Finding Me - Part 2 of 4

Journal excerpt (in italics) from June 11, 2005
Saturday

Well, after a long night and morning, I delivered our little Jess Samuel this morning at 9:43 AM. The appointment yesterday confirmed my suspicions that his heart had stopped beating, so they told me to come to the hospital at 8:00 that night to start the induction.

It was strange. I’ve felt so prepared for everything that has come up so far…even when Jess died, I felt prepared for it. We’ve thought extensively about how the funeral will go, we’ve arranged flights to and from Utah, we bought the plot of land, McKenzie is taken care of…I’ve just felt really prepared for everything. But somehow, I overlooked the labor portion of all of this.

As I was sitting in the waiting room last night, waiting to be called, a nurse would come in every so often to update a waiting family on the status of the woman in labor. “Congratulations!” they’d say, “You have a baby sister!” “You have a grandson!” “Mom’s doing great.” “The baby weighs 9 pounds!” With each exclamation, I felt my heart rip over and over. I stared at my small belly and cried. And cried. And cried... I cried for the fact that no one was here, waiting in excitement to hear ‘congratulations’ for us; I cried as I thought about those healthy babies; and I cried, because for the first time, I remembered what labor was like. I remembered the smells, and the IV, and the epidural, and the painful contractions, and the pushing, and the bleeding, and the painful contractions, and the stretching, and the painful contractions… With McKenzie, all of those negative things were swallowed up with the fact that I was getting a beautiful daughter out of all of it. There was so much excitement with McKenzie…so much excitement that I didn’t mind the pain of the IV and I didn’t feel the pain of the epidural, and I didn’t mind the smells, or the pushing or the bleeding or the stretching…even the painful contractions were bearable.

But this one was different.

This one didn’t have that excitement with it. I had nothing to look forward to - - - nothing to smile about, or joke about, or laugh about.

I can’t count the number of times I said, “I don’t want to do this, Brian.” I was scared…more scared of pain than I ever have been in the past. My threshold for pain was incredibly low, because I didn’t want to be here, doing this, in the first place.

There I sat, in that emotionally charged waiting room for two hours. When the nurse finally called my name, a cloud of confusion crossed her face as Brian and I stood up. She knew her patient was here to be induced, but I obviously wasn’t nine months pregnant. In addition, I had no amniotic fluid so I was very small even for being six months along. She led us back into the delivery room, shut the door behind us and said, “I’m sorry, I haven’t heard anything. Can you tell me why you’re here?”

I felt a moment of free-falling before I stumbled to answer her question. “Yeah. Uh. Our baby, um, they can’t find a heartbeat, so, uh...” Is this not in my chart? I wanted to ask. I had been in and out of that hospital so many times I had to believe that something was written about it. “Oh, I’m so sorry,” she said.

This wasn’t the first time I had been in an awkward situation because an important piece of my health information had slipped through the cracks. I suppose that’s the price you pay when you go to a teaching hospital – too much information passed through too many people. Something is bound to get lost.

She took good care of me through the night; mostly stayed out of the room. I slept a little, cried a lot, and prayed for my labor to go quickly. The nurse had said she had seen inductions last for three days when a woman’s body was so far away from being ready to deliver. I declined the epidural for the first eleven hours because I felt that being paralyzed for up to three days would have made the situation even more despairing. In addition, I was hoping that being only six months along would somehow translate into a milder labor. But this was not the case, and the contractions intensified. Eventually, my forehead broke into a sweat, followed by the rest of my body, and the contractions swallowed me whole. I no longer cared how long I would be hooked up to the epidural and when I asked for it, the nurse came in and predicted the baby would be delivered within the hour. It was too late then, and pain consumed me. Pain because I was in the last stages of labor, pain because I couldn't take my baby home, pain because I'd never hear his cry, pain because I didn't want to be there.

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Forty five minutes later all was quiet. I sat on the hospital bed with my husband standing by my side and my newborn son lying still in my arms. The lights remained low. There was no excitement. No commotion. No laughter. The nurse looked over my shoulder, "Awwwww. What will you name him?" she asked. "Jess," I replied. "Jess Samuel."

The next two hours were some of the most precious hours of my life. Brian and I held Jess…and we got pictures of him. Such perfect little hands and feet. We made a little blanket together yesterday while McKenzie was sleeping – so we wrapped him in that and held him. One of the sweetest images I have in my mental archives is of Brian, holding his tiny son, with tears in his eyes. I wish I were a painter so that I could capture that image on canvas – it was so beautiful.
Jess weighs 14 oz. and is 13 inches long. Tall and skinny, just like his dad.

