It still feels like yesterday.
Monday, September 26, 2011
Friday, September 16, 2011
Now and then
I haven't found the time to write here in so long. We have been so busy. Planning the memory walk, getting Sadie off to school for the first time, and - of course - taking care of a new baby.
And along with all the craziness that each day brings, there is Sawyer.
Always there. Always in my heart. Always on my mind.
Landon looks so much like Sawyer that I often find myself trying not to look at his face while he's asleep. That is when the familiarity is all-too real. Erik shared with me the same fears - they look so much alike that a few times we've both thought Landon was dead in his sleep, with the same peaceful face his brother kept.
And yet, here we are.
Going through the motions of life. Somehow moving farther past the moment in our lives when he was here - time growing between now and then like a gaping wound that will never heal.
And along with all the craziness that each day brings, there is Sawyer.
Always there. Always in my heart. Always on my mind.
Landon looks so much like Sawyer that I often find myself trying not to look at his face while he's asleep. That is when the familiarity is all-too real. Erik shared with me the same fears - they look so much alike that a few times we've both thought Landon was dead in his sleep, with the same peaceful face his brother kept.
And yet, here we are.
Going through the motions of life. Somehow moving farther past the moment in our lives when he was here - time growing between now and then like a gaping wound that will never heal.
Thursday, July 21, 2011
The Other Mother
We went out for a shopping trip last night, one of our first as a family. Landon was fed and full, slept the entire time in his carseat. We were stopped, more than once...
"He's so sweet!"
"How old is he?!"
"I bet you're not sleeping at night!"
We smile, say thank you and move along.
The one thing I can't get out of my head though, is Sawyer. And especially how I felt just one year ago. I can't be completely beaming with the pride of a new mother. Instead, I worry that there might be another mother, grieving the loss of her baby. Trying not to look at our baby, but finding herself staring - hiding her tears.
I want to tell her I'm sorry, and that I was - and still am that mother.
"He's so sweet!"
"How old is he?!"
"I bet you're not sleeping at night!"
We smile, say thank you and move along.
The one thing I can't get out of my head though, is Sawyer. And especially how I felt just one year ago. I can't be completely beaming with the pride of a new mother. Instead, I worry that there might be another mother, grieving the loss of her baby. Trying not to look at our baby, but finding herself staring - hiding her tears.
I want to tell her I'm sorry, and that I was - and still am that mother.
Monday, July 18, 2011
Brothers
Every time I look at Landon when he's asleep, I cry. Most of the time, it's just for a moment - But there are some days, where the tears just won't stop.
He looks just like his brother.
Monday, July 4, 2011
Thursday, June 2, 2011
If I only knew...
I thought we were doing well.
Today, was hard. Such a small word to describe the enormous pain of reliving every moment of one tiny life.
I feel so much guilt.
We were getting ready to go to bed and I couldn't remember if I prayed the night before he died. I looked at Erik - my eyes filling with tears, "Did I even pray? I must not have prayed hard enough."
How many times did we visit the NICU on his second day? Was it really only three? What kind of mother visits her sick, premature son only three times in an entire day? I never should have left his side. I wouldn't have ever left his side if I knew...
The last visit we had with him was perfect. I held onto his tiny hand and stroked his delicate cheek. I remember talking with his nurse, we were all so hopeful for Sawyer.
The last thing I said to my baby was that I was sorry for not being there more. That every single day I would be able to visit longer and longer as my body healed from the c-section.
It was so hard to leave him that night because he looked so good. His color, his stats - he was stable for the first time since he was born. We went to sleep with peaceful minds, thinking that we had better rest up because the coming weeks and months that were ahead of us were going to be long.
If I only knew...
Today, was hard. Such a small word to describe the enormous pain of reliving every moment of one tiny life.
I feel so much guilt.
We were getting ready to go to bed and I couldn't remember if I prayed the night before he died. I looked at Erik - my eyes filling with tears, "Did I even pray? I must not have prayed hard enough."
How many times did we visit the NICU on his second day? Was it really only three? What kind of mother visits her sick, premature son only three times in an entire day? I never should have left his side. I wouldn't have ever left his side if I knew...
The last visit we had with him was perfect. I held onto his tiny hand and stroked his delicate cheek. I remember talking with his nurse, we were all so hopeful for Sawyer.
The last thing I said to my baby was that I was sorry for not being there more. That every single day I would be able to visit longer and longer as my body healed from the c-section.
It was so hard to leave him that night because he looked so good. His color, his stats - he was stable for the first time since he was born. We went to sleep with peaceful minds, thinking that we had better rest up because the coming weeks and months that were ahead of us were going to be long.
If I only knew...
Wednesday, June 1, 2011
Sawyer's first birthday
We let balloons go for you.
Sadie gave you a beautiful windchime with tiny dragon flies.
Mommy and Daddy read poems. We all sang "Happy Birthday" and watched as a hawk circled gracefully above.
After dinner, we went back to the cemetery. It was dusk. The sky turning from dark blue to black right before our eyes. Instant stars twinkling in the night sky.
I had to go back. I told you how sorry I was that on the day you were born, we never had the chance to see you. If I only knew Sawyer, I would have never left your side. I would have stayed with you every second of your tiny life and held your hand.
I know you are safe. I saw where you went, and each day here on earth is just one closer to being with you again. All of our love...
Sadie gave you a beautiful windchime with tiny dragon flies.
Mommy and Daddy read poems. We all sang "Happy Birthday" and watched as a hawk circled gracefully above.
After dinner, we went back to the cemetery. It was dusk. The sky turning from dark blue to black right before our eyes. Instant stars twinkling in the night sky.
I had to go back. I told you how sorry I was that on the day you were born, we never had the chance to see you. If I only knew Sawyer, I would have never left your side. I would have stayed with you every second of your tiny life and held your hand.
I know you are safe. I saw where you went, and each day here on earth is just one closer to being with you again. All of our love...
Tuesday, May 31, 2011
Tuesday morning
Today felt like the day.
Tuesday.
The day after Memorial Day.
A trip up to the hospital.
The last time we did the exact same thing on the exact same day, it all started.
I was awoken out of my sleep when my water broke. I was half-dazed, walking to the bathroom and could feel my pants starting to soak with fluid. I thought I had urinated on myself at first.
When I turned the light on, I looked down to notice that my pants were tinged with a pinkish color. I smelled them. It smelled like nothing at all. I knew what happened.
Erik had been sleeping on the couch because he had a terrible cough just like me. I punched him hard in the back to wake him up. I had him smell my pants too. Same thing, nothing.
I was terrified and shaking. Erik called my mom and told her she needed to get to the house, now. I - and I still have no idea why - took a shower. I felt that I absolutely had to take a shower first before we could leave. Besides, we had time - no one was here yet to watch Sadie.
While I was in the shower, Erik had tried to call our friends - Carrie and Mike - a few times (they live just a few doors down from us) but there wasn't an answer. So he ran down to their house and rang their doorbell until someone came downstairs. Carrie was here just minutes later as we were ready to walk out the door.
I will never forget how scared I was at that exact moment - Carrie gave me a huge hug.
I remember the sound of my shoes as they pounded down the stairs out to the garage. I remember driving in the darkness and silence all the way to Chicago. I remember Erik pulling into the parking garage, desperately telling the attendant that I was in labor - where do we park? I remember, with each contraction, thinking that we were never going to make it to the hospital.
We did make it. And for that time, we were still okay - together. Three hearts beating.
Tuesday.
The day after Memorial Day.
A trip up to the hospital.
The last time we did the exact same thing on the exact same day, it all started.
I was awoken out of my sleep when my water broke. I was half-dazed, walking to the bathroom and could feel my pants starting to soak with fluid. I thought I had urinated on myself at first.
When I turned the light on, I looked down to notice that my pants were tinged with a pinkish color. I smelled them. It smelled like nothing at all. I knew what happened.
Erik had been sleeping on the couch because he had a terrible cough just like me. I punched him hard in the back to wake him up. I had him smell my pants too. Same thing, nothing.
I was terrified and shaking. Erik called my mom and told her she needed to get to the house, now. I - and I still have no idea why - took a shower. I felt that I absolutely had to take a shower first before we could leave. Besides, we had time - no one was here yet to watch Sadie.
While I was in the shower, Erik had tried to call our friends - Carrie and Mike - a few times (they live just a few doors down from us) but there wasn't an answer. So he ran down to their house and rang their doorbell until someone came downstairs. Carrie was here just minutes later as we were ready to walk out the door.
I will never forget how scared I was at that exact moment - Carrie gave me a huge hug.
