My arm has been chopped off

Before we had Eli, I had 4 months to anticipate his life and his death. I thought I was very prepared. I wondered how it would affect me emotionally. I didn't think of much else for 4 months.  I thought i might be relatively okay after he died because of my lengthy anticipation. I knew it was coming, I didn't know the exact details...but I knew. I had several people say to me: " You never know..." I understood what they meant, and they were well intentioned, but I did know. It wasn't because of his diagnosis either. I had processed that he wouldn't be coming home. I had processed that he wouldn't need a bedroom or a dresser full of clothes. I knew I would never breast feed him. Even if he did live, he would need a feeding tube. I knew he probably wouldn't be here for Thanksgiving and Christmas. I knew all of this.  But now that he doesn't have a bedroom and a dresser full of clothes, I am starting all over with my grieving.  I guess the first round was "anticipatory grief" and this is the real thing.  

And now for a gruesome, but highly appropriate metaphor about my arm getting chopped off. When your child dies it feel like your arm gets chopped off.  It is gone suddenly and unnaturally.  It isn't your favorite scarf  or you lucky penny.  It is part of your body.  A part of your body that can never be replaced.  I felt like the time prior to having Eli, I knew my arm was going to be gone.  I anticipated it and really grieved for my impending future.  I don't think most people were aware of the level of my grief prior to him dying.  It was so painful to live each day with him inside of me, knowing that he wouldn't live.  I loved him more and more as time went on and knew the separation would be brutal for my motherly heart.

But somehow when you get your arm chopped off, it feels different than the anticipation of you arm getting chopped off. You can IMAGINE how painful it will be, but you can't feel it until it happens. You might even practice doing things with one arm behind your back...just so you will be ready.
 I tried to imagine how bad it would be. I didn't do this to make myself miserable...it's just what you do when you arm is in the chopping block.

It has been much, much worse than I imagined it would be. It has been different than I thought it would be. It has been paralyzing in many ways. I thought that the holidays would be good for me. It might bring me some joy and distraction and get me through the first weeks. The funny thing it that when your arm feels like it is gushing blood, it is really hard to distract yourself. I am a big fan of of distraction. It is a highly effective parenting tool. I think it works in adults too. I have used it many times to get through something difficult. But, right now, I can't seem to be distracted. My feelings are consuming. I think as time goes on, I will have the ability to do other things.  I won't be so consumed.  But, today, I have a gaping wound that hasn't stopped bleeding, so every little thing that brushes up against it is almost more than I can take.  I feel very emotionally frail.  I feel like the tiniest little things will send me into a tailspin. I feel weak and powerless.  I feel like I want to find my arm and reattach it so these feelings can go away. But, my arm is gone...part of me is gone and I don't feel like myself.  I know that I will find my new self. I know I will have to learn to live with part of me gone.  

Here is another interesting thing about getting your arm chopped off.  Sometimes people avoid the subject of your arm being gone because they don't want to make it worse.  They are worried if they say something about my arm, I will remember it is gone.  Like, the gushing wound isn't reminder enough. So, they look the other way and pretend they don't see it. I don't know if I am the authority for all parents who have lost a child, but I can't imagine that anyone would be MORE sad if you bring up their child and your recent loss. I know I feel better when I hear his name;  Especially out of someone else's mouth. It makes me feel like they love Eli and the mother that mourns for him.

If you really did lose your arm, you wouldn't get another one.  Not in this life anyways.  It is gone for good.  At some point, I think you can look at your other limbs and be grateful for them, but right after you lose your arm, you are only focused on that loss.  It hurts so bad and you have to relearn how to live again. I feel that way with Eli.  He was one of my arms. I have other kids.  I love them, but they don't take the place of him. They never will; just as he would never take the place of one of my other kids.  I didn't realize that losing Eli would feel so much like losing a child.  I thought it would be okay because he was "just a baby" and we didn't spend a lot of time with him.  I think it will be less painful in some ways, but more painful in other ways because he was a baby. I don't think I would have considered the "loss of a baby" and the "loss of a child" synonymous before this, but I do feel like that.  If you were to look at your own kids, which one would you be okay putting in a casket. Of course, the answer is none of them.  They all fill a special place in your heart and your family and your life wouldn't be the same without them.  You can't have "another baby" to replace the one you lost. I never thought you could, but I understand that now.  A few people have asked us this question and we are not ready to answer that to ourselves or anyone else.... BUT it really is a separate and distinct thing from Eli. He can't be replaced and we would never have another baby in effort to fill that void.  Remember that you only get your arm back in the resurrection.  

Here's another counter intuitive thing I have learned during this process.  I have been approached by people that announce they are not going to cry around me. They feel the need to be stoic... I think they are trying to do it for my sake.  I actually like when people show their emotion around me. It makes me feel like this situation and his life warrants emotion.  It makes me feel like Eli mattered. It won't increase my sadness...it will make me grateful that someone else feels sorrow or pain about the fact that we are separated.  It is sad to be separated from someone you love.  It is sad when someone you love is in pain.  Its okay to cry about it.

15 minutes

When Eli was 15 minutes old, I was able to hold him for the first time.  I had a lot of emotions.  I had so much love for him.  I wanted to be as close to him as possible. I felt like I had waited and waited for this moment.  I wanted to see his face.  But mostly, it just felt natural.  It felt like he was supposed to be in my arms.  I never wanted to let him go, but I knew that I would have to very soon.

 Each of our kids was able to hold him.  He still hadn't taken a breath on his own so they were breathing for him throughout this experience. We truly thought it would be the first and last time they held him.  Lincoln didn't want to hold him.  He was a little too nervous. My favorite picture... maybe of all the pictures we got that day, was the one of Ethan holding Eli.  Look at his very innocent and peaceful, yet confident face.  He didn't see the mask on his face.  He saw his brother.  It was a reunion for them.  I have always sensed that Eli and Ethan have a special bond. I didn't have an "experience" to help me understand this... I just know.  I think that is why I love this picture of them so much.  I was worried the kids would be worried because of the mask over Eli's face.  You can see my worry in the picture, but Ethan didn't even see it.  He only saw his brother.  

post baby body

I have had a different experience with my "post baby body" than most people.  My recovery after I delivered Eli was incredibly quick and easy.  I don' think I realized how sick I felt during my pregnancy until it was over.  I felt like a million bucks the day after I had him.  Even when my milk came in... and all the interesting pain that comes with that.... I felt way, WAY better than I had while I was pregnant. I hardly felt any pain and my body shrunk down a lot faster than is usual for me.  I was surprised by this.  I thought I would feel guilty about feeling good again. I haven't, but I am sad.  Sad how fast everything seemed to heal and feel better.  Feeling like I had just had a baby made me feel connected to Eli. The post baby body was proof that I did, indeed, have a child.  Usually you have your child to validate this.  I don't have that right now.  So, I felt like my body was a way to connect with the idea that I was still his mother and he was my child.  It is such an interesting irony that things have gone back so quickly.  People have asked me how I feel, and I just stare at them until I realize that they are asking about my recovery.  I feel like my recovery only lasted 45 seconds.  

