Smile for the camera?

This post was inspired by my memories on my facebook page, the photo is at the bottom.

EEEKKKKK. THIS was the ONLY time I ever saw her smile!!!! And I freaking caught it on camera!!!! #MOMWIN
**back story time**
   We had a rough night beforehand and, an even rougher day. I believe it was a Tuesday, that's when our hospice nurse Lisa came.  This beautiful photo below was after a three-hour episode. Three hours of her struggling to breathe and probably one long seizure or maybe several, we will never know. Thankfully our hospice nurse came in the afternoon while the episode was still going on...
   After I had told her what had been happening she gave me a look I had been waiting for. You see, we had been prepared for the moment I would need to use her seizure medicine Versed; it can be dangerous and we didn't know how it would affect her, I was scared it would make her stop breathing for good. I had been trained how to use it, holding it upside down quickly pushing it to spray the medicine into her nose. We had gone over when to use it but, I was wary of the side effects so we had it for emergency only. That day, was the emergency.
   After Lisa and I talked we decided it was time to try the Versed. She shot the medicine up her nose and Adalynne did not like it one bit. 10 minutes of my heart racing waiting for my baby to die right then she started to calm.. she settled and then, her little cheek would twitch up into a smile.  I never saw her smile. Never saw much happiness or emotions (except when I took her out of the bath or stopped playing rap music in the car) this one moment.. for a beautiful second I was able to see her smile after watching her suffer tremendously for several hours... I'll never forget how my heart danced watching her. It was our silver lining to a dangerous and scary day. She always let me know she was okay. She still does to this day.

To my sweet girl, I'll see you in the sunset tonight. I'll kiss you in my dreams. I'll love you with every breath this vessel gives to me. I'll never stop smiling for you.

Healing Memories

December 13th, 2015... that was my first event and definitely the hardest. It was a special event for families that had lost children.  I didn't speak to anyone and could hardly say her name in the circle. I choked on huge sobs as her name attempted to escape my throat. But, I walked away feeling slightly better and stronger.
   Flash forward to last night's event. I felt happiness walking the garden. It's bittersweet happiness of course, because, I miss Adalynne so much I can't breathe sometimes. Then I remember, her soul is free from her broken vessel. I walked through the luminaries that lit up the pathways I used to walk with a stroller and an oxygen mask tucked underneath. As I walked around the zen garden taking in the beautiful view I spilled coffee all down the front of me. Like, seriously from my shirt, vest, leggings, leg warmers, and my damn shoes. A long line of warm (at first coffee) I headed to a bathroom to try and dry off some. My path leads me to the stairs. As I went down them I remember a specific memory from Adalynne's stay at the hospice house...
  It was a Wednesday, we had a cookout with all our friends and family. One of my friends was holding her and I glanced at Adalynne's face.... she had turned blue once again.. I scooped her up and, went into action. I did everything I normally did when she stopped breathing and then, she eventually started back, little tiny breaths. I put the oxygen mask back on her to help her teeny breaths be as rich as possible. I was sitting on a bench, surrounded by our closest family and friends. My brothers were beside me, and I just lost it. I sobbed and sobbed... they put their arms around me and we all cried together. It was heartbreaking and beautiful. I finally gathered myself and the party continued.
   Eventually, she stopped breathing again and I decided it was time to take her back inside. I had her in my arms, my favorite hospice nurse was beside me with the oxygen. As I headed for the stairs fearful of her death my body gave out.. I collapsed to the ground while everyone scurried to us trying to help. I held my dying baby sobbing on the concrete, I couldn't do it anymore. My aunt asked, "Heather, what can I do?!" I yelled" SAVE MY BABY" my eyes poured tears as I could feel my heart breaking even more...

Nothing and no one could save her. That truth was too painful.

