Sunday, January 7, 2018
My Perfectly "Imperfect" Life
How Many Kids do you Want?
"Four Kids. Two years apart or less. Three boys and One girl."
My Perfect Future. My Perfect Family. Simple. Beautiful. Naïve.
How many kids do you have?
"Three Kids. 18 Months Apart. Two Boys and One Girl. Two on Earth and One in Heaven."
{Bet you weren't expecting that last part eh?}
Welcome to my Perfectly "Imperfect" Life
A life I had never dreamed in a million years. A life where my plans have changed. A life where my outlook has changed. A life where my heart has changed. Ok, let's be honest, a life where EVERTHING has changed. I thought I had it all figured out. That young, naïve, innocent self of mine. Never once did I think that darkness would attempt to enter my life. Never once did I think that I would be chosen to live the unimaginable. That was never part of the "plan".
Let it Go. My mantra for most of my journey. I've had to adapt to a new perfection. I've had to find the beauty in the darkest of places. I've had to make light of the most horrific situation. I've had to find joy in the deepest of sorrows and I've had to "let go" all along the way.
My journey isn't what I once thought it would be but I've learned that it doesn't lessen my life or my plans. It's helped to make me stronger and my life more full. I would not be the person I am today without my daughter. My daughter who died. My daughter who is no longer in my arms. Is that hard to say? Absolutely. Is that hard to live with everyday? Absolutely. But it also gives me more than sadness and pain, it gives me joy, it gives me love and it gives me hope for what is to come.
2018 is a New Year. The 2 year Anniversary of "This Unimaginable Journey", and I'm just not sure how I feel about that. So I'm taking this year to focus on something I don't think I've ever focused on before... ME. (crazy huh?) It's time; and I don't think it's something I would have ever thought to do without that little girl coming into our lives. It's true, I get envious of families with "3 under 3" and those who I feel get to live what I had imagined as my "perfection." But that doesn't mean that I don't realize how beautiful my Perfectly "Imperfect" Life is.
When I look at the past two years, I think "You're right it's not how you had imagined", in actuality, it's so much more. It's hard to explain after the loss of a child how much your outlook on life evolves. To constantly search for the deeper meaning of life, to understand fully how precious our time here on Earth truly is. To appreciate the little things that life has to offer and accepting them for what they are. To "Let Go". To adapt to new perfections. It's all a part of this journey; and it's not always easy and I don't find it to always be fair, but it's beautiful and valuable all at the same time. It's my "perfectly imperfect life" and I don't think I would want it any other way.
So today I'm going to thank my little girl up above, and all of you who read This Unimaginable Journey, because I wouldn't be the person I am today without all of it. The Sadness, The Joy, The Pain, The Love, My Family and all of the Friends I've made along the way. I am who I am today because of this and I am so incredibly Blessed and Thankful for it all. So Here's to a New Year, finding ourselves and to Celebrating all of Life's Perfect Imperfections.
Sunday, October 15, 2017
The Day our Angel got her Wings
March 20, 2016:
I had been moved from ICU the night before and spent the evening on the Labor and Delivery recovery floor. My heart was not so ready for this move; because little did I know that the walls would be thin, that when I would be required to get up to go for my walk I would hear the cries of newborn babies, I would hear the laughing and giggling of families in adjacent rooms, a feeling I had felt when Levi was born. How many other Moms were struggling when I held Levi snug in my arms in the hospital room? How had I never even thought about that? I think part of me thought maybe there was a "special" wing in the hospital for that, but I know now, there isn't. A mom is a mom, whether her baby is in her arms or fighting for their life in the NICU. We were all the same.
When Adam and I woke up that morning I rang for a wheelchair so that I could go see my little Baby Girl, I was still on an IV and hooked up to several monitors so a wheelchair was still needed. I also wasn't able to stand for a super long time yet. As we made our way down to the NICU my heart was beating so fast. We didn't get a call in the middle of the night so that had to be a good sign, right? As we entered the NICU and made our way to the back right corner pod, I could hear the ventilator working hard and her alarms going off. UGH, why couldn't we come down today to here the normal beeps of the monitor?
But there she was, sleeping in her little incubator (they had to keep her sedated so that she didn't pull on all of her wires) and still looking like the most perfect little girl. It felt like falling in love all over again, I just couldn't get over how much she looked like her brother Levi, except for that super blonde hair like her Mama. The nurse told Adam and I that she had "kept her on her toes" all morning. Not the greatest sign, but I had read about that from several hydrops blogs. We were well aware that the fight after Harper was born was going to be the hardest. Still, nothing can prepare you. As I saw the doctor make her way over I tried not to make eye contact. Lately, every discussion I have had with this woman was more and more sad news. I completely understand that is her job, but for once, I just wanted some time to myself, time to imagine that everything would be ok.
Mrs. Wear? (Do I really have to look over and here what she is about to tell me?)
I look up and I can see it in her eyes. I know this is about to be devastating news. "Yes"
"I'm so sorry to tell you, but we have tried everything, Harper does not seem to be responding well to any of our treatments. She is on the highest dose of the meds that I can give her, she is on the highest setting I can have the ventilator on because I don't want to put holes in her lungs. Her reading's just aren't getting any better. I need to tell you now that per your request before, if her heart rate drops below 80, that is when I would want to start compressions. Take your time, but I want you and your husband to talk about the decisions that will need to be made today."
Adam and I looked at each other, "What do we do now?". The thought of "giving up" on your daughter is enough to bring your entire being to it's knees. When we looked at each other all you could see was love, love and so much pain. To be honest, we couldn't answer just then, we would decide when the moment was right, but we had talked about it a bit last night. That Harper's heart was the part of her that was keeping her alive, it was strong and we both knew that once her heart started to show failure, it most likely would just be a matter of time before we would have to say goodbye to our sweet baby girl. So we stayed with Harper for the rest of the afternoon and we just watched. We watched her, we watched the monitors, we watched the nurse give her medication after medication. Her heart rate was dropping, several times we gave each other the look. Deep down we both knew what this meant, but neither one of us wanted to say it out loud.
88, 87, 86... our hearts were racing.
Is this it? By now we were in the mid evening, just watching and holding each other and holding the hand of our baby girl who was desperately fighting. The tears started to roll down our cheeks, 85...84... All I could tell myself was "Please go back up, Please go back up". I was desperate for a miracle, I begged God to not let this happen. I wasn't ready. The doctor approached us again, "We are going to try one more round of medication, but it's not looking like things will resolve tonight." I held my breath as I watched the doctor inject more medicine into one of the IV lines for Harper. I couldn't breathe. Please; Please let this work. I was begging with my entire soul. I held Harper's hand, afraid to let it go. Will we be one of the lucky ones? Tears were streaming down our face, we knew it would take a miracle at this point. After a few minutes her heart rate started to climb, Adam and I glanced at each other with eyes full of relief for the moment. We knew this wasn't the end of her fight, but we were so incredibly thankful for more time. Anything at this point, was more than we could ask for. The doctor soon approached, "Mrs. Wear, I'm not sure what is happening but Harper seems to be responding to the medicine, so for now we are just going to continue to monitor her." Oh my heart, these were words that this Mama needed to hear.
Adam and I soaked in as much time as we could with our little girl, we had decided that tonight we were going to take shifts so that she wasn't left alone. I had the first shift with her and I told Adam that I would call him if her heart rate dropped below a certain number so had plenty of time to make it for the worst case scenario. There were rooms right across from the NICU for parents to stay so he didn't have to be far. My IV had come out earlier, so Adams mom agreed to stay with Harper while the nurses took me to one of the rooms to attempt to put one back in. She promised to text if anything started to look strange. I went with the nurse and after several minutes and several failed attempts to get one in my weak arms the nurse decided she was going to have to go get a different size. I told them that Harper had given us a scare earlier so if it was ok with them, I wanted to go back with her while they rounded up more supplies. They agreed. As I approached my daughters pod I could hear the alarms going off. Adam's mom looked up and said "I was just about to call you, I already let Adam know."
My heart sank. Here we go again. Will we be as lucky this time? At this point it was a little after Midnight, we had made it another day technically. March 21, 2016. A day that forever will remain in my heart. Adam arrived quickly, grabbed my hand and held tight. We prayed. We cried. We watched the numbers drop again. "Please go back up." "C'mon little girl, you did it once before." "Please God, don't let this be it." I can't explain it but this time felt different, I think a part of us knew the minute the second decline began. Tears streaming down our faces. We knew we would have to make a decision this time. Do we attempt CPR, knowing that her body was failing, that brain damage was imminent, or do we hold her and watch her fly into another world? Both situations seemed like a Lose v Lose. What I wouldn't give or do to have her healthy and in my arms. This was real life. This was what watching a piece of yourself slip away felt like. An indescribable pain that will permanently be wretched in my heart and in my soul.
Her heart rate continued to drop. Adam and I looked at each other with tear filled eyes, neither one of us wanted to make the decision. I could hear the monitor continue to decline. I knew it was time, but I just couldn't. I just physically could not utter the words, "I'm ready to take my daughter off of life support." I wanted to fight, I wanted to pray, I wanted a miracle so badly it hurt. But time was not our friend, in a matter of a few more minutes Harper's heart rate dropped to 80. I looked at Adam again and with tears streaming down our faces we nodded at each other.
It was time.
It was time to hold our baby girl and get as many snuggles in as we possibly could before she left this earth. I called the nurse over and told her we were ready. She alerted the doc and a team of the most caring NICU nurses and docs began to unhook our daughter from every machine but the ventilator as quickly as possible so we could spend as much time as possible with our baby girl. They placed her in my arms and for the next few minutes her Dad and I did nothing but hold her, cry for her and love her. We studied every little line on her face, we watched her little belly move up and down from the ventilator, we held her tight for as much time as we could before her brave little heart stopped beating. I will always remember the doctor walking over, holding the stethoscope to her little chest and telling me there was no longer a heart beat. Our little girl had finally left her earthly body. I had never felt so much pain in all of my life and at the same time so much love.
It's hard to imagine this could ever happen to you. It's hard to believe that at the age of 30, I would forever have a hole in my heart that I feared would never go away. I wanted to believe so badly that this was all made up, just one really bad dream that I would wake up from. I wanted to believe that our miracle was still going to happen. Well, I now know that I was right about part of it, the sadness never goes away, it softens, but yet it remains. The memories of that day will never go away. It wasn't a dream, it was our reality. The hours that her dad and I were able to hold her after she died will forever be remembered. But one thing is for sure, it doesn't all come with sadness. There are so many memories we can look back on from that day and be so incredibly thankful for.
