Silly Little Girl

I am moving. Starting over, opening up to the people who inhabit my real life. I ask that you come with me. But I also ask that you not ever reference where you came from (this website), because the point of starting over elsewhere is to keep the contents of this one private.

katezales.wordpress.com

You would be surprised (or maybe you wouldn't) at how many people say "at least you can still have more children."

This generally just appalls me. First of all, and most importantly, children are not dispensable and replaceable. My surviving son, or my ability to gestate more children does not in any way, shape or form mitigate or ease the loss of Max.

Secondly, how do YOU know I can have more children? How do you know we didn't conceive the children we have via expensive, invasive IVF? How do you know I didn't have complications and now suffer from secondary infertility? How do you know we weren't completely cocksure of our family size and decided to snip some reproductive organs here or there?

(if you ever find yourself conversing with someone who has buried a child, I will tell you now - there is no "at least." There is only "I'm sorry." Leave it at that, I promise it'll be appreciated.)

At any rate, I bring this up only to say that I almost forced my husband to get a vasectomy shortly after Max's birth. Not forced, really. We were both pretty sure we were done having children. We were so profoundly in love with both our boys and they seemed perfect for each other, and perfectly enough. Coming off another terrible pregnancy, I was fairly certain that I never, ever wanted to do this again.

And then, as it so often does (yet hopefully not this extent for most people), my whole life changed. Max was gone. And this next part...well this next part is so hard to articulate that it might sound like I'm contradicting myself and saying that indeed, my second child is replaceable.

In fact, we learned from Max that we function best together as a multi-child family. That is in no way to say that our oldest isn't so awesome all on his own - just that we all function better as a slightly larger family somehow.

I think we would have figured this out eventually anyway, even if we'd been lucky enough to keep Max. He would have grown a little older and we would have realized that we really, REALLY enjoyed the baby years. We really enjoy raising children. I think, had we continued to put off the big snip, we would have gotten to a point where we were trying for a 3rd child anyway.

So after Max's death, when I very unexpectedly got pregnant (on the pill...again) we were...cautiously excited. It was May - still so, so soon after Max's death, and we were due on his birthday. It seemed so scary, but almost fated. Except then I miscarried before my 6th week.

And looking back, it still seems kind of fated. It hadn't occured to us yet that we might grow our family again some day. At that point it was still just too goddamn hard to see that we'd ever survive this, that we'd ever smile again. It was impossible to look and feel past the grief to know that we were someday going to want to live again, together, as a family. I think, at least for me, that sometimes I felt bad even imaging that it would be possible to be a family without Max.

But what happened, happened, and it opened up the discussion of whether we really wanted more kids, and whether we wanted them sooner than later. We hemmed and hawwed...being semi careful about protection along the way. We said September of 2011, then May. Then September of 10. And by June, we were actively trying to get pregnant. Less than 5 months into this pregnancy, we are tentatively picking months to start trying for the next one.

Max, even at 13 months, was so much his own little person. Just as Donovan is at 7 years old. Both my children are absolutely, diametrically different from each and I have no doubt that our future children will seem so, as well. We're not having more children to replace Max, or to somehow add to Donovan. We're doing it because the children we have/had taught us about boundless love and the ability of the heart to grow, and we know that whoever we end up meeting next will fit right in.

Living after the loss of a child is living a series of impossibilities. Should you manage to actually survive. If you kill yourself or cease to have any reasonable brain function, I actually have no judgment for you. I know, believe me. I've wanted to do both. Some days, I still do.

But if you, for instance, have other child for whom you are responsible, generally you eventually pick yourself up and keep going, whatever that means.

For me it was strange, and remains so. I took about 3 months off of work. My company was just unbelievably compassionate. The first weeks after Max's death are a blur. We stayed with my in-laws for a while. My husband and father in law planned the services. At some point, we packed up our house and moved into an apartment owned by my husband's aunt. I cannot give you any details about these things. I remember snapshots of the service. I actually had to ask someone the other day where the mass and luncheon was held. Hell if I remember, or really care.

I drank, constantly. I paired my drinking with Klonopin and Trazodone, given to me for anxiety and sleep. There were occasions where I drank myself stupid, swallowed some pills, and vomited - lather, rinse, repeat.

I have no recollection of when my son went back to school. I don't remember where my husband was any given day. From February to...maybe the second week of March, I really only have what people tell me to remember.

Disgustingly, sappily, overly trite and cliched - I "woke up
in Spring. My first lucid, consistent memories of any kind of continuous timeline are of sunny days. My family had decided to run a 5k to raise awareness for organ donation that year, for Max. He was an organ donor, you see. I began going to the gym constantly.

