My parents are doing a hero's job of comforting and supporting me. I'm without doubt that I could not have gotten through this nightmare without them. My worry is that they are not supporting each other. I would say they've had marital difficulties for the past few years or so and seem to communicate on different wave lengths even in the best of times. It's difficult to witness and even more difficult to explain.
Dad seems to be pretty much over the death of his grandson or at least that is the face I see. He is still supporting me and makes it a point of checking on me everyday. He'll use some little excuse to call but I know he's really calling to make sure I'm ok. Mom is having a very difficult time with the aftermath. I'm really worried about her. In many ways, I think this has been harder on her than on me. She has either called or seen me daily since it happened but doesn't camouflage why she's calling.
They were invited to a Christmas party shortly after I came home from the hospital. Nearly immediately Dad was on Mom about going. Part of the difficulty is that very few of Mom's friends have reached out to her at all and she's mad about it. Not to mention, she, like me, just does not feel like celebrating. Dad has a different view, he thinks that because they got two sympathy cards and a holiday party invitation that Mom should feel fully supported and be moving on with life.
The party was last night. He had no problem going to the party and celebrating with their friends. Mom has complained daily for a week that she doesn't understand how he can go and that it's highly inappropriate for him to go but she won't stop him from going. She told Dad not to talk about her at the party and she stayed home last night.
I've had to hear both sides of this story multiple times over the last week. I don't understand how Dad can go on as though nothing has happened either but I do understand that we all handle crap like this in our own way. I feel terrible that Mom doesn't seem to have any comfort other than me and I know I've been in such pain myself that I've done an awful job of it. I've tried to talk to her about seeing a counselor but I doubt she'll ever go.
I had hoped that since the party is over, I wouldn't have to hear about it anymore but this morning Dad called to "see if I wanted to go out to brunch." I was in a crapass mood when he called. These mornings at home are difficult. Anyway, he brought up the party and said he'd had such a good time and he wished Mom would have gone. I'm pretty sure he was feeling guilty about going and wanted me to make him feel better about it. I think he said it wasn't true that her friends aren't reaching out to her. I just said, "Well, Dad, her grandson died two weeks ago, maybe she didn't feel like going to a party." He didn't say too much about it after that.
Later my brother even brought it up asking if I thought that is was very inappropriate for him to go. I just said I couldn't have gone, but that we all handle things like this differently and that I was concerned for Mom because she was taking all of this very hard.
I wish my kid hadn't died and that my situation wasn't putting us all in this crapfest.
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
My nieces came over to help me decorate the Christmas tree. It was so good to be around their liveliness. To them everything is just normal and I almost felt normal being around them. I even put on some Christmas music and actually enjoyed it. There were some very difficult moments like when Dollface started playing with the toy nativity set I have or when we unwrapped the ornaments the girls have made over the years and I choked up thinking that my boy will never play with the set or make ornaments.
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
I think today will be the first day that I haven't cried really hard.
I have cried, just not big, gut wretching sobs.
This seems wrong.
Updated:
I did cry really hard today after all.
Shortly after I posted, thinking about the funeral and the hell my family is going through.
Crying seems just as wrong as not crying.
Wherein I photograph my way through the year and try to learn something along the way...
Sunday, December 19, 2010
Saturday, December 18, 2010
Greyson P.
I got a letter in the mail last week stating that a donation to Shriner's Hospital had been made in my son's name.
I love looking at my son's name in print:

I love looking at my son's name in print:
Inside a locket from the Yas:

His angel on the hospital wall:

When I write it on a foggy window:

And I love reading it when you mention him in your comments to me on this blog.
I thought everyday while I was pregnant about what to name my child but I hadn't really cut down the list at all. After I compiled all my favorite names and my friends voted for fun, I'd let the decision just lay there and simmer. Cutting the list in half when I found out he was a boy was about as much as I'd thought about it. I'd foolishly thought I still had plenty of time to make such an important decision.
He was still (and always will be) Sweet Pea to me.
Greyson was on my list of favorite names and I liked it but if he had lived that probably wouldn't have been his name. There were other names I liked better. In the hospital, wondering how I'd survive and thinking a million other heartbroken thoughts, I knew I could not send him away with only Baby Boy as a name. I considered naming him after my dad and/or my brother but it didn't seem right to put those names in the ground with such sorrow. To be honest, Greyson was the only name from my list that came to me during that time in the hospital. I just couldn't remember any others. The name Greyson had won the vote for the boy names on FB and at school. I didn't recall that until I'd been home for a while but that is probably why it came to mind when I had to choose the name my son would carry into his grave.
I couldn't think of a middle name so I gave him the middle initial P. Because we called him Sweet Pea and because P. is my initial too.
Now I love his name and it seems right for him.
His angel on the hospital wall:

When I write it on a foggy window:
And I love reading it when you mention him in your comments to me on this blog.
I thought everyday while I was pregnant about what to name my child but I hadn't really cut down the list at all. After I compiled all my favorite names and my friends voted for fun, I'd let the decision just lay there and simmer. Cutting the list in half when I found out he was a boy was about as much as I'd thought about it. I'd foolishly thought I still had plenty of time to make such an important decision.
He was still (and always will be) Sweet Pea to me.
Greyson was on my list of favorite names and I liked it but if he had lived that probably wouldn't have been his name. There were other names I liked better. In the hospital, wondering how I'd survive and thinking a million other heartbroken thoughts, I knew I could not send him away with only Baby Boy as a name. I considered naming him after my dad and/or my brother but it didn't seem right to put those names in the ground with such sorrow. To be honest, Greyson was the only name from my list that came to me during that time in the hospital. I just couldn't remember any others. The name Greyson had won the vote for the boy names on FB and at school. I didn't recall that until I'd been home for a while but that is probably why it came to mind when I had to choose the name my son would carry into his grave.
I couldn't think of a middle name so I gave him the middle initial P. Because we called him Sweet Pea and because P. is my initial too.
Now I love his name and it seems right for him.
Onward
Mom and I went shopping to find tile for my kitchen remodel. We did a good job of "faking it". I only had a couple hard moments at the tile store. We actually had a few laughs at dinner joking about the giant stalks of broccoli on our plates. Only on the drive home did we talk a little about what happened.
I would really prefer to forget the whole kitchen project. It was all for the baby anyway. I just couldn't see having a baby with such a small kitchen and no dishwasher so in the middle of my pregnancy I charged headfirst into the excitement of a serious remodel. I had just ordered the cabinets the week before and paid for them the day I found out he was a boy. The designer I had been working with at the Hardware Megamart was so very excited for us.
Now I just can't fathom having a fabulous new kitchen with no baby.
I don't want the kitchen anymore.
Take the kitchen and give me my baby.
But the nonreturnable cabinets are ordered and arriving Wednesday. Mom needs to know I'm ok and wants to help with all the design choices. Dad is desperate for projects and has said a few times that he's excited to get started. So onward we go...
