I have a lot of hard times. A lot of sadness, a lot of tears, a lot of anger. I have a lot of happy too- happy that I had my son, happy that I got to hold him, squeeze him, memorize everything about him. I have tried hard to separate my personal life and my work life so that calls and situations I find myself in don't add to the "bad stress" pile I have. Sometimes though, it's super hard.
I'll try to explain this in the least amount of detail I can and hopefully it will still make sense.
I work in a hospital, but not in the hospital. When the hospital has problems, they occasionally call us to assist. The ER will call if they have a walk-in/ride-in that needs our equipment to stabilize a patient. If we are available, we respond to calls of "Code Blue" and fill in as whatever set of hands they might be missing. Awhile ago, I heard a code blue page, with room number. I walked up and as I looked around, I couldn't find the room they had called for. A friend of mine was working that night and I said "Hey, where the heck is room #809?" (Not a real room number.) Without looking up, she stated "OB." She then looked and saw it was me and with big pity eyes said "Oh girl, don't go in there." I mumbled something about it being my job, and marched on through. What I found was a definite Code Blue, being run on a baby. The new mom was lying in bed, screaming. I stood and I watched, as we always do. We wait until we are called for so we don't get in the way. I couldn't look away, but I did step back from the doorway in case my expression was something of horror. I felt a squeeze on my shoulder, and turned to find a nurse- my OB nurse - shaking her head at me saying something about how I don't need to watch this. I don't recall what I told her, but I ended up staying. Luckily I didn't end up working on that baby, but I did end up with a new mom's hand in mine, reassuring her about what was going on. I didn't sleep for days after that, and then I got a follow-up saying that little guy was going to be okay.
A short while later, a letter mysteriously appeared in my mailbox at work. It read this:
K,
Unfortunately you don't know of me as well as I know of you, and I hope I am not overstepping boundaries by writing this. You work a sometimes thankless and faceless job, and I wanted to share my appreciation. I see you around the hospital, often looking deep in thought. I realized after being around you recently that you don't often think of yourself but of others first and foremost. Your passion and love for those around you is apparent and admirable. Your shy smile is truly genuine, and I know it is something that must be earned. You are a calm in a storm and bring comfort to others even in their worst times. To watch you with (new mom's name) was something amazing. To hear your small but unwavering voice tell her that it would be okay, and reassuring her that your son was treated at (big hospital) too, so you knew his care would be nothing but the best- I don't know how you do it. The ability to put yourself second is not something that many people possess and I hope that you are put first just as often as you give others that position. I cried for you afterward. I couldn't stop thinking about the pain you must have felt after you left that night, and I wish with all I have that your outcome would have been different. Although I'm sure you don't feel it, you bring peace with your calmness, calmness with your smile, and smiles with your caring. You are a selfless woman, a caregiver, and a mom. You light up in those rare moments in which you talk about your son- and for a moment we get to see YOU. You're one of a kind. Gavin was lucky to have you, as are we. Take care of yourself.
Although there was no signature, I have a feeling I know where it came from.
That is the second time I've heard "selfless" in reference to myself. The first time was from Gavin's doctor as I explained through tears that I couldn't go back in yet, that I just needed a minute to compose myself. He said "he feels that, you know. The smiles, the love, the warmth. He feels that. You make a difference in his life. You're strong and selfless. He couldn't have a better mom."
People always tell me, I don't know how you do it! The answer is simple: there just isn't a choice. This life has become a routine. While I still get mad and sad and have the occasional hot-mess meltdown, it's mostly the same day after day. I'm horribly used to it, and I am getting a little better at taking it easier on myself. What would Gavin's life have been like if it had been filled with tears and pain? I think it would have been shorter and more stressful for him, and I'm glad that I don't have to wonder. We did our best, we try to do our best, and I don't think that's selfless, I think we're just parents.
