Gavin's Life! Part 3: Hard Days

The first two parts were so easy for me to write... it was very raw and open. It's never been hard for me to talk about Gavin, but writing about his death just hurts. Hurts like freaking hell. Some days have just been hard lately. I think I was very numb for awhile and reality finally decided to settle in, and it's a reality that just down right sucks. There are still some details that I (we) just aren't going to share, but I'll do my best.
I don't want to admit this, but the day they told us about his diagnosis, I had a pretty hardcore breakdown. I left as soon as our meeting ended, and I'm completely ashamed of that. I could have stayed all day, but I chose not to. I gave up precious moments because I was weak. I couldn't handle looking at Gavin without breaking down and crying, and I didn't want that to be how our moments with him went. I can't even type that without crying! Ugh. So we went home, as I badly needed to compose myself and digest some of what we had been bulldozed with. My eyes were so puffy it hurt to open them!
The next morning, I went back. I had a lot of people asking if they could come meet Gavin, but I really wanted some alone time to just be with my baby so I spent the day ignoring people. My parents and sister did end up coming, which was good because I ended up getting to hold Gavin for the first time so I had some photographers! It was quite a setup to get to hold him, having to set all his lines and vent just right so nothing was pulling... I almost felt bad that the nurses had to do it! But I desperately needed that connection, and I think they knew that. That was the first moment of happy I'd felt in a few days at least!
The next day (Monday) we had another care conference. All of Gavin's doctors and nurses and neurologists and social workers were there, which was incredibly overwhelming, and they wanted decisions (like we had any!). He was breathing on his own, always was, and he was ready to be extubated. There were many what-if scenarios, and many questions we did not have answers for. Did we want to be discharged and set up hospice in our home? I said if he reached the preemie milestones and was big enough to take home then hell yes we would- but if not, the care he needed was at the hospital. We could be there 24 hours a day- his doctors couldn't do that at our home. And seriously, he was less than 3 pounds! I'm convinced they asked this question in a moment of insanity. Did we want all cares and feedings stopped to allow natural death? I think this answer may have startled them, no way in hell will my son not be fed when he's hungry! Looking back, that was the one time I raised my voice. In that moment, and many to come, I fully understood the "mama bear" instinct. The entire situation was out of my control, but I felt a fierce need to protect him as much as I could. Then I cried. Big ugly tears. I didn't know what the right answers were, but we did the best we could.
*Side note: Anybody who saw the Grey's Anatomy episode about Morgan's premature baby that ended up dying that aired within a week or two of this, I could seriously hurt somebody for not warning me. That shit should come with a disclaimer.
Anyways. We decided to have a Meet Gavin day before he was extubated... just in case it didn't go well. We wanted to get it out of the way so we could spend our time just focusing on Gavin and not worrying about coordinating times for people to come and having to put on happy faces.. that sounds awful, but I just wanted to be alone. So Tuesday was the big day, and meet Gavin they did! It was a constant parade of visitors, and I'm sure he was just as worn out as we were by the end of the day, if not more. It was so so great to have so many people that care about us and our son, but it was an incredibly hard day because I knew as they were meeting him they were also having to say goodbye to him in case they didn't see him again. I know it was a hard thing for every single person, and I will always admire and love them for that. We were all able to keep it pretty light, "Yes, he sure is cute!" "Yep, that's definitely my nose!" "Definitely got daddy's feet!" but you could hear the pain in everybodys voices. I think the hardest was Nate's grandma. She was so incredibly heartbroken, but unlike the rest of us she was not trying to hide it. If you've never seen a grandma cry, let me tell you, it hurts. She asked if she could touch him so I opened up the isolette for her and she grabbed on for dear life. She held his arm and just cried. She kept saying "he's so perfect, just so perfect." I agree, Grandma. Our baby couldn't have been more perfect.