I'm thinking the wall that's coming down has my name on it along with a sledgehammer.
I would really prefer to forget the whole kitchen project. It was all for the baby anyway. I just couldn't see having a baby with such a small kitchen and no dishwasher so in the middle of my pregnancy I charged headfirst into the excitement of a serious remodel. I had just ordered the cabinets the week before and paid for them the day I found out he was a boy. The designer I had been working with at the Hardware Megamart was so very excited for us.
Now I just can't fathom having a fabulous new kitchen with no baby.
I don't want the kitchen anymore.
Take the kitchen and give me my baby.
But the nonreturnable cabinets are ordered and arriving Wednesday. Mom needs to know I'm ok and wants to help with all the design choices. Dad is desperate for projects and has said a few times that he's excited to get started. So onward we go...
I'm thinking the wall that's coming down has my name on it along with a sledgehammer.
Friday, December 17, 2010
Hating
Well, I've decided I hate my coworkers.
I hate that I'm uncomfortable to be around.
I hate that my coworkers can laugh and have fun when my only child is in the ground.
I hate watching that other teacher walk around with her baby bump.
I hate witnessing some people just popping out babies one after another and they don't even seem to cherish them.
I want to quit immediately. My local Subway is hiring.
Now, let me talk about how I hate all this damn jolliness that is around. I hate being asked if my shopping's done. I hate having to actually do the shopping and I really hate that of the three ideas I have for my mother's gift, none of them can be here until after Christmas. I previously loved Christmas music, now hate it. I hate that I'm only putting up a tree because my nieces want to come and help me decorate it. I hate that I have a row of sympathy cards where a row of Christmas cards should be.
I hate that there is all this crap I have to do to "celebrate" the birth of Baby Jesus.
None of it matters, I want to scream, because my baby is dead.
And I hate FB, way too much happiness on there.
I hate the exclamation marks that someone uses on their FB comments to me.
"Love you, Paige!!"
What is there to shout or be excited about?
What do they think this is? A damn party?
I hate that people say it's so nice that I'm off for 2 damn weeks. I hate that there are endless hours of "vacation" in front of me that I have to fill up with meaningless activity to distract myself from this grief that is crushing me.
I hate that every activity is now meaningless.
I also hate that I'm still bleeding.
I hate that squirty bottle I have to use after I go to the bathroom.
I hate that there are no answers and never will be.
And I hate Dr. Hottie.
I hate that no matter how hard I try, I don't act or sound normal.
I hate all this unstoppable crying.
I hate that I'm crying less and less each day.
I hate that I'm still breathing and he is not.
Most of all, I hate that this is all about me, not about my beautiful baby boy.
I hate that I'm uncomfortable to be around.
I hate that my coworkers can laugh and have fun when my only child is in the ground.
I hate watching that other teacher walk around with her baby bump.
I hate witnessing some people just popping out babies one after another and they don't even seem to cherish them.
I want to quit immediately. My local Subway is hiring.
Now, let me talk about how I hate all this damn jolliness that is around. I hate being asked if my shopping's done. I hate having to actually do the shopping and I really hate that of the three ideas I have for my mother's gift, none of them can be here until after Christmas. I previously loved Christmas music, now hate it. I hate that I'm only putting up a tree because my nieces want to come and help me decorate it. I hate that I have a row of sympathy cards where a row of Christmas cards should be.
I hate that there is all this crap I have to do to "celebrate" the birth of Baby Jesus.
None of it matters, I want to scream, because my baby is dead.
And I hate FB, way too much happiness on there.
I hate the exclamation marks that someone uses on their FB comments to me.
"Love you, Paige!!"
What is there to shout or be excited about?
What do they think this is? A damn party?
I hate that people say it's so nice that I'm off for 2 damn weeks. I hate that there are endless hours of "vacation" in front of me that I have to fill up with meaningless activity to distract myself from this grief that is crushing me.
I hate that every activity is now meaningless.
I also hate that I'm still bleeding.
I hate that squirty bottle I have to use after I go to the bathroom.
I hate that there are no answers and never will be.
And I hate Dr. Hottie.
I hate that no matter how hard I try, I don't act or sound normal.
I hate all this unstoppable crying.
I hate that I'm crying less and less each day.
I hate that I'm still breathing and he is not.
Most of all, I hate that this is all about me, not about my beautiful baby boy.
Thursday, December 16, 2010
I'm Not Ok
I am not ok.
I won't be ok for a very long time, if ever.
The nurse practitioner, Monica, from Dr. H's office calls to follow up with me. I'm not ok, I want to scream. And even though I've been asked how I am many times and have answered. This time I'm silent for a second before saying I'm learning to breathe again. She says sympathetic things, she says they do not have the baby's test results yet. She asks if I'm coming in for a check up. I ask her to change my appointment on the 30th from an OB appointment to a check up appointment. In my head, I say "Dead Baby Appointment". I tell her I have a lot of questions for the doctor. She says of course I do and she'll see me on the 30th. Try to have a nice Christmas she says.
It is exhausting me trying to convince people I'm ok. There was an ice storm last night so no school today. Dad called up and wanted me to come to the warehouse for burgers. I didn't really want to go. I really wanted to go back to bed and nurse this almighty pain. But I made myself go. Dad's employee and our family friend, R was there. I had a hard time holding up my end of conversation and there were silences.
My parents are grieving the loss themselves and they are very worried about me and I can't stand that. This situation has aged them. The pain and worry on their faces is almost more than I can bear. My brother and SIL don't really talk to me but ask Mom about me often.
I have to show them all I'm ok, no matter if I'm am or not.
I'M NOT OK.
I won't be ok for a very long time, if ever.
The nurse practitioner, Monica, from Dr. H's office calls to follow up with me. I'm not ok, I want to scream. And even though I've been asked how I am many times and have answered. This time I'm silent for a second before saying I'm learning to breathe again. She says sympathetic things, she says they do not have the baby's test results yet. She asks if I'm coming in for a check up. I ask her to change my appointment on the 30th from an OB appointment to a check up appointment. In my head, I say "Dead Baby Appointment". I tell her I have a lot of questions for the doctor. She says of course I do and she'll see me on the 30th. Try to have a nice Christmas she says.
It is exhausting me trying to convince people I'm ok. There was an ice storm last night so no school today. Dad called up and wanted me to come to the warehouse for burgers. I didn't really want to go. I really wanted to go back to bed and nurse this almighty pain. But I made myself go. Dad's employee and our family friend, R was there. I had a hard time holding up my end of conversation and there were silences.
My parents are grieving the loss themselves and they are very worried about me and I can't stand that. This situation has aged them. The pain and worry on their faces is almost more than I can bear. My brother and SIL don't really talk to me but ask Mom about me often.
I have to show them all I'm ok, no matter if I'm am or not.
I'M NOT OK.
