Tuesday, October 30, 2007

*The following was what I wrote on this date in my other blog*

Today is the first day back to classes since learning my news. I've talked to all my teachers, they are all aware. However, the first thing the people that know me in class ask, "How's Baby doing?" and its going to hurt so bad to tell them, "Well, actually..."

Its going to be the longest 6 hours of my life.

I've stopped paying attention to feeling for movement. Not that I've lost faith, but I've talked to my baby. I told him its OK to let go. Adam and I think that he was still holding on as long as he did just so Adam and I can learn what was happening.

I went to my OB yesterday to drop off Adam's FMLA paperwork. I sooo wanted them to check the heartbeat right then and there. But they didn't check. So now I still wait until Friday...the longest week ever

Irony

Went to my PGS 222 class today. We got to see a video. Guess what it was about. Childbirth. Fantastic. All my classmates were so disgusted. I wanted to yell at them. I wanted to shout, "At least these women are able to take their babies home, feed them, change them!" I know they did not mean harm, but damn that's ironic..

Monday, October 29, 2007

*The following was what I wrote on this date in my other blog, it was my first chance to write down what was happening*

Back in July of this year, I had a funny feeling. Not a physical one. But one of those "intuitions" your mother gets when you're up to something. The next day, I took a pregnancy test, and found it to be positive. One of the best surprises of my life, hands down. Giddy with excitement, I waited for Adam to come home to share with him the news. He, also, was surprised, but was happy. That night I left a message for my OB/GYN to schedule an appointment to confirm the pregnancy. I couldn't wait.

The next day I went in, and of course, I was indeed pregnant! My due date was set at March 19, 2008. I thought to myself, how funny, its my brother's birthday.

The first trimester went on smoothly. I shared my news with everyone I knew, and even people I didn't know. Each week I'd read about what was developing with my baby. His ears, his fingernails, his sucking reflex. I decided to be surprised about the sex, so we just say he for wishful thinking. Every day someone asked me how the pregnancy is going, and I would tell them how great it is.

Upon entering my 19th week, I went to the lab to get my blood testing done. A few days later, I received a call from my OB. I couldn't quite remember the exact details, something about low AFP and possible risk for Down Syndrome. He recommended a Level 2 ultrasound. I was reassured by many mothers that they too had low AFPs so not to worry. relieved, I went to my ultrasound the next day with Adam.

As soon at the technician turned on the screen, her smile faded. "This isn't good." she says. She noticed issues.  As she's apologizing over and over (its not like it was her fault), I lay on the chair, squeezing Adam's hand and watching him brush away a tear.

When the doctor came in, he explained that because the issues, that there is virtually no Amniotic Fluid around the baby. He mentioned fluid build up around organs, which suggests heart failure.

This was totally unexpected. I was ready to have a child with special needs, but I was not ready to let go of my child so soon. Before I could hear them cry, laugh, look at me. A lot of people tell me that at least its happening before I give birth, and I can't really compare, because this is my first, but all you moms out there will agree, there is a special bonding that happens as soon as you know there is a special people growing inside of you. I would think that this is just as painful. Parents should never have to say goodbye to their children this way.

Our choice is to let the heartbeat stop on its own. We will listen for it every Friday. After that, I will be induced and deliver.

This is going to be one of the hardest things I've ever done. Usually, after you deliver, you get to take your child home to their nursery, and watch them grow. And I can't.

This blog is meant for my therapy, and for all who are supportive to get a chance to be a part of this process of healing. I know we all were looking forward to this special child's big debut, and I know it hurts you all to have to hear this too.

Today is Pregnancy & Infant Loss Remembrance Day

Everyone is invited to light a candle on October 15th at 7pm in ALL Time Zones, ALL over the world.

If everyone lights a candle at 7pm and keeps it burning for at least one hour, there will be a continuous WAVE OF LIGHT over the entire world on October 15th, Pregnancy & Infant Loss Remembrance Day.

