May 15, 2009, the day Bryce died. Unarguably the worst day of my life. I have not written a post in 3 weeks, secluding my thoughts in sorrow and trying desperately to become normal again. I have given up on "normal", I am just trying to function. In the biblical times, women were allowed months to wallow, draping themselves in black and allowing the world to continue without them for a period of time. How lucky am I that I can actually do this too? If someone in my immediate family died, I would receive one week off work, but because I am on medical maternity leave I get 6 weeks. It is true, that I did need healing time but I thought for sure that I would come back to work by next week. I have until June 26 and I honestly do not know what to do, receiving advice on both sides. Unfortunately week 3 is when postpartum kicks in, and outside of grief, I am having hormone issues as well. It's funny to me that my therapists and doctors say to take the full time off. Think they know something I don't, or did I possibly scare them when I spoke of my innermost feelings? To say the least, I am mourning. Of course I am, I lost my son. To say more... I am having guilt issues. My beautiful precious boy, how could I have made that choice? Why couldn't I find some other way to protect you? I have struggled with these thoughts (to be honest worst) these past weeks. Taunting myself with the horror of my decision. Forgetting that Bryce would inevitably die slowly, over months in pain. How can I possibly succumb to guilt, to blame myself for his death, the murder of my son?
...Because he is my son, and I love him. I just want him back. I finally realized yesterday that even if I have this guilt, I take that pain to save him. Deep down, I know I made the right decision but it is easy to let your emotions (not to mention the postpartum hormones) take over and cloud your thoughts. But if that is the price I pay to help Bryce out of discomfort and pain, then I proudly take it. I did everything I could to save Bryce, and he is saved.
We mentioned in another post that there were actually happy memories on May 15. Two of them I will talk about in this post, for the hope of drafting them to help me in my grief. First, one of the happiest memories of my lifetime is when I saw Bryce. Bryce was suddenly not a black and white pixelated picture but a baby's flesh, delicate and fragile. Lifeless, but the most beautiful tiny soul I could ever imagine. How lucky am I to have that memory? We did not choose to deliver Bryce to hold him, to see him. We chose to deliver him to honor his body. I honestly did not think about the gift I would receive by seeing that precious little boy, I actually feared it. Yes, he had two cleft lips and a cleft pallet, but honestly he would have been a poster boy for children with Trisomy 13, a model child. His skin delicately folded into a flower above his lips, covering the deformities. He was truly beautiful, an image I will never forget. His body was perfect, at least on the outside. Ten little toes, ten little fingers. Gusti's long legs and rectangular hands, my mother's lips - skinny and delicate, Nana's nose, my butt. No fat had grown yet, but Bryce did kick and punch, so he had muscles in his arms, shoulders and legs. My little Adonis, minus any stomach muscles... and Gusti's face. Bryce truly was a beautiful child, in all ways. I constantly look at the ultrasound photo and the karyotype to remind myself that on the inside Bryce was hurting, with no chance of survival. His beauty did lead to more guilt but that feeling is something that I gladly suffer just to know what he looked like.
I did not realize all the positive outcomes of that day, I paid no thought beforehand of anything other than how to save and comfort Bryce. In the last minutes of his life I did not allow myself to be stressed, knowing that Bryce would be able to sense the stress hormones. I wanted him to be at peace, relaxed, completely oblivious to what lied ahead. The night before, I prayed to God to give me peace, to give me the strength to be able to accomplish this. I begged for a miracle to reverse Bryce's medical conditions and pleaded for God to give me a sign to show that he did not approve of our decision. If I had even one doubt that entered my mind that day, I would cancel the whole procedure.
