The rest of the day was just surreal. I was in disbelief still. I would go through spurts of uncontrollable sobbing. My heart physically hurt. I felt empty. For the first time since being in the hospital, it hit me that I was in the same type of room I had been in after the delivery of all of my other children. It was the same bed, the same bathroom set up, the same soap, the same smells, the same toiletries, the same routine to follow. The only difference was, I did not have a baby to care for while we were there. There was no little isolette or baby warmer, there was no rolling baby bed stocked with tiny shirts and diapers. There were no cheerful visitors waiting to meet our son. Our room was filled with flowers, but instead of words of congratulations and best wishes, there were cards filled with sympathy and prayers. We had visitors, but there were no happy moments and picture taking. The children came to see us, but there was no fighting over who would hold the baby first.
We spent time in prayer with the hospital's chaplain and we were able to get some ideas of things we could do as a memorial for our sweet boy. We were able to have a service with him at the hospital, but it was a private service for just the two of us. We knew we were going to need to do something that included the children.
I won't lie. I was angry. Who am I kidding, I am STILL angry. When I first got in the shower, I completely lost it. I was in pain from delivering, I was going through the same motions I had with my other children, the same aftercare protocol, I still needed help. The first whiff of the hospital soap was more than I could handle. Seeing the pads and net panties in the corner was more than I could deal with. There should have been a baby. I should have been celebrating the birth of my son, not mourning his loss. My husband should be telling our visitors about hearing his first cries and his birth stats, how long he was, how much he weighed. I should have been trying to get him to eat good. We should have been charting his diapers and feedings. Instead, we were being consoled by nurses, doctors, chaplains, friends and family.
That night, we had a few visitors. It was hard. I wanted so badly to be telling them about my precious son and his birth, instead we replayed the events of the last few days in heart wrenching detail. After the last visitors had gone, our night nurse walked in. Talk about finding joy in sadness, it was my guardian angel from our first night. I have never been so happy and relieved to see someone as I was to see her. She was a breath of fresh air for me. She was truly a gift straight from God for me during all of this. She was so kind and understanding. She was gentle with me. Over the course of the night, she prayed with me and talked to me. I fought sleep so I could spend time with her. She finally convinced me to take a drug cocktail that would surely help me sleep. I finally got to the point where I just could not fight it anymore. I have never felt such an instant connection with someone. I know she was an angel in disguise.
I was released on Friday to go home. I was having some pretty heavy bleeding still. I had no energy, no drive and no motivation. The only thing keeping me going was my husband and other children. I missed them while we were gone. We had gotten to see them every day, but it wasn't the same as being at home with them. I was really missing Holden, not only emotionally, but physically. He had been with me every step of the way until his birth and now I was completely alone, and empty. My oldest son walked through the door Friday after work and said the sweetest words any mother could ever hope to hear from one of her children, he said, "I did something, but it is going to make you cry, but it will be a good cry!" He walked over to me and showed me what he had done, then he leaned down and hugged me. He had gotten an "H" tattooed on the inside of his finger. He did it the day his brother was born. Of course I bawled like a baby. I had been downstairs alone at the time, my husband was upstairs putting the children to bed. He came down a bit later to find me in the arms of my sweet son. He was such a source of comfort me that lonely night. What a perfect way to honor his mother and his baby brother. My son brought me joy in my time of sadness.
The first night was hard. I laid in my bed and sobbed. My body missed him. The next day, I somehow convinced my husband that it was a good idea to take me to get a memorial tattoo. He's a smart guy, I am POSITIVE that he knew there was no chance that he could convince me to wait another second. I called up my mom and asked her to come watch the kids, I think she knew not to argue as well. I felt like absolute death, but I managed to get myself ready and out the door. We had a quick dinner then headed over to the tattoo shop.
I couldn't be more pleased with the way it came out. I got the inspiration online, but I wanted his name and footprint added. The blue print is his actual footprint from the hospital. I feel like this was the first step in my healing process. I found a little joy during my sadness.
The next few days were a blur for me, I could not be left alone with the kids yet, I still physically felt so bad. I was still bleeding, A LOT. My husband had to take extra time off of work, and my mom had to fill in during his absences. I didn't just need a sitter for the kids, I needed one for myself! By the time the next Wednesday rolled around, I was ready for a small trip out of the house. My hubby had to check out a car for a friend so the kids and I rode along. I still didn't feel great and I was weak, but all I had to do was sit in the car. We sat in the car waiting for him to finish up and the longer I sat, the worse I felt. At this point, I thought I might have just been getting hungry. My hormones were still wonky so I tried to snack to keep my strength up. Once he was finished, we decided to grab a quick lunch. We didn't really want fast food, but we didn't want a full blown restaurant either. We decided on Schlotzsky's, it would be quick and we could get back to the house. While we were waiting on our food to arrive, something just didn't feel right so I headed to the restroom. Of course the women's restroom was out of order and there was someone in the men's. I waited, not so calmly, on him to come out. By this time I was feeling really dizzy and light headed. I made it into the restroom just in time to pass a huge amount of blood and a rather large clot. I got cleaned up and headed back out to tell my husband what had just happened. We quickly finished lunch and rushed home. We got home just in time for it to happen again. This time was just about as bad as the first. Throughout the course of the day, the bleeding continued to get worse. I could barely sit up without feeling like I was going to pass out. I called the doctor to tell him what was going on. I had to leave a message. In the time it took the office to call me back, I had almost convinced myself to go to the ER. It was that bad. The office called back and said they would call in a prescription that would stop or significantly slow down the bleeding, but that he wanted to see me the next day. My pharmacy did not have the medication, but they were nice enough to call around town and try to find it for me. By the time we finally found some, the store not so quickly let us know that they might not have it after all. Once again, I had just about convinced myself to head to the hospital. Luckily, the store was able to find some and my hubby headed out to get the medicine. I was instructed to stay flat of my back and not move unless I absolutely had to. The bleeding never really slowed up a lot, but it was better.
I managed to somehow make it through the night with minimal drama. My mom came to take me to the doctor. At this point, I was unable to really walk on my own. Thankfully I had an old wheelchair from a previous injury. We took the chair and headed to the doctor. A sweet friend met us at the office to sit with the kids so my mom could take me in to the office. Once inside, they ordered an ultrasound to try and find the cause of the excess bleeding. The ultrasound was brutal. My heart expected to see my baby. I was already a wreck because it had also been exactly one week since I delivered my baby boy. We made it into the exam room and I was unable to sit up, I had to curl up on the exam table and wait to be seen. The room was spinning and I felt awful. The doctor came in to talk to us and we decided to move forward with a d & c, he felt like it would help the bleeding and get me physically on the road to recovery. My surgery was scheduled for the next day.