17th Annual Walk to Remember in Mesa, AZ

October 19, 2007

Life as I knew it became a shit storm.  And then my OB/GYN called about a week after my mother's diagnosis in regards to my recent blood work I just had done. Even then, I knew there was something wrong. He explained to me on the phone that my AFP level was low, and they couldn’t rule out Trisomy 21 in my baby. He suggested a Level 2 ultra sound. The next day, his nurse from the office called me and said that if I was available, they had an appointment for me at a genetics office that day. I confirmed and Adam and I drove into Tempe.

After an intense interview with the geneticist, I was still a little unsure of what to expect at the ultrasound. I climbed into the lonely chair, laid back, and exposed my stomach. The technician asked us the typical protocol questions and we answered. No, we didn’t want to know the sex of the baby, yes we brought a blank DVD to record the ultrasound.

She squirted the gel on my stomach and it is magically transformed into the gateway that connected us to our baby. I looked into the tell-all monitor. Why wasn’t he moving? The technician’s smile escaped her face. “I can’t see a bladder or kidney…” After carrying this baby for 20 weeks, my mother’s intuition kicked in. I knew there wasn’t a happy ending for this.

"They must be drawing straws to see who has to give us the bad news," Adam nervously joked.

She grabbed the tissue box and handed it off to me as if to give me a hug in some other way. She emotionally excused herself, and shut the door. All I could do was hold Adam’s hand and tried to burn a hole through the stubborn door with my eyes as to see through it. "They must be drawing straws to see who has to give us the bad news," Adam nervously joked.  

The doctor, who had such a serious face, walked in and explained why my baby was going to die. There was indication of Trisomy 21 and Trisomy 18 and fluid building up around our baby's heart.  I couldn’t even look at the doctor. Instead, I was distracted by the sink. There was nothing special about the sink. It was just there in the corner, like an eraser for these doctors and technicians to wash away all the pain they had bestowed upon me. But this sink, for a minute, kept me from looking at my husband and crying. He finished and it was final. My baby would die of a heart attack…and soon.

Driving home from the ultrasound was a hectic ride.  We were busy calling our parents, our bosses; anyone that we felt needed to know that our little baby would not be one of this world. Adam asked me where I want to go, and I can only think of one place. Mom and Dad’s.

My heart was beating in the pit of my stomach as we pulled up to the place my parents called home for the last ten years. Before we even put the car in park I looked towards the door and my frail, cancer ridden mother briskly stepped out towards her eldest daughter. Only 5’2’’, like me, she had seemed to have lost a little weight from the chemo.

This proud, petite Italian woman had let her guard down for me.

Her feet were in the old flip flops she’s worn a bit too long, scooting along the concrete as she tried to keep them on. Her arms, as soft as my bed’s bamboo sheets, were extended out awaiting my body’s arrival to sooth me into comfort. And then there was her face; oh my God, her face.With the gold hoop earrings she’d worn since I remembered.  And that scar on her face that she still refused to tell me how she got. As I approached her, I looked into those big bifocals which made her sad eyes and tears look even more depressed. This proud, petite Italian woman had let her guard down for me. She pulled me quickly into the house and grabbed a statue of Mary from the kitchen table. “She says it’s okay, you’ll have more later on.” And even though Mom was trying to make me feel better, I was offended. Why not now? At this point I had started an online blog to let everyone know what was going on instead of answering the same questions over and over.

We had two choices about what to do about our baby: we could have a medical abortion or wait for him to pass, be induced and deliver. As a part of a strong Catholic family, we chose the latter. We scheduled weekly visits with my OB/GYN to check the heart beat. It didn’t take long.

October 16, 2007

On October 16, my mother was diagnosed with lung cancer.  In 2007, there was no screening process for lung cancer. They had found that any type of regular screening was more of a burden than a benefit. So usually, when someone is diagnosed with lung cancer, it has probably been in them for a while. For my mother, according to her oncologist, she probably had the cancer since December 2006.

I got the news via phone call.  Walking out of my last class at Arizona State University for the day and getting on the "Flash" bus to get to my car, I listen quietly as my mother says the scan she just had revealed a tumor.  I silently cried as I listened to Mom explain that she and Dad were going to the doctor to get more information.