Wednesday, December 15, 2010
Uncertain Territory
Half day attendance for the students. I can tell the kids really missed our routine and the work we do while I was gone. The kindergarten had Santa visit this morning and although we glimpsed him in the hallway and heard the bells as he changed rooms, they did not go crazy as I would expect them to. One time when we heard bells, Meliyah said, "That Santa is just distracting us!" Hard working sweeties.
Everyone went out to lunch. Jae had brought her lunch and stayed with me at school. I told her I feel like I'll be a crabass for the rest of my life. She said, you will feel like a crabass until you don't anymore.
I feel sorry for the people who have to be around me.
District wide professional development in the afternoon. I feel like I've been dodging and weaving in uncertain territory. Not sure who will speak to me of what happened, who knows and is ignoring it or who doesn't know. I sat next to our school social worker all afternoon and I don't think she knows what happened to us. She didn't say anything about it and acted so totally normal. I couldn't really turn to her and say, "Hey, did you hear my baby died?" I'm just waiting to run into the first person who doesn't know I've lost him and says something to me about pregnancy or due date or something. What wretched milestones I have yet to experience.
The school nurse came up to me and told me she'd had three miscarriages. I can't believe how many people are walking around with this kind of pain and they appear completely normal. I feel like I appear damaged and that I'll forever be damaged goods.
Everyone went out to lunch. Jae had brought her lunch and stayed with me at school. I told her I feel like I'll be a crabass for the rest of my life. She said, you will feel like a crabass until you don't anymore.
I feel sorry for the people who have to be around me.
District wide professional development in the afternoon. I feel like I've been dodging and weaving in uncertain territory. Not sure who will speak to me of what happened, who knows and is ignoring it or who doesn't know. I sat next to our school social worker all afternoon and I don't think she knows what happened to us. She didn't say anything about it and acted so totally normal. I couldn't really turn to her and say, "Hey, did you hear my baby died?" I'm just waiting to run into the first person who doesn't know I've lost him and says something to me about pregnancy or due date or something. What wretched milestones I have yet to experience.
The school nurse came up to me and told me she'd had three miscarriages. I can't believe how many people are walking around with this kind of pain and they appear completely normal. I feel like I appear damaged and that I'll forever be damaged goods.
Tuesday, December 14, 2010
First Day Back
Well, I survived it. I didn't fall apart or have to run from the building bawling. It was very hard but somehow not as difficult as I thought it would be. I am now bone grindingly tired emotionally and physically.
I was really unsure what to expect. Mostly people tried to pretend things were normal but with great discomfort and sadness in their eyes. Lots of hugs and shoulder pats. I was surprised no one said the words, "I'm sorry for your loss." or anything about the baby at all. Mostly people asked me how I was or just patted me on the shoulder. LP bounced up to me with a smile on her face and hugged me. I didn't get that but whatever. KG offered to help me do quarterly testing even though she's terribly busy with the Holiday Program. Mrs. W came into my classroom while the kids were there and kissed me on the cheek. KO was very kind and talked to me of when she lost her mother, how she couldn't remember very much of the following year. Talking to her was the one time I choked up. Jae didn't offer sympathy on the phone last week or in person. I guess she tried to act normal, still offering to do anything for me and taking my recess duty so I could test kids. The other (now only) pregnant woman in the building did stop by at the end of the day to see me. She stood at the door as I complained to her about the substitute who left things in a bit of a mess for me. She was kind and I know she must understand how awful it will be to be around her for a while.
The most difficult part of the day was the Holiday Program practice. I guess the sub didn't take the kids to music last week and so they have no idea what to do during their song. Sort of a Mexican circle dance. I could hardly bear the cheerful music and when I realized I had to get in there and dance along with them to show them what to do, it was hard to hold it together. Very difficult to face all this damn jolliness when nothing seems jolly to me right now.
The best part of the day was seeing the smiles on my kids' faces and getting their hugs. It had been a rough week for them without me. I could see them relaxing into our routine like it was an old bathrobe. We worked hard, trying to make up what fell through the cracks with the sub and doing quarterly testing which we are far behind in.
I wish I could say it felt like some sort of triumph but I feel like I'm at the end of a marathon while somehow having just taken the first step. Not that I know what running a marathon feels like.
When I got home, my professor called me and asked couldn't I please work on and turn in the final exam tonight. I tried to explain that I hadn't even started on it, that I had looked at it over the weekend but couldn't make myself focus. I even started to break down. She pretty much insisted that I do it. When I got off the phone with her, I cried hard for the first time today. Here I make it through the day and this comes crashing down on me.
I did finish the final and had just mailed it when she called me back. She was so nice, explaining that the real teacher (she's subbing for a sabbatical) had been standing right there while we were on the phone before and had insisted that it was university policy that if a student didn't turn in a final, they had to get an incomplete. She told me to just write something down, anything, a sentence or two and send it. She would cover for me. I do think she was glad to hear I'd written it and sent it though. She was so kind. She had had a loss herself in the 15th week many years ago. She was so complimentary saying that she'd be glad to have me as a coworker.
Glad this day is over.
I was really unsure what to expect. Mostly people tried to pretend things were normal but with great discomfort and sadness in their eyes. Lots of hugs and shoulder pats. I was surprised no one said the words, "I'm sorry for your loss." or anything about the baby at all. Mostly people asked me how I was or just patted me on the shoulder. LP bounced up to me with a smile on her face and hugged me. I didn't get that but whatever. KG offered to help me do quarterly testing even though she's terribly busy with the Holiday Program. Mrs. W came into my classroom while the kids were there and kissed me on the cheek. KO was very kind and talked to me of when she lost her mother, how she couldn't remember very much of the following year. Talking to her was the one time I choked up. Jae didn't offer sympathy on the phone last week or in person. I guess she tried to act normal, still offering to do anything for me and taking my recess duty so I could test kids. The other (now only) pregnant woman in the building did stop by at the end of the day to see me. She stood at the door as I complained to her about the substitute who left things in a bit of a mess for me. She was kind and I know she must understand how awful it will be to be around her for a while.
The most difficult part of the day was the Holiday Program practice. I guess the sub didn't take the kids to music last week and so they have no idea what to do during their song. Sort of a Mexican circle dance. I could hardly bear the cheerful music and when I realized I had to get in there and dance along with them to show them what to do, it was hard to hold it together. Very difficult to face all this damn jolliness when nothing seems jolly to me right now.
The best part of the day was seeing the smiles on my kids' faces and getting their hugs. It had been a rough week for them without me. I could see them relaxing into our routine like it was an old bathrobe. We worked hard, trying to make up what fell through the cracks with the sub and doing quarterly testing which we are far behind in.
I wish I could say it felt like some sort of triumph but I feel like I'm at the end of a marathon while somehow having just taken the first step. Not that I know what running a marathon feels like.
When I got home, my professor called me and asked couldn't I please work on and turn in the final exam tonight. I tried to explain that I hadn't even started on it, that I had looked at it over the weekend but couldn't make myself focus. I even started to break down. She pretty much insisted that I do it. When I got off the phone with her, I cried hard for the first time today. Here I make it through the day and this comes crashing down on me.
