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Cheryl Haggard
03-20-2006, 06:01 PM
Ok, I am probably opening a can of worms with this topic, but again, think it is such a strong subject, if not one of the most important. So, here goes...

Again, please remember this is my experience only, I am NOT trying to tell anyone what to do and how to do it. I am only sharing what has helped me and my family. I am NOT a doctor or therapist. And I would again, love to hear from you, what your experience is/was.

OK-I will start off with my story and experience. I delivered Maddux by C-Section. All my other kids were normal, vaginal births. In the hospital one day, usually, out the next day. I had epidurals with the first two, and Natalie, was completly natural. No medication what so ever. By far, my best birth experience. No problems. ( I do specifically remember after her birth, saying to my doctor "If that's not birth control, I don't know what is..." ) But of course, after you see that precious baby, you forget all about the pain... I knew with Maddux that they would probably keep me close to 5 days in the hospital. ( what I was told ) So, after Maddux was born, he was rushed into the NICU, and I into recovery. My first priority was to get to him AS SOON AS POSSIBLE!!!!

I know at the time, my meds from the c section were still kicked in. After about 2 hours, I asked to be put into a wheel chair and taken to the NICU. My wishes were granted. At the time, I was on the same floor level as him.

My husband and I were in the NICU, as much as possible. (Parents, it is so important that you spend as much time with your babies as possible, no matter what the circumstances.) That first night, I still did not need any pain medication. Although I was offered it, I refused it. The next morning, after just a few hours sleep, when I awoke, I was in incredible pain. I did take a tylenol with codeine. I had to keep my mind alert, with everything that was going on, I did not want to feel loopy, and disconnected. I needed to know and understand EVERYTHING that was happening. I needed to make clear choices. After that, I was given a prescription of some type of Narcotic, which I only took in the evenings. And then, it was only a 7day fill.

I was moved to the 6th floor and Maddux was on the 3rd floor. The nurses wanted me to start walking as soon as possible. So, that next morning, I started walking to the NICU-of course by way of elevator. For pain during the day, what I found to be very soothing were warmed blankets over my tummy. Sometimes, alternating with ice packs.

There were times when I would start to bleed, and one of my 'staples' came undone. That really wasn't a big deal, and usually as soon as it started, it would stop.

Now where am I going with this story...I have talked with many women, and heard stories of what they experienced after the births of their babies. What they have gone through, and what their husbands have gone through.

After Maddux died, I myself wanted to die. That night and the following nights were the worst in my life. In my families life. How, I thought, could life go on and get better? I was so mad, because the sun was shining outside. It should be cloudy and raining. The whole world should be crying, why isn't it? My world had suddenly stopped, it was not fair that the rest of the world kept on going. I am not always the strong person I make myself out to be. I would have been happy if the earth would have opened up and swallowed me, whole. I thought, if I couldn't be Maddux's Mom, then I didn't want to be anyone's mom. True thought. That first week, I would not get out of bed. Sometime towards the afternoon, I would make my way to the couch, take a pain pill and drink a glass of wine. Maybe two. After my prescription for pain medication had run out, I had asked my doctor for something to help me sleep. She gave me Ambien. I was only taking one a night. And didn't take it every night, (only the nights I wanted to sleep.) This went on for maybe a week. One night, all of us, kids, husband and myself were all in the family room watching TV, and I looked really closely at my three older children. I looked at their faces. Looked into their eyes. I then realized that they were looking to Mike and myself for guidance. What Mike and I did during this time and point in our life, how we handled the death of Maddux, what we taught them through our actions, was going to shape and affect them for their entire life. This was going to be one of their biggest life lessons - If not THE biggest. This moment was going to mold and shape them into the adults they were going to to grow up to be. This is our next generation. I could not lie there in complete depression and despair anymore. I had to get up, if not for myself, then for Chase, Anna and Natalie. They deserved it. I deserved it.

That night, I stopped taking any and all medications. (except the occasional Tylenol)((no codeine))

It is so easy to fall into the hole of complete depression. And why shouldn't we? We deserve it, right? There is a pill for everything now. A pill for pain, a pill to help you sleep, a pill to wake you up, a pill to help you forget. And after experiencing the death of a baby, most doctors will give you anything you ask for. Try not to fall into this habit. (Unless you absolutely need it for medical reasons.) Again-I am not a doctor or therapist, I am just a mother that has 'been there.'

I can't tell you to move on and get on with your life. I can't. You won't. I didn't. And if someone would have told me that, I would have probably smacked them silly. (actually my youngest brother recently told me to quit using Maddux as a crutch, and I still am not speaking to him.) I have good days, and I still have bad days. But my good days now are outnumbering my bad days. During my good days, I still have bad moments. I accept this. This is how my life is now.

I can tell you, that in order to heal, you have to feel the pain. Feel the heartache. (I know, it's not fair...) Don't try to cover it up, with medications. Don't try to hid it in a bottle. (This will only make it much worse.) Don't try to avoid the pain. Don't try to run from it. Accept it. I will always carry with me the pain and heartache over the death of Maddux. He is one of the greatest loves of my life. And because of this love, I have to accept the pain and heartache. My heart will always be broken. But there came a time, when those pieces started to come together again. Some days the pieces are close together, some days they are ripped wide apart.

