that day, I was swept up with honoring my mom.  I was joyfully distracted by my ever-growing belly. Baby Eddie was busy twisting and kicking as I waddled about, reminding me that he will join us all very soon.  And all afternoon, I happily played with Valerie and Wally- snuggling, watching movies, eating cookies, and laughing together.

But last night I dreamt of Evie.  In my dream, I had to make a deal: I could have Evie back, but I had to abandon the rest of my family forever.  I agreed.  Evie appeared in my arms and I carried her away to live with a friend.  Nobody knew where we were, but I could look through a window and see my family any time.  As I held tiny Evie in my arms, I watched through the window while Kabir played with Valerie and Wally at a park, pushing them on the swings and catching them at the bottom of the slide.  They were so happy together.  They were the perfect picture of a family, the perfect picture of love.  I looked away, and while Evie slept, I wept.  In my dream, I could stroke Evie's tiny toes and kiss her plump cheeks any time, but my God, the price was too high!

This morning I reflected on my dream and talked it through with Kabir.  We agreed that in some ways, Wally and Eddie have replaced Evie.  We actually feel like the picture of the family we always wanted is complete, and our heartbreak is healing.  He acknowledges that the loss we experienced was much easier on him than it was on me, perhaps because as the mommy, I carried Evie in my body, so I knew her differently.  Later this morning, I thought about other mothers who lost older children with big personalities, or other mothers who could not have more children after losing a tiny baby.  Grief must look so different for every bereaved mommy on Mother's Day.

 

Today I am walking through Mother's Day grief.  My dreams reveal truths more profound than my consciousness can articulate.  Today I am wrestling with so many emotions, but it is good for me to do that sometimes.  I am grateful for that dream.  I can have joy in my other children and sorrow in the one I lost all at once.

Gazing at Evie shortly after she was born.

Pregnant with Eddie, who is due June 24.

 

She never got to

Kabir has two cousins who are expecting babies soon.  We are so excited for them- We're all counting down the weeks until their new tiny ones are born!  Also, Kabir and I made some new friends recently who have a sweet little 2-year-old daughter.  Valerie adores this little girl, and Val had the idea that maybe we should give her some old clothes.  Before I knew it, I was washing and packing all Valerie's toddler clothes to give away to her new friend.  Then I started compiling baby clothes, toys, etc. that Wally has already outgrown to give away to our expectant cousins.  I was so excited to share all this baby stuff with people who need it and will really enjoy it! 

 As I touched each baby item, it turned out to be very emotional for me. . . I kept imagining Evie using all the things I was packing up- She never got to use them, and I felt heartbroken all over again as that thought washed over me. I pictured her sleeping peacefully in the co-sleeper.  I imagined her wearing Valerie's adorable onesies as she crawled across our living room floor.  I closed my eyes and thought about watching her first steps wearing those tiny shoes.  I thought about all the missed smiles, tears, laughs, and hugs.  These imagined memories swished through my heart ,and made me cry for hours.  I have this picture in my head of Evie as she would be now at a year-and-a-half.  It feels terrible to hurt so much, but it also feels good to let myself be so sad. . .  I will always love my Evie and miss her and wish she was growing up with us. I wish she got to wear those clothes and use those toys and make all those memories with all that stuff! Ugh- tears again.

Some of you know that I am homeschooling Valerie June this year because we cannot afford preschool.  A couple months ago we were learning about "families",  and I cut out
 figures of members in our family for her to decorate.  We glued them onto sticks to make puppets.  When she was done, she said, "Mommy, where's the Evie puppet?  Do babies grow in heaven?  If they do not, you can just make her small, but don't forget the wings ok?"  I felt so proud that she always thinks of our Evie!  I made the puppet, and she decorated her.  Then Valerie took all her puppets outside and held them up to the sky.  She called out to the clouds,  "EVIE!!!  I LOVE YOU!!!!"  I bit back my tears.


Here is our puppet family, made by Valerie.

