tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-59524173151319381472024-03-08T01:29:57.307-08:00A walk through the valleyawalkthroughthevalleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08373728137187547382noreply@blogger.comBlogger147125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5952417315131938147.post-45640555962243882772009-04-08T15:45:00.000-07:002009-04-08T15:49:28.970-07:00Integration<strong>Since I'm now far more comfortable in sharing my journey with the world, I'm posting exclusively on my main blog. Alex's death is not a separate thing from the rest of my life, it's a huge party of it and I need to put those peices together to continue to move forward. </strong><br /><strong></strong><br /><strong>If you've received a random act of kindness card in memory of Alex feel free to tell us about it by clicking the link below and commenting on the first post you see! It warms all our hearts to hear about the people Alex's story touches.</strong><br /><strong></strong><br /><span style="font-size:180%;"><strong> </strong></span><a href="http://www.momofmany.com/"><span style="font-size:180%;color:#990000;"><strong>www.momofmany.com</strong></span></a><br /><strong></strong><br /><strong>Please come on over after you've read Alex's story.</strong>awalkthroughthevalleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08373728137187547382noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5952417315131938147.post-21616254809899156992009-03-29T14:47:00.000-07:002009-03-29T14:53:26.534-07:00And he lives on<strong>A few weeks ago the hospital I worked for announced that they were looking for stories for the WHA "Employee pride" program. The stories should be what brought you to healthcare. Of course I wrote about Alex, since he has been what has directed every day in the past three years of my life and I won! The family and I get to go on a trip to the Wisconsin Dells for a couple days of waterpark fun in May! </strong>
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<br /><strong>I thought I'd share the story with you:</strong>
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<br /><strong><span style="color:#990000;">In 2006 my son was born with a devastating set of heart defects. We spent the entire 7 weeks of his life in the hospital fighting for every breath he took.</span></strong>
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<br />Shortly after his death I was given the honor of attending the passing of another baby we had known. That day I realized that although I could never get back what was lost the day I held my son for the last time, I could carry his spirit on with my hard earned knowledge and understanding. As I held this child’s tiny body in my arms and looked into the eyes of his mother I felt the deep connection we now shared. Our stories were forever altered and had taken the same fork in the road.
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<br />I left that day and knew that through this experience my son was asking me to carry forward the compassion and empathy that few people can truly have. I couldn’t spare my children the pain of learning their brother had died, and I couldn’t alter God’s decision to take my child, or the family members of others home. But I could take the hand of a stranger, look into their eyes and in a silent moment share their pain and give them the hope that it is possible to survive and move forward.
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<br />And so I went into healthcare. I currently work in admitting and am in school for my Medical Assisting degree. Every day I bring a little bit of my son with me. A child who lived until we were strong enough to let him go and gave more than he ever took with him. A child who taught me that some people are born with special hearts, the rest of us have to work at it.
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<br /></span><span style="color:#000000;">I've also been putting some ideas together in continuing to spread Alex's message and of course this blog will be the hub of that effort. </span>
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<br />A few months ago we were fortunate enough to be in a position to preform our families largest Random act of kindness to date. We purchased a handheld Nintendo game system and 2 games for a little boy in the store we were shopping in. It was so much fun to see him walk out with the games with his little face lit up like Christmas morning!