   Yesterday I walked down those same stairs (with coffee poured all down the front of me.) I thought of that memory and realized, I survived. I am surviving the greatest loss of life. It's hard and messy and, full of migraines from crying so hard. Each day I wake up and get a little bit stronger. It gets a little bit easier to deal with life without her. I don't want to but, I have to.
  I'm very proud of myself. I didn't cry yesterday, made cupcakes, walked the gardens, felt her love and remembered how free she is. That freedom is a blessing. The weeks leading up to her death were the hardest for her frail body, she fought a good fight and now, she can see the beauty and her soul can fly freely.
   Before I left I took the leftover cupcakes inside. Hoping to give something sweet to a family going through their worst days.. I talked to some nurses and saw a familiar face. One of Adalynne's nurses. She smiled and said she remembered me. As she hugged me she told me she thought of us often. That warmed my heart so much. I thanked her for all she did, there isn't enough thank you's I can give to Hospice and all the nurses who helped us.
     They were my backbone and, when I couldn't stand anymore, sometimes, they literally picked me up off the ground and reminded me, I CAN DO THIS. I will survive this, I will be stronger and love harder because of this journey. I'll always look to the sky and be thankful my girl can see the beautiful sky and glimmering luminaries.

Much love to you all. Hug your babies for me please.

I spy with my little eye.

   I hate cleaning my room alone. I always seem to find things I don't want to find. Some days I smile thinking Adalynne set them there so I'd think of her, others I cry at how bizarre my life was/is. I've kept a running list of photos of these stinging finds. Today's find broke me. Today I was cleaning clothes up and looked down to find "The Bag." Now, this isn't any bag, it's a biohazardous materials bag that I kept and carried any time I traveled. This bag was The Kit I needed for...after Adalynne died. It held saline and eye patches that I was to use once she passed away to preserve her eyes for donation. It's labeled  Hospice Kit/Post-Mortem Eye Care. If I didn't have this when she died I risked losing her ability to donate.
   The thoughts rushed in my brain the moment my fingers touched its plastic. I wonder if they actually used her eyes for science or threw them away like her precious heart valves. (Still so hurt, angry, bitter and broken with Carolina Donor Services)  How many parents had to carry around a Post Mortem care bag with their baby? Who put this in their diaper bag when they took off to take their daughter to see their dad, who lived over an hour away. Or, trips to different states to visit family for a Hello and Goodbye visit. What kind of crazy world I lived in, huh?
  Over these months I've found baby shower cards mixed with "Sorry for your loss" cards from her funeral. I found an envelope with her death certificate I never saw before. Or, maybe I did and my brain was like "NOPE." I also found the lovely "Certificate of Cremation" a sucker punch to my throat. It was together with her certificate you get when your baby is born in the hospital, with their little feet on it. That one left me gasping on the floor alone. One of the funny finds was a letter from the funeral home and inside was a plane ticket. I laughed when I saw those two together. My healing was jumping on a plane to visit family. Something I desperately need again. There is nothing like making more memories with your favorite people to heal your soul a little.
  I have a stack in the living room of papers and basic bullshit from Carolina Donor Services. I'm so pissed at them I just want to burn it all but, I can hear Adalynne sigh at me. "Mom, it is what it is, we tried," I think that's what she'd say if she could've spoken to me. I hope they still used her donations for science. Saving three babies would've been better but, we tried.
   I also find morphine caps at the weirdest times and those, I giggle at. I smile at the fact she no longer needs it. No more fighting through a seizure to get her to swallow morphine. Or blue sticky medicine running down her sweet cheek. I still have a basket of her morphine and seizure meds in a basket hidden under my bed that I can't deal with yet. One day.
  All these finds are bittersweet some more bitter than others. I cry and little and then take some deep breaths and try to finish cleaning.
   What a crazy life I have. I hope all of you are having a better day then finding a Post Mortem baby bag. Please, hug your babies for me. Never take for granted your sweet gifts of life. Even on the hardest days remember, you don't have to carry around a bag for your child's death in their diaper bag.

Much love to all you beautiful souls. Enjoy the sunshine and your precious little ones.