The whole time I was pregnant with Eli my heart would pound so hard.  I felt like it was incredibly stressful on my body to sustain his life and this pregnancy.  It made it hard to sleep at times.  My body felt so taxed.  The night we came home from the hospital, I laid down and didn't feel my heart beating anymore.  I know it still was, but it was soft and quiet now. No reminder of what had happened.  My blood pressure was normal just an hour after I delivered him even though it had been elevated for several weeks while he was inside me.  I couldn't believe how quickly my body wanted to get back to normal.  I resisted it. Most people want their body back right away after they have a baby.  I think its a little overrated and unreasonable to think that creating something that takes 9 months, will  return to normal in 9 days.  It felt like that this time.  I look at myself in the mirror and wonder where he went.  It was too quick.  My pregnancy body left almost as quickly as he did... making me feel like it never happened.

I was in a department store last week (which is a whole different story).  I looked up and say a big poster of a woman in some workout clothing. I looked at it and wondered why they had someone like that on a big poster.  I wondered why they didn't have a pregnant woman. It was such a quick, unconscious thought.  I realized that I connected pregnancy with beauty.  I felt beautiful while I was pregnant with Eli.  Not just beautiful on the outside, but a REAL beauty.  It was complete...so much different than an outward, worldly beauty.  I was a creator.  I looked at the poster again and thought what a sad imitation of beauty that the world has tried to make us buy into.  I have never understood or felt beauty that way, until I carried Eli.

The first 14 minutes

Normally, you don't measure you life in minutes or hours.  Eli did.  If you are only here for a few hours, every minute is important.  Eli was here for 291 minutes. If we lived like every minute was important and purposeful, we would function much differently.

Eli was born at 2:04 pm.  They took him over to the little bed and suctioned out his mouth and nose. Jason said there was a lot of blood.  They used an oxygen mask to ventilate Eli.  He hadn't attempted to breath or move at all.  I could see his body from where I was.  His arms were completely limp down at his sides.  I heard the neonatologist, Wyc, say that he had a heartbeat.  I felt so grateful that he had been born alive.  I wasn't worried or stressed that he looked like he was going to die. I felt completely calm and at peace. He hadn't made any attempt to breath after a few minutes and Wyc asked Jason if he wanted him to do chest compressions if his heart stopped.  Jason said that he felt such a weight as he stood there and watched Eli.  Jason held his tiny hand.  He wanted so much for him to breathe.  I hadn't been communicating much with him for the last little bit, and he felt solely responsible to make decisions at this point.  We had already talked through this many times and had determined to not do any resuscitation measures.  We knew they couldn't save his life; merely prolong it, and would cause unnecessary pain to Eli.  We wanted Eli's experience with us to be as sweet and beautiful and as painless as possible.  But, for a second, Jason wondered if we were really doing the right thing.  

When I worked in the NICU, as a nurse, we would talk about this exact type of scenario.  The nurses would discuss what they would do in a similar situation.  I would always say: "I don't think I would resuscitate, but  if it ever came down to it, I would just pray and pray and pray and ask Heavenly Father what to do."  Being a nurse is not the same thing as being a parent. I would never judge a parent for making a different decision than what we made.  Everyone baby has a different mission, and we knew that this is what was right for our situation and our family.

It is one thing to say all of this; it is quite another to see your son laying on a table with no signs of life and not intervene.  It is innate to want to save your child... to do anything necessary to save him.  But, we always knew that this wasn't the right thing for Eli's sojourn on earth.  I will forever be grateful for the quiet strength it took for Jason for gently hold Eli's hand, as I still say in the bed, and tell the doctor that he didn't need to do chest compressions.  We hadn't wanted them to breathe for Eli either, but it was hard to understand what would happen after the delivery.  It was different than anything we had experienced and we thought he would be breathing if he were born alive.  They continued to breathe for him so we could have a little bit of time with Eli.  I was so grateful that the doctors and respiratory therapists knew what to do, because we didn't.  They knew we wanted him to be comfortable and they knew we didn't want him on a ventilator. 

When he was about 5 minutes old, they held him up, so I could see his whole body.  He still looked completely limp, but he was beautiful. They quickly put him back down and began breathing for him again. After about 10 minutes, nothing had changed.  We still hadn't seen him move or take a breath on his own. I was much more aware of what was going on at this point. I said Jason's name. I wanted him to look at me and tell me what was happening.  I knew what was happening because I could see him, but I needed someone to look at me and tell me.  I didn't want the doctor or nurse or anyone to tell me.  I wanted Jason to.  He turned around and looked at me and just shook his head.  He couldn't bear to say anything. I didn't break down and start to cry.  I felt calm and truly at peace if Eli died.  There were angels there sustaining me.  I didn't see them, but I am sure of this.

We hurried to have the kids come in at that point..  We wanted them to see him alive.  They could sense the seriousness of the situation, but were also childlike in their anticipation to see their little brother.  We had talked about this so many times and the time had finally come. I saw the little black bag they brought filled with the books, shoes, etc.  My heart sank a little as I thought we wouldn't be able to do those things with Eli. 

Is honesty really the best policy?

People have thanked me for being brave enough to tell the story I have been telling. It hasn't been hard so far... Mostly just a relief to put the words on paper. It is cathartic. It's starting to get scary and I feel like I could graceful bow out and no one would think twice. I did just bury my child and the ground around him and my heart is frozen now. I think maybe it would be better to wait until the spring comes to talk about the bitterness of winter. It is much scarier to talk about this while it is happening because I don't know how it will end. I don't know the twists and turns ahead... It isn't a book with fictitious characters... It isn't a documentary on Netflix... It is live coverage. 