We were thankful for the time we got to watch her and know her. We were thankful for the moments of hope she gave us. We were thankful that she fought so incredibly hard. We were thankful to be surrounded by love and prayers. We were thankful she was able to be baptized in the hospital. We were thankful that we got to hold her and be with her when she was placed in the arms of an angel. We were thankful that she was ours and we were hers and nothing was ever going to take that away from us.
Harper may not be with us physically anymore. She flies high above us now, watching over our loved ones and fulfilling God's plan in a way we never imagined. Regardless of where she is, she will always be a part of us. I may not always know how to answer questions regarding my history and hers but one thing is for sure, she will never be forgotten. We will cherish our daughter and love her from afar. We will celebrate her with all of our hearts and we will remember those three beautiful days we spent with her and the love that surrounded us each and every moment She was our daughter, she was our second child, she was our fighter and for that we are so incredibly blessed.
*WE LOVE YOU HARPER LYNN!*
I had been moved from ICU the night before and spent the evening on the Labor and Delivery recovery floor. My heart was not so ready for this move; because little did I know that the walls would be thin, that when I would be required to get up to go for my walk I would hear the cries of newborn babies, I would hear the laughing and giggling of families in adjacent rooms, a feeling I had felt when Levi was born. How many other Moms were struggling when I held Levi snug in my arms in the hospital room? How had I never even thought about that? I think part of me thought maybe there was a "special" wing in the hospital for that, but I know now, there isn't. A mom is a mom, whether her baby is in her arms or fighting for their life in the NICU. We were all the same.
When Adam and I woke up that morning I rang for a wheelchair so that I could go see my little Baby Girl, I was still on an IV and hooked up to several monitors so a wheelchair was still needed. I also wasn't able to stand for a super long time yet. As we made our way down to the NICU my heart was beating so fast. We didn't get a call in the middle of the night so that had to be a good sign, right? As we entered the NICU and made our way to the back right corner pod, I could hear the ventilator working hard and her alarms going off. UGH, why couldn't we come down today to here the normal beeps of the monitor?
But there she was, sleeping in her little incubator (they had to keep her sedated so that she didn't pull on all of her wires) and still looking like the most perfect little girl. It felt like falling in love all over again, I just couldn't get over how much she looked like her brother Levi, except for that super blonde hair like her Mama. The nurse told Adam and I that she had "kept her on her toes" all morning. Not the greatest sign, but I had read about that from several hydrops blogs. We were well aware that the fight after Harper was born was going to be the hardest. Still, nothing can prepare you. As I saw the doctor make her way over I tried not to make eye contact. Lately, every discussion I have had with this woman was more and more sad news. I completely understand that is her job, but for once, I just wanted some time to myself, time to imagine that everything would be ok.
Mrs. Wear? (Do I really have to look over and here what she is about to tell me?)
I look up and I can see it in her eyes. I know this is about to be devastating news. "Yes"
"I'm so sorry to tell you, but we have tried everything, Harper does not seem to be responding well to any of our treatments. She is on the highest dose of the meds that I can give her, she is on the highest setting I can have the ventilator on because I don't want to put holes in her lungs. Her reading's just aren't getting any better. I need to tell you now that per your request before, if her heart rate drops below 80, that is when I would want to start compressions. Take your time, but I want you and your husband to talk about the decisions that will need to be made today."
Adam and I looked at each other, "What do we do now?". The thought of "giving up" on your daughter is enough to bring your entire being to it's knees. When we looked at each other all you could see was love, love and so much pain. To be honest, we couldn't answer just then, we would decide when the moment was right, but we had talked about it a bit last night. That Harper's heart was the part of her that was keeping her alive, it was strong and we both knew that once her heart started to show failure, it most likely would just be a matter of time before we would have to say goodbye to our sweet baby girl. So we stayed with Harper for the rest of the afternoon and we just watched. We watched her, we watched the monitors, we watched the nurse give her medication after medication. Her heart rate was dropping, several times we gave each other the look. Deep down we both knew what this meant, but neither one of us wanted to say it out loud.
88, 87, 86... our hearts were racing.
Is this it? By now we were in the mid evening, just watching and holding each other and holding the hand of our baby girl who was desperately fighting. The tears started to roll down our cheeks, 85...84... All I could tell myself was "Please go back up, Please go back up". I was desperate for a miracle, I begged God to not let this happen. I wasn't ready. The doctor approached us again, "We are going to try one more round of medication, but it's not looking like things will resolve tonight." I held my breath as I watched the doctor inject more medicine into one of the IV lines for Harper. I couldn't breathe. Please; Please let this work. I was begging with my entire soul. I held Harper's hand, afraid to let it go. Will we be one of the lucky ones? Tears were streaming down our face, we knew it would take a miracle at this point. After a few minutes her heart rate started to climb, Adam and I glanced at each other with eyes full of relief for the moment. We knew this wasn't the end of her fight, but we were so incredibly thankful for more time. Anything at this point, was more than we could ask for. The doctor soon approached, "Mrs. Wear, I'm not sure what is happening but Harper seems to be responding to the medicine, so for now we are just going to continue to monitor her." Oh my heart, these were words that this Mama needed to hear.
Adam and I soaked in as much time as we could with our little girl, we had decided that tonight we were going to take shifts so that she wasn't left alone. I had the first shift with her and I told Adam that I would call him if her heart rate dropped below a certain number so had plenty of time to make it for the worst case scenario. There were rooms right across from the NICU for parents to stay so he didn't have to be far. My IV had come out earlier, so Adams mom agreed to stay with Harper while the nurses took me to one of the rooms to attempt to put one back in. She promised to text if anything started to look strange. I went with the nurse and after several minutes and several failed attempts to get one in my weak arms the nurse decided she was going to have to go get a different size. I told them that Harper had given us a scare earlier so if it was ok with them, I wanted to go back with her while they rounded up more supplies. They agreed. As I approached my daughters pod I could hear the alarms going off. Adam's mom looked up and said "I was just about to call you, I already let Adam know."
My heart sank. Here we go again. Will we be as lucky this time? At this point it was a little after Midnight, we had made it another day technically. March 21, 2016. A day that forever will remain in my heart. Adam arrived quickly, grabbed my hand and held tight. We prayed. We cried. We watched the numbers drop again. "Please go back up." "C'mon little girl, you did it once before." "Please God, don't let this be it." I can't explain it but this time felt different, I think a part of us knew the minute the second decline began. Tears streaming down our faces. We knew we would have to make a decision this time. Do we attempt CPR, knowing that her body was failing, that brain damage was imminent, or do we hold her and watch her fly into another world? Both situations seemed like a Lose v Lose. What I wouldn't give or do to have her healthy and in my arms. This was real life. This was what watching a piece of yourself slip away felt like. An indescribable pain that will permanently be wretched in my heart and in my soul.
Her heart rate continued to drop. Adam and I looked at each other with tear filled eyes, neither one of us wanted to make the decision. I could hear the monitor continue to decline. I knew it was time, but I just couldn't. I just physically could not utter the words, "I'm ready to take my daughter off of life support." I wanted to fight, I wanted to pray, I wanted a miracle so badly it hurt. But time was not our friend, in a matter of a few more minutes Harper's heart rate dropped to 80. I looked at Adam again and with tears streaming down our faces we nodded at each other.
It was time.
It was time to hold our baby girl and get as many snuggles in as we possibly could before she left this earth. I called the nurse over and told her we were ready. She alerted the doc and a team of the most caring NICU nurses and docs began to unhook our daughter from every machine but the ventilator as quickly as possible so we could spend as much time as possible with our baby girl. They placed her in my arms and for the next few minutes her Dad and I did nothing but hold her, cry for her and love her. We studied every little line on her face, we watched her little belly move up and down from the ventilator, we held her tight for as much time as we could before her brave little heart stopped beating. I will always remember the doctor walking over, holding the stethoscope to her little chest and telling me there was no longer a heart beat. Our little girl had finally left her earthly body. I had never felt so much pain in all of my life and at the same time so much love.
It's hard to imagine this could ever happen to you. It's hard to believe that at the age of 30, I would forever have a hole in my heart that I feared would never go away. I wanted to believe so badly that this was all made up, just one really bad dream that I would wake up from. I wanted to believe that our miracle was still going to happen. Well, I now know that I was right about part of it, the sadness never goes away, it softens, but yet it remains. The memories of that day will never go away. It wasn't a dream, it was our reality. The hours that her dad and I were able to hold her after she died will forever be remembered. But one thing is for sure, it doesn't all come with sadness. There are so many memories we can look back on from that day and be so incredibly thankful for.
We were thankful for the time we got to watch her and know her. We were thankful for the moments of hope she gave us. We were thankful that she fought so incredibly hard. We were thankful to be surrounded by love and prayers. We were thankful she was able to be baptized in the hospital. We were thankful that we got to hold her and be with her when she was placed in the arms of an angel. We were thankful that she was ours and we were hers and nothing was ever going to take that away from us.
Harper may not be with us physically anymore. She flies high above us now, watching over our loved ones and fulfilling God's plan in a way we never imagined. Regardless of where she is, she will always be a part of us. I may not always know how to answer questions regarding my history and hers but one thing is for sure, she will never be forgotten. We will cherish our daughter and love her from afar. We will celebrate her with all of our hearts and we will remember those three beautiful days we spent with her and the love that surrounded us each and every moment She was our daughter, she was our second child, she was our fighter and for that we are so incredibly blessed.
*WE LOVE YOU HARPER LYNN!*
Thursday, August 3, 2017
Pregnancy After Loss
It's been a long time friends and let me tell you why...
Pregnancy after loss is hard. It's as simple as that.
Right when I think I have it all figured out; Right when I think everything is going to be just fine; Right when I think I have nothing to fear this time. There it is, as clear as day, staring at me, screaming at me... My Memories.
I can remember the exact moment I laid eyes on my baby girl, I can remember the exact moment she was first put in my arms and I can remember the exact moment that the nurse came into my room when I told her we were ready to let go and watched as she took my daughter away from me for the very last time. I remember. I remember like it was yesterday. Memories.
It's hard. So very hard. As a mom, you try not to let your mind wander, you try not to think of the "unthinkable." I try to convince myself, "It can't happen again." The chance of Nolan having hydrops is the same chance Harper had, less than 1%. Extremely Rare; and yet, here I am, wondering when that "something" is going to go wrong this time. My entire pregnancy thus far has been based on deep breaths and my sweet, caring husband calming me down. My gut tells me everything is going to be fine, but my heart tells me "not yet". That piece of me has been shattered, that piece of me is slowly being mended back together, and that mending has quite a ways to go. My mind, the biggest obstacle thus far, has played the "what if" and question game on me too many times...
