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The Blame Game

by | Sep 6, 2010 | Baby Loss, Child Loss, Coping With Baby Loss, Coping With Losing A Child, Group B Step | 3 comments

Your baby got sick. Your baby has lasting health problems. Your baby died. What’s next? Who do I blame? Surely somebody is to blame, right?

Not always. *

Our son Charlie died from late-onset Group B Strep in June of 2003. He was 24 days old. The doctors said there was a 50/50 chance that he got it from labor (me) or that he just got it from “life”. So my husband and I made the conscious choice to not dwell on or even think about who or what was to blame.

That’s crazy, you say. We could sue somebody and get lots of money if they were found to be at fault.

OR

On the other hand, I could blame myself daily and end up sinking into an even deeper depression and spending the rest of my life beating myself up for carrying GBS and killing my child.

No amount of money would bring my baby back. If there were a specific amount, I would beg, borrow, steal, cheat and maybe even kill to get enough money to bring him back. I would sue whomever and whatever I could if they would bring me back my sweet, pink, smell-goody, bright-eyed Charlie.

But that isn’t going to happen. Ever. So I have made peace with the fact that no negligence was done, by myself or my husband or any medical staff, and have told that part of my grief to take a hike. I’m not thinking about it anymore.

*Exception: If there was gross negligence on the part of a caregiver, doctor or hospital, and you have the resources and truly believe you have a case, then going after compensation may be okay. I’m not attorney, but I do know it won’t bring your child back or make your child whole again.

The Funeral

by | Sep 6, 2010 | Anniversary Reactions, Baby Loss, Child Loss, Coping With Baby Loss, Coping With Losing A Child | 3 comments

A year ago a limousine sent by Mike’s company showed up in front of our house to take us to our daughter’s funeral.

I climbed in the back, carefully smoothing my purple dress so it wouldn’t get wrinkled, and then realizing how ridiculous that was. I stared out the window and thought, “I can’t wait to take Maddie in a limo!” And then I remembered.

I wore a set of gold bracelets that she loved to play with, even though they clanged and made lots of noise. In the pocket of my dress I had the first hat she ever wore from the day she was born.

We arrived at the church early, and looked at how the pictures and Madeline’s things had been arranged.

Maddieshrine Three

La-Z-Moozer

Maddie's Piano

We then sat in a room in the back while we waited for everyone to arrive. We walked out right before the service started. I stared at my feet as we walked to our seats in the front row.

I looked up when I heard chuckling, and I realized the laughter was at a funny picture of Maddie from the pre-service slide show.

The service started, and I listened to the celebrant, then my dad, Mike’s dad, my brother, and Mike. As it came closer to my turn to speak, I started to feel sick to my stomach. My body felt cold and my legs felt like jell-o. I clutched her Abby doll close and walked up to the podium.

Abby

Podium

I looked out at the crowd and was amazed by all the people.

Front Chapel Wide

four purple ribbons

Somehow I managed to address the crowd.

After the service there was a beautiful balloon release. The wind blew right when the balloons lifted into the air.

Gathering for Balloon Release

maddie's purple balloons.

As my balloon floated away, I wished that it could take me with it.

The reception after was a blur. So many people came, people I hadn’t seen in years, wonderful people. I didn’t eat, the food smelled both delicious and awful. There were a lot of hugs and tears. I didn’t cry. I couldn’t.

Many people told me how beautiful the reception was, and I wanted to say, “well, we don’t get to throw her a second birthday, or a sweet sixteen party, or a graduation, or a wedding. This is it.” Instead I said thank you, and gave credit to my wonderful friends that had handled everything.

We stayed until the sun was down, the cold wind blowing steadily. We stayed until the last person left, and then we got back in that limo and returned to our empty, quiet home.

all photos by the wonderful Casey

Solitary

by | Sep 6, 2010 | Anxiety, Baby Loss, Child Loss, Coping With Baby Loss, Coping With Losing A Child, Fear, Grief, Help For Grief And Grieving, Jealousy, Loneliness, Loss | 3 comments

I’m turning into a hermit. Not in the traditional sense, exactly. I leave my house almost every day. But I hate leaving. When I leave, I can’t wait to get back. I can’t wait to put on the same clothes I’ve worn for twelve weeks, even though they stink and have stains on them. I long to lay on my couch and stare blankly at the TV.