I didn't see it at the time, but it's so terribly apparent now that my compulsive need to run at the time equaled a compulsive need to run. From everything. Psychologically. Duh. I don't think any of us needed Dr. Phil to figure that one out. However it generated something else. Running, I often felt then and still do now, sort of brought me back to life. I fell off the wagon when I went back to work, but it's something I still am passionate about, and I can't wait to start again after this baby.

My memory picks up again with a lot of outings with friends. I laughed a ton, believe it or not. I was always, and sometimes still am, amazed that I can still have fun. And therein lies the innate "impossibility" of life after death.

If you had told me that not only would I survive the death of my son, but I would still be able to laugh, have fun, have friends, go out, appreciate life, love my family and job...I honest to God would never have believed you. I just can't accept the possibility of it.

But I'm here now, and all those things are true, most of the time. There are times that are scary, and dark, and they seem to go on forever occasionally. There is always a hole. I feel the absence of my son as apparently as I feel the temperature in this room, or my own body taking a breath. The impossibility of it is dual - that my son is gone, and that I continued to live when he is gone.

I don't know what anything is going to feel like from day to day. I know that some days I won't want to get out of bed. Some days I will be happy, and that will still seem utterly foreign and unfair to me. Most days I will be some in between of happy and devastated. Don't let anyone tell you otherwise, you can be both. Life can be both.

More when you lose a child than anything else in life, you can learn that you can live and die all at once.

A year came and went. We went to the cemetery with my husband's parents and sister, had dinner with his family, went home and spent the evening there with friends who insisted on being with us. We appreciated it.

Like so many things in the ever present grieving process, it was all at once worse and better than I expected. I think in some ways the days leading up to it were worse. In some ways a year was just...another day without him. Another day where most of our thoughts were directed at someone who wasn't there....and really, how different is that from most days?

Our surviving son is suffering so quietly. Quietly enough that he denies he's suffering at all. At a year past Max's death, Donovan rarely speaks of him at home. Will offer that he misses him if asked, but does not say that he's sad. At his parent-teacher conference in December, we learned he spoke of Max more than once a day. Spoke of dark themes;death and loss and abandonment. What have I missed with this one while lost in my own nightmare?

My husband and I have torn down and rebuilt our marriage so many times in the last year. I used to say you don't know someone until you move in with them. This probably remains true for most couples. For us, and for a sad, grieving portion of parents out there...you don't know your partner until you've lost everything together. Until you've had to put your marriage back together piece by piece, all while completely falling apart on your own. Marriage for anyone is a constant process. Ours is a work in progress, but for now, we're on this road together and glad as we can be to be so.

I've always been a person to occasionally step back and say (even if it's only semi-honestly) this is who I am, this is where I am right now.

At 18, I stood in awe and a little shock that I was 18, a high school graduate, and a mother of a toddler. At 22, I was amazed that I had ended up married to a man I loved with all my heart and children I worshipped beyond reason. At 24, I'm standing in the remains of my family wonder how I got here? I loved my family so much, and for them, finally, I did so many things right. But I'm 24, I buried my baby and there are days when I think that I'll lose my husband and older son as well. I'm constantly rewriting this story and I wonder a lot of the time if the next chapter of this blog is just going to be me figuring out who the hell I am after all this, if I ever even knew in the first place, and who I want to be after it.

Here. Wherever that is.

The last time I frequented this site with any type of regularity, I was documenting my pregnancy with Max. Then I went away. Then I came back to tell you that my Max was gone. And then I went away again.

It's hard to come back and know that you can't write without crying. You can't express yourself with any level of honesty with completely breaking down because how can write about anything else but the singular thing that dominates your entire life?

I am pregnant again. Intentionally, for the first time ever. It is a happy time, and we are excited, but as it relates to this blog it is so goddamn bittersweet.

Can I come back and document another pregnancy without constantly relating it, even just internally, to the last? Can I talk about Max without fearing for the future? Is it fair to either child? Is it time to just walk away?

But I don't walk away, at least not in the sense that I never just close the account, shut the site down. I go on google reader every day and whenever I leave comments I leave my site address. I don't know why. So maybe if I do come back, someone will be here.

But what's there to say? It's been almost a year.

Max's birthday was on Jan. 13th. I didn't go to the cemetary. I instead fell so quickly and deeply into a depressive spiral that I legitimately wondered if I could pull out of it. I brought my husband into it with me. Mark it up with the rest of my regrets.

I haven't been to the cemetary in months. Not since the weather was nice. Maybe July. I actually don't even know if the stone is in yet. I didn't buy it, I didn't really pick it out or choose words to put on it. I don't really care it says. Any message I would have put would have said something along the lines of "take me with you."

The anniversary is on Saturday. Tomorrow, the 8th, would mark a year to the day that we went to the hospital. From there I can give an extensively timeline of events down to hours. I took the 10th and 11th off work - I should have taken the 8th through the 14th off, because I realize now that the rest of the week will be spent looking at the clock and knowing that this time last year my baby looked at me and didn't know who I was, or this time last year I watched them conduct an EEG that showed no brain function.