Will I have to give Nolan back? Will we actually hold a baby in our arms that we get to take home? Will I get to see his eyes and hear his cries? Will everything be ok once we get home? Will I actually leave that hospital this time with full arms? Will I avoid the yellow rose on my hospital door?
Losing a child takes such a toll on your soul, on your whole human self. You are changed. A change I didn't quite expect and yet had to welcome with open arms either way. I miss her. There are no other words really. Every single ounce of me misses the part of me that she completed, and I know that yearning will never go away. Fear. Fear is what makes me question everything. Am I ready? Am I ready to be happy like that again? Am I ready to welcome a new child into my arms while I have one watching from above? Am I ready to risk my shattered heart all over again? I've asked myself these questions so many times and for some reason my soul answers for me...
YES
I am ready.
Because of Love, I am ready. When I question myself I also remember, that not a single part of me would change my story with Harper, because with that change it would mean that there would be no Harper, there would be no daughter and that itself brings me more sadness than the fact that I lost her. Not a day goes by that I don't think about that little girl. Not a day goes by that I don't wish she were here with us now. As I prepare myself for the arrival of Baby Brother I picture, so very often, three beautiful kids, all playing together and laughing together. When I take Levi to activities, my heart knows there should be another one tagging along with us, and yet, there's not.
It's sad. It's Hard. It's Confusing and quite frankly I full heartedly believe that at times it's just not fair. But the truth is, my heart KNOWS there is another one tagging along with us. She may not be physically present but she is there, always and everyday I feel a little bit of her with me. I still cry. I still get sad. I still ask the question: Why?
But it is because I loved with all of my being. Because I continue to love with all of my being and that is a part of me that will never change. So am I ready? Yes I think so. I'm excited for what's to come and I'm excited for the challenges it will bring. "Baby Brother" (as Levi calls him) will never replace our little girl, but he will bring a new type of Joy to this family, I am certain of it. A type of joy that I think this family hasn't felt in quite a long time.
So with that I will continue to navigate through This Unimaginable Journey, I will pick up yet another broken piece along the path and place it lovingly where it belongs knowing that, Big Sis Harper will be watching over Nolan his entire life. *Love you little Girl*
Pregnancy after loss is hard. It's as simple as that.
Right when I think I have it all figured out; Right when I think everything is going to be just fine; Right when I think I have nothing to fear this time. There it is, as clear as day, staring at me, screaming at me... My Memories.
I can remember the exact moment I laid eyes on my baby girl, I can remember the exact moment she was first put in my arms and I can remember the exact moment that the nurse came into my room when I told her we were ready to let go and watched as she took my daughter away from me for the very last time. I remember. I remember like it was yesterday. Memories.
It's hard. So very hard. As a mom, you try not to let your mind wander, you try not to think of the "unthinkable." I try to convince myself, "It can't happen again." The chance of Nolan having hydrops is the same chance Harper had, less than 1%. Extremely Rare; and yet, here I am, wondering when that "something" is going to go wrong this time. My entire pregnancy thus far has been based on deep breaths and my sweet, caring husband calming me down. My gut tells me everything is going to be fine, but my heart tells me "not yet". That piece of me has been shattered, that piece of me is slowly being mended back together, and that mending has quite a ways to go. My mind, the biggest obstacle thus far, has played the "what if" and question game on me too many times...
Will I have to give Nolan back? Will we actually hold a baby in our arms that we get to take home? Will I get to see his eyes and hear his cries? Will everything be ok once we get home? Will I actually leave that hospital this time with full arms? Will I avoid the yellow rose on my hospital door?
Losing a child takes such a toll on your soul, on your whole human self. You are changed. A change I didn't quite expect and yet had to welcome with open arms either way. I miss her. There are no other words really. Every single ounce of me misses the part of me that she completed, and I know that yearning will never go away. Fear. Fear is what makes me question everything. Am I ready? Am I ready to be happy like that again? Am I ready to welcome a new child into my arms while I have one watching from above? Am I ready to risk my shattered heart all over again? I've asked myself these questions so many times and for some reason my soul answers for me...
YES
I am ready.
Because of Love, I am ready. When I question myself I also remember, that not a single part of me would change my story with Harper, because with that change it would mean that there would be no Harper, there would be no daughter and that itself brings me more sadness than the fact that I lost her. Not a day goes by that I don't think about that little girl. Not a day goes by that I don't wish she were here with us now. As I prepare myself for the arrival of Baby Brother I picture, so very often, three beautiful kids, all playing together and laughing together. When I take Levi to activities, my heart knows there should be another one tagging along with us, and yet, there's not.
It's sad. It's Hard. It's Confusing and quite frankly I full heartedly believe that at times it's just not fair. But the truth is, my heart KNOWS there is another one tagging along with us. She may not be physically present but she is there, always and everyday I feel a little bit of her with me. I still cry. I still get sad. I still ask the question: Why?
But it is because I loved with all of my being. Because I continue to love with all of my being and that is a part of me that will never change. So am I ready? Yes I think so. I'm excited for what's to come and I'm excited for the challenges it will bring. "Baby Brother" (as Levi calls him) will never replace our little girl, but he will bring a new type of Joy to this family, I am certain of it. A type of joy that I think this family hasn't felt in quite a long time.
So with that I will continue to navigate through This Unimaginable Journey, I will pick up yet another broken piece along the path and place it lovingly where it belongs knowing that, Big Sis Harper will be watching over Nolan his entire life. *Love you little Girl*
Saturday, April 29, 2017
The Fight
Adam spent the night in one of the rooms near the NICU on the night of March 18 so he could be nearby in case he was needed for our little fighter. She had made it through the night, Adam went to visit her real quick the next morning before he headed back up to the ICU to see how things were going. As far as we knew, Harper had made it through the night, was fighting hard and that, for now, was the bright light we were focusing on. Harper had another chest tube placed in her sometime overnight, I was so unaware of what was happening to our baby girl. I was so unaware of how much she was struggling. That morning my OB came to visit, one of the many visits we would have during my stay. She told me my stats were looking good, but not great, that I would need a plasma transfusion to help bring me back up to speed. She said that they would use the same donor that I received the blood transfusion from since everything had been matched the previous day. She also reminded me of one important decision Adam and I were actually able to make before Harper was born...
"Kate, are you and Adam still interested in having Harper Baptized?" I quickly responded "Yes". So much had happened that I had almost forgotten that decision. My OB left the room and stated she would take care of everything. Could she be any better? She just knew how to bring peace to an incredibly uncertain situation. Within 15 minutes of her leaving the room we got a phone call from her. "Kate, the priest is actually here now, so I'm sending someone up to come get you. I'm clearing you to come visit so you can be here for the baptism." My heart skipped five beats when I heard those words.
FINALLY.
I get to see my daughter, I get to study every crinkle in her skin, every roll on her body, every strand of blonde hair. I finally get to see it all for myself. The nurses arrived in my room shortly after hanging up the phone and I was prepped to get up. It was my first time getting out of bed after my C-section and I was warned it would not be pretty. I told them "I'll be ok" because deep down I knew I had one thing on my mind and that was to go see my daughter, so pain or no pain, this was happening. I made it into the wheelchair, with my IV drip friend attached and away we went. My heart was racing, I was so excited and yet I was so fearful. I had no idea what to expect. I had been waiting for this moment for almost 24 hours and now it was finally here. I was going to meet her and I was going to watch a very special moment all at the same time. Adam had been to the NICU so many times he knew the drill by now. We checked in at the front, we washed our hands and he took me to the pod that Harper was staying in. She was in the far back of the room and as we passed all of the other little ones I realized for the first time how incredibly sick mine was. Harper was the only baby (out of five) in her pod that was on a ventilator. Her alarms were constantly going off, meaning something was falling below the "limits" that the doctor had set. But when I was able to lay my eyes on our sweet girl, I couldn't hear any of those noises. My heart was so elated when I saw her, I was in a trance. When I tell you I could not take my eyes off of her, in no way am I exaggerating. I remember just staring at her, taking it all in and never once looking back. They had opened her bed so the priest (the same priest whom baptized Levi actually) could begin the ceremony. It was a quick one, since she couldn't be outside her incubator for long and yet it was so incredibly special.
As they closed the incubator up and the priest said a few words to Adam, I just sat right next to my little girl, talking to her, praying over her, staring at her. My first words out of my mouth when I saw her were "Wow, she looks so much like Levi." And she did. The only difference was that she had blonde hair (like her Momma) and Levi had dark hair at birth (like his Daddy). She was beautiful and she looked nothing like a preemie at all. I saw the weight 7 pounds, 6 ounces written on her dry erase board. Most likely her weight at her last weigh in and my heart just started pounding, that was Levi's birth weight. What a coincidence. That has to mean something right? That has to mean everything is going to be ok? That's such a healthy weight. She's going to be ok. Remember, Dr. Pepperell said her APGAR scores when she left the OR were actually much better than they predicted.
That moment of HOPE, that moment of pure bliss lasted only for a few moments for this Momma though. I was about to get the most devastating news of my life. News that I had hoped would never come the day we found out Harper was sick.
"Mrs. Wear" (Harper's NICU doctor was trying to get my attention)
Do I have to answer that's me? Can't I just sit here for a moment and pretend like the world is good and that everything is going to be perfect? By the tone in her voice I could tell it was not going to be great news like I had just been imagining.
"Mrs. Wear, I need to talk to you for a moment about your daughter. I'm so sorry to tell you this because I know you are trying to get well yourself but I need to let you know that your daughter is VERY sick. We are trying our best to keep her stabilized but her readings are not where they need to be. We are giving her everything we can possibly think of but she has been keeping us on our toes. I'm so sorry to tell you but I don't think she is going to have much longer with us. She is just very very sick."
Tears. Insurmountable Tears. So much so that I was asked several times if I was ok. So many times I wanted to scream "OF COURSE NOT!". She just told me my daughter was dying, how can any mom say that they are ok at that moment. I just wanted time for myself, time to be with my daughter, time for us to be a family here on earth for as long as that might be. The doctor had no idea if we had days or if we had hours, Harper did not present with a diagnosis that many knew a lot about. Since there wasn't a reason found for her diagnosis the most they could do was treat her symptoms and it looked to be that her lungs were just severely underdeveloped. They weren't circulating the oxygen throughout her body like they should, they just couldn't keep up with the demand. But her heart, oh her heart was strong, her heart beat steady and it was making up for the work that the lungs just couldn't handle, but we all knew that could only last so long. If she didn't make a turn for the better tonight, it wasn't going to be long.