I’m not finding comfort in anything anymore. Flipping around on the internet, my surefire way to escape, now makes me tired. I have thousands of unopened emails, dozens of unread text messages. I want to look at them but I just don’t have the stamina.

The only things I seem to have energy for? Envy and crying.

When I was on bed rest with Madeline, the only time I was allowed to leave my house was to go to the doctor. I remember sitting in my OB’s office, seeing happy pregnant ladies with their growing bellies, and being overcome with jealousy. Or when Maddie was in the NICU, I would constantly see happy parents going home with their new babies, and my body would become hot with anger.

This is so much worse.

Everything sets me off now. Seeing a child walking down the street with a parent, or a man buying diapers, or a plastic toy in the grass turns me into an ugly, hateful shell of my former self. I say that I wouldn’t wish this on anyone, but that’s not entirely true. If it meant I could have my little girl back? If a magical genie said, “OK, pick another family and they’ll lose their child instead,” there isn’t a single person in the world that would be safe. Even the people I know.

I felt guilty about this at first, but I realized that everyone who knows me or reads this would feel the same way. And everyone who knows me or reads this has already had a similar thought. “Man, that sucks, but better them than us.” Who WOULDN’T think that way? I know that, before Maddie passed, when I heard about a family that lost a child I would be so relieved it wasn’t MY baby that was gone. It wasn’t MY family whose worst nightmare came true.

So I’m slowly becoming a hermit, because I’m afraid soon I won’t be able to keep it in. So that the next person that says something well-intentioned won’t get me screaming in their face. So that the next person who rightfully complains online about their cranky child won’t get an expletive-filled email or comment. So that the innocent man buying diapers won’t have to see me glaring at him with my swollen blood-shot eyes.

Am I protecting others, or myself? I don’t really know.

How Do I Deal With Not Being Able To Have a Baby?

by | Sep 6, 2010 | Anger, Chronic Illness, How To Help A Friend With Chronic Illness, Infertility, Invisible Illness | 13 comments

Before I start, this is not your typical “I can’t have a baby post.” I am not the face of infertility, at least not as far as I know.  I’ve never lost a baby. I’ve never even tried to get pregnant.

However, I do have Spondylolisthesis & Spondylosis which, in shorthand, means my vertebra on L4, L5, and S1 have less space between them than they should and have slipped forward.

This causes the muscles in my mid and lower back to try and compensate for what my spine can’t do, which leaves me in near-constant pain. I currently take medications for the joint inflammation and the pain. If I were to get pregnant, I’d have to stop taking the pain pills in the last trimester, be on bedrest for at least that long, and have to choose between breastfeeding and pain pills.

I’ve trolled through every forum related to my condition and pregnancy. It seems most women have experienced horrific pain during pregnancy that, in some cases, never went away. Many say that though their children are worth it, getting pregnant was the worst mistake they’ve in regards to their back problem. Some doctors advise having surgery to fuse the slipped vertebra together, a surgery with a six month recovery time, before attempting a pregnancy.

Even if I could quit work and devote myself entirely to a pregnancy, I worry the pain will make it impossible for me to care for a child.  As it is, it takes everything I have just to get up the subway steps coming home from work. If I have to stand for the whole forty minutes on the train, I’m crying by the time I get home.

When I consider how many times a day a baby needs to be picked up, how heavy a car seat is, and how much energy it takes to keep up with a toddler, I know it’s totally out of my physical capacity.  Plus, both Spondylolisthesis and Spondylosis are hereditary and I’d never want to pass this kind of suffering on to my child.

I know there’s always adoption or surrogacy, but they’re just not for me.

Selfish as it may be, I want the experience of carrying and delivering our child. I’ve spent a lot of years telling myself I didn’t want kids, but now that I’m with an amazing man, the tick-tocks of the clock are getting louder and I think I may want them…and the idea that I probably don’t have the option is crushing. When I see pregnant women or little girls with My Love’s shiny black hair, I’m hit with a wall of sadness and longing. Something inside tells me that’ll never be me.

So The Band, what do I do?

How can I accept that pregnancy and raising a child aren’t things I’m physically capable of doing?