I woke calm, ready for the day ahead. Knowing that we were having a hard time finding a Chaplin that would baptize Bryce in utero while he was alive, I woke with an epiphany. I would baptize him. I grabbed my great-grandmother Nanny Petty's Bible, a rock chalice my mother gave to us for our wedding (but it arrived late) resembling a wooden cup, water and pictures of the family. The procedure began at 10am, if I did not hear anything by 9am I would baptize Bryce alive. This was important to us, both myself and Gus. The genetic counselor helping with the arrangements, told us that we can easily have a Chaplin baptise a stillborn, but only after the delivery. I know God saves all children, but it was imperative that Bryce was baptized alive. We reasoned that with this blessing he would be a peace before he died. At 9am waiting at the hospital chapel, we received no phone call. I placed family photos around us, opened the Bible to Pslams 139 "For you are fearfully and wonderfully made", and miraculously found other passages unmemorized that spoke of the love for your child. Prayed out loud and asked for strength, asked for forgiveness but stated that I was willing to risk damnation to save my son... begging again to please give me a sign. I asked God to bless the water and with a cross of my finger, Bryce was baptized in utero, alive. While, we were packing up I received a phone call. A Catholic Chaplin had heard our story and was rushing over to the hospital, he was 5 minutes away. It was 9:40am. An easy decision was made, that we would just be late for our 10am appointment, this was far too important. An out of breath elderly man arrived, with a gentle smile and hug. While the Father prayed, he thanked God for giving us wisdom to understand what we needed to do. He thanked God for the doctors and medical technology to know our answer. He asked God to give us peace. Bless this Chaplin, bless God for giving him the words that I needed to hear. I walked calmly upstairs at 10:15 am to begin the procedure. Minutes after I undressed, we had a knock on the door. Another Chaplin had heard our story and was there to baptize Bryce. Although we did not have a third ceremony, the gesture was appreciated. God was there in our room, I was so at peace that I never even thought about having a doubt. I closed my eyes and meditated, Harriet said a lovely prayer, Gusti held my hand and Bryce was saved. It took all of two seconds for his heart to stop. He never moved, never flinched, Bryce was in no pain. We all stayed calm, each one of us vocalizing our own thoughts and prayers. 6 minutes past, the length it takes for cells to die without oxygen. We wanted all of Bryce to be at peace during his death. Then we wept. The agony does not need to be described, but the peace of that moment does. God was present that day. Even writing this, I have no idea how I had the strength to stay calm, to not be understandably dramatic. The footprints in the sand were single, not of two walking side by side but of God carrying me. I can not be angry with God, because he lifted me up. I was at peace the moment that Bryce died. Thank you Lord.
It helps to write this, hoping that it will help me overcome my grief and my postpartum. My postpartum depression with Zane lasted for approximately 14 months (another blog to write), and I have barely spoken about it. I pray that I can get my hormones under control before then. It is not safe to have another baby until I not only get off the antidepressants but also allow my biochemistry to normalize. This is very important, or I will emotionally hurt the family I love. As strong as I love Gus and Zane, postpartum is not like that... just get over it for your family. It drags you deeper and deeper into the rabbit hole until you slowly crawl your way out. You have very little control. I had a beautiful, healthy baby with Zane, and I still had postpartum. A good friend asked, "Dianna, if you lived in Texas do you think you still would have had postpartum?" A fair question to ask, but also a simple answer to give. Yes. Hormones are a crazy thing, I know I met my match with the grief of Bryce. I have given myself to the Lord, and the Lord has given me help including the medical help necessary to heal me, along with my amazing support network with family and friends.
God, please continue carrying me. I need you now more than ever.
Footprints in the Sand -- Mary Stevenson, 1936
One night I dreamed I was walking along the beach with the Lord. Many scenes from my life flashed across the sky.
In each scene I noticed footprints in the sand. Sometimes there were two sets of footprints, other times there was one only.
This bothered me because I noticed that during the low periods of my life, when I was suffering from anguish, sorrow or defeat, I could see only one set of footprints, so I said to the Lord,
"You promised me Lord, that if I followed you, you would walk with me always. But I have noticed that during the most trying periods of my life there has only been one set of footprints in sand. Why, when I needed you most, have you not been there for me?"
The Lord replied, "The years when you have seen only one set of footprints, my child, is when I carried you."