I remember the sound of my shoes as they pounded down the stairs out to the garage. I remember driving in the darkness and silence all the way to Chicago. I remember Erik pulling into the parking garage, desperately telling the attendant that I was in labor - where do we park? I remember, with each contraction, thinking that we were never going to make it to the hospital.
We did make it. And for that time, we were still okay - together. Three hearts beating.
Saturday, May 28, 2011
May 29th, 2010
The last picture taken of me while Sawyer was still safe inside my womb. A blurry picture taken with Erik's phone. I was happy here. Happy because I could just lay back and listen to his tiny heart "woosh" with every beat. Little did we know, just how broken it was.
One year ago, my sister was having a birthday party for her son, he was turning three. Erik had just picked up Sadie the night before from my mom's house - that's where she was staying while I was home on bedrest.
I was so excited to see Sadie and even more excited for a long holiday weekend together. The days sitting here by myself were really starting to get to me. I was trying so hard to stay positive even though I knew something was just not right.
My sister had called to try and convince me to come along with Erik and Sadie to the birthday party. I wanted to go, so badly. But I was on strict orders from the doctor to stay put. My sister even offered to make up a place on the couch for me in her den, and bring me food or whatever I needed as the party went on - but, I didn't want to be stuck in the house, on a beautiful day with everyone feeling sorry for me. Alone, yet still surrounded by everyone. So, Erik headed off with Sadie to the party without me.
While I sat at home by myself I couldn't help but notice that something wasn't right with Sawyer. He was making his kick counts (10 within an hour) but the thing is, he wasn't exactly kicking. He was barely moving. Just enough for me to notice, but not enough to make me feel that he was okay.
We had known that my fluid was very low for the past month. I tried to relate that to the reason why he wasn't moving the way I felt he should be. But something in my heart kept telling my head to worry. And that's what I did.
I called over to the party and talked with my sister - crying between sentences, overwhelmed with dread. She said I shouldn't worry, and to call the doctor just in case.
Then, I called my sister-in-law who is a NICU nurse and explained to her how I felt. She has this very gentle way with words, and highly suggested I just go ahead and call the hospital. I needed that encouragement. I needed to know that what I was feeling made sense in some way.
By the time Erik came home and put Sadie to bed a few hours later, we were on our way to the University of Chicago. When I arrived, the standard tests were done. NST, BPP and everything checked out perfectly. The resident who took care of us that stormy late-spring night, reassured me that coming in wasn't a mistake. That she'd rather see us here and be wrong, than stay home and be right.
Two days later - she delivered our son, limp and gray, after my placenta abrupted.
Thursday, April 28, 2011
Time in my heart
It's almost a year.
I don't want it to be a year. Or two years. Or ten. I don't ever want anyone to forget you.
I just want more time.
I miss you Sawyer. I love you. I'll never be the same without you.
I don't want it to be a year. Or two years. Or ten. I don't ever want anyone to forget you.
I just want more time.
I miss you Sawyer. I love you. I'll never be the same without you.
Sunday, April 17, 2011
No words
My cousin lost his baby girl this morning.
Sometime in the night, she quietly slipped from this world to the next.
When I think my heart can't be any more broken, a new crack forms.
Please pray for his family. This was their first baby, their only child.
Sometime in the night, she quietly slipped from this world to the next.
When I think my heart can't be any more broken, a new crack forms.
Please pray for his family. This was their first baby, their only child.
Friday, March 25, 2011
Sawyer's Heart Project - Our Wish List
Sawyer's Heart Project provides immediate support and comfort to bereaved parents who have experienced a pregnancy loss, stillbirth or the loss of an infant through the distribution of hospital memory boxes.
As most of you know by now, we have recently been welcomed by Angels Of Hope, Inc. NFP based out of Morris. They are a fantastic organization that supports families who have suffered the emotional or physical absence of a child.
It will be a few weeks before their website is updated with our information (http://angelsofhopeinc.org) so until then I will be posting our "Wish List" of items for our memory boxes here and on our Facebook page.
Thank you to everyone for your continued support and please feel free to share our mission with your friends and family.
"Our Wish List"
-Plaster molding kit sets for hands and feet
-Receiving blankets
-Hat and bootie sets for newborns and preemies
-Newborn and preemie sleepers
-Small candles or votive candle holders
-Disposable cameras
-Copies of the booklet "When Hello Means Goodbye" - Available online only
-Copies of the books - "Empty Cradle, Broken Heart" and "The Christmas Box"
-Travel-size baby shampoos and lotions
-Small notebooks or journals
-Angel ornaments
-Baby's handprint or footprint ink kits
-Picture frames (Nothing larger than 5x7 please)
Please send all items to the following address
Sawyer's Heart Project
c/o Michelle Williams
25645 Bridle Path
Channahon, IL 60410
Donations can also be dropped off at:
Holsinger Meents, Ltd.
101 West Illinois Avenue
Suite 1
Morris, IL
As most of you know by now, we have recently been welcomed by Angels Of Hope, Inc. NFP based out of Morris. They are a fantastic organization that supports families who have suffered the emotional or physical absence of a child.
It will be a few weeks before their website is updated with our information (http://angelsofhopeinc.org) so until then I will be posting our "Wish List" of items for our memory boxes here and on our Facebook page.
Thank you to everyone for your continued support and please feel free to share our mission with your friends and family.
"Our Wish List"
-Plaster molding kit sets for hands and feet
-Receiving blankets
-Hat and bootie sets for newborns and preemies
-Newborn and preemie sleepers
-Small candles or votive candle holders
-Disposable cameras
-Copies of the booklet "When Hello Means Goodbye" - Available online only
-Copies of the books - "Empty Cradle, Broken Heart" and "The Christmas Box"
-Travel-size baby shampoos and lotions
-Small notebooks or journals
-Angel ornaments
-Baby's handprint or footprint ink kits
-Picture frames (Nothing larger than 5x7 please)
Please send all items to the following address
Sawyer's Heart Project
c/o Michelle Williams
25645 Bridle Path
Channahon, IL 60410
Donations can also be dropped off at:
Holsinger Meents, Ltd.
101 West Illinois Avenue
Suite 1
Morris, IL
Sunday, March 6, 2011
Holding on to what I have
Yesterday was a particularly hard one for me and Erik.
I'm not sure why. It wasn't a significant date and there was no specific reason. The sadness just hung over us.
I could hear Erik in the kitchen late last night, humming a song that we both sang to Sawyer as he died - "You Are My Sunshine" - and he had a chair turned, facing out the window. He was looking at Sawyer's angel turning colors in the dark. I don't know if he knew that I could hear him, but I did. And I left him alone. You learn that about grief. That your spouse sometimes, needs that space to just be. And you grow together in learning how it all works. We grieve so differently, and at other times - we're right in sync with each other.
I crawled into Sadie's bed in the middle of the night. I needed to feel her against me. Know that she was safe and warm. I do that a lot. I can feel my broken heart pounding inside of me so powerfully when I do this...
Because when I yearn for Sawyer, there's nothing to hold against my chest. No cheek to stroke or hair to smooth.
I hold Sadie and I'm grateful. And I pray that nothing ever takes her away from me.
The sun is out today and we didn't talk about anything last night. The mood is softer, Sadie makes us laugh. And a new baby is persistantly kicking me all day long.
The hope mixed with the grief. The love pouring out over the loss.
I'm not sure why. It wasn't a significant date and there was no specific reason. The sadness just hung over us.
I could hear Erik in the kitchen late last night, humming a song that we both sang to Sawyer as he died - "You Are My Sunshine" - and he had a chair turned, facing out the window. He was looking at Sawyer's angel turning colors in the dark. I don't know if he knew that I could hear him, but I did. And I left him alone. You learn that about grief. That your spouse sometimes, needs that space to just be. And you grow together in learning how it all works. We grieve so differently, and at other times - we're right in sync with each other.
I crawled into Sadie's bed in the middle of the night. I needed to feel her against me. Know that she was safe and warm. I do that a lot. I can feel my broken heart pounding inside of me so powerfully when I do this...
Because when I yearn for Sawyer, there's nothing to hold against my chest. No cheek to stroke or hair to smooth.
I hold Sadie and I'm grateful. And I pray that nothing ever takes her away from me.
The sun is out today and we didn't talk about anything last night. The mood is softer, Sadie makes us laugh. And a new baby is persistantly kicking me all day long.
The hope mixed with the grief. The love pouring out over the loss.
Saturday, February 19, 2011
Finally, heart happy
As many of you know, we are expecting our "rainbow" baby sometime in the next few months. We're hoping that this little one stays put a lot longer than their big brother and that labor, delivery and everything after that is complication-free.