I keep thinking... Do you want to know the real story? I'll tell you the real story...

And then the real story gets harder and deeper and darker... And I think... 

Do you REALLY want to know the real story? I'll tell you the real story... and then it gets even harder and deeper and darker...it gets deeper and darker than I could have imagined... And I have a good imagination...

I think I should never tell anyone, but then I feel a little better for a minute and I do. 

Maybe you don't want to know... Maybe I don't want to know.... But I already know... Maybe I don't want to say because it will scare you... Maybe I don't want to say it because it will scare me.

I have to wonder if this is really brave or is it just stupid?  There is a fine line...I have much more to say about this, but I'll save that for another time.

When you watch a movie there is usually a sad or depressing part about three quarters of the way through the movie. They create a music montage of unhappy songs and show a poor unfortunate soul doing things like standing at a grave where everyone is dressed in black; if they want to make it really good they will make sure it is raining and everyone is holding a black umbrella.  Sometimes you see someone drinking a mind numbing beverage while sitting against the side of a bed in a darkened room. They might show someone crying or having an angry emotional outburst, and then finally succumbing to the pain and just sobbing against someone's chest. You might see someone running in the rain.  Whatever you see, it will always be dark and dismal.  But, this only lasts for about 3 minutes.  As a movie goer, we would hate it if it went on longer than this.  We watch it just long enough to know they are really upset about something, but not long enough to upset us.  And then we see the sun come out and people magically transform into happy creatures.  In real life, this phase goes on for a lot longer than 3 minutes and the transformation isn't magical; it's a miracle.

This morning I talked with Jason about being a "real person."  We tried to decide if anyone wants to hear about a fake life.  Does anyone REALLY want that?  We decided that the answer was no. People like to TELL about their fake lives...or post things about, but it doesn't seem like anyone likes to HEAR about this.

We all want to see faith triumph over fear.  We all want to see darkness give way to light. We all want to see peace replace pain. We all want this because it makes us think it is possible for us too.  And the deeper the sorrow the more glorious the ascent.

So, when I think about what to write I wonder how real I should get.  Do you really want to know what it happening to me after what I have gone through.  Somehow, I think that is the more important story.  Is the sun going to come out again after my 3 minute montage of grief? My prediction is yes, but it's not going to be as simple as the movies make it seem, and the darkness may go on for longer than anyone would want to watch on the big screen... but that's why it will be beautiful.

labor... the flip side

I feel like I have to clarify or add to some of my labor story. I read it and think it just sounds terribly hard and awful... but it wasn't that way.  It was incredibly painful, in a way I have never experienced, but there is so much more to it than that.

For the weeks and months before we delivered Eli, I would think about the labor experience a lot.  I would try to imagine what it would be like.  I tried to think of what I would want.  I did want to be able to move after he was born.  I did want to have the full experience. I did want to feel the pain.  There was something inside me telling me that there was something to be learned and treasured about the experience, and that I had to fully submit myself to it to have it happen.  It felt like a spiritual pull telling me what to do.  I think it sounded insane to Jason.  I think he wondered why I would make this harder on myself than it already was.  He reasoned that if Eli were only going to be with us for a short time, I should save my energy to be with him and not use it up on the pain of labor. I didn't disagree with his logic, but somewhere deep inside of me I knew that the experience I really wanted wouldn't come if I didn't give everything I had in a physical, emotional and spiritual sense.  I wasn't afraid anymore.  I think knowing that someone you love is going to die can have that effect on you.  The "worst" thing you can imagine has been handed to you, and now the experience is all you have left.  There is a deadline and you have to leave it all on the field, so to speak.  You won't get another chance.  And I was ready for it.  God prepared me.  I look at that situation now...now that I am on the other side of the love...experiencing the pain, and it looks crazy to do something so openly and completely.  But I am also so grateful that God prepared my heart to sacrifice in a way I had never experienced.

I thought I would be awake all night with moderate contractions.  I thought the contractions would get really bad in the morning and they would be almost unbearable for and hour or so.  I kept the idea of getting the IV drug, Fentanyl,  if things became unbearable.  The Fentanyl would give me a break from the pain just long enough to rest, regroup and go forward.  I thought that the actual delivery would be painful, but also amazing to feel.  I felt like God had directed me in my thoughts and felt sure this plan would work.  I told Jason that I was open minded, but I really liked the plan I had.  I felt like because I wanted and felt right about doing the labor this way, God would surely help me make it happen.  He would give me just a little more than I could bear, but He would be there and I would miraculously come through it with His help.

Imagine my frustration when the pain became more than "just a little more than I could bear."  As I put my head down and closed my eyes, I felt my hair surrounding my face. For some reason, it made me feel safe and sheltered.  I was able to anticipate the coming pain and take 5 or 6 long and deep breaths to get through the contractions.  If the contractions were longer than a minute I would struggle, but find a way to mentally bear up under the weight and continue forward.  This went on for quite some time.  I felt strong.  I felt I could do this. I thought about Jesus Christ had physically felt everything I was feeling, and knew that he had experienced much, much worse.  I was actually grateful in some way to feel the intensity of the pain I was feeling. I felt I could be strong and bear this.  It felt beautiful to do so. But then the contractions took on a life of their own, causing pain in my whole body and leaving me unable to do anything but submit to the awful surge that came with each contraction.  My mental resolve slowly dissipated, and I felt my mind and body break down and become slave to the excruciating pain.  I wondered why this was happening so differently than I had hoped.  When my nurse checked me and I was only a 4, I was in disbelief.  I felt defeated. How could I be almost writhing around in pain on the bed while my body seemed to stand still and hold that little baby inside?  Why was there no progress? I remember grabbing the bed hoping that it would somehow absorb my pain. I think I may have mentally been able to go a little farther if I had some proof that the pain was doing something.  But the pain seemed virtually useless and uncontrolled.  I finally conceded to the pain medication that I had thought would be my back up if things really fell apart. I remember as she pushed it in my IV. It seemed to take many, many minutes for her to do so.  Every pain was so exaggerated by now and I sorely needed rescuing.  When the medication exacerbated my weakened state and did nothing for the pain, I felt completely out of control.  I wondered why this was happening. I wasn't  mad; just bewildered.  They finally did give me the epidural for the last 45 minutes or so of labor.  Even with that, the pain was almost unbearable.