 

 

 

 

Growing too fast

Vivacious girl
Attracted to nature and dogs
Loving and sweet
Emotional: anger, sadness, tantrums too
Rocks, coins, sticks, and string for play (every day)
Inventive
Expressive and funny

Jumping on my back, then
Under the bed, hiding (come find me!)
Needs attention much of the time,
Especially now

 

 

 

 

 

Career Path

So, remember how I was all set to switch careers and go into nursing?  Welp, a few months ago I decided not to. . . It is something I am a little embarrassed about, especially after reading my previous blog posts on the subject.  My loved ones who questioned me about my decisions were 100% right to probe:  It turns out I was too emotionally raw to make a career change, and I do love teaching.  During the last months of pregnancy, I volunteered every week at Valerie's preschool.  I enjoyed working with those little kiddos so much, that I began researching preschool philosophies.  After reading library books about Montessori and Waldorf, I became fascinated once again by education in general.  I realized I have been barking up the wrong tree.  I still love education.

At first I felt shame for having wasted so much time, energy, and money on the whole nursing endeavor.  Now I think it is ok- we all start one place and end up somewhere pretty different, don't we?  The time I spent in class was therapeutic in dealing with my pain.  I am just glad to have figured out where my passions lie before spending more of that time, energy, and money.  (P.S, Kabir is a champ.  He counsels me and supports me through thick and thin.)

 I have been thinking deeply about my career.  I wonder how or when I might go back.  Yesterday I met with a former colleague in DPS about returning to work as an instructional coach temporarily this fall.  It was a pleasant meeting, and I got the low down on district changes, updates on the grant (http://www.csrcolorado.org/en/), and details about the position.  They can offer me almost twice what I was making before!  However, I am still leaning toward holding off.  Kabir & I are worried that if I go back to work, our family balance might be thrown far off.  So for now, my career path is TBD.

Self affirmation!



Beautiful Blood Moon Baby

Birth Story

Wally was born at 1:15 am on tax day during the peak of the "Blood Moon" eclipse.  His birth was amazing, and pretty quick, actually. 

The total lunar eclipse on 4-15, Space.Com

 

I had been to my OB in the morning for a little trick to get things started: She used her gloved finger to separate the amniotic membrane from the uterine wall near my cervix.  For a couple of weeks I had been having scattered contractions, and I was showing signs of early labor- I was already dilated to 3cm.  We decided he was ready- so tried this little trick at 8:30 am.  It would release a hormone called prostaglandin which might cause labor to start in a few hours.

 

At 6:30, during dinner at home with my mom, I started to feel painful contractions spaced about 20 min. apart.  I hopped in the shower with Valerie, who watched with concern every time I stopped to moan and breathe.  (I explained that everything was ok, and that I was going to go with Daddy to have the baby soon!) I finished packing my bag and called Kabir to tell him we'd better head out once he got home.  I called my sister Valerie and told her to head straight for the hospital too.  My mom would stay at our house with the big-sister-to-be.  Valerie was pretty sad that I had to go, until we told her that she would get to come in the morning with her big sister shirt and with the little toys she had picked out for her new brother.

 

We finally got on the road at 9:30 and arrived at Avista a little before 10pm.  I wanted that epidural- and I wanted it fast!  It felt like it took forever to get me evaluated, checked in, and prepped.  My sister and Kabir tried their best to distract me from the pain with jokes- but geez I was hurting!!!

 

Then things got a little scary:  First, the epidural only numbed half my body!  I was in pain.  I was also starting to feel very, very sad thinking about Evie.  I cried and shivered and shook.  I begged the anesthesiologist to PLEASE do it again!!  Instead of redoing my epidural, he tilted me to one side and gave me 2 large doses of meds right into my back with a large syringe. . .  That was when I started to feel worse than I have ever felt in my life.  I stopped being able to hear, and my vision got cloudy.  I was ready to vomit but nothing came up.  I thought, okay this is it.  I am going to die. . . I thought about Valerie June and closed my eyes.  Lucky for me, the nurse had been watching very close and immediately saw how my blood pressure was dropping.  It got down to 60 over 30!!!  She rushed and gave me a dose of ephedrine in my IV.  Wow!  I felt good again!  The pain was gone (my legs were two dead logs) and I felt alert!