Yesterday we had our first fetal echo of the baby's heart - and at this point, things look very promising. No glaring issues to be seen, but the heart is so tiny at this point that there is no way to see everything. So we head back in April for one final echo before the baby is born. Of course, we'll be having another echo done on the baby's heart after birth - just to rule out every possible CHD out there.
Our journey has been a mixed blessing. We are happy for our new bundle of joy while we continue to mourn the loss of our son that is still so fresh in our minds and hearts.
Thank you everyone for the continued love and support. It has helped us so much and we are thankful for dear friends and family.
Yesterday we had our first fetal echo of the baby's heart - and at this point, things look very promising. No glaring issues to be seen, but the heart is so tiny at this point that there is no way to see everything. So we head back in April for one final echo before the baby is born. Of course, we'll be having another echo done on the baby's heart after birth - just to rule out every possible CHD out there.
Our journey has been a mixed blessing. We are happy for our new bundle of joy while we continue to mourn the loss of our son that is still so fresh in our minds and hearts.
Thank you everyone for the continued love and support. It has helped us so much and we are thankful for dear friends and family.
Monday, February 14, 2011
CHD Awareness Week - A Song for Sawyer
February 7th through the 14th is Congenital Heart Defect Awareness Week. Every day this week, we will feature one guest post from the parent of a CHD warrior or angel. Today, we feature the lyrics to a song written for Sawyer by his father.
Popcorn and Unicorns (A song for Sawyer)
by Erik Williams
Sunshine and clouds, always bring the rain
Why did you have to go and leave us with this pain?
Your perfect broken heart, was just too beautiful to stay
We’ll see soon, I can’t wait for that day.
Here comes the rain, comfort with pain
Makes me feel that I’m the one to blame.
Feels so good to me
Holding you as, I hold on to that June day.
Popcorn and Unicorns, we’re going around that carousel
I’m holding you oh so tight, but awaken in the dead of night.
Then I know it’s just a dream, I wish you were here forever
Maybe someday, we’ll see.
Here comes the rain, comfort with pain
Makes me feel that I’m the one to blame.
Here comes the rage, where will it be tomorrow?
Holding on to that pain, before it goes away.
Stuck in this cage, life is rearranged
Until we meet again one day.
Popcorn and Unicorns (A song for Sawyer)
by Erik Williams
Sunshine and clouds, always bring the rain
Why did you have to go and leave us with this pain?
Your perfect broken heart, was just too beautiful to stay
We’ll see soon, I can’t wait for that day.
Here comes the rain, comfort with pain
Makes me feel that I’m the one to blame.
Feels so good to me
Holding you as, I hold on to that June day.
Popcorn and Unicorns, we’re going around that carousel
I’m holding you oh so tight, but awaken in the dead of night.
Then I know it’s just a dream, I wish you were here forever
Maybe someday, we’ll see.
Here comes the rain, comfort with pain
Makes me feel that I’m the one to blame.
Here comes the rage, where will it be tomorrow?
Holding on to that pain, before it goes away.
Stuck in this cage, life is rearranged
Until we meet again one day.
Friday, February 11, 2011
CHD Awareness Week - Allison and Arley's Story
February 7th through the 14th is Congenital Heart Defect Awareness Week. Every day this week, we will feature one guest post from the parent of a CHD warrior or angel. This is the story of Allison and Arley as told by their mother, Dana...
Our CHD Story starts in 1997, on Tasha's 3rd birthday, when her younger sister Allison was born! Allison was born at 9:47 a.m. in Hot Springs, AR. Miraculously, they discovered she had a problem rather quickly, due to an x-ray taken of her clavicle, which was broken during the birth process. This x-ray also showed her heart, specifically, that there was something very wrong with the size and shape of her right ventricle. ( Alan, my husband, was almost thrown out of the nursery and delivery area, because he was telling the nurses something was wrong with her and they didn't believe him - but that's a long, detailed and ridiculous story for another time. I had to tell the nurses to shut-up and listen to him!) Then the x-ray tech walked into the nursery and said "you need to get a doctor in here for this!"
Allison was flown by Arkansas Childrens Hospital's Angel One helicoptor to ACH in Little Rock, AR. My doctor had told me that they would NOT release me from the hospital to go with her; I asked him how many security guards they had available. I WALKED into the main entrance of ACH at 12:17 p.m., just 2 hours and 30 minutes after she was born. She had her first OHS (open heart surgery) at 2 days old, and her second OHS at approximately 5 months old, which was an amazingly short time between the surgeries, for what she had. She had progressed so well. Her first surgery made an opening where her Pulmonary Valve should have been, and placed a shunt to the pulmonary artery, to route some blood directly to the lungs, and decrease pressure on the right ventricle(RV). Without the pulmomary valve, in utero, the right ventricle does not form properly, and is usually very small and underdeveloped in the pumping chamber, yet the tissues and muscle walls are usually increased in size (defined as Hypertrophy). Allison's RV was small enough to see a serious size difference in the x-ray, but it managed to grow quickly, almost miraculously, into a close-to-normal size. Her second surgery removed that shunt, to prevent too much blood flow to her lungs, and allowed her RV to do it's own job. But she still had just an opening where her Pulmonary valve should have been. At that time, 1997, general medical consensus said this was not hereditary and we should not worry about future children having issues. She spent a good amount of time in the hospital and came home on meds, had regular monitors and very frequent cardiology checkups for years... but ultimately, things had settled into NORMAL. Sure, if she got a fever, it was a cause for concern. All the normal concerns and warnings for CHD children were in place for her, but she was "an exception to the rule", according to her cardiologist. She rarely had any complications, no excessive illnesses, a few antibiotic shots and rounds here and there, but other than the "big, glaring CHD" issue, the induction into "the zipper club", she had no real health problems. The years rolled by, and ultimately, all was well and we were doing pretty good with our own little version of NORMAL.
So let's enter 2007 - We have had many good years and were doing really well when we found out we were going to have our little boy. 2007 was my "pregnancy year." Normal ultrasounds, we had several, and everything went well.
Late October 2007, just one week before Arley was born - our daughter, Allison, had a "regular" annual cardiology exam. The ECHO and stress tests showed "issues". She was to be scheduled for an MRI within the next month. At this same appointment, our regular cardiologist, who specializes in fetal echos, asked me if we had performed a fetal echo on this baby? I said, NO, we hadn't, but that no one had recommended one... should I have had one? Was there anything to worry about? She said we were now too late in the pregnancy to see one, but that it should have been recommended. SHe really wanted to reassure me it would be okay.
On Halloween, at 12 NOON, on the dot, little Arley came into this world, on his daddy's birthday. While my husband did have to make a little bit of a scene here too, it was rather quickly apparent to the nurses that there was some oxygen level problems with our son, and within a few hours of birth, Arley was sent by ambulance across town to ACH.
I, again, WALKED into the same Arkansas Children's Hospital entrance, just as I had 10 years before, at 4:14 p.m., just 4 hours and 14 minutes after Arley was born and being 10 year older and far wiser (ha!), immediately after I walked in, I was convinced that getting a wheelchair ride would be more sensible : )... so I rode to the NICU, where my baby was now waiting...
His diagnosis took a little longer than Allison's had 10 years before. I honestly think they were testing and retesting to make sure there was no mistake. After all, it really couldn't be correct. It was practically impossible that Arley would have the EXACT SAME HEART DEFECT as his older sister. But again, our diagnosis was Pulmonary Atresia with Intact Ventricular Septum! Let's talk DejaVu?? Really? You HAVE to be kidding me, right? ?
Within his first 4 days of life, he had undergone multiple tests and catheter procedures; unsuccessful catheter procedures. They got info and pressures and pictures, but could not "fix" any of the problems as they had hoped, so on Nov 6, 2007 he had his first OHS. For all the medical advances of the previous 10 years, his surgery was basically the same as his sister's in 1997. Didn't take quite as long, newer meds, newer tools, more confident surgeons, even, (not necessarily better surgeons, because we were blessed all around with great surgeons, just that these procedures were a little more common and tested by 2007 than they had been in 1997) but still, pretty much the same procedure. Enter a long hospital stay, one suspected stomach bacteria that turned out to be a reaction to the formula they were adding to my pumped breast milk and tubing into him, tedious issues with teaching a baby to suck on a bottle after they've been sedated for too long, etc.