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<br />More to come!</strong>
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<br />awalkthroughthevalleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08373728137187547382noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5952417315131938147.post-42318328297458269902008-10-05T13:28:00.000-07:002008-10-05T13:33:24.715-07:00Oh AlexYou've been on my mind so much lately. I've started a new job at the hospital and talking about you with co-workers has been difficult. I'm not sure why, I've never found it difficult to talk to you before.<br /><br />Last week the NICU team from Marshfield came to get a newborn from the nursery and I felt such a huge lump in my throat watching them walk past with that tiny incubator. I remember seeing you in what could have been that very same incubator and saying goodbye to you as you left for your journey to Marshfield that night, uncertain if I would ever see you alive again. For a moment I felt a connection to that mother upstairs I didn't know, as I knew how she was feeling watching her own tiny baby dissapear down the hall.<br /><br />I miss you so much. It still physically hurts in my chest sometimes. Feeling like I might suffocate under the weight of it all. Then there are times I cannot comprehend it really happened, I replay the memories in my mind like a movie I watched a long time ago. <br /><br />I love you bubba and what I wouln't give to hold you just one more time.<br /><br />~ mommaawalkthroughthevalleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08373728137187547382noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5952417315131938147.post-66710747973172125862008-08-17T10:40:00.000-07:002008-08-17T10:51:04.267-07:00Not fitting in<strong>Remember the first day of school? I know, wayyyy back for some of us. Ok, maybe just me. Remember not knowing anybody? Remember finding someone who you thought you had things in common with just to find out that they were so very different than you? Remember feeling like you didn't know if you'd ever fit in?<br /><br />That's where I am. As some of you loyal readers know, this journal has moved around a bit. It has evolved and downright changed sometimes. It went from </strong><a href="http://www.caringbridge.org/visit/alexanderevertsen"><strong><span style="color:#990000;">caringbridge</span></strong></a><strong> to another blogger spot then merged with my </strong><a href="http://www.momofmany.com/"><strong><span style="color:#990000;">family blog</span></strong></a><strong><span style="color:#990000;">.</span> It just never felt 100% right.</strong><br /><strong></strong><br /><strong>Then I started writing my book about Alex's life. The title of the book started out "Broken dreams" but in writing I realized that it wasn't about broken dreams at all, because when something breaks it's no longer useful, it's lost it's purpose. Alex's life and death have always been very useful. Him being born broken wasn't the end of the purpose of his life and his death wasn't either. It was a journey..... </strong><br /><strong></strong><br /><strong>So, the title of the book became "A Walk through the valley" one night. We did walk through the valley of the shadow of death in a very real way. But that walk THROUGH means we came out the other side, or at least that we have the ability to do so someday. </strong><br /><strong></strong><br /><strong>So here we are now in a new space. A space that feels very right with no agendas and no plans. Just living, dealing, and becoming the new me at my own pace. No censoring my feelings in fear of what people might think.</strong><br /><strong></strong><br /><strong>I'm Kat, my son is in heaven. I miss him terribly and some days I'm not sure how I got here or how I'll move on. Take me as I am.</strong><br /><br /><em><span style="color:#330033;">The Lord is my Shepherd; I shall not want.He maketh me to lie down in green pastures:He leadeth me beside the still waters.He restoreth my soul:He leadeth me in the paths of righteousness for His name' sake.<br /><br />Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death,I will fear no evil: For thou art with me;Thy rod and thy staff, they comfort me.Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine enemies;Thou annointest my head with oil; My cup runneth over.<br /><br />Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life,and I will dwell in the House of the Lord forever ~ The 23rd Psalm</span></em>awalkthroughthevalleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08373728137187547382noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5952417315131938147.post-3940169358063670392008-08-09T09:59:00.000-07:002008-08-09T10:01:27.278-07:00In a better place<strong>I think I'm in a better place today. Some days those feelings just come on so strong and I just have to feel them and let them happen. Writing about them helps, helps me process and figure out what exactly I'm feeling because sometimes it's all a jumbled mess of anger, sadness, and fear. <br /><br />I think I'm probably going to have those days forever. And that's the way it is. That's the life I lead now. All I can do is be stronger than the sadness, stronger than the fear and anger. All I can do remember where I came from in my faith and remember why I don't want to go back there.<br /><br />Thanks Tawnia for the comment. I love footprints. That made me smile.