After a rough day yesterday, I figured I owed an explanation. Well, actually, I know I don't owe it, but I feel like I should talk about it...like I owe the explanation to Andrew, not to anyone else.
We got the pictures from Now I Lay Me Down to Sleep yesterday in the mail. The pictures of Andrew. It brought every single moment I had with him back.
I wasn't able to touch Samuel the first night, but I was able to hold Andrew's hand. He was the first of my boys that I got to touch. It was magical. The idea that I had waited SO long for these two little boys. Just hours before they had been wiggling in my belly and here they were. I cried. I was happy and utterly and completely terrified for them (for obvious reasons). Andy was my quiet little boy. The only movement I ever really could feel of his was his hiccups. It took a long time for me to realize that's what it was, but once I knew, I would smile every time I felt him hiccup.
Touching my little peanut was so amazing. I wanted to just hold him and comfort him every minute. Unfortunately he was really sick. He was bruised on his right side because he had refused to be born and they had had to pull him out. He had spread his arms and legs in an effort to stay in the comfort of my belly. My poor little boy. Somehow he must have known. He was so sick. The bruising never healed. He was always under the bili light. We never saw his face, until... He responded to Cam so well. Both of the boys did. He didn't like his feet touched. They must have been ticklish. It made us both smile when he'd wiggle his toes after you touched the bottom of his foot. That last day, he looked like a little froggy. He had his legs sprawled to the sides and his hands on his knees. He looked so peaceful and calm, so relaxed. Like he knew.
All three days, it seemed like every time we went to visit the boys, they were having to do something on him. He needed a new blood gas or he needed an X-ray. The last day we went in his umbilical vein access had broken. They were having to replace it. It was scary. To come in and see the top of his isolette up (that was a first) and a nurse not wanting to move because if she let go, they might not be able to get new access in. I was scared. I walked out that time. I may have talked to Sammy for a minute, but I walked away because I couldn't stand to see my little peanut so vulnerable.
We went back and spent quite a bit of time with both boys. And that was when the doctor told us that he wanted to come to our room and talk to us. I will never forget sitting and having that conversation. Him telling us that Andrew was so sick...and that he didn't believe he would make it. That it was so desperate that we should stay at the hospital. I don't think I stopped crying the rest of that night. We spent more time with him...telling him we loved him. I know I cried over his isolette. I don't remember what I even said to him more than I'm sure I repeated "I love you" over and over again.
We went back to my room, ate, and spent some time just crying together knowing that there was nothing we could do. I remember the nurse coming in and telling us we should go to the ICN around 9:30. We were doing our normal washing up and the nurses ran over and told us to hurry and not worry about washing up. The tears started flowing right away. I knew before we even turned the corner to the womb room. They sat us down in chairs...while I watched the doctors and nurses do everything they could to restart Andrew's heart. No success. I really just wanted them to stop...I wanted to hold him before it had completely stopped beating. Within five minutes Dr. Rhodes was there...she assessed the situation and came over and told us it was time to hold him. I was crying my eyes out. All I remember is repeating, "my baby, not my baby..." between sobs. They cut his tubes and handed him to me.
He was still warm, but so still...I couldn't believe how tiny he was. Seeing tiny and holding tiny are two different things. I finally got to see his little face. And for the next two hours, I cuddled him. Memorizing his tiny features. Looking him over and touching every inch of him. I didn't want to forget a moment with him. I still don't. Every smell. The top of his soft little head. His little hands and toes. Every inch was so perfect...and I kept repeating that to Camden through my tears, "he's so perfect." And he was. Perfect little angel.
The pictures brought all those memories back. It made me realize I do have memories of my little boy. Both good and bad. I just need to let the good outweigh the bad. Remember how ticklish his little feet were. That he was a stubborn little boy. The hiccups. And every perfect little inch. Those pictures mean the world to me. They are the few moments that I got to be with my little boy...no machines, no tubes. Just me, my husband, and my little Andrew. My calm, quiet, little lamb.
Focusing on Sammy never gave me much time to mourn Andy. I've been mourning him solely since I got those pictures. As much as I think about Sammy...Andy has been forefront for the past day. I never got the chance and now I'm reliving it and mourning him. I don't think that I will likely share many or any of the pictures that were taken that night with you all, but I will cherish them forever. They are a piece of him that I have from his three short days. He was perfect in every single way. My son. I love you, Andrew Thomas.
No comments:
Post a Comment