Friday, January 16, 2009

My husband's point of view...

I got mad at God yesterday.

My baby girl, Eleanor Jesi, died in my arms on January 24, 2008. Why the long pause? It wasn’t a pause. It was life ticking by, one heartbreaking second at a time. On January 22, 2008 my wife and I walked into a room at D*** Hospital for what we thought would be some more tests. We didn’t walk out of there until three days later… alone.

We didn’t know we were there for more than another test until ten to seven when the nurse said “I’ll be leaving in a few minutes, but the night nurse will take good care of you.”

At this point I said “Have we been admitted?”

There was some apologizing for the lack of communication and then we were left alone. Left alone to go into the most serious moment of our lives.

We had just left the clinic building high on the experience of a successful amnioinfusion. As we were leaving, a nurse said, “Your blood pressure is very high, we’re concerned. I’ll send the information over to Dr. ???? Go over there to the other building to see her before you leave”.

I remember the two of us walking through the underground hallway between the two buildings. We were so happy because we had just had a successful amnioinfusion. It was a surprise blessing! We had asked for one a few days earlier but it didn’t work and we thought we couldn’t try again. But it happened and it gave us so much hope. She felt our baby kicking and moving around and just damn happy to be in some fluid for the first time in days. We were laughing and joking with each other on the walk through that corridor. Things were looking to be OK, like they always are.

Things were never OK again.

We walked into that room expecting a more extensive blood pressure test or something before we could finally go home full of hope.

We didn’t leave that room until our daughter had been named, prayed for, born, serenaded and died.

Walking out of the front doors of the hospital on a sunny, beautiful January morning with my bruised and beaten wife and without a child was the lowest feeling I will ever experience.

I don’t care what happens to me from here on out, nothing will hurt more than that.

Somehow this and the week that followed were the high points.

It just keeps getting harder.

I check the mail every day, because I don’t want my wife to have to find the coupons for diapers and what not.

Life is a mess, but we still love each other. That’s amazing.


Michele said...

My husband hid the formula that some company had sent, that made it home before we did.

You're right; it does get harder. And it just isn't fair. None of it. Every damn day feels like an eternity and, most times, part of a nightmare.

But love. That's the greatest thing. If not for my husband, I don't think I would be here either.

Mrs. Spit said...

This is an extremely hard time, too.

I'm sorry. So very, very sorry.