In Dec 2007, Allison finally had that MRI she was previously scheduled for- remember? the one we had postponed during Arley's critical stages - and YES, guess what? She needed her 3rd surgery, a valve implant, and soon; docs said I needed to schedule it before summer, at the latest. Her heart was having problems, it would be okay for a little while, but whatever time we delayed would continue to cause further damage to her heart. Damage that it might or might not be able to "recover" from... Needless to say, we adjusted our calendars and got her on the schedule for March, 2008.
In Feb 2007, Arley had a balloon angioplasty, due to post-operative stenosis in his branch pulmonary arteries. Short hospital stay, bad reaction to the anesthesia, but he came home and recovered well.
In March 2008, Allison had her 3rd OHS (she was 10) to put in a prosthetic pulmonary valve. The valve she has is also a newer development, at least it was NEW in 2008, and although it was placed during an OHS, the internal parts that wear out and and require replacement can be removed and replaced by a catheter procedure, if all goes smoothly.
It is quite different to have an older child, who can talk and communicate and tell you "what for", go through an OHS, than it is to have an infant go through OHS. One is tiny and you can't hold them, and they can't tell you what they feel. The other is still your "tiny baby", just grown a little, and in a bigger bed: but you still can't hold them, and they ARE verbal enough to understand AND to be able to tell you what they feel.
I can honestly say it doesn't get easier just because we've done it several times before! We may be "old hat" at the processes, but the emotions never get dulled. If anything, I find each surgery and procedure is harder than the time before. It definitely takes a toll - on the patient, on the family!
In June, 2008, Arley had another balloon angioplasty.
In August 2008, he had his second OHS, closing down his shunt. The surgeon also used this opportunity to place some patches on his Branch Pulmonary Arteries, these are small sections of tissue added to the arteries in an attempt to expand them and allow them to grow further on their own, little "expanders", sort of. He has more severe right ventricle hypertrophy than Allison did, and he has the branch pulmonary artery stenosis. His progress is not going to be as steady and easy as Allison's was. He'll have to clear his own path and write his own story.
Since the last OHS surgery in 2008, Arley has multiple catheter procedures, Echo's, EKG's, some just diagnostic, some balloon angioplasty, cutting balloon angioplasty, as his doctors are determined to prolong his growth time before his next OHS. We've had a weekend stay for a still unexplained spiking fever, which rated not only multiple IV's and blood draws, but also rated a spinal tap. They don't sedate feverish "heart" children for spinal taps. That's not an experience I recommend for anyone. The post-operative stenosis of his branch pulmonary arteries is a persistent problem, and the one that we believe will ultimately create the need for most of his future procedures. And that's not even approaching the subject that he currently has only some partially functioning "flaps" where his Pulmonary Valve should be. Nor is that discussing his right ventricular hypertrophy. Nor any weakness of his lungs caused by prior low blood flow... nor... anything else...
His most recent procedure was in November 2010, when he was admitted for a cutting balloon angioplasty. They did perform the angioplasty as planned, but the internal findings were severe enough that they also placed a stent in the lower branch of his Right Pulmonary Artery. Thanks to recent medical advancements, the stent that was used is expandable, via catheter procedures, which means that rather than requiring an open chest procedure to replace this stent as he grows, the stent can most-likely be expanded by catheter procedures to grow with him.
We know that Arley will definitely have future balloon angioplasty procedures, on both his Left Pulmonary Artery (which they left alone during this last procedure) and on his Right Pulmonary Artery again. The secondary branch to the upper lobe of his right lung is still exceptionally small at one point, and of course, there will eventually be the expansion of the stent that will be necessary as he grows. The stent is placed in a section of the RPA, towards the lower lobe of the lung, just past the branch to the upper lobe. After this last procedure, the increased blood flow to his right lung was more than his body was prepared to handle, and he had problems maintaining his pulse oxygen levels, the level of oxygen in the blood. His lungs were not capable of pulling the oxygen from the air and putting it into his blood. This was a very scary development. The doctors called this pulmonary reperfusion. It also places him at even greater risk, should he develop any kind of lung infection. However, he now seems to be stabilized and returning to "normal". That's his normal, our normal, not your standard definition of NORMAL.
Arley suffers from night terrors and nightmares, he has woken up screaming "NO, Doctors HURT Arley". He has woken up just SCREAMING, not stopping. When he first slept through the night, I would wake up suddenly, heart pounding, lump in my throat and roll over, or run to his bed, just to touch him, and know he was okay. ( I did that same thing years before with Allison, but I think shock had dimmed my memories of that, until the "DejaVu" experience of Arley's birth and surgery brought it all back.)
Allison was an outgoing, wonderful child before this last surgery. She was extremely intelligent, hard-working, eager to please. She still is. She's just not her old normal self anymore. I guess this is her new Normal...
They say that there are always risks of some damage from the bypass machines - limited oxygen, the cold, the sedation. She's not "damaged", not by any medical standards. She's still just as beautiful, and still smart; but she's changed. And she's old enough, and smart enough, to know that there's a little difference, just a little one, but it's there. I feel self-concious even writing this, almost like I'm betraying her, or being unfair, but I know that she knows there's a slight difference, and we've talked some about it, so it's only fair to be truthful here, and say that there ARE differences.
Allison cries now when we talk about Arley needing another surgery. She knows what it means for him.
She knows she will have future procedures, as well, but she doesn't cry for herself; Just for him.
And then there's Tasha, the most awesome big sister ever. Sure, those surgeries were physically and emotionally traumatic on my two littler ones, but it's so easy for us to forget that it has had it's effects on our older daughter as well. Maybe those scars are unseen, but they are there.
I've so enjoyed FaceBook and the CHD community that it has brought into my life. I never had anyone to really talk to when Allison was little about living with CHD and what it does in a family. Your average people, the day to day people in your life, love you, certainly, but they have no concept of what CHD really does to you. It's easy to say, oh, they were born with a problem, but they've had surgeries and it's fixed now. My children will never be fixed. They will always have some issues, some tests, future valve replacements, future Angioplasty, further damages, etc; all of these are complications of PA-IVS, which is a form of HRHS (Hypoplastic Right Heart Syndrome), of which Congestive Heart Failure is a "concurrent diagnosis". What does this actually mean, non-CHD "people" ask? It means my precious little children have a problem that isn't "curable". It can be treated, and the heart can be made to work in other ways, but it can't be cured. It means our "NORMAL" IS NEVER NORMAL!
But you know what?
My hope is to live life to the fullest and make every moment count, and to help my children do the same. We are refocusing our life to help them understand that while money is important for comfort and survival in this world, it is not the answer to all problems. While there are moments that fear is very harsh and I get so scared I can't breath, I remind myself that "Who of you by worrying can add a single hour to his life?"- or to anyone else's? I want to enjoy the time that I have with my children and my family. And I believe that theirs will be a long and happy life. I HAVE to believe!
I beleive that I will someday have grandchildren. Grandchildren who may be at extreme risk for CHD. Without CHD research and further genetic research, there's not an answer as to why I have 2 children with an identical condition. There's no knowledge as to whether Tasha could be a carrier of some unknown gene, there's no knowledge of what the chances are that Allison and Arley will pass this on to their children. There's the question of whether Allison's heart could survive pregnancy and childbirth. There's so many questions that need answers. To get answers, we must have research!
I support CHD Awareness so that, possibly, future CHD parents and children won't have to face all the extensive procedures that I have seen. So that, as each new doctor has an idea for a way to do a procedure through a catheter, rather than having to open a tiny child's chest, there's funding available to test and improve and implement that idea. So that, all those tiny, ridiculous, unusual, yet deadly, little complications - that can take a precious child's life in a heartbeat <3, can be studied, can be controlled, can be shared between professionals in the field, so that one hospital, one doctor, who has discovered a way to decrease the incident of those complications, will have a way to quickly, easily and openly share that information. If a new development can save the life of just ONE LITTLE BABY, one child who beats the odds and continues on to share another day with their family, then that will be success. That development will mean the world to that child, and to that child's family, and to that child's friends, and to that child's future. That child WILL HAVE a future. I've seen so many children lost, so many angels earn their wings; and it's so hard to know that one little bit of research, one more bit of shared knowledge, MIGHT have prevented that.
Ignorance is no excuse! Share the cause, share the info, share your stories.
Because: Awareness = Funding = Research = Answers = One more day for a CHD Warrior
Our CHD Story starts in 1997, on Tasha's 3rd birthday, when her younger sister Allison was born! Allison was born at 9:47 a.m. in Hot Springs, AR. Miraculously, they discovered she had a problem rather quickly, due to an x-ray taken of her clavicle, which was broken during the birth process. This x-ray also showed her heart, specifically, that there was something very wrong with the size and shape of her right ventricle. ( Alan, my husband, was almost thrown out of the nursery and delivery area, because he was telling the nurses something was wrong with her and they didn't believe him - but that's a long, detailed and ridiculous story for another time. I had to tell the nurses to shut-up and listen to him!) Then the x-ray tech walked into the nursery and said "you need to get a doctor in here for this!"