I stayed for a few hours during my first trip to see her, leaving was the hardest thing I've ever done at that moment. I prayed that we would get some more time together and up to the ICU room I went for my plasma treatment. I wish I could say that I remember fully what happened when I left that NICU room but to be honest, all I can remember feeling is numb. Words can't describe it. The girl I just left in the NICU looked so perfect on the outside and yet on the inside, she was dying. How? Why? We aren't giving up though, there's still a little HOPE, I've read stories like hers where the parents said they almost lost their child multiple times. I lingered on that hope for the next few hours. After my plasma treatment my scores were looking better, I was being discharged from the ICU and given a regular room on the post delivery floor. I found my way to my new room, met with the nurse and then asked if I could get a wheelchair to go visit Harper again.
Adam wheeled me downstairs this time, and my heart was racing, I couldn't wait to see her again, to hold her hand, to sit by her and study every crease and every line of her little body all over again. She was such a cute baby. When we arrived, the evening NICU nurse could not have been any sweeter, she was apparently the same nurse as the night before and told Adam and I that our little girl liked to keep her busy. She was so positive though, and so upbeat and made such a dismal situation a little lighter. She was even able to put a smile on our face, something we hadn't felt in quite some time. She also let us know that we had made it down just in time for diaper change and asked Adam if he wanted to help her change Harper's diaper. Of course he said yes and to work he was put. I can't even explain how that little gesture helped these grieving parents so incredibly much. We were doing a normal thing, that we would do for a normal child and that little piece gave us HOPE, gave us a sense of normalcy even if it only lasted a few moments. Harper's vitals were still looking about the same that night, no change; in my mind I just kept telling myself "At least they aren't getting worse."
The NICU night doctor introduced herself and explained to Adam and I, just like the day doctor did, how sick Harper was. I told her I understood. She then asked if things were to get rough that night if we would want them to revive her. Not a question any parent ever wants to answer. Adam and I looked at each other and we both knew we weren't ready to give up on her yet. Harper's heart rate was perfect and we knew her heart was trying to so hard to compensate for the rest of her body, so we simultaneously said "YES." The doctor reassured us she would do everything she could and double checked she had our numbers correctly promising to call if anything were to happen over night. We stayed with Harper for a few hours that night, until I knew it was time to get some rest. I finally let go of my little girls hand and had Adam bring me back upstairs where we both would attempt some rest. {It's pretty impossible to "rest" while you know your daughter is fighting for her life, but nevertheless I knew the next day was going to be just as long so I attempted to get as much as possible.}
We had no idea what that next day was going to bring us, that March 20th of 2016 would be the last full day we would see our daughter here on earth. We had no idea that at just 30 years old we were going to have to make some of the hardest decisions of our lifetime. We just had no idea. But for now, we were grateful that we had another day with our daughter awaiting us.
And with that, I pick up another broken piece, after sharing a bit more in depth this Unimaginable Journey and I place that piece along this broken path knowing that one day, this path will be complete and on that day, I will be reunited up above with the ones I love.
"Kate, are you and Adam still interested in having Harper Baptized?" I quickly responded "Yes". So much had happened that I had almost forgotten that decision. My OB left the room and stated she would take care of everything. Could she be any better? She just knew how to bring peace to an incredibly uncertain situation. Within 15 minutes of her leaving the room we got a phone call from her. "Kate, the priest is actually here now, so I'm sending someone up to come get you. I'm clearing you to come visit so you can be here for the baptism." My heart skipped five beats when I heard those words.
FINALLY.
I get to see my daughter, I get to study every crinkle in her skin, every roll on her body, every strand of blonde hair. I finally get to see it all for myself. The nurses arrived in my room shortly after hanging up the phone and I was prepped to get up. It was my first time getting out of bed after my C-section and I was warned it would not be pretty. I told them "I'll be ok" because deep down I knew I had one thing on my mind and that was to go see my daughter, so pain or no pain, this was happening. I made it into the wheelchair, with my IV drip friend attached and away we went. My heart was racing, I was so excited and yet I was so fearful. I had no idea what to expect. I had been waiting for this moment for almost 24 hours and now it was finally here. I was going to meet her and I was going to watch a very special moment all at the same time. Adam had been to the NICU so many times he knew the drill by now. We checked in at the front, we washed our hands and he took me to the pod that Harper was staying in. She was in the far back of the room and as we passed all of the other little ones I realized for the first time how incredibly sick mine was. Harper was the only baby (out of five) in her pod that was on a ventilator. Her alarms were constantly going off, meaning something was falling below the "limits" that the doctor had set. But when I was able to lay my eyes on our sweet girl, I couldn't hear any of those noises. My heart was so elated when I saw her, I was in a trance. When I tell you I could not take my eyes off of her, in no way am I exaggerating. I remember just staring at her, taking it all in and never once looking back. They had opened her bed so the priest (the same priest whom baptized Levi actually) could begin the ceremony. It was a quick one, since she couldn't be outside her incubator for long and yet it was so incredibly special.
As they closed the incubator up and the priest said a few words to Adam, I just sat right next to my little girl, talking to her, praying over her, staring at her. My first words out of my mouth when I saw her were "Wow, she looks so much like Levi." And she did. The only difference was that she had blonde hair (like her Momma) and Levi had dark hair at birth (like his Daddy). She was beautiful and she looked nothing like a preemie at all. I saw the weight 7 pounds, 6 ounces written on her dry erase board. Most likely her weight at her last weigh in and my heart just started pounding, that was Levi's birth weight. What a coincidence. That has to mean something right? That has to mean everything is going to be ok? That's such a healthy weight. She's going to be ok. Remember, Dr. Pepperell said her APGAR scores when she left the OR were actually much better than they predicted.
That moment of HOPE, that moment of pure bliss lasted only for a few moments for this Momma though. I was about to get the most devastating news of my life. News that I had hoped would never come the day we found out Harper was sick.
"Mrs. Wear" (Harper's NICU doctor was trying to get my attention)
Do I have to answer that's me? Can't I just sit here for a moment and pretend like the world is good and that everything is going to be perfect? By the tone in her voice I could tell it was not going to be great news like I had just been imagining.
"Mrs. Wear, I need to talk to you for a moment about your daughter. I'm so sorry to tell you this because I know you are trying to get well yourself but I need to let you know that your daughter is VERY sick. We are trying our best to keep her stabilized but her readings are not where they need to be. We are giving her everything we can possibly think of but she has been keeping us on our toes. I'm so sorry to tell you but I don't think she is going to have much longer with us. She is just very very sick."
Tears. Insurmountable Tears. So much so that I was asked several times if I was ok. So many times I wanted to scream "OF COURSE NOT!". She just told me my daughter was dying, how can any mom say that they are ok at that moment. I just wanted time for myself, time to be with my daughter, time for us to be a family here on earth for as long as that might be. The doctor had no idea if we had days or if we had hours, Harper did not present with a diagnosis that many knew a lot about. Since there wasn't a reason found for her diagnosis the most they could do was treat her symptoms and it looked to be that her lungs were just severely underdeveloped. They weren't circulating the oxygen throughout her body like they should, they just couldn't keep up with the demand. But her heart, oh her heart was strong, her heart beat steady and it was making up for the work that the lungs just couldn't handle, but we all knew that could only last so long. If she didn't make a turn for the better tonight, it wasn't going to be long.
I stayed for a few hours during my first trip to see her, leaving was the hardest thing I've ever done at that moment. I prayed that we would get some more time together and up to the ICU room I went for my plasma treatment. I wish I could say that I remember fully what happened when I left that NICU room but to be honest, all I can remember feeling is numb. Words can't describe it. The girl I just left in the NICU looked so perfect on the outside and yet on the inside, she was dying. How? Why? We aren't giving up though, there's still a little HOPE, I've read stories like hers where the parents said they almost lost their child multiple times. I lingered on that hope for the next few hours. After my plasma treatment my scores were looking better, I was being discharged from the ICU and given a regular room on the post delivery floor. I found my way to my new room, met with the nurse and then asked if I could get a wheelchair to go visit Harper again.
Adam wheeled me downstairs this time, and my heart was racing, I couldn't wait to see her again, to hold her hand, to sit by her and study every crease and every line of her little body all over again. She was such a cute baby. When we arrived, the evening NICU nurse could not have been any sweeter, she was apparently the same nurse as the night before and told Adam and I that our little girl liked to keep her busy. She was so positive though, and so upbeat and made such a dismal situation a little lighter. She was even able to put a smile on our face, something we hadn't felt in quite some time. She also let us know that we had made it down just in time for diaper change and asked Adam if he wanted to help her change Harper's diaper. Of course he said yes and to work he was put. I can't even explain how that little gesture helped these grieving parents so incredibly much. We were doing a normal thing, that we would do for a normal child and that little piece gave us HOPE, gave us a sense of normalcy even if it only lasted a few moments. Harper's vitals were still looking about the same that night, no change; in my mind I just kept telling myself "At least they aren't getting worse."
The NICU night doctor introduced herself and explained to Adam and I, just like the day doctor did, how sick Harper was. I told her I understood. She then asked if things were to get rough that night if we would want them to revive her. Not a question any parent ever wants to answer. Adam and I looked at each other and we both knew we weren't ready to give up on her yet. Harper's heart rate was perfect and we knew her heart was trying to so hard to compensate for the rest of her body, so we simultaneously said "YES." The doctor reassured us she would do everything she could and double checked she had our numbers correctly promising to call if anything were to happen over night. We stayed with Harper for a few hours that night, until I knew it was time to get some rest. I finally let go of my little girls hand and had Adam bring me back upstairs where we both would attempt some rest. {It's pretty impossible to "rest" while you know your daughter is fighting for her life, but nevertheless I knew the next day was going to be just as long so I attempted to get as much as possible.}
We had no idea what that next day was going to bring us, that March 20th of 2016 would be the last full day we would see our daughter here on earth. We had no idea that at just 30 years old we were going to have to make some of the hardest decisions of our lifetime. We just had no idea. But for now, we were grateful that we had another day with our daughter awaiting us.
And with that, I pick up another broken piece, after sharing a bit more in depth this Unimaginable Journey and I place that piece along this broken path knowing that one day, this path will be complete and on that day, I will be reunited up above with the ones I love.
