What It Was Like to Hold My Dead Son-- Day 3-- In My Arms

This day. This one. The worst of them all... I remember vividly.

Right around midnight, my mom talked me into the epidural. She told me I was dragging this on longer than I had to because I was fighting the contractions. "The epidural will relax you. You can sleep." Sleep sounded good, but it came in increments of 10 minutes.

It was 2:00 a.m. and something didn't feel right. I tried to wake my mom.

"Mom. Mom. Mom... MOM... JANICE!"

As she rolled over, Dave stirred.

"What's wrong?" she asked.

I think I was delirious with grief because I replied with, "Either he's coming or I'm going to poop on this bed."

My mom pushed the call button and both she and David were wide awake. The nurse came in and we told her we thought he was coming. She raised the blanket, lowered it, and said she'd be right back.

Less than a minute later, nurses pile in. One nurse pulls a tray with little blankets, some metal instruments, and who know what else, but definitely no bassinet.. because why would we need one?

He came out without any problems, he was moved to the tray to be cleaned as I was tended to. I waited... this time to hear him cry, for them to all be wrong. I waited, hoped, for a cry that never came.

I ordered an autopsy of everything, including the placenta, so they kept everything.

As they cleaned him, I shook vigorously in my bed, fighting tears, and full of a pain I can't begin to describe.

"She's shaking. Nurse, she's shaking really bad. Lisa, are you cold? What's wrong with her?" My mom was panicking.
"She's in shock. It's okay given the situation. We'll give her something to calm her down."

Another nurse walked over to me with a small wad of blanket. "Would you like to hold your son?"
I could only nod my head and reach for him. He fit perfectly in my two hands held together. He had some swelling that was from the delivery, so I was told, and his skin was reddish in color because all the layers hadn't developed yet.
I couldn't cry anymore. It was true; he was dead and there was no denying it anymore. His tiny, perfect little hands that barely covered my thumb nail were as still as my breath. I uncovered him to reveal a tiny body and ten of the tiniest toes imaginable. Legs bent at perfect, little, knobby knees just as still as the hand I held.

What happened to you? I am so, so sorry, baby. I let you down. I didn't protect you.

I looked to David, "You want to hold him?" He hesitated and reached for him. This is the only time I've ever seen David cry. Ever. Did I let him down, too?

We spent the next hour with him and when the nurse asked if we'd like a few hours with him, we said no. We said no because we knew it would only hurt. It was only more time to blame myself, more time to see his perfections and painfully wonder why this perfection was a facade.

I didn't hold him again until the day of his funeral. After everyone left, I held him. But I never said good bye, I couldn't. I can't.

Today, he sits in a teddy bear-shaped urn atop a shelf made by my dad and me. He's surrounded by knick-knack-style gifts I've bought for him over the years. A tiny, knit hat sits on the bear's head. He wore that hat. A hat that's too small to cover a small porcelain bear; a hat that fit his little head perfectly.

Today, I tell you to treasure your child, treasure your pregnancy.

Today, I say... I love you, Kalob Guy. I love you, and wait for me.
 .

What it Was Like to Hold My Dead Son--Day 2-- Labor and Delivery

This post will be short because I've manged to block out a good portion of this day.


We checked into the hospital at 8 a.m. I was taken to a recovery room in the birthing suites. At this hospital, in Scottsdale, Arizona, the recovery rooms were nice and fairly roomy. My room had teardrop on the door--how appropriate.
I changed into a gown, they setup an IV and gave me Oxytocin to induce labor. They offered pain medications of all sorts, including an epidural. I declined all of them.
"Hon, this is labor, you will be in pain as if... well, as if..."
"I know, thank you. I don't know what pain he went through, why should I get any relief?"

She didn't argue. She stared a moment, swallowed hard, and left the room.

Yeah, I blamed myself. I still do because I have no answers to tell me otherwise.

I don't remember anything else except crying, hearing other babies cry, and waiting for my parents to arrive. Around 8 p.m., my mom, dad, and Sara arrived at the hospital. My mom stayed and I gave my dad and Sara directions to the apartment.

I had begun to breathe through a contraction when my mom asked if I had an epidural or any pain medication.
"No, I don't need it."
"Lisa, this is still delivering a baby. No matter how small he is, the contractions are the same."
"I don't care. I'm fine."