I did finish the final and had just mailed it when she called me back. She was so nice, explaining that the real teacher (she's subbing for a sabbatical) had been standing right there while we were on the phone before and had insisted that it was university policy that if a student didn't turn in a final, they had to get an incomplete. She told me to just write something down, anything, a sentence or two and send it. She would cover for me. I do think she was glad to hear I'd written it and sent it though. She was so kind. She had had a loss herself in the 15th week many years ago. She was so complimentary saying that she'd be glad to have me as a coworker.
Glad this day is over.
Monday, December 13, 2010
Attempting To Go Back To School
I was going to attempt going back to school today but there's been a snow storm and very cold temperatures. A snow day. Usually a reason to be happy. I'm not sure how I feel about it. I'm relieved to be forced to put off that first contact with my coworkers which I'm dreading. But I'm anxious and ready to get it over with. We have a phone tree and I had to talk to two people this morning concerning school being called off, the pity in their voices, even over the phone was nearly unbearable.
I've heard very little from any of my coworkers, people I thought I was so close with. People who just the day before had shared our ultrasound on the Smartboard and rejoiced with me. I did get many comments and messages on FB and flowers but it's not the same as human contact. I'm imagining that when I go back I'll be sort of a pariah.
On Thursday last week I did call Jae and was not able to hold it together very well. Talking to her was so hard because she was Sweet Pea's best "school auntie". I had never seen a nurturing side of her until I got pregnant. She gave me a granola bar everyday "for the baby" and she tried to look out for us. She swore Sweet Pea was a boy from the start and vowed to teach him about sports. She adored him from the start.
She said everyone was just shocked and asked her everyday if she'd heard anything from me. And she said my kids missed me.
I sent her this letter which she distributed to my coworkers for me:
H. Honeys,
I want you all to know that you’ve shared the happiest 20 weeks of my life. On Friday when I showed everyone our ultrasound DVD, I really felt your joy too. I thought that my baby was a little bit all of yours’ too. Thank you for being excited with me and caring so much for someone who was so important to me.
I know you may have been thinking of me and wondering what happened. On Saturday, I rushed to the hospital after a gush of fluid and blood. They told me my baby had very little amniotic fluid around him, the amniotic sac could not be repaired and the only thing I could do would be to lie on my back very still and hope the fluid would rebuild. It did not and my poor baby couldn’t survive without the fluid around him. I came home Sunday evening and had to start planning how to put my sweet Greyson into the ground. This has been a very hellish nightmare and it’s not over for me, nor can I imagine it will ever be over.
I’m planning on attempting to come back to school on Monday. I’m still very fragile but it will be good to be around “normal” (those of you who are…lol). I know I’m a not an easy person to be around right now and I understand that you may not know what to say when you see me and that is ok. If you would like to offer a few words of sympathy or a hug, I’ll be glad to accept them. If you aren’t able to approach me or speak to me of my loss, I understand and please don’t feel you must. I know you are all thinking of me, whether you say anything or not.
Love,
Paige
As we know, writing is my release and I just wanted everyone to know that whatever their reaction, it was ok. I've certainly felt that way about people before, not knowing what to say, etc. I wanted to make first contact. I imagine there will be a lot of deep pity, dumb things said and uncomfortable moments. I'm worried I won't be able to hold it together. I'm dreading it. As though this staggering sorrow isn't enough.
I've heard very little from any of my coworkers, people I thought I was so close with. People who just the day before had shared our ultrasound on the Smartboard and rejoiced with me. I did get many comments and messages on FB and flowers but it's not the same as human contact. I'm imagining that when I go back I'll be sort of a pariah.
On Thursday last week I did call Jae and was not able to hold it together very well. Talking to her was so hard because she was Sweet Pea's best "school auntie". I had never seen a nurturing side of her until I got pregnant. She gave me a granola bar everyday "for the baby" and she tried to look out for us. She swore Sweet Pea was a boy from the start and vowed to teach him about sports. She adored him from the start.
She said everyone was just shocked and asked her everyday if she'd heard anything from me. And she said my kids missed me.
I sent her this letter which she distributed to my coworkers for me:
H. Honeys,
I want you all to know that you’ve shared the happiest 20 weeks of my life. On Friday when I showed everyone our ultrasound DVD, I really felt your joy too. I thought that my baby was a little bit all of yours’ too. Thank you for being excited with me and caring so much for someone who was so important to me.
I know you may have been thinking of me and wondering what happened. On Saturday, I rushed to the hospital after a gush of fluid and blood. They told me my baby had very little amniotic fluid around him, the amniotic sac could not be repaired and the only thing I could do would be to lie on my back very still and hope the fluid would rebuild. It did not and my poor baby couldn’t survive without the fluid around him. I came home Sunday evening and had to start planning how to put my sweet Greyson into the ground. This has been a very hellish nightmare and it’s not over for me, nor can I imagine it will ever be over.
I’m planning on attempting to come back to school on Monday. I’m still very fragile but it will be good to be around “normal” (those of you who are…lol). I know I’m a not an easy person to be around right now and I understand that you may not know what to say when you see me and that is ok. If you would like to offer a few words of sympathy or a hug, I’ll be glad to accept them. If you aren’t able to approach me or speak to me of my loss, I understand and please don’t feel you must. I know you are all thinking of me, whether you say anything or not.
Love,
Paige
As we know, writing is my release and I just wanted everyone to know that whatever their reaction, it was ok. I've certainly felt that way about people before, not knowing what to say, etc. I wanted to make first contact. I imagine there will be a lot of deep pity, dumb things said and uncomfortable moments. I'm worried I won't be able to hold it together. I'm dreading it. As though this staggering sorrow isn't enough.
Sunday, December 12, 2010
Living Nightmare, Part 3
Not as bad as Part 2 but you may want to skip it.
December 5
1:00-5:00
It's hard to believe but I'm still worried about work. I don't feel able to call anyone and I can't just not show up with no explanation. I email Jae and tell her in one sentence what has happened and ask for help calling the principal and my teammates. I email my professor. And I post on this blog. It's all painful and I realize afterward that I'm exhausted but relieved.
Jamie asks me a few times to eat something. I finally have her order a peanut butter and jelly sandwich because I'm afraid they won't let me go home if I don't eat. Mom goes home and says she and Dad will be back at suppertime to bring me home. Part of me is desperate to be home, but a large part wants to stay in the hospital forever. I know going home will be agonizing and I just can't imagine life going on. Jamie brings in the death certificate and I'm unbelieving. Do I really have to write my son's name on a death certificate? It all seems so terribly unreal.
She spends quite some time with me, taking out the epidural and catheter and helping me to the bathroom for the first time. I'm concerned because my legs don't seem to be able to work properly especially the right side but later the feeling comes back to them. During this time, I ask questions about my baby, Is there a way to tell what color his eyes would have been? No, the eyelids are fused at this stage. Can you tell how big he would have been at full term? No, no way to tell. So many, many questions with no answers.