I realized later that I had done everything I could have.  I had given all I had.  I had given much, much more than I thought was possible... I felt on the verge of something very scary... I wasn't scared I would die, but I wondered what would happen if I let the pain ravage me in this way.

I realized that no matter how much we give to Heavenly Father, it will never be enough. It won't even be close.  We will feel so far away from where we need to be after we have given everything we have to Him.  We will see that the gap is so big that we need someone to rescue us and save us from destruction.  He will come.  He won't make the pain disappear.  He won't make our sorrow flee away immediately.  He is capable of doing that, but he won't until he helps us become what he wants us to become.  He will ALLOW us to give everything so that our sacrifice will be enough for him to sanctify and redeem us.

I know that I have never given so much physically, emotionally and spiritually as I did while I was pregnant with Eli.  It culminated during my labor, but it was ongoing through the several months I had him inside me.  I wouldn't have felt worthy to be his mother if I hadn't done that.  I felt like my offering to God was sufficient. I wouldn't have felt like it was enough for this noble spirit  unless I did that.  God allowed me to feel what that felt like to give all that we have power to... and maybe a little more than I thought possible.  Through the sacrifices I made, I was able to feel a love for Eli that I never could have otherwise experienced.

I think people think I am sad or sorry about my labor experience.  Some people probably felt bad that I had to go through that because my pregnancy was already so hard.  But, I am not in the least bit sorry. I learned things I could have never otherwise known. My heart knows these things...not just my head.  I would do it all again.

awake

A few weeks before we had Eli, a very dear friend sent me the link to a newer Josh Groban song.  I waited a few days to listen to it.  I was a little nervous it would stir up some intense emotions as other Josh Groban songs have done to me in the past.  I finally sat down and listened to it.  I thought maybe it had been written for me and Eli.  It felt like it had.  I cried and cried as I listened to it.  I wanted to hang onto every second with him while he was inside me.  I anticipated his arrival very soon and anticipated that the meeting would be very short.  I had always felt this...  I wanted to be as "awake" as I could be during this time with him.  I wanted to soak up every second feeling him and loving him and memorizing every little part of him.  I knew it would never be long enough, but I hoped I could be present, completely and fully, while he was with us.  God blessed me with that.  I think you will understand why I cried after you hear the song.

Awake

My friends name is April.  She, also, had to say a temporary goodbye to a very precious boy.  She has been an inspiration and source of strength to me.  I have to wonder why her parents named her April.  April must be one of the most enlivening and beautiful months of the year.  Spring gives us a sense of optimism and hope.  She certainly personifies these qualities as much as anyone I have ever met. Parents seem to know something about their kids that the rest of us don't see as early or easily. She came to my door the night before we had Eli, and when I saw her her face, it was as if God had sent one of his most precious angels to my house to strengthen me. I mean that quite literally... she really is an angel sent from God.  I'm so grateful that God left some angels on earth, so the rest of us mortals would be okay.

The most beautiful gift

I have to tell you about a most beautiful gift. I hope I can describe it adequately enough. I am going to tell you about one of our nurses we had in the hospital. Her name is Megan. He shift began at 2pm (just minutes before Eli was born). She was our nurse until we left the hospital that night. She was exceptional. I had prayed that God will allow kind and competent medical professionals to be there with us. I know that God is perfectly capable of planning doctors and nurses schedules around Eli's birthday, and I prayed he would. That may sound arrogant to assume we needed and would get the best people possible, but I wanted Eli's short meeting here to be surrounded with the right people. I knew these moments would change our lives, and I hoped it would change every persons life who met him. I wanted to tell Dr. T how privileged he was because he would be the first person to physically touch Eli.

Megan was much, much more than I could have hoped for. She definitely did a great job caring for my physically needs, but that was not what touched me so much. She approached me as a mother instead of a nurse. She had told me that she had 3 little kids at home. I could tell how much she felt responsible to help take care of my kids as well. She helped me change my gown very discreetly while my kids were there because it had blood on it and she didn't want it to alarm them. She did a few other things (I won't mention what...) like that, to help my kids not see something that might bother or upset them. I would usually be more attentive to things like that, but wasn't in a physical or emotional place to do so.  I heard later how she had been the gatekeeper for our room. She was so careful and respectful of letting people in and out. She was even like that when she came in and out. She treated our room like the sacred place it had become. She kept her distance to allow us the space we wanted as a family, but was very available. I can't imagine that she had other patients. It didn't seem like she did, at least. At one point someone mentioned moving me downstairs to the mother/baby floor and she quickly stepped in and said that I was not going anywhere. After Eli passed away, she was still so kind and helpful. I think so many nurses would have bothered my the situation and would have kept more of a distance. About an hour before we left the hospital she came into our room with a brown bag.  She had bought something for our kids. I could tell she felt uneasy and questioned what she had done. I was overwhelmed with feeling of love for her and her kind act. She bought 3 little stuffed bears; two dressed in blue and one in pink. She had wanted them to be for Katelyn, Ethan, and Lincoln from Eli. I was just stunned with her thoughtfulness. She again questioned what she had done, and told me she wondered if she should have bought 4 bears so Eli would have one too.  I had wanted to do something like this for my kids, but wasn't sure how to with Eli.  My brain just never made it that far.  In my minds eye, I could see her in the gift shop downstairs trying to find something thoughtful and sweet and the spirit whispering to her that this would be perfect.  I imagine she stood there and second guessed herself thinking that I was a complete stranger and this would be awkward or uncomfortable. She may have even worried that the gift wouldn't be well received and she would feel dejected after opening her heart to us.  The act greatly touched me and I told her that I had wanted to do something like this but hadn't.  She had done it for me and I could go home and give those sweet bears to my kids in the morning.

She always used Eli's name.  She knew he was my child....my baby. I loved him and I think she could put herself in my position because she had also had a baby recently.  She didn't try to dissociate herself thinking that I was just some unfortunate person whose baby had just died.  I was a mother... just like her.  I had been pregnant... just like her. I loved my kids...just like her. I had a home and family and now my baby wouldn't be there as I had dreamed...which wasn't at all like her.  He would be in a casket instead of a car seat.  She didn't objectify Eli or the situation.