The next day, after the discharge papers had been signed, a hospital escort brought a wheelchair into my room. I knew that wheeling patients out to the curb was hospital policy, but I still pled for him to let me walk out on my own. I wanted to act as if I was not a patient, as if I had just been visiting a friend, so my empty arms wouldn’t be so painful. But policy was policy, I was told, and I sat.

“What did you name your baby?” he asked as he pushed the wheelchair down the hall. I panicked for a second as I realized we were headed towards the nursery. Does he think we need to stop to get my baby? I didn’t know what to say and felt my eyes fill with fresh tears at the thought of having to explain myself again. But a second later he turned down the hall to my right and I saw the elevators ahead. “Uh, Jess,” I said. “It means ‘gift from God.’”

The air seemed so cold as my wheelchair moved through the halls. It stung my eyes and made me shiver. At first I tried to hold my head high and not think too hard about how empty I felt, but I could offer no one a smile, I couldn't even look another person in the eye. I admitted defeat within the first minute and hung my head; my shoulders caved in and I cried. That journey from the hospital room to our car was one of the truly painful experiences of my life. I was broken, I was alone, and there was nothing left for me to do but to go home with empty arms.

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June 14, 2005
Tuesday

He didn’t do it. He didn’t create a kidney for my baby, and He didn’t fix his heart like I had hoped He would. But, just as I had written in my journal before we knew the outcome, I believed there must be a reason… and because of that, one emotion I was saved from feeling was anger.

I wasn’t saved from sorrow, though. And, thanks to my friend in the hospital, I let it come. I let it drip from my heart. I let it seep from my eyes. I let it mix with my soul. I let it fill me entirely. The night my milk came in I wrapped myself tightly in ACE bandages to help soothe the pain, curled up into Brian’s arms, and told him how much I hurt – physically and emotionally – until my words could no longer compete with the tears. He stroked my hair and kissed my head as I let the sobs shake my body for half an hour.

I reached a new level of love for Brian that night. That he could see me in such a broken state and, feeling broken himself, still comfort me taught me a little about what unconditional love is about.

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June 16, 2005
Thursday

The funeral home encouraged us to take our time to think about what we wanted Jess’ headstone to look like. There is no rush, they said. Take a year if you need it. Such soothing words to hear when there were so many other important decisions to be made. Stressful decisions. Neither Brian nor I knew anything about the logistics of handling a death, but we stumbled through the process and learned as we went. We chose a beautiful cemetery in Utah and bought a plot of land, picked out a tiny baby blue casket, and selected a few little items to place inside with our baby. We learned that airlines often offer a bereavement discount which, disappointingly, ended up not being much of a discount at all. So the last minute plane tickets were bought and added to it was an additional fee for Jess. Feeling broken hearted, poor, and grateful for the help we were receiving, we put together a program for the graveside service, decided on a very small guest list and wrote down a few thoughts we wanted to share.

Through it, somehow, the world kept turning – Medical School still held classes that Brian had to attend, my car still ran low on gas, the grocery stores were still open and we still needed milk. As we struggled through the decisions, I found myself wanting to stop the world from turning just long enough for me to catch my breath.

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June 18, 2005
Saturday

I saw his eyes moisten and watched his hard swallow when I asked him for a father’s blessing. We had been heading for the door on our way to the cemetery when my heart sprang into my throat and my stomach felt like it shattered into a hundred shards of glass. Nerves, maybe. I wanted to collapse to the ground and sit for a minute, or an hour, or my lifetime. I felt physically and emotionally incapable of getting through the next two hours on my own and ached to hear some reassuring words from my Heavenly Father. “Of course,” my dad whispered.

“Yeah, me too,” Brian said as he turned to his own father. “Dad?”

Looking back at it today, I feel fortunate. How incredibly fortunate it is for me to have the power of God so close in my life. To have a father, and a husband, who live their lives close to God and who can, at a moment’s notice, harness a portion of His power through the priesthood. Sure enough, Heavenly Father spoke through my father directly to me and reminded me of His love. And in that love I found the strength to move.

I don’t remember much about the actual service. I have a few memories, mostly jogged by pictures, but it feels like a distant dream. I know I spoke, but I don’t remember anything I said. I know Brian spoke, but only recall a small portion when he tenderly revealed that Jess had come alive to him over the past few weeks. I know which songs we sang and who said the prayers. I know McKenzie looked so beautiful and healthy as she placed a white rose on her brother’s casket. But my memories go no deeper. I don’t know how I felt. I don’t know what I thought. I don’t even remember exactly who was there. I’ve thought about this throughout the years and can’t help but feel a little concern. Who bought all the flowers, and did I thank them? Who set up the pictures, and did they know how long I stared at them? Who fed us? Who hugged us? Who offered a kind word?