</strong>awalkthroughthevalleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08373728137187547382noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5952417315131938147.post-59321777055958757572008-08-08T17:41:00.000-07:002008-08-08T15:42:19.551-07:00Alexander's photo slideshow<div><embed src="http://www.onetruemedia.com/share_view_player?p=42c59bc2e1dbedd5a18bd" quality="high" scale="noscale" width="350" height="328" wmode="transparent" name="FLVPlayer" salign="LT" flashvars="&p=42c59bc2e1dbedd5a18bd&skin_id=0&host=http://www.onetruemedia.com" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" pluginspage="http://www.macromedia.com/go/getflashplayer"></embed><div style="margin:0px;font:12px/13px verdana,arial,sans-serif;line-height:20px;padding-bottom:15px;width:350px;text-align:center;"><a href="http://www.onetruemedia.com/share_player_link?p=42c59bc2e1dbedd5a18bd&skin_id=0&source=emplay" target="_blank"><img src="http://www.onetruemedia.com/share_player_link_image/42c59bc2e1dbedd5a18bd/0.gif" style="border:0px;" width="350" /></a><br/><a href="http://www.onetruemedia.com/landing?&utm_source=emplay&utm_medium=txt2" target="_blank" style="text-decoration:none;">Photo and video editing at <span style="text-decoration:underline;">www.OneTrueMedia.com</span></a></div></div>awalkthroughthevalleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08373728137187547382noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5952417315131938147.post-50915745609128536612008-08-08T15:29:00.000-07:002008-08-08T15:38:51.103-07:00Is any of it real?<strong>I'm having a really bad day. A day where you know what? I'm tired of telling everyone it's ok and that God loves us and all that bullsh*t. What the hell kind of God takes someone's child away? And he does this EVERY SINGLE DAY. Not a day goes by where somewhere in the world someone's precious child isn't ripped from their arms. What kind of God lets that happen? <br /><br />Sometimes I try to convince myself that it's not God that does this, it's satan instead. But really, if God is so much stronger than satan to be able to cast him into hell for eternity, isn't he tough enough to stand up to him and say no to childhood death? And if he's not, is he really that powerful at all?<br /><br />I read these blogs of people who have lost a child but just continue to worship God and at times I am in awe of their faith and at times I want to grab them by the head and shake them and ask them who they are kidding. Maybe God is just an excuse we hide behind when bad things happen so that we don't have to face reality. Maybe our little bitty psyche's can't bear the thought of never seeing our children again so we cling tightly to that story the pastor told us about heaven. I think this might be true because in reality the bible says that earthly people won't even matter to us when we get there, that we will simply be in awe of the presence of the lord. So why do we talk about seeing our children in heaven? It doesn't even make sense!<br /><br />I try to beleive, I try to keep my faith. I try to understand but the big man upstairs doesn't seem to be giving me anything that I need to understand. I've asked for help, I've asked for answers. I haven't gotten any. Sometimes I think if there is a God that he has some twisted and sick sense of humor to sit and watch so much suffering. Even the most uncaring people in the world usually couldn't fathom watching a child suffer in a hospital room with his chest ripped open, or slowly die from cancer, yet God does it EVERY DAY! What the hell?! And then as parents we are suppose to thank him? We are suppose to worship him? Hey dude, thanks for making pain the only thing my child ever knew and then making sure the rest of us knew what pain was too.... how nice. <br /><br />Today my faith is tested. I'm tired of praying to a God who never seems to answer. </strong>awalkthroughthevalleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08373728137187547382noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5952417315131938147.post-14175928496156431062008-04-04T12:05:00.000-07:002008-07-27T12:05:56.280-07:00That knot<strong>Ugh. Few people know THAT knot. The knot that the parents of Ethan Powell have in the pit of their stomachs this evening. It feels literally like your heart is in your throat and you feel like you are holding your breath but then you realize you aren't. <br /><br />You sit there in that room, doctors sit there with you. You all watch the monitors because you all know that there isn't one person in that room that can save that child right now. It's up to God and that baby at this moment. You watch the numbers and they mean so much, ever drift of a blood pressure every drift of a sat number means the world to you. You watch those numbers and when they start trending quickly in the wrong direction you see the doctors tense and the nurses look at them for instructions.<br /><br />The monitor constantly sings it's scary song..... ding ding ding....ding ding..... over and over and over again no matter how many times they silence it. The blinking red numbers scream at you. Nothing else in the world exists. You don't hear the sounds of others talking, you don't hear the sounds of ventilators or the hustle and bustle in the hallways. You only hear the sound of that monitor and hang on to every word that is muttered from a doctor or nurses mouth..... listening, waiting for some indication that they know what's happening, for some clue.