This very moment last year I was getting ready to clear snow off my car after a storm. My baby was tired. He was spending the day alternately in my arms or with his daddy. This time last year I had spent the last night I would ever spend next to my baby. This time last year was the last time he looked at his dad and recognized him.

Where to go from here? What to write about, what to say? In the last year I've learned the mechanics of putting one foot in front of the other and moving on, but I have not yet learned how to be introspective in writing without falling apart. Learn as you go, I guess.

TypePad Conversations » Answer this question!

So

I cancelled the Typepad Pro service. Obviously I wasn't using it enough to justify even a paltry $8.95 a month. I know that with the pro service came the ability to link the typepad blog to my domain, but I do not know how that works with RSS readers and just..gah. I don't know. Is anyone still out there? If you are, just...you know. Give a holler.

We thought he had an ear infection.

On Friday afternoon, my poor baby was dripping from both ears. I called the pediatrician around 4p.m. His regular ped was out that day, and I got a return call from one of the other pediatrician's nurses saying they were calling in ear drops, and to make an appointment for Monday.

My boy, my Maxy bear, was fine most of the weekend. A little grumpier than usual, but mostly happy. He was always happy.

It stormed over the weekend. Snow piled on everything. On Sunday afternoon, I went out to clean off my car so I wouldn't have to deal with it the next day. While I was cleaning off my back windshield, it collapsed underneath the snow. I was horrified.

My mother-in-law came down, picked up the boys and me, and took me back up to her house so I could take her spare car. The boys would stay with her, and she'd take Max to the pediatrician the next morning.

I got a call at 9am from saying he was fine, just seemed really sleepy.

At 10:30, after the appointment, I got a call from her saying the pediatrician had said he was severely dehydrated. We could either try to force him to drink, or take him straight to the hospital. I told her I'd pick him up and take him to the E.R.

When I got there...he was frightening. He was staring off into space and it was only at first that he knew me. Within minutes, he was clearly unaware of his surroundings. We went to Holy Redeemer in Huntingdon Valley.

At Holy Redeemer, they stuck him four times to try to get an IV but he was so dry that they were unsuccessful. He never flinched. Never cried at the needles. The first time he got stuck and didn't move, my heart dropped into my chest. In hindsight, this is the time where I first felt afraid that I was going to lose my baby. He didn't know me, he didn't know any of his surroundings, he was already half gone.

The first pediatrician was still making noise about sending us home after they got some fluids into him. Around 4pm, the shift changed and the second pediatrician hurried into the room in a panic.

"I want a CT scan. There's something going on here, and it's going on in his brain. Those little cries you hear? I'm afraid they're seizures."

The CT scan was negative, but when they lifted him from the table, his entire left side of his face was drooping. His left eye stopped responding to light stimulus.

By 7pm, we agreed he'd be transferred out to Children's Hospital of Philadelphia. I waited for the ambulance team to come, then I left ahead of them to grab some overnight stuff from our house. My husband was to ride in the ambulance with him.

I arrived at CHOP and called my husband. They were on their way - Max had been medivaced.

"Why?" I demanded. "Why not the ambulance?"

"I don't know. He wasn't stable enough."

My husband would later, while we were waiting for the doctors, tell me that my baby had crashed during the transfer. His heart stopped, his lungs failed to function. They'd intubated him and resumed his sinus rhythm with chest compressions.

We waited until 2:30am to speak with a doctor. His demeanor was bleak.

"Your baby's condition is life-threatening. This is the first time I've felt comfortable enough to leave the room. We don't know what it is, but we suspect it's meningitis. I can't give you any prognosis beyond the next few hours."

Some of the darkest hours of my life were that night. We didn't sleep. I didn't pray. I didn't speak to god. I just repeated my baby's name over and over in my head and begged him to hold on.

The next few days were filled with a lot of medical jargon and up and down hopes. On Wednesday morning, during another huge snowstorm, we got some really good news. His white blood cells were coming back up, he was responding to the antibiotics. His lung and heart function were recovering.

By Wednesday afternoon, bad news came. His body was releasing massive amounts of lactic acid, a chemical that your brain controls. When large amounts are released, it indicates a loss of brain function.

An EEG was recommended, and done. We were told my baby had no more brain function.

We were given the option that next morning to remove him from life support that day, but then the Gift of Life Organ Donation people came to speak with us. If we let them run a few more tests, if we held on just one more day, his death would be the result of brain death, not cardiac death, and his organs would be viable for transplant. The drawback of this was that I couldn't be with my baby when he passed. But Nik and I agreed...if Max could make the decision himself, he'd want to help. Maxy always wanted to help.