So let me try to explain what the most beautiful gift was for me.  She opened her heart and her emotions to my grief.  She was not, in any way, required or expected to do this. She could have detached herself from our situation and brushed it aside thinking that it was just a "sad thing for that poor family..." and then gotten on with her life.  I think that working in the medical field can have that affect on people. You just look at them as a patient and not as another human being who has a real life outside the hospital. A real life that involves the emotions and stresses and everyday cares to deal with; and now these real life people have lost their child.  I'm sure when she came to work that afternoon she wasn't planning on that kind of day.  She was probably dreading a long 16 hour shift. She probably hoped that the cafeteria had something edible that day. She was probably planning on telling her coworkers about the fun plans she had for Thanksgiving.  She opened her heart to me when she didn't have to. No one would have blamed her or thought twice if she hadn't.  We would have been perfectly content to have a competent individual who took care of my physical needs and was respectful to us...someone who kept a little distance.  But she jumped into our lives and was visible affected by what was affecting us.

I think this idea has caused me ponder a little. I think it is a brave person who is willing to walk with you on a road of grief or sorrow.  I have wondered why anyone would want to do such a thing.  If you path seems a little easier and there is more sunshine and flowers, why would you purposely submit yourself to walking on a thorny and dark path with someone else?  Why would you want to experience that kind of sorrow if God isn't making you? It's so much easier to sit in our rose garden and pity people who are in a briar patch... it's understandable why you wouldn't go near them because you don't want to rip your clothes or get poked with the thorns.  Its safer to keep your distance and throw a plate of cookies their way. But walking into a thorny situation takes courage.  It leaves you feeling vulnerable, but you are willing to do it because the person in the briar patch is more important to you than the discomfort of going there.

But that's why it is such a beautiful gift.  Because it's a choice.

When someone joins us here, we are feeling the love God.  What did Jesus Christ do for us?  He dove into a situation that He absolutely didn't have to, in order that He could carry our burdens and relieve our pain.  He was already promised everything the Father had.  He had a choice to take His rose garden path and live happy.  But He chose the most painful and thorny path of them all... and He did it for us.  And what happens when we don't even acknowledge that He did?  We we turn our backs on Him and His most beautiful gift for us? I hope that we can accept this beautiful gift...because it is a gift.  It has already been given to us.  He did not have to do it. He did it because he loved us enough to suffer for us so our path could lead back to the Father.  And the thorns we have on our paths are quite insignificant when you think of the path He walked.

Labor-part 2

I started to feel very bleak when Eli stopped moving.  We had been told over and over again that the goal here was a "live birth." I had always felt he would be born alive, but many people that day had said that they hoped we had at least a few minutes with him.  That seemed too short and I started to feel an overwhelming feeling of hopelessness.  

They didn't want to start my pitocin because Dr. T thought that breaking my water would do the trick and he didn't want to do too much too soon.  My contractions stopped completely for about 20 minutes.  I just sat there feeling nothing from Eli and no signs of my body wanting to deliver him. We had a resident come in earlier and ask if he could observe my delivery. He was very nice, but he approached us a family with a baby with trisomy 18.  He didn't want to observe the delivery.  He wanted to observe the baby with trisomy 18 after he was born.  We had a nursing student come in at one point and just kind of stare at us while our nurse (Laurie) took care of us.  I felt like we were the freak show that residents and nursing students want to see and write up.  I don't want to create the wrong idea... almost everyone was so kind and treated us as parents and addressed Eli by his name.  But at this point in my labor, all the other people seemed to overwhelm me.  

I thought about how Ethan had prayed every night for Eli.  He would pray for the same specific parts of his body (hands, feet, brain and heart).  He would pray that they would "work well."  His prayers were so sincere. He wanted this and believed that Heavenly Father would hear him and answer his prayers. He knew that Eli wasn't going to live long, but he really wanted to hold him.  He would pray that we would all be able to hold Eli before he died. As November approached, he started to pray that he would be able to hold Eli for a "long time."  I asked him what he meant by "a long time."    He said he wanted to hold him for 5 minutes. I was relieved to hear that he didn't mean hours and hours.  He also fasted for Eli.  We have never encouraged our kids to fast until they turn 8.  So... Katelyn was the only one that had ever done it and it was quite a feat for her to fast 1 meal.  We always left it up to her and she did it most months.  I think it was purely out of duty, because she is such a rule follower.  When we found out about Eli, we asked Ethan if he wanted to fast for him.  Ethan fasted for him each month from August until November.  His specific reasons for doing this changed a little each time, but he always had an idea of what to pray for without us prompting or telling him.  There was one time when he was fasting and it was only 9:30 or so in the morning.  He was trying to wait until 12:00 to eat but was just STARVING!  I told him the Heavenly Father was so proud of him for the effort he was making, and that it would be fine if he broke his fast a little early.  That day he was fasting that "Eli would live for a long time"...meaning a few hours in Ethan's mind.  In pure innocence, he worried that if he stopped fasting Eli wouldn't live as long.  I thought my heart would melt and break all at the same time.  I told him, emphatically, that he had given Heavenly Father the most perfect offering he could have and Heavenly Father would bless him.  It didn't matter how long he fasted... Heavenly Father was so very proud of him. I don't think I have ever fasted with the faith and purity that Ethan did. The reason I tell you all of this info, is so you can understand how invested this sweet little 7 year old was in this process.  He had such pure, childlike faith.  It was so powerful and humbling to witness, and I wanted desperately for Ethan to feel like his prayers had been answered. I thought about how the kids had a little black bag that they were bringing to the hospital.  It had books and some sweet little shoes in it.  They were ready to do some "activities" with Eli when he was born.  As I thought about Ethan, with the black bag, my heart was sick at the thought that maybe he wouldn't get the chance to do what he had planned.  I care about Katelyn and Lincoln, but it wasn't the same as Ethan.  I couldn't bear the thought of his heart breaking, and him feeling like his prayers hadn't been answered.  I could deal with my heartbreak, but not his.  I wouldn't feel capable of answering his "WHY?" questions.