<br /><br />You want to run away and hide and you want to run to your child and scoop them up and take them away from the invisible danger in the room. You can do none of those things. Helplessness takes over and you wish you could even cry but you can't. You are so far above, or maybe below any emotion.<br /><br />The staff tries to comfort and inform you. You shake your head but don't really hear what they are saying......... the dinging of the monitor is so overwhelmingly loud and fills the entire room with it's terror. You sit there, the most insignificant person in the room yet the one with so much to lose. You are frozen in your seat as people glance your way, waiting for you to crumble. Yet they don't understand that you are so far beyond that, you are on autopilot. Time slows down, seconds become hours and that god forsaken dinging won't stop. You feel your heart pound and think it might just burst at any moment........ <br /><br />Maybe it gets better. Maybe with enough blood, enough medications, enough equipment they finally stabalize him. You walk to his bedside and hold him as much as you can, terrified to touch him, terrified to feel. You look at his battered body and, maybe selfishly, thank God for another chance. You push the thought from your mind as to what this constant turmoil is doing to him because the alternative is too much to bear. You kiss him and dust yourself off as doctors beging to put their chairs away and filter out of the room with a sigh of relief. But the knot never goes away, it stays in it's spot in your stomach, sometimes waning for a time only to be brought back up when it all starts over again.<br /><br />You never know when that monitor is going to start, and you never know if this is the time they won't get it to stop. Your life hangs in the balance almost as much as your child's does, your very sanity dependant on what the next 30 seconds will mean. This is a ride you can't get off. A scary room you can't find the exit to. The walls close in on you.<br /><br />Imagine living this every day. Imagine living this every hour. The rollercoaster ride from hell. Just imagine..... and you will understand why when it's finally over the relief is as welcomed as anything. The pain is there, but at least you know that this pain will be different, in some ways easier to bear in some ways more difficult. Because the rollercoaster, the teetering between life and death is now over and the decision has been made. Once again you kiss his tiny body, afraid to touch him, and exhale slowly as the knot, for the first time in a very long time........... fades away.<br /><br />For years you continue to hear the sound of that monitor in your head, it wakes you from your dreams and sometimes prevents sleep from coming altogether. But now, you get to wake from the nightmare from time to time.<br /><br />Please pray for Ethan tonight. Pray for him to be healed in whichever way God has planned for him. Comfort his parents and give them the strength to hold on and if the time comes, the strength to let go.....</strong>awalkthroughthevalleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08373728137187547382noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5952417315131938147.post-43060025237252680262008-01-30T15:40:00.000-08:002008-07-23T15:41:24.441-07:00I failedMonday was Alex's 2nd birthday. I failed at it. I had planned this whole thing, bringing helium balloons out to the cemetary and tying notes to the strings from the kids and Craig and I and letting them fly to heaven, much like we did at his funeral. When the day came to actually do it, however, I froze. The thought of going to the cemetary became overwhelming to me and I just couldn't make myself do it. What the hell my problem is I don't know. I haven't been there in like a year and a half........ A YEAR AND A HALF! Seriousely, what the hell is the matter with me?awalkthroughthevalleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08373728137187547382noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5952417315131938147.post-89157534470120718242007-11-21T15:39:00.000-08:002008-07-23T15:40:06.233-07:00The pit<strong>The day my child died, I fell into the pit of grief. My friends watched me struggle through daily life, waiting for the person I once was to arise from the pit, not realizing "she" is gone forever.<br />The pit is full of darkness, heartache and despair, it paralyzes your thoughts, movements and ability to ration. The pit leaves you forever changed, unable to surface the person you once were.<br /><br />Some of my pre-grief friends gather around the top of the pit, waiting for the old me to appear before their eyes, not understanding what’s taking me so long to emerge. After all, in their eyes, I've been in the pit for quite sometime. Yet in my eyes, it seems as if I fell in only yesterday.<br />Not all of my pre-grief friends are gathered around the top of the pit. Some are helping me with the climb out of the darkness. They climb side by side with me from time to time, but mostly they climb ahead of me, waiting patiently at each plateau. Even with these friends I sometimes wonder if they are also waiting for the pre-grief me to magically appear before their eyes.