Allison was flown by Arkansas Childrens Hospital's Angel One helicoptor to ACH in Little Rock, AR. My doctor had told me that they would NOT release me from the hospital to go with her; I asked him how many security guards they had available. I WALKED into the main entrance of ACH at 12:17 p.m., just 2 hours and 30 minutes after she was born. She had her first OHS (open heart surgery) at 2 days old, and her second OHS at approximately 5 months old, which was an amazingly short time between the surgeries, for what she had. She had progressed so well. Her first surgery made an opening where her Pulmonary Valve should have been, and placed a shunt to the pulmonary artery, to route some blood directly to the lungs, and decrease pressure on the right ventricle(RV). Without the pulmomary valve, in utero, the right ventricle does not form properly, and is usually very small and underdeveloped in the pumping chamber, yet the tissues and muscle walls are usually increased in size (defined as Hypertrophy). Allison's RV was small enough to see a serious size difference in the x-ray, but it managed to grow quickly, almost miraculously, into a close-to-normal size. Her second surgery removed that shunt, to prevent too much blood flow to her lungs, and allowed her RV to do it's own job. But she still had just an opening where her Pulmonary valve should have been. At that time, 1997, general medical consensus said this was not hereditary and we should not worry about future children having issues. She spent a good amount of time in the hospital and came home on meds, had regular monitors and very frequent cardiology checkups for years... but ultimately, things had settled into NORMAL. Sure, if she got a fever, it was a cause for concern. All the normal concerns and warnings for CHD children were in place for her, but she was "an exception to the rule", according to her cardiologist. She rarely had any complications, no excessive illnesses, a few antibiotic shots and rounds here and there, but other than the "big, glaring CHD" issue, the induction into "the zipper club", she had no real health problems. The years rolled by, and ultimately, all was well and we were doing pretty good with our own little version of NORMAL.
So let's enter 2007 - We have had many good years and were doing really well when we found out we were going to have our little boy. 2007 was my "pregnancy year." Normal ultrasounds, we had several, and everything went well.
Late October 2007, just one week before Arley was born - our daughter, Allison, had a "regular" annual cardiology exam. The ECHO and stress tests showed "issues". She was to be scheduled for an MRI within the next month. At this same appointment, our regular cardiologist, who specializes in fetal echos, asked me if we had performed a fetal echo on this baby? I said, NO, we hadn't, but that no one had recommended one... should I have had one? Was there anything to worry about? She said we were now too late in the pregnancy to see one, but that it should have been recommended. SHe really wanted to reassure me it would be okay.
On Halloween, at 12 NOON, on the dot, little Arley came into this world, on his daddy's birthday. While my husband did have to make a little bit of a scene here too, it was rather quickly apparent to the nurses that there was some oxygen level problems with our son, and within a few hours of birth, Arley was sent by ambulance across town to ACH.
I, again, WALKED into the same Arkansas Children's Hospital entrance, just as I had 10 years before, at 4:14 p.m., just 4 hours and 14 minutes after Arley was born and being 10 year older and far wiser (ha!), immediately after I walked in, I was convinced that getting a wheelchair ride would be more sensible : )... so I rode to the NICU, where my baby was now waiting...
His diagnosis took a little longer than Allison's had 10 years before. I honestly think they were testing and retesting to make sure there was no mistake. After all, it really couldn't be correct. It was practically impossible that Arley would have the EXACT SAME HEART DEFECT as his older sister. But again, our diagnosis was Pulmonary Atresia with Intact Ventricular Septum! Let's talk DejaVu?? Really? You HAVE to be kidding me, right? ?
Within his first 4 days of life, he had undergone multiple tests and catheter procedures; unsuccessful catheter procedures. They got info and pressures and pictures, but could not "fix" any of the problems as they had hoped, so on Nov 6, 2007 he had his first OHS. For all the medical advances of the previous 10 years, his surgery was basically the same as his sister's in 1997. Didn't take quite as long, newer meds, newer tools, more confident surgeons, even, (not necessarily better surgeons, because we were blessed all around with great surgeons, just that these procedures were a little more common and tested by 2007 than they had been in 1997) but still, pretty much the same procedure. Enter a long hospital stay, one suspected stomach bacteria that turned out to be a reaction to the formula they were adding to my pumped breast milk and tubing into him, tedious issues with teaching a baby to suck on a bottle after they've been sedated for too long, etc.
In Dec 2007, Allison finally had that MRI she was previously scheduled for- remember? the one we had postponed during Arley's critical stages - and YES, guess what? She needed her 3rd surgery, a valve implant, and soon; docs said I needed to schedule it before summer, at the latest. Her heart was having problems, it would be okay for a little while, but whatever time we delayed would continue to cause further damage to her heart. Damage that it might or might not be able to "recover" from... Needless to say, we adjusted our calendars and got her on the schedule for March, 2008.
In Feb 2007, Arley had a balloon angioplasty, due to post-operative stenosis in his branch pulmonary arteries. Short hospital stay, bad reaction to the anesthesia, but he came home and recovered well.
In March 2008, Allison had her 3rd OHS (she was 10) to put in a prosthetic pulmonary valve. The valve she has is also a newer development, at least it was NEW in 2008, and although it was placed during an OHS, the internal parts that wear out and and require replacement can be removed and replaced by a catheter procedure, if all goes smoothly.
It is quite different to have an older child, who can talk and communicate and tell you "what for", go through an OHS, than it is to have an infant go through OHS. One is tiny and you can't hold them, and they can't tell you what they feel. The other is still your "tiny baby", just grown a little, and in a bigger bed: but you still can't hold them, and they ARE verbal enough to understand AND to be able to tell you what they feel.
I can honestly say it doesn't get easier just because we've done it several times before! We may be "old hat" at the processes, but the emotions never get dulled. If anything, I find each surgery and procedure is harder than the time before. It definitely takes a toll - on the patient, on the family!
In June, 2008, Arley had another balloon angioplasty.
In August 2008, he had his second OHS, closing down his shunt. The surgeon also used this opportunity to place some patches on his Branch Pulmonary Arteries, these are small sections of tissue added to the arteries in an attempt to expand them and allow them to grow further on their own, little "expanders", sort of. He has more severe right ventricle hypertrophy than Allison did, and he has the branch pulmonary artery stenosis. His progress is not going to be as steady and easy as Allison's was. He'll have to clear his own path and write his own story.
Since the last OHS surgery in 2008, Arley has multiple catheter procedures, Echo's, EKG's, some just diagnostic, some balloon angioplasty, cutting balloon angioplasty, as his doctors are determined to prolong his growth time before his next OHS. We've had a weekend stay for a still unexplained spiking fever, which rated not only multiple IV's and blood draws, but also rated a spinal tap. They don't sedate feverish "heart" children for spinal taps. That's not an experience I recommend for anyone. The post-operative stenosis of his branch pulmonary arteries is a persistent problem, and the one that we believe will ultimately create the need for most of his future procedures. And that's not even approaching the subject that he currently has only some partially functioning "flaps" where his Pulmonary Valve should be. Nor is that discussing his right ventricular hypertrophy. Nor any weakness of his lungs caused by prior low blood flow... nor... anything else...
His most recent procedure was in November 2010, when he was admitted for a cutting balloon angioplasty. They did perform the angioplasty as planned, but the internal findings were severe enough that they also placed a stent in the lower branch of his Right Pulmonary Artery. Thanks to recent medical advancements, the stent that was used is expandable, via catheter procedures, which means that rather than requiring an open chest procedure to replace this stent as he grows, the stent can most-likely be expanded by catheter procedures to grow with him.
We know that Arley will definitely have future balloon angioplasty procedures, on both his Left Pulmonary Artery (which they left alone during this last procedure) and on his Right Pulmonary Artery again. The secondary branch to the upper lobe of his right lung is still exceptionally small at one point, and of course, there will eventually be the expansion of the stent that will be necessary as he grows. The stent is placed in a section of the RPA, towards the lower lobe of the lung, just past the branch to the upper lobe. After this last procedure, the increased blood flow to his right lung was more than his body was prepared to handle, and he had problems maintaining his pulse oxygen levels, the level of oxygen in the blood. His lungs were not capable of pulling the oxygen from the air and putting it into his blood. This was a very scary development. The doctors called this pulmonary reperfusion. It also places him at even greater risk, should he develop any kind of lung infection. However, he now seems to be stabilized and returning to "normal". That's his normal, our normal, not your standard definition of NORMAL.