Finally, she gives a last dose of antibiotics and takes out the IV. She tells me she thinks I ought to stay in the hospital overnight. She asks a few times if someone will be staying with me. I assure her someone will but I'm not sure who yet. I only say this to get her to stop asking. Alone in the room, I manage going to the bathroom on my own and get dressed. Room service calls and I order a turkey sandwich only because I have to show them I'm doing ok so they'll let me go home.
Later she brings in his memory box and shows me what is inside. So little to remember the most important person in my life. The box smells strongly of varnish. Inside are the blankets he was wrapped in, a card with his measurements, a card with his tiny footprints, the tape they used to measure him and the hospital bracelet I would have worn that matched his which had to go with him. That is all there is to show there ever was a Greyson P. on earth.
The last thing Jamie brings in are discharge instructions. She rattles on about prescriptions for pain medication and how to go to the bathroom. She says I might get milk. I choke up when she says this and wonder if I can bear that. Milk to feed a baby who is dead. It just seems impossibly cruel. To my relief, milk never showed up.
I eat a few bites of sandwich and then sit and wait for my parents to come, I try very hard to control my emotions. I'm still and silent until they walk in. When I see Dad, the floodgates open and I can't seem to stop. Hysterical sobs tear from me and I can barely breathe. Mom holds me tight, Dad holds my hand. I say over and over that I can't bear it. My Dad says I'm stronger than that, I say I wasn't strong enough to keep him safe and I'm not strong enough to live without him. This is something I think constantly and say over and over again in the coming days. They say things but I don't remember what. I feel my mother's tears fall on my face.
I have no idea how long this went on but eventually I gather myself, and they bring in the wheelchair. Jamie had asked me previously if I would like an angel on the wall for Greyson. For a few moments, she leaves us in the hallway to get something from a closet. Dad goes to get the car. I hear what sounds to me like a heartbeat from a fetal monitor. I can hardly breathe. I ask Mom if she hears that, that heartbeat and I barely keep from becoming hysterical again. A nurse walks by with tears in her eyes and says she's sorry for my loss. They roll me around a corner and stamp an angel on the wall for my Greyson. A different nurse writes his name and date of birth/death.
At the car door, Jamie says to let her know if I need anything at all. Barely able to speak, I thank her for taking care of me and tell her I'll never forget her. I get into my car with Dad. Mom drives her car.
On the drive home, I cry hard on and off. Dad says a lot of the right things but also says things like, "Tomorrow is the first day of the rest of your life." To which I sob, "Nonono it's the end." He says I'm a strong kid. That when I began this he wasn't hopeful, that the science of it just didn't seem possible but I was determined and made it happen. Multiple times he says he hopes I'll try again. I say I'm sorry for messing up his birthday. He says not to worry about my birthday. I tell him I wanted to make him something and he says I'll have many, many days to make him things. He talks about when I was away at college and said I wouldn't let anything stop me from getting a degree and now look I have more than one. Even in my grief I wonder how this story could be relevant. I tell him I don't believe in God, he says I've got the wrong idea and I'll change my mind.
6:30
We get home and I have to smile when Mom immediately begins to wash dishes and Dad takes my car to get gas and then keeps it to do some work on it in the morning. They want so badly to help me but just don't know what to do or say. In the shower, I notice my flabby tummy and I cry hard and deep. Although I feel like I cried a lot in the hospital, Mom tells me I didn't really let loose until I was alone in the shower.
8:00
I send Mom home and go to bed. I'm more exhausted than I've ever been before. I drop right to sleep. I wake at 11 and wander around the house for a while before going back to sleep. I wake again at 3am, post "barely breathing" on FB and on this blog. I email my horrible news to the Yas.
And I cry.
December 5
1:00-5:00
It's hard to believe but I'm still worried about work. I don't feel able to call anyone and I can't just not show up with no explanation. I email Jae and tell her in one sentence what has happened and ask for help calling the principal and my teammates. I email my professor. And I post on this blog. It's all painful and I realize afterward that I'm exhausted but relieved.
Jamie asks me a few times to eat something. I finally have her order a peanut butter and jelly sandwich because I'm afraid they won't let me go home if I don't eat. Mom goes home and says she and Dad will be back at suppertime to bring me home. Part of me is desperate to be home, but a large part wants to stay in the hospital forever. I know going home will be agonizing and I just can't imagine life going on. Jamie brings in the death certificate and I'm unbelieving. Do I really have to write my son's name on a death certificate? It all seems so terribly unreal.
She spends quite some time with me, taking out the epidural and catheter and helping me to the bathroom for the first time. I'm concerned because my legs don't seem to be able to work properly especially the right side but later the feeling comes back to them. During this time, I ask questions about my baby, Is there a way to tell what color his eyes would have been? No, the eyelids are fused at this stage. Can you tell how big he would have been at full term? No, no way to tell. So many, many questions with no answers.
Finally, she gives a last dose of antibiotics and takes out the IV. She tells me she thinks I ought to stay in the hospital overnight. She asks a few times if someone will be staying with me. I assure her someone will but I'm not sure who yet. I only say this to get her to stop asking. Alone in the room, I manage going to the bathroom on my own and get dressed. Room service calls and I order a turkey sandwich only because I have to show them I'm doing ok so they'll let me go home.
Later she brings in his memory box and shows me what is inside. So little to remember the most important person in my life. The box smells strongly of varnish. Inside are the blankets he was wrapped in, a card with his measurements, a card with his tiny footprints, the tape they used to measure him and the hospital bracelet I would have worn that matched his which had to go with him. That is all there is to show there ever was a Greyson P. on earth.
The last thing Jamie brings in are discharge instructions. She rattles on about prescriptions for pain medication and how to go to the bathroom. She says I might get milk. I choke up when she says this and wonder if I can bear that. Milk to feed a baby who is dead. It just seems impossibly cruel. To my relief, milk never showed up.
I eat a few bites of sandwich and then sit and wait for my parents to come, I try very hard to control my emotions. I'm still and silent until they walk in. When I see Dad, the floodgates open and I can't seem to stop. Hysterical sobs tear from me and I can barely breathe. Mom holds me tight, Dad holds my hand. I say over and over that I can't bear it. My Dad says I'm stronger than that, I say I wasn't strong enough to keep him safe and I'm not strong enough to live without him. This is something I think constantly and say over and over again in the coming days. They say things but I don't remember what. I feel my mother's tears fall on my face.
I have no idea how long this went on but eventually I gather myself, and they bring in the wheelchair. Jamie had asked me previously if I would like an angel on the wall for Greyson. For a few moments, she leaves us in the hallway to get something from a closet. Dad goes to get the car. I hear what sounds to me like a heartbeat from a fetal monitor. I can hardly breathe. I ask Mom if she hears that, that heartbeat and I barely keep from becoming hysterical again. A nurse walks by with tears in her eyes and says she's sorry for my loss. They roll me around a corner and stamp an angel on the wall for my Greyson. A different nurse writes his name and date of birth/death.