Heather

Wishes for tomorrow

   I keep thinking this will get easier. That one day the tears will stop. One day. Most days it's tolerable. Most days, I can handle the grief. And then, I look through photos of my daughter and my heart aches. The hot tears build up in the corners of my eyes. Blinking them away doesn't always work. Sometimes, they drop to my cheeks. Those tears sting my cheeks with a reminder that this pain, it will never go away. It will always be here taunting the back of my mind each day.
   Each time I step out in public and see a little girl running around, I'm reminded mine will never do that. Each trip to the store is carefully mapped out to avoid the baby sections. If I don't stick to my plan you'll find me staring at baby clothes like a deer in your headlights late at night. We both are not supposed to be where we are but, here we are, stunned and scared. And then, I end up crying in public which, I have a rule against. (No ugly crying public, it helps Noone and, makes me feel worse)
   When you have a baby, your brain changes but, when your baby dies, your brain doesn't switch back to how it was "before." I still see clothes and think "oh I need this for Adalynne" that thought is typically interrupted by the "uhhhh nevermind Heather, go get some kale and leave asap" thought. (Kale makes me feel better, don't judge)
   Ugh, the holiday season is so hard. Well, really each day is hard. Today is just a lazy Thursday and it's hard to sit on the couch and not cry uncontrollably. I try to remember all my lines I tell myself during these days; she's free and whole, she's no longer in pain and suffering, this was our story, you must accept it. Sometimes, they don't work and I'm just angry and sad.
   When those lines don't work, I resort to my next set of lines I tell myself.
   Tomorrow will be better. Tomorrow, I'll be stronger. Today I can be weak, sad and hurt. Today, I'll miss her till I run out of tears and my head pounds from crying. But, tomorrow, tomorrow will be better.

Much love to all of you beautiful souls. Hug your babies for me today. A big, huge, squishy hug.

Perfect Imperfections.

It's been two years since Adalynne's surgery and on my memories, the photo below popped up. It triggered some thoughts.

I remember scooping you up, your body was so cold even with all the warm blankets snug around you. I bobbed and weaved through all the wires and cords, my heart would race and then, skip. Eager to hold you to my chest but, fearful I would hurt you. Your teeny skull was concaved in from the lack of brain tissue and, fluid. I remember feeling the fluid slosh around like a bottle turned upside down. Or when you drank too much water too fast and your tummy sloshed about.
  You would let out these heartbreaking whimpers that crushed me to hear. I needed to hold you, you needed me to hold you. We untangled ourselves and slowly, steadily settled into our chair. In this moment I thought my heart would burst from my chest! It was beating so fast and then... peace. I took a huge breath of air, soaking in the moment. I had waited a very long time to hold you. That was the longest time we ever went without our embrace I think. Until now of course.
  You seemed to be happy after we settled. I talked to you and sang our song. Reminding you, I would give you all of me. "All of me loves all of you"... "All your curves and all your edges All your perfect imperfections"... Remember I'd dance with you in my belly and rub over our womb as I sang that to you.
  We starred at each other that day as I sang.. "what's going on in that beautiful mind, I'm on your magical mystery ride".. I'd always tear up on "And I'm so dizzy, don't know what hit me but, I'll be alright."
I tried so hard to accept that line. I'll be alright. I didn't know if I would be. I just had to be, for you. Especially this day. I had to be alright, for you, my sweet, sweet baby.
  I can close my eyes and relive this memory. The way your head felt different and your eyes were no longer pulled open. Your little sassy sighs when I begged you to eat, just a little bit. The way the iodine made your red hair even brighter but, I was too scared to wipe it off, you were in so much pain.  I found a strength in that hospital I didn't know I had. I knew everything you needed, some of the nurses tried to be the boss... hahaaha poor women hadn't met a mama bear like me I guess.
  Being your mommy was the moment I had waited for my whole life. I never felt more like myself than when I was taking care of you, my baby.
I'm so happy your no longer in pain. I try to celebrate your freedom without the aching to hold my number one babe. Thank you for teaching me more about life than I could've ever learned in a classroom or job.

I cry and sometimes yell, to just hold you. As many times as I say I'm alright, I'm not entirely.  I miss you so so so so much. I always will Adalynne Marcella.

"My heads under water but, I'm breathing fine. You're crazy and, I'm out of my mind"

All my love
Mommy.

Singing from the soul.