After I got news of my mother’s diagnosis, my head had never pounded so much. As I was sprawled out on my couch, my mother-in-law, who had rushed over to my house to be with me, comes over and re-wets the cloth and placed it back on my head. “Are you sure you want to go?” I had never felt so compelled to be at work than today; after all, my mother was just diagnosed with lung cancer.

My mother-in-law drove me the 22 minutes to work. I walked into my work, The Little Gym, and I am greeted by sad faces and hugs. My boss, who has always been a mentor to me, asked, “Are you sure you want to teach?”“Yes, Holly, I really need this right now. I need something normal in my life.” She nodded in agreement and let me prepare.

For over three years at that time, The Little Gym had been my second family so much that I just drifted there on my saddest day. I called my class, which consisted of 19 months to 2 ½ year olds which we call “Beasts” and their parents into the gym at 6:30 that Tuesday evening with my eyes so foggy from crying all day.

If there is anything that The Little Gym teaches the children who attend, it’s the confidence to do anything, and their instructors also reap the benefits sometimes too. I had dug deep down to be confident enough to walk in the gym that day and teach a parent/child interactive class.

The kids in the class didn’t care if I had a bad day, they were just happy to see me. As I continued for the next 45 minutes sharing with the parents how to spot their children on the beam and bars, letting them in on the emotional, social and other benefits of doing these activities, and singing a mouthful of jingles, I noticed I wasn’t thinking about Mom as much. I smiled for the first time that day.

The next day, before we headed to the hospital, Adam and I stopped by Mom’s house to grab a few things: Mom’s pajamas, her IPod, and her Tickle-me-Elmo…check, check and check.

Once we arrived at the Chandler Hospital, I stepped out of our car and into the crisp October morning. We walked into the main entrance, and get our visitor passes. The nice woman at the front directed us how to get to Mom’s room. Adam pointed out the coffee vendor and mentioned that we should stop there on our way out.

We walked towards the elevator in front of us and my hands trembled as I pushed the “up” button. After we went up 3 floors we stepped out and walked down the curved, beige hall and approached room 302. On her door, was a red sign that said “Fall Risk”.

There I saw mom, in her bed, obviously a little delusional. Dad sat in the chair next to her, watching TV. There was a whiteboard with the names of Mom’s doctor and nurses for the morning shift right next to the door. I tried my best to hold back the tears and to not think about how weak my once strong mother was.I put her Tickle-me-Elmo on her bed tray and pressed his right foot. Elmo proceeded to start giggling, slapping his knee, and rolling on the table. Mom smiled.

“This is my daughter…

she’s due in March.”

We chit-chatted and she pointed out the sink by the door at let me know how all the nurses and doctors are supposed to wash their hands there before they treat her. It was nice to know she was well taken care of. A nurse walked in and started adjusting her medication machine.My mom, in her morphine induced state, introduced me to her. “This is my daughter…she’s due in March.” And then Mom cried.

My mother’s life changed dramatically after that diagnosis. Her body was slowly being taken over by the cancer. She acquired a soft and squeaky Minnie Mouse voice. She was on so many pills to counteract the chemotherapy. Anti-nausea pills, pain pills (she had two different types of morphine medications), and even Melatonin, a pharmaceutical type of THC (something found in pot) to increase her hunger. She laughed and cried out, in her infamous Brooklyn accent, “I’m gonna be a pot head!” It was nice to see that she even found the humor in her cancer.

Heartbeats

I’ll just say it. I was a bitch to my mother growing up. I was as stubborn as her; and we fought with each other every step of the way. From what clothes to wear, to whether or not I should go to college, there was a never ending battle. But I think that’s what made our adult relationship much stronger. I spent many years doubting her, and as an adult, I had come to the realization that my mother was always right, and would never steer me in the wrong direction.

After I had my dream wedding on January 6, 2007 at just 21 years old, I just knew my life would be completely different. I turned into a true grown up. There was the upkeep on the house, the dinners I cooked for my husband, and knowing that I truly made my own decisions.

My mother and I were on the phone one June evening that year. “My back hurts so bad,” my mom confessed, “I can hardly move my arm because of it.” I was confused. This is a woman who never complained about being sick or hurt in her life that I knew her. Right before my eyes, my mother was changing.