Arley suffers from night terrors and nightmares, he has woken up screaming "NO, Doctors HURT Arley". He has woken up just SCREAMING, not stopping. When he first slept through the night, I would wake up suddenly, heart pounding, lump in my throat and roll over, or run to his bed, just to touch him, and know he was okay. ( I did that same thing years before with Allison, but I think shock had dimmed my memories of that, until the "DejaVu" experience of Arley's birth and surgery brought it all back.)
Allison was an outgoing, wonderful child before this last surgery. She was extremely intelligent, hard-working, eager to please. She still is. She's just not her old normal self anymore. I guess this is her new Normal...
They say that there are always risks of some damage from the bypass machines - limited oxygen, the cold, the sedation. She's not "damaged", not by any medical standards. She's still just as beautiful, and still smart; but she's changed. And she's old enough, and smart enough, to know that there's a little difference, just a little one, but it's there. I feel self-concious even writing this, almost like I'm betraying her, or being unfair, but I know that she knows there's a slight difference, and we've talked some about it, so it's only fair to be truthful here, and say that there ARE differences.
Allison cries now when we talk about Arley needing another surgery. She knows what it means for him.
She knows she will have future procedures, as well, but she doesn't cry for herself; Just for him.
And then there's Tasha, the most awesome big sister ever. Sure, those surgeries were physically and emotionally traumatic on my two littler ones, but it's so easy for us to forget that it has had it's effects on our older daughter as well. Maybe those scars are unseen, but they are there.
I've so enjoyed FaceBook and the CHD community that it has brought into my life. I never had anyone to really talk to when Allison was little about living with CHD and what it does in a family. Your average people, the day to day people in your life, love you, certainly, but they have no concept of what CHD really does to you. It's easy to say, oh, they were born with a problem, but they've had surgeries and it's fixed now. My children will never be fixed. They will always have some issues, some tests, future valve replacements, future Angioplasty, further damages, etc; all of these are complications of PA-IVS, which is a form of HRHS (Hypoplastic Right Heart Syndrome), of which Congestive Heart Failure is a "concurrent diagnosis". What does this actually mean, non-CHD "people" ask? It means my precious little children have a problem that isn't "curable". It can be treated, and the heart can be made to work in other ways, but it can't be cured. It means our "NORMAL" IS NEVER NORMAL!
But you know what?
My hope is to live life to the fullest and make every moment count, and to help my children do the same. We are refocusing our life to help them understand that while money is important for comfort and survival in this world, it is not the answer to all problems. While there are moments that fear is very harsh and I get so scared I can't breath, I remind myself that "Who of you by worrying can add a single hour to his life?"- or to anyone else's? I want to enjoy the time that I have with my children and my family. And I believe that theirs will be a long and happy life. I HAVE to believe!
I beleive that I will someday have grandchildren. Grandchildren who may be at extreme risk for CHD. Without CHD research and further genetic research, there's not an answer as to why I have 2 children with an identical condition. There's no knowledge as to whether Tasha could be a carrier of some unknown gene, there's no knowledge of what the chances are that Allison and Arley will pass this on to their children. There's the question of whether Allison's heart could survive pregnancy and childbirth. There's so many questions that need answers. To get answers, we must have research!
I support CHD Awareness so that, possibly, future CHD parents and children won't have to face all the extensive procedures that I have seen. So that, as each new doctor has an idea for a way to do a procedure through a catheter, rather than having to open a tiny child's chest, there's funding available to test and improve and implement that idea. So that, all those tiny, ridiculous, unusual, yet deadly, little complications - that can take a precious child's life in a heartbeat <3, can be studied, can be controlled, can be shared between professionals in the field, so that one hospital, one doctor, who has discovered a way to decrease the incident of those complications, will have a way to quickly, easily and openly share that information. If a new development can save the life of just ONE LITTLE BABY, one child who beats the odds and continues on to share another day with their family, then that will be success. That development will mean the world to that child, and to that child's family, and to that child's friends, and to that child's future. That child WILL HAVE a future. I've seen so many children lost, so many angels earn their wings; and it's so hard to know that one little bit of research, one more bit of shared knowledge, MIGHT have prevented that.
Ignorance is no excuse! Share the cause, share the info, share your stories.
Because: Awareness = Funding = Research = Answers = One more day for a CHD Warrior
Wednesday, February 9, 2011
CHD Awareness Week - Luke's Story
February 7th through the 14th is Congenital Heart Defect Awareness Week. Every day this week, we will feature one guest post from the parent of a CHD warrior or angel. This is baby Luke's story...
I guess you could say that our heart story began in July 2008. We found out that we were pregnant with our third child. We were overjoyed with the possibilities that a new life would bring to our world. After all, Emily and Matthew had already brought us such joy (ok...with a bit of frustration at times). To add a third child to our family just seemed like the perfect plan.
The pregnancy continued without a hitch. When we went for the “big” ultrasound, we found out that our baby was a girl. To say that Emily was excited to have a baby sister would be an understatement! I remember asking the tech if she saw what I saw (as in, a little penis) and she told me that she thought she saw “something” but that no, it was a girl. But she was healthy and that is all that really mattered to me and Tommy. About 9 weeks later, I was still not convinced she was a girl, so I had my OB check the baby's sex once again. She assured me that there was a little girl hanging out in my tummy. Even though I took her at her word, I still knew that something was not right with our little girl, Ava “Caroline”.
Fast forward to 37 weeks pregnant. I went for our final ultrasound to make sure that Caroline was head down for delivery. At that time, I asked my OB to check the sex “just in case”. Lo and behold, she saw testicles. Yup, Caroline was a BOY! My OB sent us down to get a more in-depth ultrasound to double check the testes status. It was confirmed: Caroline was a Luke. I remember hearing his heartbeat a lot during that final ultrasound, but when I asked the tech about it, she blew me off and told me she was listening to the artery in his umbilical cord. I knew that something wasn't right with Luke.
March 12th, 2008 started out as an amazing day. Tommy and I woke up (but did I even really sleep?) bright and early. I called the hospital to make sure that they could handle our induction. We kissed Emily and Matthew goodbye and arrived at the hospital a bit before 7 am. The induction went well and I laughed through contractions. It was perfect. And then we had this amazing baby boy. Luke Thomas.
The signs appeared to me almost instantly. When the nurse gave Luke to me to nurse, I noticed his hands. I know, I know. Most babies have bluish hands right after birth. His hands were not “blueish”. They were blue. I asked the nurse and she dismissed it. Then he kept falling asleep while he nursed. I knew that something was wrong with my baby.
My parents brought Emily and Matthew to meet their baby brother. The pictures of them holding Luke in the hospital room are the last pictures we have of our innocence. As the family was leaving, the nurse told me that she detected a heart murmur. That is the moment that we lost our innocence.
A few hours later, we received Luke's death sentence: Hypoplastic Left Heart Syndrome (HLHS). This sounds harsh, but it is the truth. It is how I feel. Luke was transferred via helicopter to the Houston Medical Center.
The few days before Luke's Norwood surgery were mostly a blur. But there are certain memories that are so vivid: the sight of our baby with monitors and iv's all over, the smell of the hospital soap, the cardiologist telling us how quickly hypoplasts can die.
Luke had his Norwood surgery on March 18th, when he was just a week old. He sailed through surgery as well as recovery. He came home 13 days post-op and was eating out of a bottle rather than an NG tube. Amazing—just like him.
It was good at home for a about a week and a half. Luke was growing, he was loved, he was such a good baby. It was the last week of his life that I noticed something was wrong. Again I knew that something was wrong with Luke. Luke had begun to have some issues while eating. He was having trouble drinking from the bottle and he was vomiting a lot. We went to the cardiac clinic on April 18th and our suspicions were (once again) dismissed. The cardiologist told us that Luke must have had reflux and wrote us a prescription for some anti-reflux med. I accepted her diagnosis because I trusted her, but I knew something was wrong.
We lost Luke that night. I don't talk much about what happened or how it happened. We lost him and that is enough for me.
Why share this story with you? Why do I keep repeating that fact that I knew something was wrong? I share this with you because I want you to learn something from Luke's life. I want you to trust yourself. Trust your instincts. Be an advocate. Let the powers that be know that you are concerned about your child's health. Whether your child has a cold, a suspicious bruise, or half of a heart...be an advocate.
