Thursday, June 21, 2012

Let's be honest... This sucks

It's just after six o'clock in the morning, and I'm sitting in the hospital waiting room watching Bugs Bunny cartoons on television and milking my second Mr Pibb in the last two hours. Cori was out like a light when I stumbled out of her room, unable to sleep. Yesterday continues to haunt me. I imagine it will continue to do so for a very long time.

I would be remiss if I didn't start by saying how grateful I am that the cesarean section went well and Cori is recovering quickly. This surgery, while somewhat commonplace, is still a big deal, and I'm not sure that my fragile emotional state could have survived any complications. There are more than a few cracks in this facade already.

Yesterday in the operating room, after successfully getting Aiden out (I suppose "success" has to be given a somewhat forgiving definition at this point), the nurses brought him over for us to see. We both wept as I took the lifeless body of my son in my arms and instinctively began to gently rock him.

I wanted so badly for him to cry. I wanted him to fuss and fidget and refuse to calm down. I desperately wanted him to be frustrated by those first few moments trying to nurse, to be loud and unreasonable like a baby should be. I cycled through emotions at a blinding pace. I was sad, furious, hysterical, depressed, relieved, and indignant, all seemingly at the same time. I wanted to scream at the nurses and beg that they do something to fix him. I wanted to scream at Aiden and try to wake him up. I wanted to scream at the sky and demand an explanation, a reason, some feeble attempt to address the impossible question of "Why".  I wanted a do-over, a recount, a mulligan, an undo button.

But I don't have an undo button. I may never get an explanation.  He's not going to cry. Instead, we cried. We sobbed and cradled his tiny broken body. His cleft palette, which we knew about from the ultrasounds, was jarring to see. His impossibly tiny hands and feet, all misshapen and turned the wrong way, were unnerving. I found him painful to look at, and for that I felt guilty.

Several months ago, shortly after having been told about Aiden's Trisomy, Cori and I were in the kitchen doing dishes. We had let them get a little out of hand, so there were a lot of them to wash. After tackling the third sink-full and still having a noteworthy amount left, Cori paused and said, "This sucks."  I agreed, then noticed a tear running down her cheek and realized that she hadn't been talking about the dishes at all.  I've waxed poetic on this blog about what I've felt, what we've struggled with, etcetera, but I think that perhaps no description of this situation is more accurate than the one Cori gave that day... This sucks.

20 comments:

  1. I read your post through a link on Gina's blog and cried right along with you. I'm so sorry... There really are no words for moments like this, just prayers, of which I will say many for both of you. God Bless...

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  2. I don't have any words. I just want to say I am so, so sorry.

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  3. I am so sorry. Sending love from Dwight, IL. Blessed be.

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  4. I am so very sorry for your great loss. Prayers for peace in the journey. Godspeed, sweet Aiden.

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  5. Many hugs from afar... my deepest condolences to you and Cori.

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  6. Hi BJ. I am crying too. I am so, so very sorry for your loss. I have, and will continue to keep you and your family in my prayers.

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  7. Many, many, many hugs. My thoughts and prayers go out to your family.

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  8. I am so very sorry for your loss - I will be praying for you and your family.

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  9. A dear friend has delivered her daugther today, who had alrady passed away. She was a trisomy 18, too. I can't really find the words to express so much sadness... but i'm crying for Maria, and now for Aiden. If parents could be chosen, and I can start again, I would no doubt choose parents like you. Aiden was really wise. I hope time will make bearable what is clearly unbearable.

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  10. What an unimaginably difficult experience. Much love and strength to the four of you and to little Aiden in heaven.

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  11. I am so very sorry for your loss. I know the devastating silence of delivering a still baby. I know it seems dark right now, but it gets better. I promise. You are (unfortunately) not alone. I will think of your Aiden with my boy Foster tonight and light a candle for both of them.

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  12. We lost a son to Trisomy 18 thirteen years ago. Our older children were 5 and 2 at the time. Sending love and healing to your family. Hold on tight to each other and when your grieving gets out of sync with each other, talk to a counselor. The pain changes over time and won't always be this sharp. There are better days on the other end of this tunnel.

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  13. I'm so sorry. Just so, so sorry. God bless you and your family.

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  14. Mollie Annand HunterJune 21, 2012 at 1:30 PM

    Peace to all whose hearts are now filled with great sadness.
    Peace to all who seek to understand.
    Peace to all who can reach out and comfort you with their love.
    Peace and Love.

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  15. I am so sorry for your loss. My heart aches for you and your whole family. May you feel God's Peace that passes all understanding. A friend referred me to your blog. I will be praying for you.

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  16. My heart aches for you & your family. I cannot even imagine how you are feeling and what this experience has been like for you. Thank you for having the strength to share with all of us and to give us the opportunity to pray for you, your son, and your family. You all will remain in my prayers on a daily basis for some time, as your journey is not yet done. I am praying for strength, comfort, and healing for all of you.

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  17. We've never met, and probably never will, but I'm praying for your family and crying alongside you. I'm praying for God to give you strength to carry each other through and I'm praying that He rock Aiden gently in His arms until you meet to take over again. One day, for sure, you will hear your son gurgle.

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  18. I wish I lived closer. Call when you're ready. Love you guys.

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  19. Praying for God to cover you and your family with a peace that only He can give.
    Denise

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  20. Just wanted to say how very sorry i am for your loss and you and your family are in my thoughts.

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