My mom kept trying to get me to drink water or eat ice chips while the nurses brought in a second lounge chair that unfolded into a little bed. My mom laid next to me and David at my feet.

They both went to sleep fast and I laid there awake, still waiting.


In the wee hours of the following morning, he was born, April 8, 2005. Tomorrow will be posted tomorrow.

What it Was Like to Hold My Dead Son, Day 1- The News

I rarely talk about this. It's been a significant period of time. I was told it would hurt less with time. It doesn't. It hurts the same, sometimes more. It hurts more to know that he'll never know his brother and sister that came after him, and they will never know him.

I'll start at the beginning, because that makes sense. If you've ever thought I had a long post before- you know nothing.

It was April 6, 2005. I was 21 weeks pregnant, or 5 months. Reflecting back, I think part of me knew something wasn't right. I had my monthly appointment with the OBGYN at 11AM. Dave and I both worked til about 2AM the night before, so he stayed home while I went. This was the first appointment he'd ever missed.
I drove the mile over to the office, climbed the stairs for exercise, and checked in 10 minutes early. I got called back into the exam room, was weighed and had my blood pressure checked, and then my doctor came in. He measured my belly/uterus and then lubed his portable heart rate amplifier and searched for my son's heartbeat. He moved that little microphone all over my stomach constantly saying my son could be laying a certain way. The doctor finally decided he wanted to do a quick ultrasound just for piece of mind.
We went into the ultrasound room and the tech set everything up. She put the wand on my stomach and moved it around until she could see the baby. I saw his profile on the screen for a split second before she turned the machine off and turned to look at my doctor, giving him a nod.
He stood up, walked over to me, grabbed my hand, and said, "Lisa, I'm so sorry, but your baby has stopped growing." He gave me a second before continuing, "We need to get him out. We need to schedule delivery as soon as possible."
At this point, I was still in disbelief and didn't say much. He walked me out of the room. We stopped at a nurse's station where he told a nurse to schedule a delivery of fetal demise. Fetal demise.
We walked to his office where he asked me when I wanted to do this, and that it needed to be soon. I asked if he was sure. The monitor on the ultrasound was only on for a second. There was no doubt in his mind and he kept saying how sorry he was. He asked if I wanted to go in that night, but I didn't. I wanted more time. I wanted more time to feel him kick, time for the doctor to be wrong. We scheduled my admittance for 8am the next morning.
I just sat in his office. I hadn't cried yet. He asked if I wanted him to call David. I imagined trying to tell him and hearing his heart break through the phone. I asked him to call him.
I sat there as he dialed. Then, he said, "Hello, David? This is Dr. Carter. I have Lisa here with me. I'm afraid I have some bad news. Your baby has stopped growing, he has passed away inutero. Yes, I'm sure. Yes, she is. Just a second." He took the phone from his ear and told me David wanted to talk to me. I took the phone. "Hello..." I barely speak the word and as soon as I did, I began to cry.
 "Lisa, are you okay?"
 "Yes. No. No, I'm not. I'm sorry, David, I'm so sorry."
 "Why are you sorry? Don't be sorry. Just come home."
 "Can you come get me?"
 "Honey, if I come get you, we have leave your car there. It's not far, you can make it."
 "Okay."

I gave the doctor the phone. He told we'd know more once he was born, stepped out for a minute and came back with my registration information. Where to go, what to bring, what time to be there. He told me to take my time and leave whenever I was ready. I only sat there a few minutes before I wanted out.