Noo, I don't want to, I'm not ready to loose her... that's what I said to my delivery nurse Jen, when she told me it was time to push.
I was exhausted beyond anything I've experienced. 40 hours of labor later, I had to push.  Once I got over the extreme fear of the unknown I got my shit together and started to relax into motherhood. My body switched into this zone of extreme focus.
     I was ready to see her, I needed to just see her face. Even if it ment saying goodbye now. I wanted to see my daughter. Each ultrasound she covered her face. Every. Single. Time. And lemme tell you, I had an astonishing number of ultrasounds. They monitored her head size to make sure it didn't get to big to deliver. I knew just about everyone that worked in that high risk pregnancy center by the time it was delivery time. Each time they'd try to get her to show her face but, surprise, surprise my daughter made her own rules.
They told me she would look like a "normal" baby, her head just might be "a little bigger." But, nothing about her was normal...
    I pushed her out in no time. I entered this somewhat primal zone and knew what my body needed to get this baby earthside. By pushing time my best friend had to leave within 45 minutes to catch her rescheduled flight. I pushed for thirty minutes, with breaks for readjustment. And then...she came out and I'll never forget that moment. 
    Not for the beautiful moment you'd think.  Right as she entered earthside I looked at my doctor and I saw him turn his head to my delivery nurse his eyes dropped and he slightly shook his head side to side. The most defeated headshake I'll hopefully ever see in my life. In that moment, my heart literally was crushed. I grabbed my baby girl and yelled "that's my baby" like, everyone didn't just see her exit my body. I looked at her and realized she looked dead. She was limp in my hands and the deepest purple color. I looked at the doctor and asked, "is she going to die?" They told me she had a heartbeat but, wasn't breathing. Immediately my best friend started trying to play All Of Me. They couldn't get the music to play correctly so she said to me to "Heather, why don't you just sing to her." I swallowed huge sobs and started to sing to my limp baby. Over and over again I sang and rocked her, all while apparently my placenta and after birth came out of me. I don't even remember it. I just remember looking Her, singing to Her, my Girl, my Fighter, Adalynne Marcella. I sang to her for about 10 minutes, I'd stop and ask if she was dying, they gave me the same answer each time.
    Then, she cooed with me to the song. Every atom of my vessel shook, my soul was awakened in that instance. She took another breath, and then another. I don't really remember exactly what all happened after but, she settled some.  Everyone was literally blown away with the miracle that is Adalynne Marcella, the noble, beautiful, young warrior.
   Soon after, my best friend nearly promoted, God mother to my daughter got to hold her for a moment before she had to quickly leave for the airport. I moment I'll cherish to the end of my days. Then, the rest of my family came into meet her and my dad left to go get my brothers.  Adalynne still was having issues breathing and we were told we had about two hours left with her.
   Remember how I mentioned I met with the head of the NICU? In our meetings I made sure everyone would know my rules. 1. She was to stay with me at all times. No nurses took her to do any weight or length or medical procedures until, I let them. 2. Comfort Care. No invasive procedures or action was to be taken. I wanted her short life to be pain free and full of love. That was my ultimate goal.
    Instead of tubes, we tried morphine. The morphine worked wonderfully. She started morphine at 2 hours old and took it until the day she died. It calmed her body down to be able to breath and relax.
    Once my brothers got there, ugh my heart was broken, I think beyond repair. There is something about seeing your entire family sobbing over this creation of yours that breaks you to the core.  I felt like I was totally numb inside. As the day went on, we got photos of her with everyone, cherishing our seconds, minutes  and, hours together. All astonished at how stunning she was. 
    She began having seizures at one point and, I just knew what to do. Like, all my life I had spent training for this job. Lots of her life I felt that way, I just knew what she needed.  We got through the rest of the day, had lots of visitors. We all gazed at her and we're blown away by her beauty. She was so freaking beautiful for a newborn. 
    About midnight my aunt arrived after a long trip from Florida. I was so excited to see her and happy she would get to meet my cute creation. Right after my aunt arrived and was holding Adalynne ,she started turning blue.   She had done this a few times by now but, each time sent a soul shattering fear through each person's body. With a little bit of stimulation she started back up.
    The next day is mostly a blur to me of blood and fear. Yay for womanhood. I didn't want to leave the room to shower, or sleep whatsoever. The fear of something happening while I was away was burned into my mind. At some point the nurse came to get us for her MRI. I was so scared, she would die any moment that a simple stroll down a few hallways petrified me. Luckily, I had some amazing nurses who, pushed me in a wheelchair next to her little bassinet. The hospital apparently has a rule I can't hold my baby in a wheelchair. 
    Watching your 1 day old baby have a MRI is.. for lack of better words- bloody fucking hell. I was able to sit in the room with her while it went on and, I sobbed the whole dang time. It is one of the worst feelings, sitting there unable to help your child. This scan wouldn't heal her, only tell us how severe it was.
   Another vivid memory I have was having my delivery nurse Jen come back to see us on the mother baby floor. She told me something I'll never forget. "Watching you breathe life into your child was The moment of my career." Her and my other nurse told me they'd never seen anything like that before and we're truly in awe of us. I wish I could find them and tell them thank you for all they did for us and, most importantly believing in me.
    I morphed into a superhuman that day, I became a warrior myself. I didn't realize until later I think but, looking back I recognize it. She will always be the true warrior that sparked it all and I'm so incredibly thankful to be her mommy.
    Words will never fully express the true miracle that happened July 10th 2014 except.... Adalynne Marcella, The Noble, Beautiful, young Warrior.  May her light shine forever.