<br />Then there are the casual acquaintances, you know the ones who say, "Hi, how are you?" when they really don't care or really want to know. These are the people who sigh in relief, that it is my child who died and not theirs. You know...the "better them, than me" attitude.<br /><br />My post-grief friends (and a rare pre-grief friend) are the ones who climb with me, side by side, inch by inch, out of the pit with me. They are able to reassure me when I need reassurance, rest when I need resting, and encourage me to move forward when I don't have the strength. They have no expectations, no memories and no recollection of how I "should" be. They want me to get better, to smile more often and find joy in life, but they also accepted the person I've become. The "person" who is emerging from the pit.<br /><br />Author Unknown</strong>awalkthroughthevalleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08373728137187547382noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5952417315131938147.post-73865640171752372632007-11-18T15:38:00.000-08:002008-07-23T15:39:12.540-07:00Bitter old hag<strong>As I've been sitting here for the past little bit reading some caringbridge sites of kiddos we either knew when we were in the joint, or who we have come to "know" through those we knew I have been reflecting and thinking about me, my positions on things...<br /><br />I notice I've been bitter lately. Lately being the past couple years or so. Alex would be coming up on turning TWO now you know. TWO! It astonishes me that 2 whole years have nearly gone by... anyway back to my point.<br /><br />I've been bitter, I've been angry, I've been downright pissed off. But you know what? Who wouldn't be? I have to talk to people, see people, and hear about people who take what they have for granted. They go about their day. They go to work and spend 2 hours a day with their families and somehow that is ok. They just don't realize how quickly EVERYTHING can be gone.<br /><br />I'm simply sick and tired of people who take it all for granted. Every single morning I wake up and nearly cry because my kids are still here for one more day. Every night I go to bed begging God to give me another day. I have learned the hard way that people don't stay here forever. So many people don't think they take it for granted but they DO. You can see it in their day to day lives.<br /><br />I guess I get so angry about certain issues because I know what it feels like to just wish you had that 1 more day. I wish I didn't need to sleep during those 7 weeks, I wish I didnt' leave him for a second to eat, use the bathroom, whatever. But I did. Those things I really did HAVE to do. People walk away from their kids every day for things they don't HAVE to do and I can't fathom making that choice.<br /><br />People worry about such stupid shit. They worry about sports games and shopping and if their dry cleaning will be ready by 5. Why? What the hell does any of that stuff matter? It consumes people's lives and I can't figure it out. WHO THE HELL CARES?! Is your home standing? Is your heat working? Is your family safe and healthy? Then get down on your damn knees and thank the lord above.<br /><br />It's just really frustrating. Yep I'm angry and bitter and all that other stuff. But I'm grateful and happy too. I don't take one minute for granted anymore. It's been said that I am a changed person since Alex died. Well of course I am! I'm a whole lot different than I use to be. I know I've become a lot less tolerant and likeable. My mission in life isn't to make everyone else happy, i'm sorry to say. It's to make my life and that of my family the most rewarding it can be.<br /><br />I'm still learning. I'm learning who I was, I'm learning who I am, and I'm learning who I want to be. Forgive me if I confuse or anger you in that process but it's a ride you can't join me on. It's a ride that won't be over for a long time and maybe I'll never figure things out. You have the choice to ride it beside me or to stray away. I don't have any choice in the matter but you do, use it. Don't pretend, don't patronize, and don't make my grieving/learning/growing process about you, it's not. It's about me and it's a very difficult path to follow because there's never a straight line........ the path zig zags, loops, and sometimes just simply turns around and goes back where it came from. All I know is that for right now I am sorting things out and I am keeping those close to me as close as I can.</strong>awalkthroughthevalleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08373728137187547382noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5952417315131938147.post-54996173136522794212007-10-07T15:37:00.000-07:002008-07-23T15:38:11.218-07:00Life aint always beautiful<strong>Isn't that the truth. 2 children who's websites I frequent died yesterday. They both had a brain tumor called a diffuse pontine glioma. It is inoperable and treatment is aimed at slowing it's growth. The average life expectancy is 6-12 months. <br /><br />This morning Hailey and I were talking about hard subjects, as we frequently do. We talked about Alex and how he fought so hard to be here and how people aren't always perfect but sometimes the least perfect have the most to give. I wonder sometimes what the greater plan is for us all. The why's are so difficult to deal with sometimes. I don't think I will ever understand why Alex died. I don't know that any parent who loses a child ever gets that moment of clarity.