At the car door, Jamie says to let her know if I need anything at all. Barely able to speak, I thank her for taking care of me and tell her I'll never forget her. I get into my car with Dad. Mom drives her car.
On the drive home, I cry hard on and off. Dad says a lot of the right things but also says things like, "Tomorrow is the first day of the rest of your life." To which I sob, "Nonono it's the end." He says I'm a strong kid. That when I began this he wasn't hopeful, that the science of it just didn't seem possible but I was determined and made it happen. Multiple times he says he hopes I'll try again. I say I'm sorry for messing up his birthday. He says not to worry about my birthday. I tell him I wanted to make him something and he says I'll have many, many days to make him things. He talks about when I was away at college and said I wouldn't let anything stop me from getting a degree and now look I have more than one. Even in my grief I wonder how this story could be relevant. I tell him I don't believe in God, he says I've got the wrong idea and I'll change my mind.
6:30
We get home and I have to smile when Mom immediately begins to wash dishes and Dad takes my car to get gas and then keeps it to do some work on it in the morning. They want so badly to help me but just don't know what to do or say. In the shower, I notice my flabby tummy and I cry hard and deep. Although I feel like I cried a lot in the hospital, Mom tells me I didn't really let loose until I was alone in the shower.
8:00
I send Mom home and go to bed. I'm more exhausted than I've ever been before. I drop right to sleep. I wake at 11 and wander around the house for a while before going back to sleep. I wake again at 3am, post "barely breathing" on FB and on this blog. I email my horrible news to the Yas.
And I cry.
Living Nightmare, Part 2
Do not read.
December 4 - 5
8:30-10:30 p.m.
I lay there having steady but mild cramps. Mom stares at me when she's not fussing around the room or stepping out for a cigarette or to call Dad. I cry for a few minutes at a time with an intensity and pain I've never felt before. Only for a few minutes, though, because I'm terrified of what really letting loose will be like. Mom attempts to comfort me while crying on and off herself. Somewhere in there, Mom wraps herself in hospital blankets and dozes in a recliner.
10:30
I'm not asleep, my eyes are open. I see Aunt Alys very clearly. She's standing near where my mother sleeps and she looks beautiful. She has my baby in her arms. My grandma is by her side and I think she's looking at the baby, later I think she must have been looking at her baby, my mother. The baby looks so pretty and big. No hair and blue eyes and he's not crying at all. Aunt Alys puts the baby over her shoulder and waves to me. Then she turns and takes my baby away from me.
In days to come, I revisit this vision constantly. Sometimes I actually smile while thinking about what my darling boy looked like. And I cry and cry because even though I know Aunt Alys will take the best of care of him, I want her to bring him back. I tell my mother and she says dreams like that can be a comfort. I talk to her about it again and again. I know I was not dreaming. My eyes were open, it was real. If Mom had opened her eyes and looked up, she would have seen them too. In a few days when I tell Pastor Jackie about it, she says sometimes we create things like this to protect ourselves. I tell her, real or not it's all I have to hang onto right now.
10:30-6:00 am
Jamie puts in the second grim dose. At this point the order of things that happened gets hazy. Mom is up and down during this time, folding blankets, checking monitors and stepping out. It doesn't feel as though I slept but Mom says I did. In the early hours, Jamie checks me and says there is a piece of the cord sticking out. She's a small woman but uses force to check my cervix. I tell her she has muscles for a little thing. She discovers I'm 3cm and thinned out. At some point mom asks if I mind if she goes home for a while, she's freezing and has no headache medicine with her. I've tried a few times to get her to go so I'm glad she's finally taking a break. She says she doesn't want to miss the "end". I tell her it doesn't seem to me like it will be anytime soon. She says she'll bring me some clean clothes, what do I want. I say I don't care. I've been worrying about the grad assignment I wasn't able to finish and letting them know I won't be at school, I'm unsure I'll be able to talk to someone so I ask Mom to bring my computer.
6:00
Mom comes back, I roll onto my side and really do sleep. I wake to hear the doctor's voice talking to Mom. She says this is taking so long, does it ever not work? He says no, it always works. I decide at that moment that he's a liar and I hate him. Shortly after this, the cramps I've felt all night worsen and I ask for pain medication. They give me the stuff that lasts an hour and it's an emotional relief when the dizzy, high feeling comes. I comment on it to the nurse, she says to just close my eyes. When it wears off I ask for an epidural and more pain medication while we wait for the epidural. Looking back, the physical pain wasn't really that bad and I wonder if I could have gone without the epidural. I was just so scared the pain would very quickly accelerate and it would be too late for an epidural or they couldn't get it to me in time.
8:00
I look up to find the nurse looking at the IV machine. I tell her she looks different. Mom says it's a different nurse. Her name is Jamie too. Actually, she's one of the nurses who was there while I was in the first room. She talks on and on. Too much. She seems to have a hard time holding back tears. I want to tell her to keep it together, I should be the one falling apart, not her. She asks if I want to hold the baby right after it comes. I tell her no. She seems surprised at this and asks if I'm sure. I say no again. She asks if I want to see their chaplain, I vehemently tell her no. I don't believe in God anymore, but I don't say it out loud to her. At some point she comes in and says they are seeing more contractions. She checks me and says she thinks she feels the head and that it may be happening soon. If I feel "different", pressure or something I should call her.
9:00
I feel "different" a few times and call her to check. She warns me that it will probably be very soon and that one of these times I feel "different" I'll have delivered my baby. I have the hope that he never comes because I want to keep him with me.
9:30
Through the epidural, I feel a warm wetness and I know the awful truth. My poor dead baby has come out of me. I call the nurse and say it's happened. She raises the covers and an earthy, bloody but lovely odor rises. She says very quietly, yes, you've delivered your baby and takes him away. I cry gut wrenching sobs and when the onslaught is over, I become very quiet and whisper that I wish I were dead. This sends Mom into hysterics and she tells me I have to survive for her and to never say or think that again.
10:15
The doctor comes in with the nurse. He is sure to tell me he was here to see me before but I was having a nice rest and he didn't want to disturb me. He begins to deliver the placenta. Mom asks me if it's ok that she steps out. He asks for something called a ring clamp and although I have an epidural the metal clamping down goes straight through my spine. This, along with his fingers create horrid pressure. It feels like he's pulling out my soul. Although I do not feel cold, I begin shaking very badly. I mention something about it and the doctor says it's hormones and that my body has been working hard.
Afterward, I say I'm not sure I'll survive this one. He says something about using my support, having support around me and even asking support to leave if I need to. He says people do survive. I ask the doctor something I've been thinking about all night. Did the baby suffer? I keep thinking it must have been like pulling a fish out of water or being smothered with a wet blanket. He immediately says no, it was just like going to sleep. But I know he's a liar now so I'm unsure of what he says. He talks to me of holding the baby. How it will help emotionally and he blathers on and on. I just stare at him. I ask if the baby looks normal. He hasn't seen him yet, but says yes and then Jamie, who has seen him and already cleaned him up says yes, he's fully formed and normal looking.