 

At 1:00 am, my doc came in to check my cervix.  She stood by the computer looking at all the data.  I told her I felt very much like pushing.  (How could that be?  I was completely numb!  But somehow I just felt myself starting to push!)  Dr. M checked me and said I was ready.  She got her gown on, pulled the bottom off the bed, and told me to push. . .  It was like the feeling when you have to vomit and you heave without being able to stop it-  I couldn't help but do it.  Dr. M tried to help me by counting, but I was doing it my own way on my own time.  Heave, heave, heave, there's the head! Heave, he's out!!  That's all it took-  four pushes!  I heard Wally wailing and wailing as they suctioned him.  What a loud, healthy little guy!!  Soon he was on my chest- quiet and alert.  Kabir stroked my hair while I looked at this little rainbow.  We were all so happy!

 

It was about an hour before all the grandparents were allowed to come quietly streaming in.  So much love!  I held Wally while each grandparent silently approached and looked at his beautiful face and the beautiful scene.  There were Chet, Maya, Pearl, my dad, and Netty.  They told me about the strange eclipse and about the warm cookies the nurses had baked for them.  They gave us their blessings and left us to rest in bliss.

 

 

Feelings About Evie

I haven't felt sad about Evie since the labor, even though I think about her almost every day.  Of course I am very tired- Wally is a newborn and he does wake throughout the night to eat.  But no matter how exhausted, I mostly feel relief and joy.  I hold him and kiss him ALL the time.  I appreciate so deeply the fact that he is healthy; the fact that I can control his well being by simply feeding him, changing him, rocking him.  This may sound pretty dark, but when I see Wally sleeping I sometimes think about Evie's face after she died.  She was so peaceful in death and Wally is so peaceful in life.  For me it is not a depressing thought, but kindof a yin-and-yang thought: balance I guess?  Things are as they should be.

Wally on the Way!

We've decided to name the little guy Walter Philip Ananda.  No, it's not because of Breaking Bad!  Everybody asks, and some people have even decided to call him "Heisenberg," but Walter White is quite a villain in our minds!  No, Kabir and I chose the name Walter because it's both unique and traditional at the same time, and because we like how it sounds.  I wonder if maybe we were influenced by the movie WALL-E or by the psychic little boy named Walt in Lost?  Anyway, we plan to call him Wally or Walt for short.  Walter is a Germanic name meaning "ruler of the army,"  so it is a pretty strong name like his sister Valerie (which means brave).  Philip is my dad's name, and means "lover of horses,"  fitting for the year of the horse (and for the son of such a Bronco fan!) Not to mention we love and admire my dad.  So Walter Philip Ananda it is!

Well, Tuesday was Evie's birthday, but it wasn't as sad as I thought it would be. . .  Saturday morning before her birthday was tough.  But in the afternoon we had a baby shower for Walt.  It was uplifting and healing to spend time with my friends and family.  There was quite a bit of silliness and laughter!  On Tuesday, Kabir took the day off work, and we had a wonderful family day together.  We read Valerie books that we had read to Evie.  We reminisced about her birth- the trauma, and the joy, and the fear, and everything that came that day.  Kabir played much piano- especially the songs he used to record and play for Evie while she fought in the hospital.  Before bed, Valerie talked about visiting Evie.  Valerie said, "I just wish I could hug her one more time!"  Me too, Pookie, me too.

And now, to lighten our moods a little, here are some photos!

35 Weeks Big!  Between now and birth, his brain will grow by another third compared to it's size now.  Trying to be patient. . . I am 1cm dilated already, but it's probably still weeks away.

Valerie plays preggy.  Actually, I showed her a tasteful video online of a live, un-medicated birth.  Now she grunts and pretends she is having a baby in the corner- too funny!