Sunday, April 16, 2017
*Easter Joy*
Easter. A season of celebration, a season in which we sing "Allelujah" and rejoice because our Saviour is risen. A season of love. A season of beauty. A season of triumph
Easter brings such a new sense of understanding to me these days, it was the first outing I had after losing Harper. I remember waking up that morning thinking, "Am I going to be able to get through this?" "Can I really do this?" I knew I had too. I can't linger in this house any longer. I had been discharged from the hospital on Tuesday and so far had not left except for one outing to the funeral home. I put on my maternity dress, ( the only dress that still fit at the time since I still looked five months pregnant) and straightened my hair. This was my attempt at feeling as "normal" as possible. I could hear Levi, running around with his grandparents in the background. How he was loving all of this extra attention. He soaked it up from morning until night and I was just so thankful that his little soul had no idea what had happened. It was hard enough trying to explain to myself the sorrow that I couldn't imagine having to console a little heart at the same time.
Regardless of my feelings, I needed to face this new world of mine. I needed to re embrace the love that the world somehow, somewhere still had to offer me. I had no idea if I was ready, but deep down I knew, it would never happen until I just let go and made myself do it. I made it through the whole mass, only choking back tears every now and then. I look back at pictures from that day though and I can still see the heartache through that smile. How I had planned this day so differently from my hospital bed just a few weeks earlier. I wasn't suppose to be home, Harper was suppose to still be here, our lives were suppose to be untouched. But here we found ourselves, living {This Unimaginable Journey} and attempting to pretend that we knew how to navigate our way through.
Easter is a reminder that I too began a new journey in my life. It's a reminder that I was reborn during this season. Exactly what the Easter season should feel like now has a more literal sense for me. I will never be the person I was before Harper, that person is gone, I have forever changed, but I don't regret any part of that. Do I wish everyday things had turned out differently? Of course. But do I ever wish I had never gotten pregnant? Do I ever wish it didn't exist? Never. Easter is a friendly reminder for this Momma of where my daughter rests, of how safe and happy she is up above watching over all of us. I remember saying shortly after coming home from the hospital through tears, "I've never wanted Heaven to be a real thing this badly before, but please God, tell me I will see her again." Faith and Hope, it's what gets me through the day, it's what gets me through this messy life.
Last year if you asked me what Easter reminded me of I most likely would have responded with sadness, misery and disappointment; complete and utter heartache. Here I was celebrating the Man up Above whom I felt at the time had failed me. I had no idea where this journey would bring me or what would come of it. If you would have asked me a year ago, where I would be today, this would not have been my answer. I couldn't have ever imagined feeling joy or feeling the way I do now. I sadly remember thinking to myself several times "I can't imagine that I'm going to be this sad for the rest of my life." and part of that thinking is true. There is a sadness that never leaves, day in and day out, when you wake up at night and when you wake up in the morning. It's there. But you learn to live with it. You learn to cherish it because it is there that you are remembered how loved they are, how cherished they are. That is what Easter has brought me. It's a time for me to remember how much love I have for my daughter up above, it's a time to remember how thankful I am for the little boy, growing incredibly fast right before my eyes, it's a time to teach him about his Sister and it's a time to cherish my husband, his strength and the family we have brought into this world.
So this year, I have a different smile upon my face. I am thankful, I am grateful, I am changed. I am re born. I am the person I was always meant to be. Today, I pick up another broken piece along this journey, knowing that because of the sacrifice God made for us, I will one day be united with my daughter up above. * Happy Easter Up Above, Harper Lynn*
Saturday, March 18, 2017
The Story of Our Angel's Birth
On March 17th, everything seemed like a normal day. We had our little hiccup on Monday, but ever since then everything appeared to look fine. We had talked about possibly having another amnio done to drain some more fluid off of me because I had started to retain again. (I can tell you this Momma was not exactly thrilled about repeating that procedure.) Tomorrow, the specialist would return to perform another US and assess the cord flow from the placenta to Harper and my doctor would consult with her regarding the results. I was told there was no need to worry yet, and that is just what I tried to do. Not Worry.
That night Levi and Adam came for their usual visit. I got out of the bed and into the wheelchair and around the hospital we went. It was the best part of my day for sure. I was allowed one wheelchair ride a day outside of my room and I always saved that for when Levi came to visit. He would sit on my lap and Adam would wheel us around. Most of the time we would end up on a little patio outside of the cafeteria where I could watch Levi run around and just get a little fresh air. Man, how I had missed that kid so much while Harper and I were in the hospital. We made it back to the room from our adventure that night and I climbed back into bed, with Levi right beside me. This night was a little different though, as the evening went on I started to feel "blah". I told Adam, it might be time to head home, that I just wasn't feeling great and thought I should lie down and see if maybe it was because I was tired. My left side just started to ache and I just felt like I couldn't shake it. I gave each one a kiss, told them I loved them and as Adam went out the door he turned around and said "I'm sure it's ok, but let's hope I don't end up back here tonight." and then he gave me a half smile. I knew what that half smile might have meant, but I told him "I'm sure it's ok, but I'll keep you posted."
Not more than five minutes after they left the ache I felt on my left side began to intensify. I called the nurse in just to let her know. I still thought it was just something silly, that they would tell me she had shifted or moved funny. I had my favorite nurse and she assessed me from head to toe and of course the monitors came back out for little Miss Harper. This time it appeared I was having contractions, and not just the small unnoticeable ones I had been having since I had been admitted. I remember thinking "No No No, this is not Labor. I have three more weeks until the ideal time to deliver. It can't be right now. Harper isn't ready." The nurse gave me some Tylenol, had me rest a bit and after about 45 minutes the pain disappeared about as quickly as it appeared. The contractions eased up on the machine as well. The nurse made me promise her that if I felt the pain again I would let her know. I promised and off to sleep I went eagerly awaiting what the specialist would have to say tomorrow. Either way, I always loved the days I got to see Harper on the monitor.
On March 18, 2016 I woke up to what I thought was just a freezing room. I remember scolding myself, "Kate, why did you turn the air down so much?" I was non stop shivering I was so cold. I texted Adam and told him I couldn't believe I did that. Fifteen minutes went by and I still couldn't stop shivering, it almost seemed like it was getting worse. What is going on I thought? I stayed in bed and just tried to get more comfortable and tried to warm myself. I felt so silly having to page the nurse because I felt cold. After 45 minutes, I realized it wasn't the room, it had to be me. I wasn't even able to stand up and walk to the bathroom because I was shaking so much. I texted Adam and told him I didn't feel well just to keep him posted. He asked if he should come and I told him "Not yet, I think I'll be ok, I"ll let you know." I paged the nurse and she brought me in a second heated blanket. It didn't stop the shivering but I immediately felt warmer. My vitals were checked and nothing seemed out of the ordinary. Stable blood pressure, stable temperature. So out comes the monitor again. As I lie there, with the monitor attached around my belly and Harper moving around like crazy I began to feel that left side pain again. I texted Adam, "I think I need you to come, I really don't feel well this morning." He responded quickly, "Ok I just made it to the office, let me check my desk and I'll be right over." The nurse entered my room again and I told her I couldn't lie in this position anymore, the pain was too much to bear. I had to sit up. I needed to be comfortable. She was so concerned about getting a good reading on the monitor and I told her we could adjust it but for now I had to sit up. Through the shivering I managed to make it to the edge of the bed. It eased the pain some and I began working on my breathing. I was trying to slow everything around me. The monitor was reading everything, I was contracting again. All I remember thinking in my head was "No No No, this is not happening today, I have three more weeks left before I am suppose to deliver. No No No, everything is fine."
Adam arrived, and I was so incredibly thankful to see him walk through that door. He sat down beside me and gave me the look of "everything will be fine". With him there, I instantly felt better, I instantly felt calm. He knew what to say at every moment, he knew we were ready to fight for our daughter. As the minutes passed by, the pain started back but this time no position was making it better. I tried to lie down, there it was. I tried to sit back up, there it was. I tried to stand up and walk, there it was. My doctor was notified.
I was put on a fluid only diet and an IV was to be started. The nurse checked my vitals again and still, all remained fine. As the nurse attempted to put the IV in I felt pain near that vein. I'm usually a really easy stick and my veins are really easy to find so I knew right away she had missed. I remember telling her "That stings and burns so badly". I watched her fumble around a bit and then heard her say, "Dang, that vein blew." She tried about two more times, each vein doing the same thing. She left to go get another nurse to attempt. The other nurse was apparently the "expert" of IVs. She explained she worked the trauma floor of the last hospital she was in and that IVs were just her thing. She also stated, I'm only going to try three times and then I'm done sticking. She tried once, the vein blew. She tried twice, the vein blew. She then asked for my vitals to be taken again. As the blood pressure machine deflated I saw her face at the reading. It wasn't quite panic, but it was borderline of extreme concern. My blood pressure had dropped to 70/30. She tried one more time to get an IV in me while the other nurses prepped my bed for me to be moved. She was able to get a pediatric needle in and that was called a success and down the hallway I was being moved, rather briskly.
Sometimes this moment and this day seem such a blur because everything happened so quickly that morning and sometimes I re-live this day with such clarity. I was wheeled into the pre op room where the anesthesiologist was waiting for me. I remember the first thing she said like it was yesterday, "Who put a pediatric needle in you?!" She was so annoyed, you could tell by her voice. I explained that my veins were blowing and after about 6 attempts that was the best they could get. She was explaining how because of my blood pressure (which was still extremely low and showing no signs of stabilizing) she may need to put me under for the procedure and therefore she needed to find a good vein. I told her it was fine and thought to myself "Oh boy, here we go again." She of course blew the first vein she attempted. I could tell she was frustrated with herself. While she attempted a second time the other nurses in the room were prepping me for surgery. It was chaotic. It was madness. It was non stop, all while Adam and I had no idea what was happening.
I was scared, I was sad, I was disappointed in myself. But there was also a part of me that shimmered a glimpse of Hope. We were going to meet out little fighter finally. We were going to get to see our beautiful baby girl. I remember during this time there was a ton of pleading with God on my part, and with Harper. "Please God, let her be ok." "C'mon Harper, you can do this."
The anesthesiologist finally got an IV in, she told me it was iffy but it was strong enough to last for what they needed to do. The room was still spinning with madness. Complete Chaos. I remember I would look to my left, where I would see Adam, sitting on the couch, being handed an OR room suit and being asked to put it on. He was just as confused as I was, and yet he never once showed me concern, he never once showed me fear. He was calm, he was collected, he too was soaking it all in. Looking for an answer. He was pure strength that day, he was pure love that day, he was everything Harper and I needed at that moment. I mean at this point, we still had no idea what was happening exactly?
