I had a dreamless sleep, thank goodness. I was utterly exhausted and my body left me no choice. Yesterday was a strange day. After thinking Fitz was doing so much better and not seeing him for a couple days (we thought a stomach bug might have invaded, but thankfully it didnt, but just in case didnt want to share with the NICU), it was shocking to get the phone call to come in right away. That ride to the hospital is the closest I hope I ever know to what the green mile or dead man walking on death row might feel like. Walking into the unknown, unaware of what it will feel like. Will it be quick or slow and drawn out? Will he feel anything? What will I feel? The director of the NICU greeted us solemnly but warmly. He said Fitz head been sick too long and and his body was beginning to shut down. He said he was truly surprised he rallied as long as he had but anything to be done at this point will just cause him pain and prolong his suffering. His body would not be able to recover from the damage that has been done and even if he lived, he would never speak or walk and would be on a ventilator. This is exactly what I didnt want. He didnt deserve to suffer. We chose to take him off the machines, take him to a quiet room and hold him and dress him until he slipped away from us. He didnt look like the baby from the videos and pictures of last week or that Rosie took. He looked sick and frail(er). He was swollen from edema in his neck and the adhesive left on his cheeks from the tubes made his skin look raw. We finally got to see his face, aside from his first moments in this world, without the tubes. Diaz nose, dark hair, a small, bird mouth (Brad says I have a small bird mouth). He looked like he fought a good fight. He lived for about half an hour after he was taken off the ventilator. When the doctor came in to check his heartbeat for the last time, he also told us radiology just called to tell him his film from that morning showed a perforated intestine. He never would have survived the surgery required to fix it. Tender mercy. The nurses cried with us and helped us prepare a box of mementos. His tiny blood pressure cuff, his pulseox monitor that we watched obsessively, hand print, foot print, some of his hair, a hat a volunteer made, the blanket he laid on that smelled like him. I deal with things through humor. As we sat alone in the quiet room, there was a hand written poster on the wall. Shifts was misspelled, missing the t and the f was poorly written and without his neighbor, the t, to make sense of the word, it could easily be mistaken for a t. In context, we knew what the word should be, but pm shi*s was just too much. The result gave me the giggles. Brad and I both. It was just so ridiculous. Brad found a marker and corrected it. It was a much need break from the grim reality. The Eminem song thats on every commercial with the hook Snap back to reality/oh, there goes gravity has been running through my head. I know no other lyrics to the song but those lines. We were on cloud 9 thinking he had improved so much. The resulting crash to reality, gravity pulling us down from our cloud, is humbling, to say the least. We were slightly blinded with false hope, with the truth forever nipping at our heels. There is relief in knowing it is over. The rollercoaster is letting us off. Of course there is a new ride we will be on, but we have a little practice now, so maybe it wont be as rough. Somebody will always have it worse than you. While we were at the hospital, a baby was coding while the doctor was giving us the news and he had to step away several times. That babys parents werent there. That baby was older, or at least bigger than our Fitz. When I was first admitted, a young mother in her first pregnancy with twins at the exact same point in her pregnancy as I was, was my roommate. She had an abruption and I listened as she was told they would have to deliver and the likelihood of either surviving were painfully low. The likelihood of the babies not having severe handicaps if they did survive were even lower. Someone always has it worse. Count your many blessings and look for tender mercies. Look for ways to serve. Love each other.
Posted on: Thu, 18 Sep 2014 14:13:04 +0000
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