31 weeks 6 days

Today is the day that our Rainbow turns 31 weeks and 6 days old inside the womb- the exact age Evie was when she was born. (http://www.feetuponground.blogspot.com/2013/04/stars-align.html)  Crazy to think it has not even been a year since that fateful day we met Evie.  Also crazy to think that it has been so long now since she was born and since she died. 

I feel relieved and awed by our Rainbow.  He moves more than Evie ever did.  I think about how tiny Evie was at 3.5 lbs., and how amazing her tiny body was despite being so sick.  Our Rainbow must be about that size now too, and would probably live if he were born today.  If Evie hadn't been so sick, she would have survived being born that early too. Of course, she wouldn't have been thrust into the open world so soon if it weren't for CMV and the urgent need to get her out and try to help her body heal.

A 31 week baby- lots more growing to do! 

Still needs much brain development, lung development, and lots more weight.

I remember those first few days at the hospital while recovering from my C-section.  Strange to think about being happy, even in the face of all that trauma.  I remember Valerie June coming to visit, lying together in my bed, and watching a movie while we snuggled.  I remember really enjoying the food and the attention of all the young nurses who cared for me.  I remember the way my mom and dad took care of me like a little girl again- massaging my feet, brushing my hair, attending to everything I couldn't take care of myself. 

In a weird way, I was happy to see Evie the next morning in the NICU, even if I felt a little detached from her.  It is a wonderful feeling to give birth- no matter the circumstance, I think.  I wonder if I would have still felt some happiness even if Evie had been stillborn.  She was a tiny miracle that grew from my body, perfect in her own way.

I saw this video today, and it made me think about beautiful Evie. It is a photographer who volunteers to do NICU photo shoots.  (Click on the link below the photo to see the little clip.)

http://vimeo.com/58859293#at=0

Updates on Our Rainbow

First off, as many now know, he is a boy!  What I haven't made quite as public is the difficulty of that day in November when we found out he was a boy. . .  

During that ultrasound I asked lots of questions about our baby's apparent health- "What was the fluid level?  How was the bowel?  What about the heart, the lungs?  And the brain?  Do you see any soft markers for anything abnormal?" Everything looked perfect.  When the technician asked if we wanted to know the gender, I looked carefully at the screen and determined for myself- boy.  All along I had been so certain he was a little she, so I was pretty shocked and speechless for a few hours after that.  Later, at home, I started to cry and cry and cry.  Kabir stayed home from work and tried to comfort me: "I am a boy," he said, "and we're not so bad!  Really!"  I chuckled through my sniffles and tried to figure out why I was so sad; Our little guy was healthy after all. . . Then I realized that some deep part of me had been hoping and thinking this was going to be baby Evie again- another chance with her.  By seeing he was a boy, I was forced to confront the reality that this is a new and different baby.  It's a little hard to face that fact, and it might be hard forever.  At the same time, I am overjoyed at the thought of having a son.  I think about all the men in my life that I love and admire.  I am so honored to be the mother of a little man myself!

Peek-a-boo! I am a boy!

In other news- I do not have gestational diabetes!  Woohoo!  I failed my 1hr glucose test (barely), but then I passed my 3hr test last week.  I was sure I had it because I have been feeling fatigued and my heart rate really spikes when I eat too much sugar. . . but no diabetes.  Still, I am eating less carbs and exercising much more just in case.

Loving car-themed gifts from Nona and handmade hat/booties bought by Ita in Chile.

Peas and Carrots hand-me-down from big sister.

 

Gummy-bear boy, 12 weeks old.  A long time ago now!



Grief's Denial and Acceptance

Analytical Frenzy

This week in my microbiology class we delved into the intricacies of antibodies, vaccines, and latent viral infections.  My brain went crazy with the flood of new knowledge related to CMV. . . Since there were only three of us in class on this snowy day, I got the chance to ask many of the questions that have been circling my brain . . .