My contractions started again, but they felt so different now.  Laurie came in around 11:30 and started the pitocin.  My contractions became incredibly intense and didn't seem to let up.  There was one after another without any breaks.  I started bleeding quite a bit...which has never happened to me during labor. We told Laurie and she gave us a weird explanation that related to being at the dentist and made no sense. I was pretty out of it at this point and wasn't sure what to do about the bleeding. .  The pain was unbearable and there was no break from the pain to regroup. I remember looking up at the clock at 12:00.  I was breathing through the contractions as best I could...really trying focus and detach from everything else. I looked up again and was sure it had been an hour.  It was only 12:10. I started to cry.  The nurse came in to see my crying and said something weird thing about  how things usually start happening when patients start crying.  It was a little offensive as I didn't feel like this was a normal situation and my reasons for crying couldn't possible be categorized with every other patient.  She offered me an epidural...maybe my crying bothered her?  They were monitoring my contractions and they could type in notes on the same screen.  She typed "Patient crying...support person offering comfort." I don't know why that bothered my so much.  She seem a little detached from what was happening.  When she left the room I started yelling at Jason about how obnoxious that was to write in my chart. Laurie checked me again around 12:30 and I was only a 4.  I was stunned.  I was sure I would have progressed a little more.  I knew that I couldn't physically or mentally handle another contraction and felt totally defeated with miles left to go.  I needed some relief.  Jason kept asking my if I wanted Fentanyl and I kept refusing, but I finally agreed. I hoped that it would give me a little break so I could regroup and keep going.  Laurie went to get it. By the time I asked for it, my resolve was completely gone. I needed it immediately and I felt like she was gone for hours getting it.  I desperately waited as the contractions continued one on top of another with no relief.  I was so conflicted about getting drugs because I had truly wanted the full experience.  I didn't want to block the pain.  I was legitimately worried that something bad would happen to my body at this point. I felt things beginning to shut down. She finally returned and gave my the Fentanyl.  As soon as it hit my system things took a turn for the worst, The room began to spin.  I felt unable to open my eyes or talk.  I was unaware of what was happening around me. The pain wasn't eased at all.  I don't remember a lot after that. At one point Jason asked me if I wanted an epidural. I was still only dialated to a 4. I became very nauseated and they gave me a blue bag to vomit in. I just laid on my side with the bag stuck to my face while I vomited in it. I kept thinking I needed to move the bag, but I couldn't.  I nodded my head at one point when Jason asked me if I wanted an epidural.  I remember the anesthesiologist coming in to start my epidural and tried to open my eyes to see him, but only had them open for a second.  He asked me questions and I tried to answer, but Jason ended up answering for me. It was horrible to feel that helpless and unable to communicate.  The pain continued and my ability to focus and breath through it was completely gone. I hoped that I could live through the contractions. I kept waiting for him to start the epidural.  At one point  I felt little sharp pain in my back, but never felt the pressure and popping sensation I thought I would feel.  I couldn't figure out why he wasn't starting the epidural.  He had already done it, but I didn't feel anything. I think my pain was too intense. He told me he would give me  low dose.  After several minutes my pain was still horrible and I could move my legs without any problem. I didn't think it was working. But I could feel my whole body completely collapse between contractions and I realized that the pain had been eased.  I could still move without any help and I was grateful for this. I kept feeling pressure and tried to tell the nurse I needed to push. The last time she had check me I was a 4 so I don't think she believed I would be ready.  After she checked me again I was an 8.  I kept trying to talk and tell Jason that Stephanie (our friend who was taking pictures for us) needed to come in. I was finally able to say her name and he told me that she was already in the room.  I tried to open my eyes to see where Jason was.  I didn't remember a lot of what happened and Jason helped me fill in the blanks the next day. I asked him where he was while I was pushing. I don't remember seeing him.  He had been holding my head and helping me hold one of my legs.  He was on my left side. I didn't remember any of it.  I just remember someone counting really loudly.  I don't remember anyone coming in the room during any of this, but Dr. T was there to deliver Eli and the neonatologist (Wyc) and a respiratory therapist and nurse had all come.  I believe we had three rounds of pushing before he came out. I felt everything while I delivered him and it didn't seem to hurt.  Even afterwards...Dr. T had to do some stitches and I felt the sensation of it but it wasn't painful. Maybe the pain previous to that had been so intense or maybe I was in shock. I just remember feeling it and wondering why it didn't hurt worse than it did.  Jason said he saw Eli's head as he came out at 2:04 pm.  He said there was bright red blood everywhere. Eli's sweet little face was covered in it.  It was all over his eyes and in his mouth and nose.  It scared Jason.

Labor-part 1

If you want to hear a mellow or happy story about delivering a child, turn on Oprah.  If you are a woman and plan on giving birth, but never have, this might scare you.  I don't know how most women's labors are, but I have only had one that didn't scare the crap out of me.  I had weird, unrelated things happen with my first 2 babies.  My labors are always long, and we get the happy privilege of being awake the entire night before we have our baby... just to make sure it is as tiring as possible.  My cervix is never ready to let the baby out, so we stay all night to get it "prepped." That's just a nice word for pain.  I expected my labor with Eli to be similar to my last one because I felt I had given birth enough times that the pathway had been paved.  If you saw Lincoln as a baby, you would understand what I am talking about.  I received the same drugs with Eli as I did with Lincoln so I thought I would be in labor for most of the night... be in horrific pain for 2 or 3 hours and he would arrive mid morning.  It didn't work out exactly like that.

I wanted to try not having an epidural this time.  I have had one with all of my other babies with varying degrees of effectiveness.  One time they put it in, but never hooked it up to the pump, so it wasn't very effective.  Apparently, it is important to hook it up to the pump?  I hesitate to share my reasoning because I'm not sure I can explain why I wanted to do this. The easiest reason to understand is that I wanted to be able to move.  If Eli wasn't with us very long, the idea of not being able to move my legs did not sit well with me.  I know that the nurses/doctors could bring him over, but I wanted to feel like his mother...at least a little bit.  Not an invalid.  I think this was more of mental than physical idea to me.  I have also thought a lot about this idea of pain. I find it a little funny, in our day and age, that we try to block pain completely.  "Gentle dentistry" is the new phrase.  When you have a baby, everyone assumes you will get an epidural.  It is the only humane and logical thing to do.  What in the world has everyone been doing for the past 200 years without epidurals?  Jason told me they would just bite on a stick.  I'm sure they had some ways of dealing with pain, but we like to block it completely.  We are so scared of pain. And why go through it if you don't have to? 