I spent that last night in his room. I couldn't let him be alone on his last night.

We let them do their tests. Still no sign of any brain function. We waited for organ recipients to be arranged, surgeons to arrive.

On Friday, February 12th, right around 11pm, we said good-bye one last time, and they took my baby away from me.

So. Life took me for a ride.

I can't really explain why I bought this service back after months and months of it being billed to an expired credit card. I guess because after a conversation I had with my cousin, I realized that if someone I was reading disappeared, I'd want to know why.

So here's why.

I lived my life. I loved my two little boys with the fire of a thousand suns, with conviction and without equivocation. I worked my job, I tended my marriage...I just enjoyed every little bit of my life.

And then, in February...my beautiful, funny, life-enthusiastic, sweet, amazing baby got sick. He had an ear infection, which from Friday to Monday turned to what we were told was severe dehydration.

On Monday, February 8th, in the morning, we were in the pediatrician's office. On that same Monday night, we were at Children's Hospital of Philadelphia.

On Wednesday, February 10th, my son Maxwell was diagnosed with bacterial meningitis.

On February 11th, we determined that he had no further brain function.

On February 12th, he died.

And my life has fallen to pieces since then.

So there's where life took me. And here I am. I don't know where here is, but if there's anyone here with me, stick around, please. I'm going to document all the pictures and smiles and stories I should have been documenting all along, because they need to be remembered, and more people need to know my Maxy Bear.

Tell your story

Really, really quickly -

If you're interested in that kind of mushy stuff, or enjoy talking about yourself and your dude (or chick, or llama, whatever) like I am and do, go here and tell your story. I love the concept of this site, especially during times when it seems like there aren't many happy endings, so I'd love to see it get off the ground. If you submit your story, leave a comment here and I'll link to it.

Happy telling mush!

What is this?

A B-L-O-G? Buh-log? Wha? Huh.

SO HI. HOW ARE YOU. I WAS NOT MISSING FOR OVER A MONTH, I SWEAR. NOR DID I COME BACK WITH A VICIOUS AND UNDETERRED PREFERENCE FOR CAPSLOCK.

So, dudes. I'm sorry. Seriously, I am. I know you hear this all the time, but I SWEAR TO GOD I intended to update. I PROMISED myself I'd update. I made bold, out-loud statements about updating! And then..you know. Life happened, and some other shit happened. And some other shit that I wish had nothing to do with life happened. So, yeah. Sorry about that.

In numbered, vaguely (or totally) incoherent form, I give you:

WHY WRITING A BLOG FELL REALLY REALLY LOW ON MY LIST OF PRIORITIES.

1. That move I spoke of occurred.
2. The aforementioned move occurred the day after the winter's worst snow storm, in 12 degree weather.
3. The move was into a place that we learned, that day, had no gas line.
4. In case you are slow, I will connect these dots for you. No gas line + 12 degree weather = NO HEAT IN 12 DEGREE WEATHER.
5. HEY GUESS WHAT THERE'S NO HEAT AND IT'S REALLY FUCKING COLD.
6. I had to live at my in-laws with my husband and kids for about a week.
7. I ACTUALLY moved into this house.
8. HEY GUESS WHAT THE SHOWER DOESN'T WORK I WONDER WHY THAT IS.
9. HEY GUESS WHAT THE STOVE DOESN'T WORK EITHER, HAHAH DON'T YOU LOVE THE SMELL OF GAS LEAKING THROUGH YOUR HOUSE?
10. Max got fat.
11. Donovan stayed skinny.
12. The stove did not work until it was replaced in APRIL. APRIL PEOPLE, THAT IS A MONTH WITHOUT A STOVE.
13. There were lots of job interviews.
14. There was a lot of arguing and yelling with the school district to get Donovan in school.
15. Nik's grandfather died.
16. I stopped speaking with my mother. Finally, for fuck's sake.
17. Donovan FINALLY started school.
18. I started working ludicrous hours that kept me out of the house for 12 hours a day. Not the hours where I wasn't missing anything, either.
19. I stopped working that job.
20. Max fell off the couch.
21. Parenting = FAIL.
22. After three months, we finally kicked the thrush.
23. Donovan got Strep and the fever spiked so high we had to go to the emergency room. Three different people, including one who WORKS AT THE HOSPITAL, gave me bad directions, and it took an hour and a half to get to a hospital that's probably about six miles away, all the while my son was becoming more and more lethargic and unresponsive in the backseat.
24. That brings us to today.

It was a month, dude. IT WAS A MONTH. Not one I care to repeat. I cannot honestly say that I'm settled and happy here quite yet. Turns out, yeah dude, I was totally right. This shit was a MISTAKE. But we're here now, so we're making the best of it.

I am desperately trying to catch up with my reader, and my commenting and...you know. All that. Is anyone still out there?