Most of my memories are so real that, not only can I still remember them, I can still feel them lingering on my heart. But, something in me shut down for that afternoon. Or, was it morning? Maybe I didn’t feel. Maybe I didn’t think. Maybe the Lord carried me through it and let me sleep on his shoulder.

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June-December
Early Healing

Eventually the sympathy cards stopped coming. One day we ate the last serving from the meals that were brought in. In time even the people closest to me uttered their last words of sympathy and turned their heads back towards their own busy lives. Logically I understood, yet I felt it unjust that time would work his healing powers on all those around me and leave me to struggle still. I felt alone and found myself teetering on the brink of depression for half a year. I knew it even then. I felt my precarious position and those closest to me heard me say that I felt as if I were standing on the upturned palm of my Savior above a deep, dark crater of depression. Each time I would walk close to the edge of His hand, He would whisper words of encouragement and love which would gently guide me back to the middle.

I worked through those early days of healing in deep companionship with the Lord. My prayers had never been more consistent or heartfelt, and my testimony never stronger. The days were long and hard and the nights almost unbearable, but I knew God loved me, and that knowledge was the glue that held me together.

My emotions were volatile, and I spent much of these six months working through them in my journal as I waited to be healed.

June 15, 2005 Wednesday - *There are times where I honestly just don’t know if I’ll ever be able to get over this. *His sweet little face keeps flashing through my mind – and I physically ache to hold him again. *I can’t stop thinking about last weekend…the weekend I knew he was dying…

June 18, 2005 Saturday - *This whole experience has been so different for me. I’ve been surprised at how difficult it has been for me to think about this - - - and especially to analyze and understand my feelings. *I feel wiser…I feel older…

June 28, 2005 Tuesday - *I think, looking at all the pain and sorrow…all the joy and happiness I have felt through this all, that if I had it all to do over again, I would. Through my pain, I was humbled…and in that humility I prayed harder than I ever had in my life…and in that prayer, I felt the Love of the Savior and my Heavenly Father. I felt comforted…and I felt unique and special to the Lord.

July 18, 2005 Monday - *It’s so strange how my emotions change on a day to day basis. Most days I’m fine… but then something random will happen and send me spiraling into waves of tears. Pregnant women, for example – I hate seeing pregnant women. *I don’t want people to feel like they HAVE to say something. It just feels awkward and uncomfortable. *I should be having a baby - not a period.

August 4, 2005 Thursday - *And another hard day is coming to an end. *I keep having these strange dreams about him where he’s about 3-years-old…hair the same color as Brian’s, big blue eyes, fair skin, and totally 100% normal little boy. The dreams are sort of being seen from a home-video view, and Jess will run up to the camera and pull a cute little face with his mouth open and his eyes crossed…then he’ll run away laughing and flailing his arms at his sides - - - just like a normal little boy. The next thing I know, I’m frantically searching for him because he’s turned up missing. I can’t find him anywhere and adrenaline soars through my body. Then I wake up and feel just as frantic – I can’t believe I fell asleep when I didn’t know where my son was… But when I finally regain a little more consciousness, I realize what is going on, and relax a little. But I still feel the adrenaline surging. *Why can’t I get over this? It’s been 2 months now - - and I’m still a basket-case sometimes. I guess I expected to be ‘healed by time’ by now. *I wish time wouldn’t take so much time. I keep waiting for the explanation - - why did it happen this way? Where’s the pay off that makes it all better? *I SEE the good, I just can’t FOCUS on it.

September 24, 2005 Saturday - *I went to a baby shower last Thursday. That was a bad idea. *The Lord loves me. But that still doesn’t change the fact that I want my baby. *I can’t believe it’s been 3 ½ months – I guess I didn’t expect it to take so long to heal.

October 30, 2005 Sunday - *An interesting thing happened last week. I finally, consciously thought that I felt things were back to normal again for a moment. I was driving in my car and things felt good.

November 1, 2005 Tuesday - *It’s happened more than once where I’ve been walking out the door with McKenzie and I’ll turn around to get the baby.

December 5, 2005 Monday - *If I had to sum it all up in one sentence, my lesson this year is that GOD LOVES ME.

These were tender months. Months of tears and pain, yes, but also months of gratitude, happiness and love. Months I am glad to have been through but I could never welcome back.