So much love to you beautiful souls tonight.
Thank you reading.

Intensive labor

Hello readers,
    I've been thinking about what I should write all day today. It's been two years since I went into labor and my life changed. Well, it definitely changed wayy before she arrived. I had to move back home, change up my parents house to accommodate a special needs child. We thought we'd have a baby in a wheelchair so I moved rooms downstairs. Obviously, she won't ever need a wheelchair, and I'm thankful for that. The real game changer was her arrival earthside.
    The doctors decided to induce me 5 days past my due date. I wasn't ready, she wasn't ready but, there I was waiting in Forsyth hospital for a room to start my induction. I think it was a Wednesday I went in, and they were freaking packed.  I was so anxious just waiting and waiting.
   Then, finally we got started. I was put in one room first but, once they realized who I was I was switched to another room. It was waayyy bigger and, apparently in my own area right near the nurses. You see, I met with the head of the NICU while I was pregnant. I met with whoever I needed to, to ensure they were on the same page of my rules and I knew what to expect. So, when I arrived everyone knew, the very sick baby was about to be born... in a few days haha.
    I got the lovely drug pitocin which, is not lovely what so ever. Then, they decided I was moving along too slow so, I got a balloon inserted in my damn cervix, hooray! That will haunt me forever and ever.  Obviously labor was painful and about every moment sucked. The doctors and nurses kept asking me for an epidural and I kept saying no. I remember getting very close to my breaking point. My best friend had to leave to catch a flight and after, I got to the point I couldn't do it anymore and was asking for an epidural  she walked back in. Never in my life have I ever been so happy and relived to see her in my life. That moment changed her for me. She went from best friend and basically sister to my hero. I needed her with me. We are the best dang team. I busted into tears of relief, mixed with pain. She makes me a stronger women, and I held out for a few more hours.
    Her and my mom, along with all the doctors and nurses kept pushing the epidural, I was so overwhelmed with emotions and exhausted after 24 hours of high doses of pitocin with contractions through the roof, I gave in. I got that stupid needle in my darn spin and was fearful to move afterward because I didn't want to mess it up. All the nurses were like noo, you can adjust yourself, you'll be okay. They were wrong, the dang thing slipped out and I had to have a new one put in. Lemme tell you how happy I was about that....
    I'll also tell you, I cried throughout the whole thing. I cried when they told me I dilated more, when they broke my water, through both epidural's and I lost it when they said it was time to push. I wasn't ready. I knew as soon as she left my body I'd begin the process of loosing her. I didn't want her go. I was so sad and heartbroken. I couldn't get over how much I wanted her left, safe inside my tummy. Inside my womb, she could dance. When I played music to her which, I did everyday she would dance all over my belly, kicking and flipping around freely. Once she was forced to come out everything would be too real. I remember saying "I'm not ready to loose her" over and over again. I still wasn't ready 9 months and 18 days later.....

I'll finish the birth side tomorrow on her official day of birth.

Much love beautiful souls.