I had a friend who once told me her labor story.  She checked into the hospital to have her baby, got her epidural before she felt one contraction, took a nap and woke up to push.  I have had epidurals and it didn't exactly go that way for me...  When I received epidurals in the past, it wasn't because I was in horrific pain. It was because I felt some pain and was scared it WOULD BE horrific if I didn't hurry up and block it.  I had more anxiety about the pain than actual pain.  Through my pregnancy experience with Eli, I haven't been able to block the pain I am in.  Most of this wasn't physical pain, although some of it was. I believe there is a purifying power with pain.  It shouldn't be blocked.  It can do beautiful things when we experience it, even though it isn't pleasant.  I was so sick and tired about being scared of the pain.  I wanted to embrace it.  I felt that something beautiful would happen if I did this during my labor.  It did.

Another disclaimer...if you have never learned how a baby is born and don't know the terminology you might want to read something more filtered.  I won't tell you anything too graphic, but it may be more info than I gave to my kids. When Ethan asked me "exactly" how a baby gets out of my tummy I told him that there is a "special tunnel" from the "special room" where the baby grows.  When it is time for the baby to come out they travel through the "special tunnel" and go through the "special door."

Our first nurse was Nicki.  We liked her. She was personable and kind.  She checked my cervix and could barely find it.  That is bad if you want a baby to come out quickly.  They ended up doing three doses of cytotec at 12:00 am, 3am and 6am. Each time they checked me I hadn't progressed so they gave me another dose.  It got my contractions going around 2am.  I had some problems with my blood sugars just prior to that and the nurses got a little stressed.  I know that aren't used to dealing with diabetes.  I wasn't stressed... I just needed some juice.  They started my insulin drip. I thought it was a little premature to do this... even thought I knew they would do it at some point.  The doctor on that night wasn't my favorite, and seems a little hypertensive. I thought about fighting it a little, but just went with it and hoped it would be okay. I knew once I was hooked up to the iv, the fun would begin and it would be harder to move around.  Each time they gave me cytotec they checked my cervix.  My 9:30 am I was only a 1 and could not believe it.  I had been contracting very hard for several hours and was trying to keep my pain under control by moving around. I was sure I was a 2 or 3 at least. I think Jason may have slept an hour that night and I think I got about 30 minutes before they started the insulin drip.  There was no chance of sleeping after that with the pain and the blood sugar checks they were doing.  Around 5:30 Nicki came in and we asked her if we could hear Eli's heartbeat.  They hadn't hooked me up to the heart rate monitor with him.  They gave us the option to, but we decided to listen periodically instead of continuously.  We had decided to do this months ago as we thought about how we would proceed with the delivery.  We had to decide it we would do a c-section if he became distressed.  The doctors had advised us not to do a c-section and we had agreed. If they did monitor Eli, and he did become distressed, and we weren't doing a c-section, than monitoring him would only stress all of us out.  It is a knee jerk response to do a c-section if this happens, as we weren't doing one so... there you go. Nicki said she would let us hear him as often as we wanted to, but she wouldn't pester us about it.  This was the first time we asked her.  He moved around so much that night. I was never worried about him.  I enjoyed those movement as I knew this wouldn't last much longer. She sat there from 5:30-6:00 trying to get a good read out.  He was SOOO  active and wouldn't hold still.  She could hear his heart and it was within a normal range, but he  wouldn't hold still long enough for us to get a print out of it.  Me and Jason just smiled at each other when she asked if he was always like this.  He always was. I didn't realize that we would never hear that movement again.
We another nurse that morning from 6-11 (Rhonda) and then another from 11-2 (Laurie).  I liked Rhonda.  I had a hard time with Laurie.  Rhonda said they could break my water at 9:30. I was barely dilated enough to do so, but she said they would try it.  It took Dr. T a full hour to get there.  Maybe he was downstairs eating a breakfast burrito. I don't know. I was annoyed because I was in so much pain and nothing was happening. I felt like if they broke my water I would start dilating... that is what has always happened in the past.  I saw a pen on the table and told Jason I was going to try and do it myself.  I was mostly kidding.  And just so you know... I did keep asking Rhonda where Dr. T was.  I also dreaded the time when they would break my water.  I had a lot of fluid with Ethan, as well. I remember day dreaming about the time when they would finally break my water.  I knew I would be able to breath again and I looked forward to this moment with great anticipation.  I had a lot more water this time, but I wasn't looking forward to it at all.  I felt like I had kept Eli safe and warm and comfortable for so long.  I dreaded the moment because I feared that his comfort and security would be gone.  I wouldn't have been so anxious to do it if I wasn't in so much pain.  He finally came and did break my water, and it was different than I thought it would be.  My amniotic fluid came out fairly slow, which surprised me.  Dr. T and Rhonda left the room and then the flood came.  My fluid just flowed and flowed and flowed... so slowly, but continuously.  My stomach got smaller and smaller and smaller.  I just cried.  I felt like his warmth and protection were gone. I knew that I had done everything to keep him safe as long as possible, but it still hurt.  I felt unable to protect him from what lay ahead. I could see his tiny little body on the right side of my stomach.  It felt as if ALL the fluid were gone.  I could see him little body so clearly.  I wanted to hold onto him and tell him I was sorry.  He didn't move after that. 

Eli's memorial

I didn't want a traditional funeral for Eli. I didn't want the cemetery to be the last thing everyone saw. I don't think of Eli as a little baby. I know that, in a mortal sense, he was, because we all have to be born as a baby, but when I thought of him before he was born and when I think of him now... I see a mature spirit. I imagine him to be in the prime of his life. We were all mature spirits before we were born to our earthly parents. We lived with Heavenly Father and Heavenly Mother for thousands of years before we came here. That idea It is quite a stark contrast from a helpless infant. That changes the feeling of this immensely.

The memorial was what I had hoped it would be.  I was a little worried to stand up in front of a bunch of people and try to say something of substance.  I didn't want to look like a grieving mother even though I know that is exactly what I am.  I didn't want the pity because pity is pathetic, and doesn't help anyone.  I'll take sympathy or empathy, but please don't give me pity.  I would rather have nothing. But, I knew that I had done harder things that this in the last couple of weeks.  I had been more nervous with the idea of going to the hospital.  I had been overcome with grief when we had to go to the graveside service.  So, this seemed easy, in comparison, and I felt okay about doing it. I wanted this to be a spiritually uplifting experience. I wanted people to see a glimpse of who Eli really is.  I wanted to bear testimony of some of the sacred truths I have learned from Eli.  I didn't expect to go, and be crying, and needing people to give me hugs to make me feel better.  I feel like grieving is a very private matter and is not possible to do in a public setting...at least for me.  I felt I would be somewhat disconnected from my feelings of loss. I hoped to be in tune with the spirit and deliver the message I needed to.  I felt like all of these things happened.  I think some people were worried that I would just fall apart remembering how awful this whole ordeal was.  It was quite the opposite. I felt better today than I have in many days.  The last day that was this good was November 5th. I really remembered Eli today and all the good and beauty that has come from this experience.