Thank you to whoever wrote me such kind words, I appreciate it far more than you know. Thank you for taking time out of your day for me, I'm undeserving of such praise and I hope that you realize how special you are.
Wednesday, July 31, 2013
Wednesday, July 24, 2013
Here is also a list of 20 Things Angel Mommies Want You To Know:
1. I wish you would not be afraid to mention my baby. The truth is just because you never saw my baby doesn’t mean he doesn’t deserve your recognition.
2. I wish that if we did talk about my baby and I cried you didn’t think it was because you have hurt me by mentioning my baby. The truth is I need to cry and talk about my baby with you.
3. I wish that you could talk about my baby more than once. The truth is if you do, it reassures me that you haven’t forgotten him and that you do care and understand.
4. I wish you wouldn’t think that I don’t want to talk about my baby. The truth is I love my baby and need to talk about him.
5. I wish you could tell me you are sorry my baby died and that you are thinking of me. The truth is that it tells me you care.
6. I wish you wouldn’t think what has happened is one big bad memory for me. The truth is the memory of my baby, the love I feel for my baby, the dreams I had and the memories I have created for my baby are all loving memories. Yes there are bad memories too but please understand that it’s not all like that.
7. I wish you wouldn’t pretend that my baby never existed. The truth is we both know I had a baby growing inside me.
8. I wish you wouldn’t judge me because I am not acting the way you think I should be. The truth is grief is a very personal thing and we are all different people who deal with things differently.
9. I wish you wouldn’t think if I have a good day I’m “over it” or if I have a bad day I am being unreasonable because you think I should be over it. The truth is there is no “normal” way for me to act.
10. I wish you wouldn’t stay away from me. The truth is losing my baby doesn’t mean I’m contagious. By staying away you make me feel isolated, confused and like it is my fault.
11. I wish you wouldn’t expect my grief to be “over and done with” in a few weeks, months, or years for that matter. The truth is it may get easier with time but I will never be “over” this.
12. I wish you wouldn’t think that my baby wasnt’t really a baby and he was just blood and tissue or a fetus. The truth is my baby had a life. My baby had a soul, heart, body, legs, arms and a face. I have seen my baby’s body and face. My baby was real person – and he was alive.
13. My babies due date, Mothers Day, celebration times, the day my baby was born and the day I lost him are all important and sad days for me. The truth is I wish you could tell me by words or by letter you are thinking of me on these days.
14. I wish you understood that losing my baby has changed me. The truth is I am not the same person I was before and will never be that person again. If you keep waiting for me to get back to “”normal” you will stay frustrated. I am a new person with new thoughts, dreams, beliefs, and values. Please try to get to know the real me-maybe you’ll still like me.
15. I wish you wouldn’t tell me I could have another baby. The truth is I want the baby I lost and no other baby can replace him. Babies aren’t interchangeable.
16. I wish you wouldn’t feel awkward or uncomfortable talking about my baby or being near me. When you do, I can see it. The truth is it’s not fair to make me feel uncomfortable just because you are.
17. I wish you wouldn’t think that you’ll keep away because all my friends and family will be there for me. The truth is, everyone thinks the same thing and I am often left with no one.
18. I wish you would understand that being around pregnant women is uncomfortable for me. The truth is I feel jealous.
19. I wish you wouldn’t say that it’s natures way of telling me something was wrong with my baby. The truth is my baby was perfect no matter what you think nature is saying.
20. I wish you would understand what you are really saying when you say “next time things will be okay”. The truth is how do you know? What will you say if it happens to me again?
-Author Unknown
1. I wish you would not be afraid to mention my baby. The truth is just because you never saw my baby doesn’t mean he doesn’t deserve your recognition.
2. I wish that if we did talk about my baby and I cried you didn’t think it was because you have hurt me by mentioning my baby. The truth is I need to cry and talk about my baby with you.
3. I wish that you could talk about my baby more than once. The truth is if you do, it reassures me that you haven’t forgotten him and that you do care and understand.