The doctor leaves to look at the baby. He comes back shortly and tells me the baby looks normal and yammers on and on about the baby going to Wash U. for the autopsy. He asks how I'm doing emotionally. This is the second or third time he's asked. I just look at him. I want to ask the motherfucker how he thinks I'm doing. He tells me to make an appointment for a check up in 2 weeks. I say I had an appointment on the 30th, can I just come then. He tells me that would work but to be aware that while he will remember what happened the office staff might be unaware and the folder will still be a yellow OB folder. They don't mean to be insensitive but they might proceed like it's a normal OB appointment, asking me how the baby is, etc. I apologize to him for having him call all those crazy numbers. He says he thinks something is wrong with his pager. Something about the pager being ten minutes behind and calling Mom first. My mom pipes up that he confused her by saying something about paging his number and my name is Paige so it was unclear what he wanted. He says it's a pretty name. Then he lectures about taking care of myself, I thank him for taking care of me and he idiotically tells me to try and have a nice Christmas and he'll see me on the 30th.
Jamie bustles back in and out taking care of me and talking of footprints and the photographer that is coming to take pictures of my son. I wonder what I'm supposed to do with pictures. She talks about a memory box like it's a big prize. She comes in with a list of mortuaries that do free services for babies and Mom says something about our local funeral man. It only sinks in this minute what I'm facing. This is real. I'll have to bury my only child. I guess up until that moment, even though they talked of the baby being normally formed, I thought it would be indistinct tissue going to a lab, not a child I'd have to bury and grieve. I just wanted it all to go away, the decisions, the paperwork, the unimaginable emotions. The hell I'm going through. Jamie asks if I have a name for the paperwork. I say no. She asks if I want to see and hold the baby. I nod my head.
I brace myself for what it might be like to hold this child that I still love with all my heart but who is motionless and cold, but it doesn't prepare me. When she puts him into my hands, I'm only able to hold him for a few seconds before going into hysterics. She quickly takes him away.
Jamie comes and goes with paper work and caring for my physical needs, talking the whole time. Eventually, she says they are getting ready to take him away for good, it will be the last chance I have to hold him. Do I want to? I say that I do. I'm very calm this time. I want to take in every detail.
When she puts him into my hands, she says she'll give us privacy but I tell her not to go anywhere. I'm afraid I'll become hysterical again. My little boy is wrinkled and very red. He's so small. So small. He fits into my two hands. I tell Mom he was big when he was in Aunt Alys' arms.
There is a ridge in his scalp and his features look sort of like they've been squeezed. His eyes are closed and his little mouth is open. Jamie talks about how everything is soft during this stage of development and that his ears are a little off set which could be an indicator of a genetic problem. I tell her I had the quad screening and everything was normal. She says, then it's just the stage of development. She chatters on about the volunteers that make the blankets he's wrapped in. I'm grateful for her voice keeping me on earth.
She had said something previously about his 10 fingers and 10 toes. Mom helps me untie the ribbons and we look at the tiny perfect hands and feet, with the tiniest, perfect nails. I use a gentle finger to lift a foot. I want to stroke his head but the skin looks shiny and wet. I ask Jamie if the skin is wet, she says no but the skin is so thin it breaks apart easily and seeps. For a minute more, I take in the sight of my perfect little boy.
Then I look at his open mouth and for an insane second want to make it talk, like he's a puppet or something. I feel myself sliding toward the edge and I know it's time to let him go. I really want to put him in my purse and take him home. Jamie takes him away and I'm still completely calm. I say for the 100th time to my mother that I wish he had stayed. I tell her I think he would have liked me. She cries and cries.
After awhile, Mom leaves to call Dad and I lie there thinking of the most random things. How will I tell the Yas? I think about waiting until after the burial. What about school this week? What about my grad class? What will this wretched week be like? Where is God? I think about how I really wish I were dead but can never say that out loud again.
I live inside my vision of Aunt Alys with my baby.
And I think nonstop about my little son.
It occurs to me that I can't bear for him to go away with only Baby Boy as a name and the name Greyson comes to me, one of the favorites from the list. I give him the middle initial P because we called him Sweet Pea and because it is my initial and what else do I have to give him?
December 4 - 5
8:30-10:30 p.m.
I lay there having steady but mild cramps. Mom stares at me when she's not fussing around the room or stepping out for a cigarette or to call Dad. I cry for a few minutes at a time with an intensity and pain I've never felt before. Only for a few minutes, though, because I'm terrified of what really letting loose will be like. Mom attempts to comfort me while crying on and off herself. Somewhere in there, Mom wraps herself in hospital blankets and dozes in a recliner.
10:30
I'm not asleep, my eyes are open. I see Aunt Alys very clearly. She's standing near where my mother sleeps and she looks beautiful. She has my baby in her arms. My grandma is by her side and I think she's looking at the baby, later I think she must have been looking at her baby, my mother. The baby looks so pretty and big. No hair and blue eyes and he's not crying at all. Aunt Alys puts the baby over her shoulder and waves to me. Then she turns and takes my baby away from me.
In days to come, I revisit this vision constantly. Sometimes I actually smile while thinking about what my darling boy looked like. And I cry and cry because even though I know Aunt Alys will take the best of care of him, I want her to bring him back. I tell my mother and she says dreams like that can be a comfort. I talk to her about it again and again. I know I was not dreaming. My eyes were open, it was real. If Mom had opened her eyes and looked up, she would have seen them too. In a few days when I tell Pastor Jackie about it, she says sometimes we create things like this to protect ourselves. I tell her, real or not it's all I have to hang onto right now.
10:30-6:00 am
Jamie puts in the second grim dose. At this point the order of things that happened gets hazy. Mom is up and down during this time, folding blankets, checking monitors and stepping out. It doesn't feel as though I slept but Mom says I did. In the early hours, Jamie checks me and says there is a piece of the cord sticking out. She's a small woman but uses force to check my cervix. I tell her she has muscles for a little thing. She discovers I'm 3cm and thinned out. At some point mom asks if I mind if she goes home for a while, she's freezing and has no headache medicine with her. I've tried a few times to get her to go so I'm glad she's finally taking a break. She says she doesn't want to miss the "end". I tell her it doesn't seem to me like it will be anytime soon. She says she'll bring me some clean clothes, what do I want. I say I don't care. I've been worrying about the grad assignment I wasn't able to finish and letting them know I won't be at school, I'm unsure I'll be able to talk to someone so I ask Mom to bring my computer.