A tribute to Jason

Jason has been by my side for every second of this. When we had our first ultrasound it was him sat there with me and help me try and process what was happening. He has taken care of me through every minute. He laid by me in my bed as I cried and told him hard it was to see other people living their "normal" experience. He sat on the bathroom floor and listened to me cry as I took a bath and wondered how I would make it through the physical aspects of the pregnancy. He held my hand as we walked in and out of so many ultrasounds and other doctors appointments. There were countless night and hundreds of hours where I told him things that were too hard to tell anyone else. He was my place of safety and refuge. I needed him through every step. When everyone else looked around and wondered if I was okay, he came to me and held me and knew when I wasn't. He never tired of the hours and hours of talking that it required for me to process what was happening. He gave me countless massages as I complained about my aching feet and aching back and aching heart. He had my back when someone treated me insensitively.  He came to every appointment I needed him for. He never acted too busy to listen to my concerns at 10:30 on a Thursday morning when he had hundreds of things to do at work. When we saw Elder Holland, he chased him down so I could have the opportunity and privilege to speak with him. He loved me through all the emotions I had: anger, frustration, depression, uncertainty, hopelessness. When I didn't want to go out of the house... he understood and did it for me. If I wanted to stay home from a party, he would take all the kids for me and let me be alone. When we had to go to the hospital, he helped me be brave enough to do it by holding my hand and encouraging me. When I was in labor and completely unable to think or move, he became my voice. He sat by me and always respected what I wanted to do during labor, even if it was hard for him to watch. When people needed to know what was going on, he updated them because I couldn't. When we had Eli, he stood over by his little bed because I was still stuck in my bed. He felt the weight of watching him struggle and wondered if we were doing the right thing. When we enjoyed our 5 hours with Eli, he gave me every opportunity to do what I wanted to with Eli. He gave me first priority in holding and loving him. Before Eli passed away, I tried to let him hold Eli and he insisted that I do it because he knew that's the way it should be. When he passed away, Jason was the one who knelt on the hard hospital floor and praised God for the beautiful experience we had just had. He was the first to think of that. When they took his little body he held me while I just cried. He wanted to comfort and protect me. He held my hand as we walked out to our car through the deserted hospital corridors. When we came home he made sure I had all the things mother needs after she delivers a child. He took care of me. When we went to prepare Eli's body for burial he was there with me. He stood by me and again thanked God and Eli for the marvelous journey that continues today. When we buried Eli, he walked by me as we both carried his casket to his tiny grave. He called upon the powers of heaven countless times in my behalf to strengthen and bless and support me. For the days following Eli's death, he got out of bed before me and made the kids lunches and sent them off to school and snuggled with Lincoln in the couch while I slept and cried in my bed. He answered the door and the endless phone and text messages that I was incapable to answering. I literally don't know what I would have done without him there through each step we have taken on this journey.

November 4th

I want to share a lot of the experiences that we have had starting on November 4th.  I think it may take awhile.  For some reason, it has taken a little longer than I thought it would to share some of this.  It may be, in part, because so much happened so quickly.  I learned things in the 5 hours I was with him that I couldn't have learned in a lifetime without him. 

As a little time as passed, I feel more willing to share some of these things...but I could never share everything. Our experiences don't feel as fresh, which makes it easier to share.  

Also... as a prerequisite to the next 30 posts or so... if you are looking for a story filled with fluffy fruit dip and sparkly unicorns, you might want to look elsewhere.  This will be real life.  Good and bad. Beautiful and heartbreaking.  Some of it will be a little sacred and some of it raw, and it might make you wish you were looking at a fake life on pinterest... but I never liked that anyway.  This is real life, with real people and real emotions and a beautiful, strong spirit that we got to meet and love and hold for a moment.  Eli is so sacred to me and you won't have the chance of feeling that in full measure from simply reading this, but hopefully you will feel something. His spirit is so strong and he hasn't finished touching people here.  

November 4th:

I had a hard time sleeping the night before. I couldn't help but think what would be happening in the next 24 hours. My mind couldn't rest.  Me and Jason went to the temple on Tuesday. I had tried to get everything done Monday so we could have a quiet, reflective day on Tuesday.

Labor and delivery called me around 4:30 and wanted me to come in around 6.  I was confused because I thought I would be going in much later.  I had told the kids we would put them to bed first.  For some reason, they thought I wanted to have him the middle of the night.  After clearing up the confusion, they told me to come in at 10pm. Tawny came a little bit before 10 and we gave her instructions. I felt light and pretty okay at this point. I wasn't in a hurry to get there.

We went in at 10:15. I am never late.  I didn't care that I was right now.

The streets were dark and seemed to be deserted as we drove.  I liked that because if didn't feel like there was any commotion. We easily found a place to park.  We had two big bags. One with our stuff and one with Eli's. I had imagined walking in so many times. I always imagined us trying to be brave and holding hands.  That's what we did and it was easier than I thought. I had been nervous about that experience for quite some time.  I didn't see anyone in the halls. We signed all the paperwork. It was sitting out prepared for us because they knew we were coming. They showed us to a corner room: LD 18. It was a bigger room with lots of windows. The way the room was set up felt different than the other rooms because of where everything was. They gave me a gown. Me and Jason had worn our team G shirts. It was so special. I realized I would have to take it off. We took a pic together first. I went in the bathroom and was quite reluctant to change. I sat there for awhile by myself. I started to cry knowing that the next time I put my shirt on my belly would be gone. I liked the way me and Eli looked in the shirt. It was precious. I finally took the shirt off and put the gown on. I looked at myself in the mirror and decided that now was the time I just had to be brave. I would never be ready. I had looked at my extra large belly so many times; especially in the days leading up to the 5th. I treasured the way it looked. I loved it and what it meant. I had created a beautiful, mortal body. He was inside me. I knew it couldn't last forever, but treasured the feeling I felt. I loved how it looked.