After about a half hour my doctor walked briskly through the pre op doors. The most calm and authoritative face I had seen all morning and she was ready to bring some order to this chaos. "Ok, I need everyone to calm down. I'm not even sure she's in true labor, I want to get a few labs before we attempt anything, Adam, you can go ahead and take that OR outfit off and just relax a bit. Kate, how are you feeling?"
THANK YOU!
Finally, I saw the hope again. Maybe this isn't going to be her delivery day? Maybe everything will just look like a little hiccup like the other day and I will get to go back to my room and let Harper continue to fight inside of me? Maybe, just maybe everything will be ok?
My labs were performed and they had a rush order placed on them. After about 10 minutes I remember my doctor asking, "What is taking so long? Why don't I have the results back?" She left the room to only arrive back through the door in just a few moments. "Kate, I think it's time to deliver, your labs look like you might be going septic. I promise I've alerted NICU and they are completely ready for what might come." I looked over at Adam and it took everything in me not to break down at that moment. I knew this day was going to happen at some point. I was just selfishly hoping I had a few more weeks with her inside of me. I whispered to my daughter "Ok Harper, here we go, we've got this."
As they wheeled me into the OR room, Adam never left my side. He looked and felt so calm, ready to embrace whatever the next few minutes might bring. I could feel it, and because of him I was able to relax, I was able to focus on what I had to do now. Safely deliver this little girl. My doctor agreed to let me have an epidural instead of going fully under. Those words were music to my ears since the thought of a breathing tube being placed in me added more anxiety than was needed to this situation.
The epidural was placed and my blood pressure continued to be monitored very closely. Why could I still feel my stomach though? My doctor pinched me with the forceps, "Yep, I can still feel it." I could hear the nervousness in the voice of the anesthesiologist, "I think I need to put her under." I asked the doctor to give me one moment, I sat up just a little bit in order to see if I could get the medicine to flow downwards (I know that sounds so strange, but at that moment something told me to try it) and it worked! The doctor gave me one more last pinch before I was to go under and thankfully I could no longer feel it. I told her, I was numb and quickly and steadily without hesitation she went to work all while I just laid there, on that table, praying... over and over and over again.
I could feel them shifting me around, working vigorously to get Harper out quickly, safely and into the arms of the NICU team waiting in the OR room with us. How I wish she could have went to her Dad, how I wish I could have given her one quick kiss as she was born. As they were working on me behind the dreaded curtain I could here my doctor say, "Oh God, she's so much bigger than we thought." That one sentence will forever remain engrained in my memory. I wasn't sure what that meant; days before the specialist told me they thought the fluid under her skin looked better and that we were just seeing "fatty" tissue because she was going to be a plump little baby. Did she grow enough to be able to be saved? Was it fluid or just a chubby little baby? Oh please tell me she is going to be ok. I hear them say, "She's out!" and I can hear the rustling of the NICU team, calling out procedures and working so diligently to get Harper out of the OR room and into the NICU. {As from my last post, a successful Hydrops case was one where they could stabilize Harper enough to get her out of the OR room.} I remained on the table, focused on a specific tile on the ceiling because the room had begun to spin. I was listening so intently to what the NICU team was saying. My doctor peeked over the drape several times asking if I was ok to which I responded, "A little dizzy but just trying to stay focused."
Apparently during the surgery the anesthesiologist was giving me rounds of a medication to help stabilize my blood pressure that I was unaware of. My blood pressure was continuing to drop and my OB was having a hard time getting my bleeding to stop. My body was experiencing something called DIC, my blood wasn't clotting due to the stress that it was under. I never once heard her voice crack, or an ounce of panic come from her. Until this was all over, I had no idea the situation I was in myself, that I would end up having to fight for my life too.
The NICU staff was able to stabilize Harper enough to take her out of the OR, as my OB continued to attempt to stop the bleeding she told Adam to go follow our little girl, that I would be ok. Adam walked to the other side of the OR where he could take a few pictures of our beautiful baby before they whisked her out the room. Adam gave me a kiss and away he went with Harper but before they left the room, my OB told me to look to my left and the NICU doctor help up my baby girl before they left the room. My OB informed me that Harper's Apgar scores were looking better than she would have imagined and that she had a score of 7 before she left the OR. I took that as such a positive sign. I remember thinking I could relax when I heard that bit of information and in that moment my favorite word flooded my being again.... HOPE. She was going to pull through this, WE were going to pull through this.
Adam was back in the OR about 10 minutes later. They were about to begin a procedure to place a permanent chest tube drain in her so he was asked to step out. He made it back just in time to follow me to the ICU, where I was being escorted by the two doctors who operated on me and a couple of nurses. My OB never left my side through this entire procedure. I'm not sure how she does it, but to say she was my Hero that day is most definitely an understatement. I always knew I had the best OB, and this moment just defined exactly what I already knew.
At this point they had removed my epidural before I could leave the operating table down in the OR room. They were nervous about an open site that I may bleed from since I wasn't clotting like I should. PAIN. Oh boy, did I feel it. I felt everything that had just happened to me and more. Now besides the emotional strain that I was under, I had the physical pain as well. They gave me a dose of pain meds but it dropped my blood pressure too low. At that moment, I knew that I was just going to have to fight through this. I told myself "I got this." As I was lying there, test after test was being ordered. My kidneys were going to be assessed and the hospital was currently matching my blood type so that I could receive a blood transfusion as soon as possible. The ICU doctor came in to assess me, "Well the good news is, your doctor took care of the hard part for me and stopped the bleeding. Now let's see if we can get you feeling better."
Please tell me Harper is doing ok?
Once my blood pressure stabilized I was given a morphine pump to aide with the pain. I was hooked up to my blood transfusion and Adam had been back to the NICU to take some more picture of Harper for me and to sit with her for a bit. She was such a beautiful baby, enduring the biggest fight of her life. In the hospital I thought I had prepared myself for what they were going to have to do to help her survive after birth. I knew there would be drains, I knew there would be a ventilator, I knew she would be in the NICU... but nothing actually prepares you for watching your sick child fight so strongly. Not a moment went by, when they were working on me in the ICU that I wasn't thinking of our little girl on the floor below me. I was determined to get better, because I was going to meet my daughter. Throughout that day, and due to the medicine, most things become a little fuzzy; I remember I was in and out of sleep. Adam was back and forth between spending time with me and spending time with our daughter. How exhausting that day had to be for him? But for that day, we were both holding strong, Mommy and Daughter, for that day and two others we would be an earthly family of four and for that I am so, so thankful.
For the rest of that day, Harper was stabilized. Two drains to assist with getting the fluid off of her, several tubes that were used for medication and a ventilator to help her breathe were all I remember. She was sick, but she was fighting. She lost a pound and a half of fluid within 24 hours, but at 34 weeks she was one of the biggest babies this NICU had ever seen. From the outside, once the fluid came off, she looked like a healthy 38 week baby, weighing the same as her older brother and looking almost identical to him. Except this little girl had blonde hair, this little girl had "Mommy's Hair". She was perfect.
Welcome to the story of how Harper came into this world on March 18, 2016. Mommy and Daddy were instantly in love and knew not a day would go by that she wouldn't be whole heartedly a part of our lives. She was our family and we were hers. So, in honor of my beautiful daughter's birthday, I will once again pick up another broken piece on this Unimaginable Journey and beautifully place it back where it belongs all while celebrating her earthly life with lots of love, laughter and sweet, sweet memories. We love you so much Harper Lynn.
* HAPPY FIRST BIRTHDAY in Heaven SWEET GIRL! *
That night Levi and Adam came for their usual visit. I got out of the bed and into the wheelchair and around the hospital we went. It was the best part of my day for sure. I was allowed one wheelchair ride a day outside of my room and I always saved that for when Levi came to visit. He would sit on my lap and Adam would wheel us around. Most of the time we would end up on a little patio outside of the cafeteria where I could watch Levi run around and just get a little fresh air. Man, how I had missed that kid so much while Harper and I were in the hospital. We made it back to the room from our adventure that night and I climbed back into bed, with Levi right beside me. This night was a little different though, as the evening went on I started to feel "blah". I told Adam, it might be time to head home, that I just wasn't feeling great and thought I should lie down and see if maybe it was because I was tired. My left side just started to ache and I just felt like I couldn't shake it. I gave each one a kiss, told them I loved them and as Adam went out the door he turned around and said "I'm sure it's ok, but let's hope I don't end up back here tonight." and then he gave me a half smile. I knew what that half smile might have meant, but I told him "I'm sure it's ok, but I'll keep you posted."
Not more than five minutes after they left the ache I felt on my left side began to intensify. I called the nurse in just to let her know. I still thought it was just something silly, that they would tell me she had shifted or moved funny. I had my favorite nurse and she assessed me from head to toe and of course the monitors came back out for little Miss Harper. This time it appeared I was having contractions, and not just the small unnoticeable ones I had been having since I had been admitted. I remember thinking "No No No, this is not Labor. I have three more weeks until the ideal time to deliver. It can't be right now. Harper isn't ready." The nurse gave me some Tylenol, had me rest a bit and after about 45 minutes the pain disappeared about as quickly as it appeared. The contractions eased up on the machine as well. The nurse made me promise her that if I felt the pain again I would let her know. I promised and off to sleep I went eagerly awaiting what the specialist would have to say tomorrow. Either way, I always loved the days I got to see Harper on the monitor.
On March 18, 2016 I woke up to what I thought was just a freezing room. I remember scolding myself, "Kate, why did you turn the air down so much?" I was non stop shivering I was so cold. I texted Adam and told him I couldn't believe I did that. Fifteen minutes went by and I still couldn't stop shivering, it almost seemed like it was getting worse. What is going on I thought? I stayed in bed and just tried to get more comfortable and tried to warm myself. I felt so silly having to page the nurse because I felt cold. After 45 minutes, I realized it wasn't the room, it had to be me. I wasn't even able to stand up and walk to the bathroom because I was shaking so much. I texted Adam and told him I didn't feel well just to keep him posted. He asked if he should come and I told him "Not yet, I think I'll be ok, I"ll let you know." I paged the nurse and she brought me in a second heated blanket. It didn't stop the shivering but I immediately felt warmer. My vitals were checked and nothing seemed out of the ordinary. Stable blood pressure, stable temperature. So out comes the monitor again. As I lie there, with the monitor attached around my belly and Harper moving around like crazy I began to feel that left side pain again. I texted Adam, "I think I need you to come, I really don't feel well this morning." He responded quickly, "Ok I just made it to the office, let me check my desk and I'll be right over." The nurse entered my room again and I told her I couldn't lie in this position anymore, the pain was too much to bear. I had to sit up. I needed to be comfortable. She was so concerned about getting a good reading on the monitor and I told her we could adjust it but for now I had to sit up. Through the shivering I managed to make it to the edge of the bed. It eased the pain some and I began working on my breathing. I was trying to slow everything around me. The monitor was reading everything, I was contracting again. All I remember thinking in my head was "No No No, this is not happening today, I have three more weeks left before I am suppose to deliver. No No No, everything is fine."