The one mile drive home felt like hours. When I finally made it in the apartment and back towards our room, Dave was crying on the bed. I laid down next to him I stared off. None of it seemed real, it had to be a dream. Dave told me he called my work and told them I wouldn't be in for a while, explained what happened, and then called my mom. He kept asking me if the doctor was sure and that maybe we should get a second opinion. "I'm pretty sure he knows what he's doing and wouldn't make this call lightly," I told him. David walked out of the room, and after lying there a few minutes, I ran myself a bath.
As I laid in the water, I kept my hands on my stomach waiting to feel him move. Of course, he never did.
The phone rang, Dave answered. He stepped into the bathroom and told me it was my mom. I wanted my mom more than anything right then. I took the phone, "Hi, Mom." The words barely made it out. I could hear her crying, but she asked if I was okay. "Not really," I told her. "I called your dad, he's leaving work now for a family emergency. We're booking a flight and we'll be there tomorrow. Lisa, what happened? What did the doctor say?"
 "He said he stopped growing, that there was no heartbeat."
 "Did he say why or what happened? Did you fall recently?"
 "No, I haven't. And no, he doesn't know anything. He said we should know more when he's born."
 "You have to deliver him? They're going to induce labor?"
 "Yeah. I'm too far along for anything else. I'm registered to check in at 8am tomorrow. Mom, I keep waiting to   feel him. Sometimes I think I do." I'm crying again, and my mom never really stopped.
 "Oh, hunny. I'm so sorry. I'm sorry you're going through this. I called the pastor here and he's getting in touch with a church near you."
This is the last thing I want. I don't want strangers right now. I don't want any God. Not a God that would give me a baby and take him away before I even met him. But I don't have the energy to care enough to say anything.
 "Okay, I guess. Just hurry. Get out here as soon as you can, please."
 "We'll be there tomorrow, I promise. Your dad is on his way home, but I don't want to pull Sara out of school. I'd rather tell her when I pick her up. We need to arrange a flight, a rental, and pack. I'll call your brother to watch the dogs. We'll be there."
 "Okay," I mumble.
 "You want me to call everyone? Let them know what's happened?"
 "Yeah, I suppose. But, I don't want any calls from anyone else besides you."
 "Okay then. I'll call and check on you later. I love you, Lisa."
 "Love you, too, Mom."
 "Bye."
 "Bye."
The next few hours went by SO slowly. I sat out on the patio with my hands on my belly. Still waiting. Sometimes I swore I felt him, but not strongly enough to convince me not to cry.
Dave opened the sliding glass door to the patio. "There's a couple here from a church nearby? You know them or something?"
"No. That would be Orchard Drive's pastor's doing. Just send them around, not through. I'll open the gate."
I waited as they walked around. They turned the corner and I invited them onto the patio. They were sweet and wanted to pray with me, but the woman kept looking at my protruding belly. I imagine she was thinking the same as me, There's a dead baby in there.

Things are kind of blurry after they left. I remember David making a steak dinner and promising to have a good meal on this day every day from this point on--which we do not. I remember not eating. I remember not sleeping, watching the clock as it climbed closer to my 8 a.m. check-in. I remember waiting, waiting for him move.



Tomorrow continues tomorrow, April 7.

Say What You Will

I have a few Japanimation shows that I really like, "Full Metal Alchemist" being at the top of the list. Recently, I've gotten into "Bleach." In the set of episodes I'm watching now, the credits song and video is awesome! I like it so much I've uploaded it to my mp3 player, and here for all of you to enjoy. Doesn't matter that's it's not in English.. I just like the song and video.

A Tribute by Heather

I've followed this high school age girl on You Tube for some time now. She has a beautiful voice, and shows it here in her video tribute to Whitney Houston (R.I.P., sure, but if she did the drugs... I can't really feel sorry for her).

If You Don't Like Cats/Kittens...

you're going to get awfully tired of my blog over the next few weeks, lol.

Just thought I'd post some 3-days-old pictures, and one of mama Bubbles. Everyone is doing great, but I miss my sleep...

Well then... enjoy!

As You May Recall...

My cat, Bubbles, was being chased by Howler in the middle of the night a couple of months ago. And I called it, she got pregnant. Well, yesterday, she had her kittens. I woke up at about 8 a.m., rolled over, and saw she was lying in the crate bed I had set up for her (to have the kittens in). I thought, Good, she's using it, and just as quickly, I realized she was cleaning a freshly birthed kitten.
I ran through the house, "Kittens!! She's having her kittens!" I text my friends and called my sister. By noon, she had five little furballs. It was a beautifully disgusting occasion. I had to help birth the fourth, which became stuck in the birth canal and only its head protruded. But, that's not the gross part. She ate the placentas. It was *shivers* gross.
Anyway, here are some pictures of the beautiful new additions to our family.

Cleaning Number 1

Number 1 tries to move as Number 2 is ready to emerge.

Number 2 arrives.

Cleaning Number 2.

Add caption

And we have Number 3

All 5

One day old.

One day old.

One day old.

Well then... who wants a furball in about 8 weeks??