Why isn't there a vaccine for CMV but we have one for chicken pox (which is related)?
Could I have directly given Evie my serum (and CMV antibodies) to help her fight the infection?
Why do certain viruses like chicken pox and CMV stay latent in you forever?
What are the chances they'll start replicating again and causing symptoms?
Why do some viruses cross the placenta while others don't?
Why do some viruses cross the blood-brain barrier while others don't?
Do antibodies cross the placenta?  If yes, do all of them or just some of them? Why?
How do fetus immune cells "learn" what is self and what is invader?  How can we help educate those cells?
Besides vaccines and immunoglobin, how can doctors support antiviral immune function in neonates?

There were even more questions than that. . . it was a firestorm of questions.  My poor professor gave me a lot of "I don't know." She also gave me a lot of, "That is a very active field of research right now."  I was left stressed and worried, wishing I had known enough to ask some of those questions when Evie was alive.  I was also left with traumatic flashbacks of conversations with doctors.  In fact, this analytical firestorm brought back many of the terrible heartbreaking moments of our time in the NICU- I was always trying to understand exactly what was happening inside her body.  But understanding and being able to DO something were very far separated from each other.

Intellectual Rebellion

I came home and thought about my need to understand the very complicated ins and outs of Evie's infection.  Why?  Why can't I leave it alone and accept that what happened just happened? It was out of my control! 

I have read all about the "stages of grief" and found them to be an annoying bunch of lies that minimize the true experience of grief.  But today I thought- aha!  My "denial stage" is manifesting as intellectual rebellion.  I am trying to find scientific reasons why the terrible thing that happened is impossible.  And on the other hand, if I can learn to explain precisely how it happened, then maybe I can accept that it did happen.  Taking microbiology (and interrogating my professor) are my ways of coming to accept Evie's death.

Rainbows

A Rainbow Baby is a baby you have after experiencing the loss of a baby.  Rainbows come after storms carrying happiness and light. . .  At the same time, they don't negate the storm.  They remind you of the dark that came before.

We have a rainbow coming in April.  We were taking precautions (or so we thought!) but I ended up missing my period at the end of July.  I knew instantly I was pregnant, even after 3 negative pregnancy tests.  Sure enough, a blood test came back positive in mid-August.  It was very much a surprise, because we had decided to wait a while for emotional and physical reasons: My OB said it's good to wait about a year before trying so that the C-section can completely heal.  I was also feeling very raw still about Evie, finding it difficult to imagine how to love another baby after everything we've been through. 

Truthfully, it was a shock- and very scary- at first.  Of course we were planning to try for another baby at some point, but this was way too soon.  Kabir was distressed and worried about my health and the new baby's health.  Meanwhile, I felt very deep guilt about somehow "replacing" Evie.  I still worry that we are being too hasty.  I worry that we are not honoring Evie's life and her spirit by adding another family member so soon.  I have felt ashamed and kept the news pretty quiet.  Normally I'd probably blurt this kindof thing out the second I knew about it, but guilt, shame, and fear have kept me from sharing about our little rainbow until now.

A few months have gone by since we got the news, and we are slowly adjusting to the idea that this is really happening.  I know my close family and friends are happy for us, and we are mostly happy now too.  But being pregnant is not the healing gift it might seem.  I struggle daily with all kinds mixed emotions about everything our family is going through.  I think often about Evie and her short, hard life and wish she could be here and be healthy.

Physically, I am feeling very well, although my OB has been following things very closely.  Fortunately, CMV is like chicken pox- once you have had it, your body has built up defenses and it is not going to kick back up and affect future pregnancies.  I am still of course on edge from time to time about any possible complication.  I felt our new baby move for the first time about a week ago, and I felt a GIGANTIC sense of relief. 

I have already put on quite a bit of weight and my belly is pretty big already.  New friends at school have started asking me whether we have a little one coming.  I can't really hide it anymore- so here we go- the news is out!  If you see me out and about, you won't have to wonder.  Yes.  We have a tiny rainbow on the way...