Adam arrived, and I was so incredibly thankful to see him walk through that door. He sat down beside me and gave me the look of "everything will be fine". With him there, I instantly felt better, I instantly felt calm. He knew what to say at every moment, he knew we were ready to fight for our daughter. As the minutes passed by, the pain started back but this time no position was making it better. I tried to lie down, there it was. I tried to sit back up, there it was. I tried to stand up and walk, there it was. My doctor was notified.
I was put on a fluid only diet and an IV was to be started. The nurse checked my vitals again and still, all remained fine. As the nurse attempted to put the IV in I felt pain near that vein. I'm usually a really easy stick and my veins are really easy to find so I knew right away she had missed. I remember telling her "That stings and burns so badly". I watched her fumble around a bit and then heard her say, "Dang, that vein blew." She tried about two more times, each vein doing the same thing. She left to go get another nurse to attempt. The other nurse was apparently the "expert" of IVs. She explained she worked the trauma floor of the last hospital she was in and that IVs were just her thing. She also stated, I'm only going to try three times and then I'm done sticking. She tried once, the vein blew. She tried twice, the vein blew. She then asked for my vitals to be taken again. As the blood pressure machine deflated I saw her face at the reading. It wasn't quite panic, but it was borderline of extreme concern. My blood pressure had dropped to 70/30. She tried one more time to get an IV in me while the other nurses prepped my bed for me to be moved. She was able to get a pediatric needle in and that was called a success and down the hallway I was being moved, rather briskly.
Sometimes this moment and this day seem such a blur because everything happened so quickly that morning and sometimes I re-live this day with such clarity. I was wheeled into the pre op room where the anesthesiologist was waiting for me. I remember the first thing she said like it was yesterday, "Who put a pediatric needle in you?!" She was so annoyed, you could tell by her voice. I explained that my veins were blowing and after about 6 attempts that was the best they could get. She was explaining how because of my blood pressure (which was still extremely low and showing no signs of stabilizing) she may need to put me under for the procedure and therefore she needed to find a good vein. I told her it was fine and thought to myself "Oh boy, here we go again." She of course blew the first vein she attempted. I could tell she was frustrated with herself. While she attempted a second time the other nurses in the room were prepping me for surgery. It was chaotic. It was madness. It was non stop, all while Adam and I had no idea what was happening.
I was scared, I was sad, I was disappointed in myself. But there was also a part of me that shimmered a glimpse of Hope. We were going to meet out little fighter finally. We were going to get to see our beautiful baby girl. I remember during this time there was a ton of pleading with God on my part, and with Harper. "Please God, let her be ok." "C'mon Harper, you can do this."
The anesthesiologist finally got an IV in, she told me it was iffy but it was strong enough to last for what they needed to do. The room was still spinning with madness. Complete Chaos. I remember I would look to my left, where I would see Adam, sitting on the couch, being handed an OR room suit and being asked to put it on. He was just as confused as I was, and yet he never once showed me concern, he never once showed me fear. He was calm, he was collected, he too was soaking it all in. Looking for an answer. He was pure strength that day, he was pure love that day, he was everything Harper and I needed at that moment. I mean at this point, we still had no idea what was happening exactly?
After about a half hour my doctor walked briskly through the pre op doors. The most calm and authoritative face I had seen all morning and she was ready to bring some order to this chaos. "Ok, I need everyone to calm down. I'm not even sure she's in true labor, I want to get a few labs before we attempt anything, Adam, you can go ahead and take that OR outfit off and just relax a bit. Kate, how are you feeling?"
THANK YOU!
Finally, I saw the hope again. Maybe this isn't going to be her delivery day? Maybe everything will just look like a little hiccup like the other day and I will get to go back to my room and let Harper continue to fight inside of me? Maybe, just maybe everything will be ok?
My labs were performed and they had a rush order placed on them. After about 10 minutes I remember my doctor asking, "What is taking so long? Why don't I have the results back?" She left the room to only arrive back through the door in just a few moments. "Kate, I think it's time to deliver, your labs look like you might be going septic. I promise I've alerted NICU and they are completely ready for what might come." I looked over at Adam and it took everything in me not to break down at that moment. I knew this day was going to happen at some point. I was just selfishly hoping I had a few more weeks with her inside of me. I whispered to my daughter "Ok Harper, here we go, we've got this."
As they wheeled me into the OR room, Adam never left my side. He looked and felt so calm, ready to embrace whatever the next few minutes might bring. I could feel it, and because of him I was able to relax, I was able to focus on what I had to do now. Safely deliver this little girl. My doctor agreed to let me have an epidural instead of going fully under. Those words were music to my ears since the thought of a breathing tube being placed in me added more anxiety than was needed to this situation.
The epidural was placed and my blood pressure continued to be monitored very closely. Why could I still feel my stomach though? My doctor pinched me with the forceps, "Yep, I can still feel it." I could hear the nervousness in the voice of the anesthesiologist, "I think I need to put her under." I asked the doctor to give me one moment, I sat up just a little bit in order to see if I could get the medicine to flow downwards (I know that sounds so strange, but at that moment something told me to try it) and it worked! The doctor gave me one more last pinch before I was to go under and thankfully I could no longer feel it. I told her, I was numb and quickly and steadily without hesitation she went to work all while I just laid there, on that table, praying... over and over and over again.
I could feel them shifting me around, working vigorously to get Harper out quickly, safely and into the arms of the NICU team waiting in the OR room with us. How I wish she could have went to her Dad, how I wish I could have given her one quick kiss as she was born. As they were working on me behind the dreaded curtain I could here my doctor say, "Oh God, she's so much bigger than we thought." That one sentence will forever remain engrained in my memory. I wasn't sure what that meant; days before the specialist told me they thought the fluid under her skin looked better and that we were just seeing "fatty" tissue because she was going to be a plump little baby. Did she grow enough to be able to be saved? Was it fluid or just a chubby little baby? Oh please tell me she is going to be ok. I hear them say, "She's out!" and I can hear the rustling of the NICU team, calling out procedures and working so diligently to get Harper out of the OR room and into the NICU. {As from my last post, a successful Hydrops case was one where they could stabilize Harper enough to get her out of the OR room.} I remained on the table, focused on a specific tile on the ceiling because the room had begun to spin. I was listening so intently to what the NICU team was saying. My doctor peeked over the drape several times asking if I was ok to which I responded, "A little dizzy but just trying to stay focused."
Apparently during the surgery the anesthesiologist was giving me rounds of a medication to help stabilize my blood pressure that I was unaware of. My blood pressure was continuing to drop and my OB was having a hard time getting my bleeding to stop. My body was experiencing something called DIC, my blood wasn't clotting due to the stress that it was under. I never once heard her voice crack, or an ounce of panic come from her. Until this was all over, I had no idea the situation I was in myself, that I would end up having to fight for my life too.
The NICU staff was able to stabilize Harper enough to take her out of the OR, as my OB continued to attempt to stop the bleeding she told Adam to go follow our little girl, that I would be ok. Adam walked to the other side of the OR where he could take a few pictures of our beautiful baby before they whisked her out the room. Adam gave me a kiss and away he went with Harper but before they left the room, my OB told me to look to my left and the NICU doctor help up my baby girl before they left the room. My OB informed me that Harper's Apgar scores were looking better than she would have imagined and that she had a score of 7 before she left the OR. I took that as such a positive sign. I remember thinking I could relax when I heard that bit of information and in that moment my favorite word flooded my being again.... HOPE. She was going to pull through this, WE were going to pull through this.
Adam was back in the OR about 10 minutes later. They were about to begin a procedure to place a permanent chest tube drain in her so he was asked to step out. He made it back just in time to follow me to the ICU, where I was being escorted by the two doctors who operated on me and a couple of nurses. My OB never left my side through this entire procedure. I'm not sure how she does it, but to say she was my Hero that day is most definitely an understatement. I always knew I had the best OB, and this moment just defined exactly what I already knew.
At this point they had removed my epidural before I could leave the operating table down in the OR room. They were nervous about an open site that I may bleed from since I wasn't clotting like I should. PAIN. Oh boy, did I feel it. I felt everything that had just happened to me and more. Now besides the emotional strain that I was under, I had the physical pain as well. They gave me a dose of pain meds but it dropped my blood pressure too low. At that moment, I knew that I was just going to have to fight through this. I told myself "I got this." As I was lying there, test after test was being ordered. My kidneys were going to be assessed and the hospital was currently matching my blood type so that I could receive a blood transfusion as soon as possible. The ICU doctor came in to assess me, "Well the good news is, your doctor took care of the hard part for me and stopped the bleeding. Now let's see if we can get you feeling better."
Please tell me Harper is doing ok?
Once my blood pressure stabilized I was given a morphine pump to aide with the pain. I was hooked up to my blood transfusion and Adam had been back to the NICU to take some more picture of Harper for me and to sit with her for a bit. She was such a beautiful baby, enduring the biggest fight of her life. In the hospital I thought I had prepared myself for what they were going to have to do to help her survive after birth. I knew there would be drains, I knew there would be a ventilator, I knew she would be in the NICU... but nothing actually prepares you for watching your sick child fight so strongly. Not a moment went by, when they were working on me in the ICU that I wasn't thinking of our little girl on the floor below me. I was determined to get better, because I was going to meet my daughter. Throughout that day, and due to the medicine, most things become a little fuzzy; I remember I was in and out of sleep. Adam was back and forth between spending time with me and spending time with our daughter. How exhausting that day had to be for him? But for that day, we were both holding strong, Mommy and Daughter, for that day and two others we would be an earthly family of four and for that I am so, so thankful.
For the rest of that day, Harper was stabilized. Two drains to assist with getting the fluid off of her, several tubes that were used for medication and a ventilator to help her breathe were all I remember. She was sick, but she was fighting. She lost a pound and a half of fluid within 24 hours, but at 34 weeks she was one of the biggest babies this NICU had ever seen. From the outside, once the fluid came off, she looked like a healthy 38 week baby, weighing the same as her older brother and looking almost identical to him. Except this little girl had blonde hair, this little girl had "Mommy's Hair". She was perfect.