6:00
Mom comes back, I roll onto my side and really do sleep. I wake to hear the doctor's voice talking to Mom. She says this is taking so long, does it ever not work? He says no, it always works. I decide at that moment that he's a liar and I hate him. Shortly after this, the cramps I've felt all night worsen and I ask for pain medication. They give me the stuff that lasts an hour and it's an emotional relief when the dizzy, high feeling comes. I comment on it to the nurse, she says to just close my eyes. When it wears off I ask for an epidural and more pain medication while we wait for the epidural. Looking back, the physical pain wasn't really that bad and I wonder if I could have gone without the epidural. I was just so scared the pain would very quickly accelerate and it would be too late for an epidural or they couldn't get it to me in time.
8:00
I look up to find the nurse looking at the IV machine. I tell her she looks different. Mom says it's a different nurse. Her name is Jamie too. Actually, she's one of the nurses who was there while I was in the first room. She talks on and on. Too much. She seems to have a hard time holding back tears. I want to tell her to keep it together, I should be the one falling apart, not her. She asks if I want to hold the baby right after it comes. I tell her no. She seems surprised at this and asks if I'm sure. I say no again. She asks if I want to see their chaplain, I vehemently tell her no. I don't believe in God anymore, but I don't say it out loud to her. At some point she comes in and says they are seeing more contractions. She checks me and says she thinks she feels the head and that it may be happening soon. If I feel "different", pressure or something I should call her.
9:00
I feel "different" a few times and call her to check. She warns me that it will probably be very soon and that one of these times I feel "different" I'll have delivered my baby. I have the hope that he never comes because I want to keep him with me.
9:30
Through the epidural, I feel a warm wetness and I know the awful truth. My poor dead baby has come out of me. I call the nurse and say it's happened. She raises the covers and an earthy, bloody but lovely odor rises. She says very quietly, yes, you've delivered your baby and takes him away. I cry gut wrenching sobs and when the onslaught is over, I become very quiet and whisper that I wish I were dead. This sends Mom into hysterics and she tells me I have to survive for her and to never say or think that again.
10:15
The doctor comes in with the nurse. He is sure to tell me he was here to see me before but I was having a nice rest and he didn't want to disturb me. He begins to deliver the placenta. Mom asks me if it's ok that she steps out. He asks for something called a ring clamp and although I have an epidural the metal clamping down goes straight through my spine. This, along with his fingers create horrid pressure. It feels like he's pulling out my soul. Although I do not feel cold, I begin shaking very badly. I mention something about it and the doctor says it's hormones and that my body has been working hard.
Afterward, I say I'm not sure I'll survive this one. He says something about using my support, having support around me and even asking support to leave if I need to. He says people do survive. I ask the doctor something I've been thinking about all night. Did the baby suffer? I keep thinking it must have been like pulling a fish out of water or being smothered with a wet blanket. He immediately says no, it was just like going to sleep. But I know he's a liar now so I'm unsure of what he says. He talks to me of holding the baby. How it will help emotionally and he blathers on and on. I just stare at him. I ask if the baby looks normal. He hasn't seen him yet, but says yes and then Jamie, who has seen him and already cleaned him up says yes, he's fully formed and normal looking.
The doctor leaves to look at the baby. He comes back shortly and tells me the baby looks normal and yammers on and on about the baby going to Wash U. for the autopsy. He asks how I'm doing emotionally. This is the second or third time he's asked. I just look at him. I want to ask the motherfucker how he thinks I'm doing. He tells me to make an appointment for a check up in 2 weeks. I say I had an appointment on the 30th, can I just come then. He tells me that would work but to be aware that while he will remember what happened the office staff might be unaware and the folder will still be a yellow OB folder. They don't mean to be insensitive but they might proceed like it's a normal OB appointment, asking me how the baby is, etc. I apologize to him for having him call all those crazy numbers. He says he thinks something is wrong with his pager. Something about the pager being ten minutes behind and calling Mom first. My mom pipes up that he confused her by saying something about paging his number and my name is Paige so it was unclear what he wanted. He says it's a pretty name. Then he lectures about taking care of myself, I thank him for taking care of me and he idiotically tells me to try and have a nice Christmas and he'll see me on the 30th.
Jamie bustles back in and out taking care of me and talking of footprints and the photographer that is coming to take pictures of my son. I wonder what I'm supposed to do with pictures. She talks about a memory box like it's a big prize. She comes in with a list of mortuaries that do free services for babies and Mom says something about our local funeral man. It only sinks in this minute what I'm facing. This is real. I'll have to bury my only child. I guess up until that moment, even though they talked of the baby being normally formed, I thought it would be indistinct tissue going to a lab, not a child I'd have to bury and grieve. I just wanted it all to go away, the decisions, the paperwork, the unimaginable emotions. The hell I'm going through. Jamie asks if I have a name for the paperwork. I say no. She asks if I want to see and hold the baby. I nod my head.
I brace myself for what it might be like to hold this child that I still love with all my heart but who is motionless and cold, but it doesn't prepare me. When she puts him into my hands, I'm only able to hold him for a few seconds before going into hysterics. She quickly takes him away.
Jamie comes and goes with paper work and caring for my physical needs, talking the whole time. Eventually, she says they are getting ready to take him away for good, it will be the last chance I have to hold him. Do I want to? I say that I do. I'm very calm this time. I want to take in every detail.
When she puts him into my hands, she says she'll give us privacy but I tell her not to go anywhere. I'm afraid I'll become hysterical again. My little boy is wrinkled and very red. He's so small. So small. He fits into my two hands. I tell Mom he was big when he was in Aunt Alys' arms.
There is a ridge in his scalp and his features look sort of like they've been squeezed. His eyes are closed and his little mouth is open. Jamie talks about how everything is soft during this stage of development and that his ears are a little off set which could be an indicator of a genetic problem. I tell her I had the quad screening and everything was normal. She says, then it's just the stage of development. She chatters on about the volunteers that make the blankets he's wrapped in. I'm grateful for her voice keeping me on earth.
She had said something previously about his 10 fingers and 10 toes. Mom helps me untie the ribbons and we look at the tiny perfect hands and feet, with the tiniest, perfect nails. I use a gentle finger to lift a foot. I want to stroke his head but the skin looks shiny and wet. I ask Jamie if the skin is wet, she says no but the skin is so thin it breaks apart easily and seeps. For a minute more, I take in the sight of my perfect little boy.
Then I look at his open mouth and for an insane second want to make it talk, like he's a puppet or something. I feel myself sliding toward the edge and I know it's time to let him go. I really want to put him in my purse and take him home. Jamie takes him away and I'm still completely calm. I say for the 100th time to my mother that I wish he had stayed. I tell her I think he would have liked me. She cries and cries.
After awhile, Mom leaves to call Dad and I lie there thinking of the most random things. How will I tell the Yas? I think about waiting until after the burial. What about school this week? What about my grad class? What will this wretched week be like? Where is God? I think about how I really wish I were dead but can never say that out loud again.
I live inside my vision of Aunt Alys with my baby.
And I think nonstop about my little son.
It occurs to me that I can't bear for him to go away with only Baby Boy as a name and the name Greyson comes to me, one of the favorites from the list. I give him the middle initial P because we called him Sweet Pea and because it is my initial and what else do I have to give him?
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