The thing that affects me the most in regards to Luke's life and his death is the fact that I was not the advocate that he needed me to be. I failed him and the guilt that comes with that failure is overwhelming. Almost three years later, I am confident that he is much better in heaven than he would be here with us. I just wish that I had pushed a little bit more.
A few days after Luke died, my OB came to visit me and Tommy at the house. While talking with us, she shared that she had seen thickening on his heart during that final ultrasound. She admitted that to us. But then she saw his testicles and forgot all about his heart. That is a problem. Although testes are important (especially to the man to whom they belong), the fact that she “forgot” about his heart is absurd and unbelievable. This is the problem, though: heart defects are hugely under diagnosed.
Thank you to Michelle and Erik for allowing me to guest blog on Sawyer's Heart. What a beautiful little boy they have in Sawyer. Feel free to visit our blog at www.lukeslegacy.blogspot.com and check out our charity in Luke's memory: www.lukestree.org. Hopefully there will be a day in the future when parents don't have to bury their children because of broken hearts. Let's find a cause and find a cure! God bless you all!
I guess you could say that our heart story began in July 2008. We found out that we were pregnant with our third child. We were overjoyed with the possibilities that a new life would bring to our world. After all, Emily and Matthew had already brought us such joy (ok...with a bit of frustration at times). To add a third child to our family just seemed like the perfect plan.
The pregnancy continued without a hitch. When we went for the “big” ultrasound, we found out that our baby was a girl. To say that Emily was excited to have a baby sister would be an understatement! I remember asking the tech if she saw what I saw (as in, a little penis) and she told me that she thought she saw “something” but that no, it was a girl. But she was healthy and that is all that really mattered to me and Tommy. About 9 weeks later, I was still not convinced she was a girl, so I had my OB check the baby's sex once again. She assured me that there was a little girl hanging out in my tummy. Even though I took her at her word, I still knew that something was not right with our little girl, Ava “Caroline”.
Fast forward to 37 weeks pregnant. I went for our final ultrasound to make sure that Caroline was head down for delivery. At that time, I asked my OB to check the sex “just in case”. Lo and behold, she saw testicles. Yup, Caroline was a BOY! My OB sent us down to get a more in-depth ultrasound to double check the testes status. It was confirmed: Caroline was a Luke. I remember hearing his heartbeat a lot during that final ultrasound, but when I asked the tech about it, she blew me off and told me she was listening to the artery in his umbilical cord. I knew that something wasn't right with Luke.
March 12th, 2008 started out as an amazing day. Tommy and I woke up (but did I even really sleep?) bright and early. I called the hospital to make sure that they could handle our induction. We kissed Emily and Matthew goodbye and arrived at the hospital a bit before 7 am. The induction went well and I laughed through contractions. It was perfect. And then we had this amazing baby boy. Luke Thomas.
The signs appeared to me almost instantly. When the nurse gave Luke to me to nurse, I noticed his hands. I know, I know. Most babies have bluish hands right after birth. His hands were not “blueish”. They were blue. I asked the nurse and she dismissed it. Then he kept falling asleep while he nursed. I knew that something was wrong with my baby.
My parents brought Emily and Matthew to meet their baby brother. The pictures of them holding Luke in the hospital room are the last pictures we have of our innocence. As the family was leaving, the nurse told me that she detected a heart murmur. That is the moment that we lost our innocence.
A few hours later, we received Luke's death sentence: Hypoplastic Left Heart Syndrome (HLHS). This sounds harsh, but it is the truth. It is how I feel. Luke was transferred via helicopter to the Houston Medical Center.
The few days before Luke's Norwood surgery were mostly a blur. But there are certain memories that are so vivid: the sight of our baby with monitors and iv's all over, the smell of the hospital soap, the cardiologist telling us how quickly hypoplasts can die.
Luke had his Norwood surgery on March 18th, when he was just a week old. He sailed through surgery as well as recovery. He came home 13 days post-op and was eating out of a bottle rather than an NG tube. Amazing—just like him.
It was good at home for a about a week and a half. Luke was growing, he was loved, he was such a good baby. It was the last week of his life that I noticed something was wrong. Again I knew that something was wrong with Luke. Luke had begun to have some issues while eating. He was having trouble drinking from the bottle and he was vomiting a lot. We went to the cardiac clinic on April 18th and our suspicions were (once again) dismissed. The cardiologist told us that Luke must have had reflux and wrote us a prescription for some anti-reflux med. I accepted her diagnosis because I trusted her, but I knew something was wrong.
We lost Luke that night. I don't talk much about what happened or how it happened. We lost him and that is enough for me.
Why share this story with you? Why do I keep repeating that fact that I knew something was wrong? I share this with you because I want you to learn something from Luke's life. I want you to trust yourself. Trust your instincts. Be an advocate. Let the powers that be know that you are concerned about your child's health. Whether your child has a cold, a suspicious bruise, or half of a heart...be an advocate.
The thing that affects me the most in regards to Luke's life and his death is the fact that I was not the advocate that he needed me to be. I failed him and the guilt that comes with that failure is overwhelming. Almost three years later, I am confident that he is much better in heaven than he would be here with us. I just wish that I had pushed a little bit more.
A few days after Luke died, my OB came to visit me and Tommy at the house. While talking with us, she shared that she had seen thickening on his heart during that final ultrasound. She admitted that to us. But then she saw his testicles and forgot all about his heart. That is a problem. Although testes are important (especially to the man to whom they belong), the fact that she “forgot” about his heart is absurd and unbelievable. This is the problem, though: heart defects are hugely under diagnosed.
Thank you to Michelle and Erik for allowing me to guest blog on Sawyer's Heart. What a beautiful little boy they have in Sawyer. Feel free to visit our blog at www.lukeslegacy.blogspot.com and check out our charity in Luke's memory: www.lukestree.org. Hopefully there will be a day in the future when parents don't have to bury their children because of broken hearts. Let's find a cause and find a cure! God bless you all!
Tuesday, February 8, 2011
CHD Awareness Week - Gwenyth's Story
February 7th through the 14th is Congenital Heart Defect Awareness Week. Every day this week, we will feature one guest post from the parent of a CHD warrior or angel. This is baby Gwenyth's story...
Gwenyth was born with a congenital heart defect (CHD) called Truncus Arterious type I. She had surgery two days after birth and was doing so well. She came home only to suddenly be taken away just shy of two months old. Based on the little bits of info the doctors have to go on, it appears to be a virus that took her life. No huge symptoms gave us any foreknowledge and it was too late by the time we took her to the doctor.
Awareness=Funding=Research=Hope=Life
Gwenyth's mother, Laura Carpenter, wants everyone to know about the #1 birth defect. To read more about baby Gwen and Laura's journey through loss please visit http://www.gwenythcarpenter.com
Gwenyth was born with a congenital heart defect (CHD) called Truncus Arterious type I. She had surgery two days after birth and was doing so well. She came home only to suddenly be taken away just shy of two months old. Based on the little bits of info the doctors have to go on, it appears to be a virus that took her life. No huge symptoms gave us any foreknowledge and it was too late by the time we took her to the doctor.
Awareness=Funding=Research=Hope=Life
Gwenyth's mother, Laura Carpenter, wants everyone to know about the #1 birth defect. To read more about baby Gwen and Laura's journey through loss please visit http://www.gwenythcarpenter.com
Monday, February 7, 2011
CHD Awareness Week - Cora's Story
February 7th through the 14th is Congenital Heart Defect Awareness Week. Every day this week, we will feature one guest post from the parent of a CHD warrior or angel. This is Cora's story...
Through my journey with congenital heart defects, I'm always surprised about how different, yet similar, this journey is for all of us. I have no clue what it means to spend time in the hospital beside a sick child. I cannot imagine the pain that Michelle went through keeping watch over Sawyer and that thousands of other families experience each day.
My daughter was diagnosed by the coroner. We never knew she was sick. I had a healthy pregnancy with Cora, and she was given a clean bill of health at the hospital. One early morning I was feeding her. I looked down and she was dead. I had no clue why. I first heard the phrase “congenital heart” from the coroner.
This week is all about making sure moms like Michelle and I don't have to talk to coroners and doctors telling us our baby is dead. I can still hear the doctor, “I'm sorry, but your baby is dead.” It's surreal. I cannot believe it happened. But, it does happen.
I know this awareness week means more to those of us directly affected, but I think everyone can relate to that. Babies shouldn't die.