Welcome to the story of how Harper came into this world on March 18, 2016. Mommy and Daddy were instantly in love and knew not a day would go by that she wouldn't be whole heartedly a part of our lives. She was our family and we were hers. So, in honor of my beautiful daughter's birthday, I will once again pick up another broken piece on this Unimaginable Journey and beautifully place it back where it belongs all while celebrating her earthly life with lots of love, laughter and sweet, sweet memories. We love you so much Harper Lynn.
* HAPPY FIRST BIRTHDAY in Heaven SWEET GIRL! *
Sunday, February 26, 2017
Tested Faith
Prayer. Something that has always come so easy for me, a way to talk to God to tell him about this glorious life and all the goodness I have felt. A way to show my appreciation, my gratitude and my love for Him. A small gesture I am so used to performing to explicitly portray my thankfulness for this life that I have been given.
This plain word and simple little act has changed so much throughout this grieving process. After Harper passed away prayer quickly turned into questions, soulful pleading and misunderstandings. What once was used as a tranquil way to say thank you turned into a catastrophic plea for answers. Why? How? When? ... all of these words started my new attempts of prayer. Is it possible to even be thankful in a time like this? Will I ever find the beauty in this immense sorrow that now overtakes me? Joy, does that word even have a meaning these days? Those were the thoughts that now ran rampant through my mind at the thought of prayer.
After Harper left this world I felt myself searching for a way to find fullness again, a way to bring back the naïve feelings of life before loss. Anything to avoid the pain, I would do anything to avoid the deep ache that tugs at my heart, the tug that some days seems to be so much that it brings me to my knees. Church, the house of God, it has to be there that I will feel re-connected again, it has to be there that my soul will find it's way again, it just has to be. Do I ask for forgiveness? Do I sing his praise? Do I mourn the death of my daughter or do I rejoice knowing she is with our Savior? Where were my answers...
I learned though that the answer is: All of the Above and None of the Above. It doesn't make sense, I know this. But that is the answer. There is no yes and there isn't a no. There is just Faith. There is just God. There is just belief. That is what you cling to, that is what you hope for and that is what you search for. We BELIEVE. It becomes a magical word that we (Parents of Loss) learn to live by. Rooted deep in our Hope. It's not much, but it's enough most days.
I received communion several times while I was on bed rest in the hospital. It was a quiet few minutes, where we would close our eyes and pray to our Lord for the health of Harper. It was a time where I could cherish that little human growing inside of me. It was a time where I was able to recognize the miracle of life and how precious it can be. It was a time that I looked forward to each and every day. So much so, that when I was discharged from the hospital I had this insane pull towards church. I felt that the only way I could feel those feelings again, the only way that I could feel connected to my daughter again was to attend mass. I mean, wouldn't it be in the Lord's house that I would feel the safest? Wouldn't it be in the Lord's house that maybe, just maybe, some of my questions would be answered? Isn't it in the Lord's house that I would see my little girl again? (maybe not physically, but spiritually). I yearned for the strongest connection that I could possibly gain. I needed something to fill me because at that time, my soul was running near empty.
I did not get the answers I was looking for unfortunately. I did not feel like I was fulfilled when I walked through those doors. Instead, when I attended Mass (the Easter season nonetheless) all I could see filling the room was joy, perfection, glory and praise. For the first time in my life, I truly felt alone. Every time I attended mass for the first few months, it took so much strength inside of me to fight the tears back. Why you ask? Because everything surrounding me looked like perfection and appeared so put together; all while I felt so broken inside. There was the lovely family of four sitting in front of us, maybe they too should be a family five, but at that moment, their life looked so ideal. Or how sweet was that little girl sitting four rows and to the right of us all dressed up in her frilly dress and large "Texas sized" bow. When I looked around, all I could feel was sadness inside of me. All I could feel was pain. That sharp, stabbing, aching pain that cuts me deep every time. I knew I had to take a break. Not from God, I needed him more than ever, but I had to take a break from his home. I needed to bring Him into mine, before searching for Him in His.
But...
With time and healing, I was able to see the light again when I returned. With time and healing I could watch that sweet little girl four rows in front of us and smile. With time and healing I didn't have to fight back the tears anymore (or at least, as often). With time and healing I didn't feel so alone anymore. With time and healing my prayers were resembling some normality again. As we approach Harpers First birthday and I begin to relive the beginning of {This Unimaginable Journey} I am feeling more full than I could have ever imagined I would feel. I am feeling more alive. I am full of hope and I am full of peace. Peace in knowing that my daughter still lives within me. Peace in knowing that she is our child and Peace in knowing that she will always be loved and will not be forgotten.
Of course there is still sadness, there will always be sorrow, but those days are becoming less and less. Those days don't define me anymore. The days that define me are the ones spent celebrating her life. The moments that I get to tell Levi he has a baby sister. The moments that I watch him point to a picture of an angel and say "Harper". (I'm pretty sure he's going to think Angels are called "Harper" for quite awhile). I look forward to our prayers at night, the prayers where Levi says her name { God Bless Mommy, Daddy, Harper and Spaten.} I cherish the small little signs that my heart tells me were sent by her. Those are the moments that define me. My two beautiful, amazing, and talented children and my husband who never ceases to amaze me. Moments with them are what I cherish most and for that I am so very very thankful.
So with time and healing and with hope in my heart I will pick up another broken piece on this Unimaginable Journey and place it lovingly where it belongs because in a few short weeks we will be celebrating Harper's First Birthday, a day I wasn't sure I would be able to make it too, let alone, look forward too. This journey has been hard but this journey has been so incredibly rewarding as well. To my beautiful daughter up above "Mommy Loves You!".
This plain word and simple little act has changed so much throughout this grieving process. After Harper passed away prayer quickly turned into questions, soulful pleading and misunderstandings. What once was used as a tranquil way to say thank you turned into a catastrophic plea for answers. Why? How? When? ... all of these words started my new attempts of prayer. Is it possible to even be thankful in a time like this? Will I ever find the beauty in this immense sorrow that now overtakes me? Joy, does that word even have a meaning these days? Those were the thoughts that now ran rampant through my mind at the thought of prayer.
After Harper left this world I felt myself searching for a way to find fullness again, a way to bring back the naïve feelings of life before loss. Anything to avoid the pain, I would do anything to avoid the deep ache that tugs at my heart, the tug that some days seems to be so much that it brings me to my knees. Church, the house of God, it has to be there that I will feel re-connected again, it has to be there that my soul will find it's way again, it just has to be. Do I ask for forgiveness? Do I sing his praise? Do I mourn the death of my daughter or do I rejoice knowing she is with our Savior? Where were my answers...
I learned though that the answer is: All of the Above and None of the Above. It doesn't make sense, I know this. But that is the answer. There is no yes and there isn't a no. There is just Faith. There is just God. There is just belief. That is what you cling to, that is what you hope for and that is what you search for. We BELIEVE. It becomes a magical word that we (Parents of Loss) learn to live by. Rooted deep in our Hope. It's not much, but it's enough most days.
I received communion several times while I was on bed rest in the hospital. It was a quiet few minutes, where we would close our eyes and pray to our Lord for the health of Harper. It was a time where I could cherish that little human growing inside of me. It was a time where I was able to recognize the miracle of life and how precious it can be. It was a time that I looked forward to each and every day. So much so, that when I was discharged from the hospital I had this insane pull towards church. I felt that the only way I could feel those feelings again, the only way that I could feel connected to my daughter again was to attend mass. I mean, wouldn't it be in the Lord's house that I would feel the safest? Wouldn't it be in the Lord's house that maybe, just maybe, some of my questions would be answered? Isn't it in the Lord's house that I would see my little girl again? (maybe not physically, but spiritually). I yearned for the strongest connection that I could possibly gain. I needed something to fill me because at that time, my soul was running near empty.
I did not get the answers I was looking for unfortunately. I did not feel like I was fulfilled when I walked through those doors. Instead, when I attended Mass (the Easter season nonetheless) all I could see filling the room was joy, perfection, glory and praise. For the first time in my life, I truly felt alone. Every time I attended mass for the first few months, it took so much strength inside of me to fight the tears back. Why you ask? Because everything surrounding me looked like perfection and appeared so put together; all while I felt so broken inside. There was the lovely family of four sitting in front of us, maybe they too should be a family five, but at that moment, their life looked so ideal. Or how sweet was that little girl sitting four rows and to the right of us all dressed up in her frilly dress and large "Texas sized" bow. When I looked around, all I could feel was sadness inside of me. All I could feel was pain. That sharp, stabbing, aching pain that cuts me deep every time. I knew I had to take a break. Not from God, I needed him more than ever, but I had to take a break from his home. I needed to bring Him into mine, before searching for Him in His.
But...
With time and healing, I was able to see the light again when I returned. With time and healing I could watch that sweet little girl four rows in front of us and smile. With time and healing I didn't have to fight back the tears anymore (or at least, as often). With time and healing I didn't feel so alone anymore. With time and healing my prayers were resembling some normality again. As we approach Harpers First birthday and I begin to relive the beginning of {This Unimaginable Journey} I am feeling more full than I could have ever imagined I would feel. I am feeling more alive. I am full of hope and I am full of peace. Peace in knowing that my daughter still lives within me. Peace in knowing that she is our child and Peace in knowing that she will always be loved and will not be forgotten.
Of course there is still sadness, there will always be sorrow, but those days are becoming less and less. Those days don't define me anymore. The days that define me are the ones spent celebrating her life. The moments that I get to tell Levi he has a baby sister. The moments that I watch him point to a picture of an angel and say "Harper". (I'm pretty sure he's going to think Angels are called "Harper" for quite awhile). I look forward to our prayers at night, the prayers where Levi says her name { God Bless Mommy, Daddy, Harper and Spaten.} I cherish the small little signs that my heart tells me were sent by her. Those are the moments that define me. My two beautiful, amazing, and talented children and my husband who never ceases to amaze me. Moments with them are what I cherish most and for that I am so very very thankful.
So with time and healing and with hope in my heart I will pick up another broken piece on this Unimaginable Journey and place it lovingly where it belongs because in a few short weeks we will be celebrating Harper's First Birthday, a day I wasn't sure I would be able to make it too, let alone, look forward too. This journey has been hard but this journey has been so incredibly rewarding as well. To my beautiful daughter up above "Mommy Loves You!".
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