4. I wish you wouldn’t think that I don’t want to talk about my baby. The truth is I love my baby and need to talk about him.
5. I wish you could tell me you are sorry my baby died and that you are thinking of me. The truth is that it tells me you care.
6. I wish you wouldn’t think what has happened is one big bad memory for me. The truth is the memory of my baby, the love I feel for my baby, the dreams I had and the memories I have created for my baby are all loving memories. Yes there are bad memories too but please understand that it’s not all like that.
7. I wish you wouldn’t pretend that my baby never existed. The truth is we both know I had a baby growing inside me.
8. I wish you wouldn’t judge me because I am not acting the way you think I should be. The truth is grief is a very personal thing and we are all different people who deal with things differently.
9. I wish you wouldn’t think if I have a good day I’m “over it” or if I have a bad day I am being unreasonable because you think I should be over it. The truth is there is no “normal” way for me to act.
10. I wish you wouldn’t stay away from me. The truth is losing my baby doesn’t mean I’m contagious. By staying away you make me feel isolated, confused and like it is my fault.
11. I wish you wouldn’t expect my grief to be “over and done with” in a few weeks, months, or years for that matter. The truth is it may get easier with time but I will never be “over” this.
12. I wish you wouldn’t think that my baby wasnt’t really a baby and he was just blood and tissue or a fetus. The truth is my baby had a life. My baby had a soul, heart, body, legs, arms and a face. I have seen my baby’s body and face. My baby was real person – and he was alive.
13. My babies due date, Mothers Day, celebration times, the day my baby was born and the day I lost him are all important and sad days for me. The truth is I wish you could tell me by words or by letter you are thinking of me on these days.
14. I wish you understood that losing my baby has changed me. The truth is I am not the same person I was before and will never be that person again. If you keep waiting for me to get back to “”normal” you will stay frustrated. I am a new person with new thoughts, dreams, beliefs, and values. Please try to get to know the real me-maybe you’ll still like me.
15. I wish you wouldn’t tell me I could have another baby. The truth is I want the baby I lost and no other baby can replace him. Babies aren’t interchangeable.
16. I wish you wouldn’t feel awkward or uncomfortable talking about my baby or being near me. When you do, I can see it. The truth is it’s not fair to make me feel uncomfortable just because you are.
17. I wish you wouldn’t think that you’ll keep away because all my friends and family will be there for me. The truth is, everyone thinks the same thing and I am often left with no one.
18. I wish you would understand that being around pregnant women is uncomfortable for me. The truth is I feel jealous.
19. I wish you wouldn’t say that it’s natures way of telling me something was wrong with my baby. The truth is my baby was perfect no matter what you think nature is saying.
20. I wish you would understand what you are really saying when you say “next time things will be okay”. The truth is how do you know? What will you say if it happens to me again?
-Author Unknown
Friday, July 19, 2013
So I'm going to take a moment to vent, because I can, and I don't know where else to do it.
I am not a huge fan of a couple of my husband's non-immediate family members. By not a huge fan, I mean I would rather poke a sharp stick in my eye than be in the same room with them. The last time I had to be in close quarters with these people, I was surprised (!) with their presence on Mother's Day a couple of years ago. I spent the day locked in the basement bathroom crying. No joke. They are broke, but send us letters asking for money so that they can go on trips to Africa, because that's what God is telling them to do. Anytime I say something the response is, "Oh, that's just how he and/or she is". I don't even have the words to describe them, but I do know that if I had the chance to cause bodily harm, I would probably do it. Anyways.
So the husband, who calls himself a Pastor- he's not- posted this link on his FB. (We are not friends)
http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2013/04/23/herbert-catherine-schaible_n_3138001.html?utm_hp_ref=mostpopular
The wife then, comments this: What those parents did is their business only and should not be condemned. They are entitled to their beliefs and prayer does heal.