- Kristine McCormick is the mother of Cora and an active advocate for the importance of pulse oximetry screening in newborns as a proven method help earlier detect congenital heart defects. Currently, legislation is pending in her home state of Indiana to make pulse oximetry screenings a mandatory test for every baby born in the state. For more information about Cora's story please visit http://www.corasstory.org
Through my journey with congenital heart defects, I'm always surprised about how different, yet similar, this journey is for all of us. I have no clue what it means to spend time in the hospital beside a sick child. I cannot imagine the pain that Michelle went through keeping watch over Sawyer and that thousands of other families experience each day.
My daughter was diagnosed by the coroner. We never knew she was sick. I had a healthy pregnancy with Cora, and she was given a clean bill of health at the hospital. One early morning I was feeding her. I looked down and she was dead. I had no clue why. I first heard the phrase “congenital heart” from the coroner.
This week is all about making sure moms like Michelle and I don't have to talk to coroners and doctors telling us our baby is dead. I can still hear the doctor, “I'm sorry, but your baby is dead.” It's surreal. I cannot believe it happened. But, it does happen.
I know this awareness week means more to those of us directly affected, but I think everyone can relate to that. Babies shouldn't die.
- Kristine McCormick is the mother of Cora and an active advocate for the importance of pulse oximetry screening in newborns as a proven method help earlier detect congenital heart defects. Currently, legislation is pending in her home state of Indiana to make pulse oximetry screenings a mandatory test for every baby born in the state. For more information about Cora's story please visit http://www.corasstory.org
Thursday, January 20, 2011
Loss and hope
A friend that I haven't seen in a really long time came over for a visit today with her three boys.
Our kids had fun terrorizing each other and making a mess. And as mothers - we were constantly refereeing the mayhem.
In between the yelling and the playing, my friend asked me about my pregnancy. Questions about how I was feeling and what it was like to be pregnant again so soon after losing Sawyer.
Everytime a question came up, one of our children were about to hurl themselves off a chair or decided that the toy somebody else had was worth beating each other up over.
Amidst our shouts of discipline, I didn't really get a chance to answer...
But the thing is, she asked me things that no one ever asks - questions that I think a lot of people are afraid to ask.
But, at that moment, it meant the world to me that someone was acknowledging my pain, my loss - and my hope.
Our kids had fun terrorizing each other and making a mess. And as mothers - we were constantly refereeing the mayhem.
In between the yelling and the playing, my friend asked me about my pregnancy. Questions about how I was feeling and what it was like to be pregnant again so soon after losing Sawyer.
Everytime a question came up, one of our children were about to hurl themselves off a chair or decided that the toy somebody else had was worth beating each other up over.
Amidst our shouts of discipline, I didn't really get a chance to answer...
But the thing is, she asked me things that no one ever asks - questions that I think a lot of people are afraid to ask.
But, at that moment, it meant the world to me that someone was acknowledging my pain, my loss - and my hope.
Wednesday, January 19, 2011
Always heavy
Today is one of those days where I could just cry forever.
The more this baby grows inside of me, the more I miss him.
Two days. Not even two days.
I held him while he died. I held him for his entire life - the end of his life.
It doesn't stop. It doesn't stop.
Time does not make it easier. The person who said that is wrong. It's bullshit.
The weight of the grief? Is always the same. Maybe some days, it's easier to pick up - but the size never changes. It's always heavy.
The more this baby grows inside of me, the more I miss him.
Two days. Not even two days.
I held him while he died. I held him for his entire life - the end of his life.
It doesn't stop. It doesn't stop.
Time does not make it easier. The person who said that is wrong. It's bullshit.
The weight of the grief? Is always the same. Maybe some days, it's easier to pick up - but the size never changes. It's always heavy.
Monday, January 17, 2011
Please, help us save babies
Each year since Sadie's birth, we have joined the March of Dimes to promote a healthy start for babies everywhere. On our third anniversary of the March for Babies, this year's walk means more to us than we could have ever imagined.
This year, we walk in memory of our son, Sawyer.
For the first time, we are joining the Joliet March for Babies and I will be there as a special guest to promote support and awareness for pregnancy and infant loss as well as speaking about prevention.
I know times are tough, but what the March of Dimes does for our babies goes beyond the NICU. When Sawyer died, the March of Dimes personally contacted our family to lend their support through bereavement materials and pure love.
A huge reason we continue to support the March of Dimes is that they support grants that fund Congenital Heart Defect research. A CHD took the life of our son, and thousands of babies and children each year. Did you know that TWICE as many babies and children will die from a CHD than from ALL forms of childhood cancer...COMBINED. Those numbers have to change, so that another family doesn't have to let their child go, just like we did.
Please take a moment and consider donating to our team this year "Sawyer's Heart Heroes" - any amount helps greatly, and we appreciate EVERY donation. So please, help us honor Sawyer's brief life and the lives of all other babies gone too soon.
Just follow this link to make your secure donation. And again - Thank you. http://www.marchforbabies.org/mktarrant
This year, we walk in memory of our son, Sawyer.
For the first time, we are joining the Joliet March for Babies and I will be there as a special guest to promote support and awareness for pregnancy and infant loss as well as speaking about prevention.
I know times are tough, but what the March of Dimes does for our babies goes beyond the NICU. When Sawyer died, the March of Dimes personally contacted our family to lend their support through bereavement materials and pure love.
A huge reason we continue to support the March of Dimes is that they support grants that fund Congenital Heart Defect research. A CHD took the life of our son, and thousands of babies and children each year. Did you know that TWICE as many babies and children will die from a CHD than from ALL forms of childhood cancer...COMBINED. Those numbers have to change, so that another family doesn't have to let their child go, just like we did.
Please take a moment and consider donating to our team this year "Sawyer's Heart Heroes" - any amount helps greatly, and we appreciate EVERY donation. So please, help us honor Sawyer's brief life and the lives of all other babies gone too soon.
Just follow this link to make your secure donation. And again - Thank you. http://www.marchforbabies.org/mktarrant
Sunday, January 16, 2011
Life, without him
Sometimes, I wish the people who knew me the most could really see how we face life every day without our son.
It will never get better than what it is right now.
The hole in my heart will never heal.
I will never forget.
They say that time heals all wounds...
But one thing time cannot do, is erase the scars that those wounds leave behind.
It will never get better than what it is right now.
The hole in my heart will never heal.
I will never forget.
They say that time heals all wounds...
But one thing time cannot do, is erase the scars that those wounds leave behind.
Saturday, January 15, 2011
Hope
An old friend gave me a heaping dose of hope a few nights ago.
I received a beautiful card from her, congratulating us on our pregnancy and tucked inside the tiny package was a newborn sleeper.
Until that moment, the mere thought of buying anything for the new baby hadn't crossed my mind. When you lose your baby, things drastically change the next time around.
You fear everything. Anxiety grips you at nearly every turn.
You become too afraid to have hope.
But, that's just the thing that my dear friend Kristi gave me...
Hope to dream of a future for our baby.
Hope to imagine this child in my arms someday.
Hope for the rainbow at the end of the storm.
14 weeks
So far, so good.
This has been my quietest pregnancy so far. And quiet is good.
I go back to my MFM at the end of the month to start the dreaded 17P injections. Thankfully, I have a sister and sister-in-law who are able to administer the shot for me each week so that I don't have to find an "injection clinic" to visit as an alternative. The 17P injections are to prevent preterm labor and while I'm on the fence about them, I'd deeply regret it if I passed on the shots and something happened to the baby.
Two weeks after this we head to Comer Children's Hospital where an ECHO will be done of the baby's heart. We are both anticipating this appointment very much and pray each night for a healthy heart and baby. A pediatric cardiologist will do the ultrasound and we should know about any structural abnormalities or defects of the heart right away.
We continue to thank God every day for what he has given us - Sadie, Sawyer and now our new baby - each has blessed us in so many ways.
We would appreciate prayers for this baby's health along with a few for my emotional strength which has been tested greatly the past few weeks. I'm having a difficult time trying to balance my grief and joy while not worrying about the outcome of this pregnancy. It's a fine line to walk, and I'm not sure I know what I'm doing really.
We're all very thankful for the continued support from our loved ones and will keep everyone updated on the new baby and some big news about "Sawyer's Heart" project.
Thursday, January 6, 2011
Instant
There are these moments that I can't imagine will ever escape me.
The moment of panic.
The moment I saw my son for the first time.
The moment they said, "There's only so much we can do."
The moment I touched him.
The moment I thought I was going to die.
The moment he died.
They revolve in my head almost constantly - a merry-go-round of beauty and suffering.
The moment of panic.
The moment I saw my son for the first time.
The moment they said, "There's only so much we can do."
The moment I touched him.
The moment I thought I was going to die.
The moment he died.
They revolve in my head almost constantly - a merry-go-round of beauty and suffering.
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