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Vana

Nirvanadragones said:
It's been 21 days. So much can happen in 21 days. So much has happened.

I can still see her little chest go up and down as she struggled to breath, even with the ventilator.

I remember the doctor's reaction the first time I spoke to her after the birth " Oh God she is too small. How they got her out was a miracle." I learnt afterwards that they asked one of the med students with the smallest hands to pull her out, because they were scared of hurting her in the process.

How fast I learnt what the monitors meant - each beep, each light. I can still hear them and see them when I close my eyes. Nicu is like the twilight-zone - where the beanies are bigger than the babies.

And the medical paradox - When I kept being told that she was going to die, but yet they'd do everything they could to medically help her survive.

The three most hated letters in the English dictionary DNR - do not resuscitate.

And how perfect she was, lying with her tiny little hands covering her eyes, or more specifically the mask that covered her eyes.

The fateful words hours before she died " It's better to let her go." And my first, instinctive thought - she knows I am fighting for her and she is not meant to go yet.

And then my inner turmoil of when spirit and choice and free will comes in. And my guilt - a mother's entire being is there to protect her baby with a fierceness that borders on insanity.

The paediatrician picked Gabrielle up gently, and placed her in my arms, and I knew that this would be the first time and the last time I felt her weight near me. And immediately I could feel her relax, and mold her little body to mine - as if she felt pain-free, comfortable and safe for the first time.

I had agonised over how the last minutes would be so many times. It was not nearly as dramatic as I had expected. No fuss, no alarms or sirens beeping. No angel choir coming to fetch my little girl. Just me, and my baby in my arms – the paediatrician nearly, tears streaming down her face. Gabrielle was clutching my finger if that is what it could be called – too weak to hold on. And then she slipped away with no fighting. She just stopped breathing.

After a while the doctor had motioned towards the baby. And all I could say was " No". The paediatrician put a gentle hand on my shoulder. "Hold your baby, Love. You hold her for as long as you want." Forever, I thought. Forever I want to sit here in this cold stainless steel room that smells like life and death, and choke back years of black.

I remember the agony of waking up from a nightmare and thinking "How could she be gone?" Tears from my eyes. Milk running from my breasts, and blood from my body. I had the scars to prove birth, but where is my baby? I sat up and scribbled on a piece of paper "I’m empty, but full of grief. "

And now, 21 days later, I'm clinging onto the hope that everything is going to be ok. I can’t even think about the future – I cant even THINK about not knowing what she’d be like when she was 3 and 9 and 11, and 17.

I thought I'd share - as painful as this is, it is necessary for me. And in a way, it is also to thank everyone for their support, love, and prayers.

:heart:
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(((((((((((((vana)))))))))))))))

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