Now I'm pretty sure I'm overreacting here, but what the ever-loving fuck?! I am stuttering in my head as I try to write this. I lose my son because there is nothing in the world that can possibly save him, and it is perfectly acceptable for these people to let TWO babies die because if they pray their God should heal them?! TWO babies!!! No medical care! When there are people like me who would do any and everything and rack up hundreds of thousands of dollars in medical bills only to have their baby still die, this person who is technically my family thinks it is okay for this family to basically kill two living beings who cannot help themselves, when by all means they should have lived? All 4 of the adults I have mentioned in this posting... I hate them. I truly do.
I hate when people excuse other people's hurtful behavior, or when the shittiest people use religion as an excuse for all that they do. I don't know what else to say, I'm just mad and had to say something. Blowup over for now.
I am not a huge fan of a couple of my husband's non-immediate family members. By not a huge fan, I mean I would rather poke a sharp stick in my eye than be in the same room with them. The last time I had to be in close quarters with these people, I was surprised (!) with their presence on Mother's Day a couple of years ago. I spent the day locked in the basement bathroom crying. No joke. They are broke, but send us letters asking for money so that they can go on trips to Africa, because that's what God is telling them to do. Anytime I say something the response is, "Oh, that's just how he and/or she is". I don't even have the words to describe them, but I do know that if I had the chance to cause bodily harm, I would probably do it. Anyways.
So the husband, who calls himself a Pastor- he's not- posted this link on his FB. (We are not friends)
http://www.huffingtonpost.com/2013/04/23/herbert-catherine-schaible_n_3138001.html?utm_hp_ref=mostpopular
The wife then, comments this: What those parents did is their business only and should not be condemned. They are entitled to their beliefs and prayer does heal.
Now I'm pretty sure I'm overreacting here, but what the ever-loving fuck?! I am stuttering in my head as I try to write this. I lose my son because there is nothing in the world that can possibly save him, and it is perfectly acceptable for these people to let TWO babies die because if they pray their God should heal them?! TWO babies!!! No medical care! When there are people like me who would do any and everything and rack up hundreds of thousands of dollars in medical bills only to have their baby still die, this person who is technically my family thinks it is okay for this family to basically kill two living beings who cannot help themselves, when by all means they should have lived? All 4 of the adults I have mentioned in this posting... I hate them. I truly do.
I hate when people excuse other people's hurtful behavior, or when the shittiest people use religion as an excuse for all that they do. I don't know what else to say, I'm just mad and had to say something. Blowup over for now.
Sunday, May 5, 2013
Monday, April 22, 2013
easy for you to say...
http://stillstandingmag.com/2013/03/easy-for-you-to-say/
I'm still here, just not always present.
Writing here makes me think and really go over how I really feel, and some days I just don't want to do that.
Getting through Gavin's birthday and all of the other "days" that followed have thrown me backward a little.
Some things had been hiding but have been brought back to my attention.
I'm angry again.
I'm sad again.
I'm annoyed at how unfair life is. Sounds stupid, right? Obviously life is unfair.
So yeah, I'm still here. Unfortunately in my world, not much has changed.
I'm still here, just not always present.
Writing here makes me think and really go over how I really feel, and some days I just don't want to do that.
Getting through Gavin's birthday and all of the other "days" that followed have thrown me backward a little.
Some things had been hiding but have been brought back to my attention.
I'm angry again.
I'm sad again.
I'm annoyed at how unfair life is. Sounds stupid, right? Obviously life is unfair.
So yeah, I'm still here. Unfortunately in my world, not much has changed.
Tuesday, February 19, 2013
Honesty.
The hard truth is, I'm struggling.
Somebody else I know who lost a child described our life in this way: you know that instant, intense love you have when you have a child? The kind that hits you so hard you just know that they are your world and you would do anything, everything, and die for them the second they take that first breath?
Well, the grief is the same way.
