A Changed Life

About a month ago, I thought about posting on here about how much my life had changed since I last posted. I was pregnant, we had moved cross country to Connecticut, Nate was working for a film company and we were just trying to get settled in a new place and getting ready for a new baby. If I only knew what would happen.

I can't help but think that, somehow, it was all meant to be. Why? I can't explain, but so many things lined up in such a way that we lost our child. It is so hard to say the words out loud. It is easier to type them, but only just. It has been nearly a month since our little Phineas was born.

It was going well. Things were progressing nicely with labor at home. Baby sounded great and I was almost completely dilated. My midwife encouraged me to get my water to break. After the rush of fluids came a foot and a cord. My whole life changed. What was meant to be peaceful and full of joy became a harrowing ride to the hospital trying to hold my baby in.

I knew from the look on my midwife's face that my baby was dying and I had no way to stop it. I was wheeled into the OR but they had me push since the baby was so far out anyway. Moments later he was born, barely alive. It was so quiet there in the room as they worked on him. I was in shock and freezing, my body shook uncontrollably. Fear gripped me and I just waited to hear one thing, the cries of my baby. But I never would.

He was stabilized but had suffered severe brain trauma due to being deprived of oxygen. They transferred him to another hospital to undergo cold cap treatment. It was his only hope. It would hopefully put off some of the brain damage and allow his brain to heal itself.

I left the hospital 9 hours after he was delivered and agonized over what would happen. The next days we kept vigil at the hospital, hoping for something to change. After his therapy was over, the prognosis was still very poor and we had doctor after doctor repeating it.

We knew the prognosis, but we still felt like there was a reason to hope. We went to church and attended the temple. We felt peace that all would be OK. I struggled with this a bit because we thought it meant that he would be made whole, that he would be healed. I felt his presence, I knew he was there with us. And then, I knew, finally I had peace that all of these promises would be ours, just not in the way we expected.

April 1st, just eight days after his birth, the sun came streaming in our bedroom as I woke up and I just knew. It would be OK. But, it was time for him to go. I could not keep him longer. We told the doctors that we were ready to do "withdrawal of care" the next day.

So on April second, Good Friday, we let him go. They removed the equipment and we held him as he passed, surrounded by family. It seems so strange that I felt more happiness and peace on the day that Phineas died than I did the day he was born. I feel like his life was sacred, that there are many reasons, most, likely unknown yet, why his life was so short.

I miss him so much now that sometimes my arms physically ache to hold him. Sometimes I just fall apart. People are often asking how I am doing. Mostly, I say that I am doing OK. And it sometimes true, other times, it is all I can say.

I think now how much life has changed, but then, how much the same it is. My life feels so different now, but looks nearly unchanged. I have to find a new normal now. One where my son is a presence and a memory, but not physically there.