In July I had a funny feeling. I drove to my grocery store, bought a pregnancy test and went home. I quickly read through the directions, opened the package and prepared to pee on the stick. I counted to 5 in my head as instructed, and looked at the test. Woah! Two lines already?! Wait a minute, I’M PREGNANT! What an amazing feeling, knowing there was a little baby growing inside me. I told anyone who would listen.I was going to have a March baby.

After about a week since my news, my mom shared with me that her doctor diagnosed her pain as a pinched nerve in her back. Never doubting doctors before, we all accepted this and tried to move on. She was prescribed pain killers for her back in the hope that she would get some relief.

This woman took care of me my entire life, and now I got to return the favor.

But the pain did not go away. Stronger the medications got, and still my mother was struggling sleeping, stepping into the shower, and moving around. At this time, I realized how humbling this experience was for our relationship. This woman took care of me my entire life, and now I got to return the favor. I’d lay in bed next to my older mother, softly touching her arm until she drifted off to sleep.

        “Maria, Mom’s face doesn’t look right,” Dad explained to me on a September evening over the phone, “Her entire right side is puffy. What do you think is wrong?” Why did Dad ask me? Was it because I took a human anatomy course?Because I lived the closest? Regardless, I had to answer.“Sounds like it might be a stroke, I’ll be right over.”

I walked into my parent’s house and Mom was trying to convince Dad that she didn’t need to go to the doctor; that she would be better. I slowly poked my head into the kitchen where they were and made myself known. Mom sat at the kitchen table and all I saw was her face. Dad was right, her right side was very swollen…the eye, the cheek, it was remarkable. It was as though my mother’s face was melting on one side. “Ria, what do you think?” I couldn’t answer to my mother; I just looked at my dad. “Dad, why don’t you call the ER down the street and tell them what is happening with her face, and whether we should be concerned?” At this point, my father dialed the phone and went in another room to talk. I heated up some chicken noodle soup for my mom and placed it in two bowls and I sat down with her to eat. Obviously depressed, she struggled to eat and make conversation as dad was still on the phone.

After a few minutes, she broke the silence. She took one more spoonful of soup, put the spoon in the bowl, sighed, and said with tears in her eyes, “I think I’m dying!”

I said the only thing I could think of as I jumped up to give her a hug, “No you’re not! We’re just going to take you to the hospital to make sure everything is okay! You’ll be fine!”

She spent a few hours at the hospital. She went through triage, had chest x-rays, and answered questions.“You better do a good job, because my daughter is having my first grandchild in your hospital in March,” she joked with the ER nurses.

She was sent home being told she is just stressed and that she needed rest, and she agreed.

A beginning to an end

Fall time is amazing for me.  I love the coziness it brings.  Albeit celebrating fall in Arizona is completely different than how I remember fall in Connecticut.  I went from watching the leaves change colors and jumping into a pile of freshly raked leaves in my front yard as a child to putting pretend orange leaves on my windows and making chicken soup in 100+ degree weather.

Fall is also a busy time for me.  And I love it.  It solidifies my sense of community and belonging. I love football season, Halloween and gathering around the table for Thanksgiving dinner.  I love it all.

Fall eight years ago was unfortunately my darkest time.  The events and experiences that I was forced into ripped away my ability to love fall time for that year.  It was a somber time and a difficult time.  Every year for certain "anniversaries", I would write.  I would sometimes share my writing on social media and sometimes keep things to myself.  I even used my experience as my inspiration for my final project in a short story class at Arizona State University.  Writing has been my go to place for healing.  I may not be the most eloquent writer, but there is something about leaving a part of me on a work that helps me find light where initially there was none.  And I think that is why I continue to attempt to write something profound each year to continually find myself yet again...instead of allowing myself to go back to that dark place.  I can see measured growth this way.

And so as this year of fall has begun (100+ degree weather be damned), I thought it would be fitting to experience this growth almost all at once and share it here.  Perhaps others can see the hope that exists after great tragedy, or if anything, to have everything in one place for once and for all.