Valerie June: A Silly Willy

Valerie is about to turn three.  She is a little munchkin with a sneaky twinkle in her eye! I get to stay home with her three days a week.  We do all kinds of fun things together, like walk to the park, go swimming, dig in the sandbox, etc.  Recently, she started dance lessons at the rec.  It is really fun and new!

Valerie speaks her mind no matter what.  ("Mommy, that is a big no no.  And you might need to go to time out if you do that!" -referring to me trying to put on her pajamas.)  Valerie loves attention, and she is very active!  Her favorite game right now is to tie a shoe lace to her scooter and pretend it is her dog.  She takes the scooter-dog for walks every day and feeds him too.  She also likes playing with her little toy school bus and taking her toy people around the house in there.  Enjoy these photos of my little sidekick:

Hours upon hours in the new sandbox Kabir built.

Baking cookies on a rainy day.

"Dad, I am focusing on this right now, so don't distract me ok?" (This is seriously what she said.)

Spoon lick.

Shy?

Proud!

Happy!

3 Months Now

I am back at school full swing, which is fun and challenging!  My favorite class is microbiology, since we get to learn about all manner of infectious diseases and we get to use microscopes every day (read: nerdtastic!)  We each have to present one disease to the class, and I requested to present CMV.  I explained to the professor that my baby died of that disease, but then I regretted telling her so much personal information.  It's a strange thing to tell people "my baby died." . . It is an overwhelming aspect of my identity, but it is also extremely personal and sometimes makes other people feel awkward.  I think it is something I will try to keep to myself a little better from now on.

Kabir, Valerie, and I are adapting to the new challenges of such a busy schedule.  Sundays are our essential "family day" when we all get to be together for an extended period of time.  We go to the pool or play at the park, or simply hang out lazily around the house.  Sometimes we get sucked into house projects like painting or landscaping, but usually our Sundays are pretty relaxed.  Valerie turns 3 next weekend, and she is getting really excited about having a birthday party!

It's hard to believe that it has been 3 months since Evie died.  She would be 6 months old on September 18th.  Sometimes I think about what we might be doing together right now- snuggling, nursing, laughing, playing.  Evie might be sitting up and giggling and gurgling by now.  Maybe tasting her first carrots.  I miss her and often I dream about her- that we are together like nothing ever happened and she had been born just fine.

One thing I am grateful for that Evie taught me all about is the ability to reach new depths of emotion that I hadn't before.  For example, I now cry almost every time I listen to the news. . . World events are incredibly appalling.  I feel such deep empathy for those who experience loss.  On the surface, it might be annoying to break down and feel so saddened for an hour or two after hearing the news.  But when I sit and let myself feel pain, I realize that this depth of emotion and depth of empathy are really beautiful human things.  Basically, I feel more human than I did before losing Evie, and I think that is good.

Two sleepy-Sunday-monkeys

Faux mustache

Very nerdie selfie of me in my new scrubs for CNA class.

Nursing

Every time I sit down to type these days, I invariably end up writing about my sadness and pain. . . but today I am determined to share something other than depression!  In truth, there are some things going on that bring me full joy in spite of all the heartache.  The biggest joy is the prospect of becoming a nurse! I have now enrolled in prerequisites at Front Range for the fall; plus I will take a nurse aide course.  In the spring, I'll get a job as a CNA while I apply to Regis and CU.

Some friends and family have expressed concern about this dramatic move so soon after losing Evie.  I am grateful for those who challenge me to think deeply about it.  Here are some questions posed to me and some thoughts I have in response:

Aren't your emotions too raw to make such a life-changing decision as switching careers?
Yes and no.  I realize that this goal of nursing might be a way of filling the void in my heart.  I also realize that I am lost and unsure of my identity.  I am sometimes unstable, prone to tears at random times, and distracted.  These emotions are the exact reason I set this goal for myself!  One thing I know about me is that I thrive on intellectual challenge and I love learning something new.  I don't do well sitting at home and contemplating myself and my emotions. . . I want to get out and do something.  I want to reinvent myself.