It is just as intense. It is just as huge. Your world as you knew it is demolished, it's gone, it's nothing, and there's nothing you can do about it. It is helpless, lonely, and just as powerful as the love you have for your baby. But it's sadness, instead of happiness. It is pain, instead of love. You are in the same exact spot as you were a minute ago, but you are totally and hopelessly lost.
I'm there. I thought things would start to get better, but that is not the case.
Here's the point of all this talk: I am depressed. After 10 1/2 months, I'm finally saying it. I have depression. I feel like everyone is sick of hearing about how crappy I feel, so I've stopped talking about it. Let me tell you now if you haven't already learned this, that makes it SO. MUCH. WORSE. Don't do that.
I want so badly to be happy. I don't know how to do it anymore.
I'm scared that this is as good as it's going to get. I'm a mom. I can't live a childless life. I feel lonely, sad, scared, stressed, tired, more sad, frustrated, angry. I feel so much, yet say so little.
I struggle daily with things that should not matter. They hit me like a ton of bricks and I'm in a puddle, crying like a wimp.
I want this to get better, I just don't know how. I have a huge hole in my life, and the odds of filling it aren't very good. I'm stressed, my blood pressure is high, I have headaches every day, and I am seriously seriously tired of it.
I'm not okay. I'm not. This life is not okay. It's unfair and cruel and horrible.
I am going to try. I don't know what I'm going to try, but something needs to change. I can't function like this any longer. I need to kick my ass in a different direction. I'm not sure what that means yet, but I will be on a mission to improve my life in some way or another. I will get this figured out.
There wasn't much of a point to this post, I'm realizing. I think I just needed to find my voice again.
I have to find a way to be okay. Thanks for reading this whole thing. Sometimes I just need somebody to listen. I'm in pain. But as they say, the first step is admitting there's a problem. I've got a big problem. Hopefully announcing it will be the first step in a better direction.
Somebody else I know who lost a child described our life in this way: you know that instant, intense love you have when you have a child? The kind that hits you so hard you just know that they are your world and you would do anything, everything, and die for them the second they take that first breath?
Well, the grief is the same way.
It is just as intense. It is just as huge. Your world as you knew it is demolished, it's gone, it's nothing, and there's nothing you can do about it. It is helpless, lonely, and just as powerful as the love you have for your baby. But it's sadness, instead of happiness. It is pain, instead of love. You are in the same exact spot as you were a minute ago, but you are totally and hopelessly lost.
I'm there. I thought things would start to get better, but that is not the case.
Here's the point of all this talk: I am depressed. After 10 1/2 months, I'm finally saying it. I have depression. I feel like everyone is sick of hearing about how crappy I feel, so I've stopped talking about it. Let me tell you now if you haven't already learned this, that makes it SO. MUCH. WORSE. Don't do that.
I want so badly to be happy. I don't know how to do it anymore.
I'm scared that this is as good as it's going to get. I'm a mom. I can't live a childless life. I feel lonely, sad, scared, stressed, tired, more sad, frustrated, angry. I feel so much, yet say so little.
I struggle daily with things that should not matter. They hit me like a ton of bricks and I'm in a puddle, crying like a wimp.
I want this to get better, I just don't know how. I have a huge hole in my life, and the odds of filling it aren't very good. I'm stressed, my blood pressure is high, I have headaches every day, and I am seriously seriously tired of it.
I'm not okay. I'm not. This life is not okay. It's unfair and cruel and horrible.
I am going to try. I don't know what I'm going to try, but something needs to change. I can't function like this any longer. I need to kick my ass in a different direction. I'm not sure what that means yet, but I will be on a mission to improve my life in some way or another. I will get this figured out.
There wasn't much of a point to this post, I'm realizing. I think I just needed to find my voice again.
I have to find a way to be okay. Thanks for reading this whole thing. Sometimes I just need somebody to listen. I'm in pain. But as they say, the first step is admitting there's a problem. I've got a big problem. Hopefully announcing it will be the first step in a better direction.
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