Moms and Dads, you have to support eachother. You have to be there for one another. You have to talk and listen. Listen and talk. And it is so important that you do this with a clear and open mind. Don't question the what if's? Don't blame the other. Men and women grieve differently. As a mother, we carried our babies inside of us. We felt their movement. What and how we ate affected them. Our movement affected them. They could hear us. We gained the weight, we have the stretch marks and the physical scars. We know our babies. Dads, I am not saying that you didn't know your babies, because you did, too. Dads are always told to be strong for their wives/girlfriends. Dads are asked about us, how are we doing. Most people forget to ask how are THEY doing...Most people I talked with, asked ME how I was doing. Completely forgetting to ask about Mike. And this was not on purpose, purely accidental.
Again, just the way society is. Women are the weaker, Men are the stronger. But we ALL can love and we All can experience heartache.
Blessings,
Cheryl

Erica Stone
03-20-2006, 08:09 PM
Ooooooh - good topic...

When we found out how bad Matthew's prognosis truly was, I was in a total daze and what I call "hysterically detached" from the situation. I'll explain.

When I found out I was pregnant, I was of course happy, but the typical jumping up and down pregnant lady. I'm not the kind of person who ever dreamed about my wedding, or what my future husband was going to be like or what kind of house I would live in. I am into clothes and makeup and that stuff, but I'm just not "girly" in that other way. Shortly after we found out, my sister-in-law also announced she was pregnant and basically went nuts! She immediately ran out and registered and started buying and planning. Yuck! I, on the other hand, didn't feel particularly attached to this baby after a few weeks, and figured that would happen after he was born. I just wanted to enjoy the experience of being pregnant, instead of rushing to the end result. Even after a few ultrasounds and the beginning of his movements, I thought it was really cool, but that was it. No tears of joy like they describe in the books - I'm far too practical and rational for that, I thought. I mean, it just didn't register with me how other women could have all these "feelings" for a baby that wasn't even born? It just was outside my realm of understanding, and I thought that they were just crazy.

So imagine my utter confusion when confronted with the very very real likelyhood that we wouldn't get to bring this yet to be born baby home. All of the sudden I felt EVERY SINGLE EMOTION possible - all at once! I couldn't understand how my emotions could betray me like this! (My husband was just in shock, I think.) Hence the hysterical detachment - I think it was an in between phase at the time. I really felt like I was in a fog, watching someone else's life, but having to participate anyway.

We had to tell our families, who are all in New York, which was horrible. I was **** bent on cramming down all my emotions and even yelled at my mother when she insisted she was going to come out here. I just wanted to get through it, and not deal with anyone or anything. On the way to the hospital (I was going to be induced) I told my husband that I was going to ask if they would knock me out so I wouldn't have to mentally go through the experience of birth this way. When they sent grief counselors to the room, we insisted we didn't want to see, much less hold the unnamed baby. IT WAS ALL TOO MUCH FOR ME. I wanted it over and behind me, since it couldn't be avoided. Well, the nurses wouldn't knock me out - they said it was better to go through it. (They were right, of course.) They did, however, offer me an epidural which I agreed to. I was a wreck beyond belief, but too exhausted to argue when I found out the families were all on their way. (They were right about that, too.) Funny thing was, that I actually had some moments of calm when they all arrived at the hospital. Almost like I had some reprieve now that somone else was there to bear some of my burden.

Anyway, after I got home and wanted to crawl into a hole and die and just cried and cried and didn't sleep, I did think about what I could do to make this unimaginable suffering go away, and all that Cheryl had mentioned entered my mind. The logical, detached part of me knew I was going to spiral into depression, but the emotional part wanted to avoid it altogether. I spent a lot of my youth being very emotional and letting so much of the world affect me, and it took a lot of self discipline for me to learn how not to react to everything and to eliminate self-created drama from my life. What I have realized is that this grief process is such a personal thing for every one of us, and we're all going through it in our own way. Sometimes I think it's incredibly isolating, which is why I can understand the urge to check out and go numb. I really feel alone with it sometimes, if you know what I mean. I'm not really a drinker, so that option wasn't really attractive to me. I had, however, had a bout of insomnia a few years ago and thought about pulling out what remained of that prescription to try to numb out for a while.

I don't know when exactly I decided to just go on the roller coaster journey as is, but Cheryl and Sandy certainly had a hand in it. Something about that newspaper article triggered something or some sort of understanding in my freaked out brain that this was all the time I would have with this baby, and that I better make it count. Did I want it to be a hazy, awful memory that would back up on me and spout out years from now? Or did I want it to be a lucid, thoughtful memory that I would experience carefully, with love, despite the overwhelming pain? When it came down to it, I wanted to know in my heart that I would not regret or want to change any decision we made regarding Matthew. And I don't.

I agree that the nights were the worst - when you're left with your thoughts and nothing to distract you - and on my bad days, it's really the nights that get to me the most. But backing up my decision not to take anything is the fact that I am remembering small details that I know otherwise would have been lost to me. They are sometimes as painful as if I was reliving them all over again, but this is my experience. My alternative was to end up in a mental institution (I'm serious), but it really didn't sound so appealing to me.

If I've learned nothing else, I've learned that it IS BETTER to feel each and every one of those feelings as they pop up. I wouldn't have believed it if you had told me - I really had to figure it out on my own.