You absolutely love teaching right?  Why leave that behind?
What I love most about teaching is serving disadvantaged kids- boosting them toward success and valuing them as individuals.  I view nursing in a similar light.  I still have much to learn about the career options out there once I graduate, but I know I will find something that fulfills me to the core.  I will have a chance to value & help disadvantaged individuals.  Perhaps I can even go into public health- something like planned parenthood or another clinic that serves people who might otherwise not have access to healthcare.  After spending so much time with the doctors and nurses in the NICU, I am enthralled by the human body, and I can't wait to learn more.  I love the idea of providing physical and emotional care.

What about having another baby?
It hasn't been long since Evie died, but I would be lying if I said I didn't desperately want a baby again.  It is a tangled bundle of desires: Do I want a baby or do I want my Evie?  Are we ready for all the apprehension of being pregnant again?  Is my "biological clock" ticking?  What if the pregnancy goes badly again?  What if we don't even get pregnant?  . . . If I had to pick between having a baby and going back to school, I would pick having a baby.  Definitely.  But the anxiety surrounding getting pregnant threatens to overtake me!  So I am going to do this nursing thing, and maybe we'll get pregnant too.  If that happens, we'll reassess.

As I type all this out, I am sitting here feeling flooded with love for Kabir, who stands beside me through my crazy impulsiveness and loves me and holds me up no matter what.  This man is a gem.

Dichotomy

Yesterday I was sitting in a cafe watching a mommy cradle her tiny baby.  She was smiling and holding him close, rocking him gently.  I felt my usual sadness and longing.  I could not look away.

Then I heard a loud sound, a guttural cry.  I looked to the very next table and saw two parents with their older child.  She had a helmet on, and she was nonverbal- crying out and banging her hand on the table. She rocked from side to side and her mommy was rubbing her back.  It's hard to explain the way I felt after noticing this other child.  Was it relief that I am not faced with that challenge? Yikes.  Then it was guilt.  As I sat and reflected, I became interested that I was faced with those two pictures of life back to back.  My grief moved and shifted inside me a little bit.

Then Valerie broke my meditation.  "I'm all done with my chocolate milk!"
"Ok pumpkin," I said, returning to the life at hand.  We stood up and left the cafe.

Tricky Things

Seedlings
It was so heart-wrenching to watch my garden sprout and grow while my baby didn't have that chance.  Why do they get to start small and make wonderful progress day by day?  How is that fair?  I pour my love into those veggies, but it hurts.

Pregnant Women and My Empty Body
I cannot look away from all the glowing and beautiful pregnant women I spot out and about. . .  My longing is so very deep. Meanwhile at home I look at my tiny, empty breasts and my still-poochy abdomen in the mirror and feel disgusted by the failure that is my body.

Certain Places
The mall, the library, and the park are places with a very high concentration of newborns.  I notice them and mostly look away.  Sometimes I feel like I don't belong in those places and shouldn't even go.  I wonder where I might belong now?  I tried going to visit the NICU, since that was practically my home for so long.  People were very happy to see me and hugged me, but I felt physically sick.  I could barely even look at them. I wanted to go to Evie's room so badly, just to make sure she was really gone, but there was another baby in there, and I decided it would be weird to ask.

Sometimes I just cannot escape feeling really dark and awful.  It helps to close my eyes and fantasize about the woods or a meadow or a rocky shore.  If I am feeling really, really bad, I imagine the wind howling and pushing on me, my hair whipping and my arms spread wide.  Or I imagine salty waves crashing on me and knocking me under the sea, where I tumble on the sandy bottom. 

A Gift, A Release

In my eulogy I described Evie’s death as beautiful, and I know it sounds strange, but I stand by those words. I know these things I write are intense and personal and maybe hard to read, but I share because I want my loved ones (you) to know that these things are okay and we can actually survive them!  Maybe I am talking myself through it too?  Anyway, today I wanted to write about the death of our baby because I understand that death is a thread that connects and enriches our human experience.  The death of a baby seems so shocking and horrific, but actually it wasn’t that way for us.  I don’t really know what I believe happens when we die, but I know that death was a gift, a release for Evie.  
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When the time came to remove Evie's life support, Kabir and I felt very ready.  We had solidified our decision at the care conference with ten of Evie’s doctors, and we knew for certain that Evie was going to die no matter what.  By ending her life support, we would have the opportunity to make her death peaceful and be there for her. Leading up to Evie’s death, Kabir and I had spent a week doing beautiful and difficult things that felt right for us (These Last Days).

That day we learned what we could about the process of dying.  (I was in a logical mindset, not an emotional one yet.) I asked some key questions: Would she gasp for air once off the ventilator? Yes.  Would she turn blue? Yes.  Could she end up living a long time off life support? No, maybe an hour at most.  Would she cry or fight it? No- she would be medicated and she was very weak. Would she suffer? No- she would be medicated. (In my mind I thought- how in the hell can you know if she’ll suffer?  Have you ever died?! I had to let go of that fear. . .) We learned that the doctor would remove all life support, and I would be allowed to hold Evie while she died.  We would be left alone with her for as long as it took, and we could call in the doctor when we felt ready to have him check on her.  We could spend as much time as we needed with her body once she passed away.  (Some parents even spend the night with their dead baby- sleeping with her, snuggling her, etc.  It might sound sad and morbid- but I could truly understand why you might need that.)  Knowing these facts and the “plan” was helpful for us.  Throughout that day, Evie had actually shown signs that she was in fact dying already- her oxygen needs had gone up and up all day, and she was very sluggish and still.  I kept trying to find her behind her eyes, to catch her soul there, but she was far off.  We realized Evie was ready, and so we made ready too.

At 3pm, we signaled the nurses that the time had come.  One nurse disconnected the IV, and placed sweet Evie in my arms.  A doctor came in and removed the breathing tube.  At first, Evie cried a raspy cry and I called out desperately, “She hurts!! Help!!”  I was terrified.  A nurse was ready with a dose of morphine and Evie relaxed.  The three of us were left alone.

Tears quietly fell as I held Evie and rocked her and reassured her. . . “It is okay now sweet baby.  It is okay to let go. . .” Evie closed her eyes and took labored breaths.  It was so sad to see the way her lips formed a tiny ‘o’ as if she was still trying to breath through a straw. . . Poor, sweet little one!  But soon her breaths became more relaxed and fewer and further between. Kabir put his hand on my shoulder and we cried as we watched her.  I did not take my eyes off her face.  Again I whispered to her, “Precious one, it is okay now to stop and rest.  It is okay. . . shhhh. . ."  Slowly, she stopped breathing.  Moments later her body went completely limp and her face became smooth and soft.  She died.

Angelic Evie- Beautiful Release

Peaceful Sweet Child

It was in that instant that Kabir and I realized the extent of Evie’s suffering.  We realized that Valerie had always looked this peaceful when she slept, and that Evie had never once looked this peaceful.   We were grateful that the suffering was done for her.  We were also overwhelmed with love for her, and a deep sense of peace within ourselves . . .We kissed Evie, held her close, and whispered soft loving words to her (and to each other.) We carefully undressed her and washed her with a soft, wet cloth.  We put lotion on her and dressed her in a beautiful pink onesie I had bought for this day.  We took some photos so we could remember her peaceful face and remember how she really looked without a breathing tube.  We cried and hugged and loved and cried.  I don’t know how much time went by, but we knew when we were ready to leave.  We quietly left the room and went home to be together with Valerie too.

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People have warned me that a part of me will always regret this decision.  They tell me I’ll probably wonder whether it would have been better to wait and see what would happen.  But right now I have no regrets and no guilt about letting Evie die.  (I have regret and guilt about other things, but not about that.) I only feel relieved and thankful for the way things happened that day.