<br /><br />I think about all the children who are simply denied the chance. The babies who are lost to "medical termination" upon their parents finding out they have down syndrome, or some other abnormality that makes them "less than perfect" in the eyes of the world. It makes me angry. I wish I had my disabled child, I WISH I could push him in a wheelchair, I wish I could hug him, kiss him, and sing him to sleep. <br /><br />I am comforted in the fact that we did everything we could. He was in an amazing hospital and every medical opportunity was available to him. We could have "let him go" as some would have. HE chose when it was time to go, I'm grateful for that.<br /><br />Every one of us is less than perfect in some way. If we ought to abort a baby because it's not "normal", where is the line? Aborting one who has a cataract? who will need a brace for scoliosis? And when is the line drawn? If they are taken before birth it's ok, but when will we start moving on to sacrificing 2 year olds who contract a disease? I just don't understand how we think we have the right to decide who lives or dies. It doesn't make sense.<br /><br />I was once reminded that God gives us free will, but he also gave us a brain. But did he intend us to use that brain to make decisions best left to him? Where is THAT line? You have to draw it somewhere.......... so where?<br /><br />I struggle with these questions. A few days before Alex died I finally broke down completely and relinquished control to the lord. Right there in front of the dormatories of the University, in front of the busy hospital. I'm sure I looked like a lunatic but the weeks of what felt like running through water finally caught up with me and I had nothing left to give, I had no fight left in me. I told God he wins, I give him control. It was then that the put my son out of his misery. I never gave up on Alex but I gave up my selfish fight for him with God. <br /><br />Some people don't understand the decisions C and I make regarding our family. It's difficult sometimes because it would be senseless for us to learn the lesson we did, to give up control, and then try to take it back now. But what does God intend for us to have control of, and what does he solely take control over? I just don't know.<br /><br />To some people it's all so simple. It's just not for us. I don't think things will ever be simple again. Things use to be so simple even though we didn't realize it, now the seemingly smallest things just aren't anymore.<br /><br />It's exhausting sometimes. This post probably makes no sense either hehe, it's one of those that I'm just typing as I'm thinking so I apologize for that. It's one of those more for me than you kinda posts.</strong>awalkthroughthevalleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08373728137187547382noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5952417315131938147.post-11258967567906243592007-09-16T15:36:00.000-07:002008-07-23T15:37:13.424-07:00Post traumatic stress<strong>Why do some kids get thier miracles and some don't? I don't know that I will ever understand that. I find myself envious of people who get it. It's very strange to read the story of a kid who made it back from deaths door and have this strangely sad feeling. Most people read stories like that and feel better about life, I do not.<br /><br />I've been trying to get myself back in my "happy place". I tried to find a counselor to talk to and none are taking new patients that my insurance covers...... it figures. <br /><br />Many people don't really know this about me but I've had Obsessive Compulsive Disorder since childhood. (I know, if you've seen my disaster of a house you are really surprised huh?) And it's really flared up again. I almost don't even notice it until I'll be instinctively making all the vents in the car perfectly straight or something and Craig will just mess them all up and tell me it's OK if they don't all face perfectly forward...... no it's not! hehe We joke about it a lot because it's really just stupid things like that, but it's just the overwhelming need to have certain things perfect. Hard to explain.<br /><br />It's not just silly things either, the obsessive thoughts are what is debilitating. The "death monster" that I spoke of before. It's like if I don't do the "rituals" then something bad is going to happen. You'd think people with OCD would live in immaculately clean surroundings. That's not really true. The silly rituals get in the way of things and some days you can spend hours just making sure every sock in the drawer is folded the right way, that the other stuff doesn't get done. So while my house may be a rat trap, there is something that is perfect....... dumb eh?<br /><br />Anyway. I'm working on it. I go back and forth with it getting bad and then it becoming nearly nonexistant. Now that i've realized that's what this is I just have to recognize it and deal with it and get it to regress again.<br /><br />But for now, don't mess with my vents! hehe</strong>awalkthroughthevalleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08373728137187547382noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5952417315131938147.post-25439156570289787512007-09-04T15:34:00.000-07:002008-07-23T15:36:04.482-07:00When reality isn't<strong>In a wierd way, i've spent the past almost 18 months in a sort of denial. To ask me I would have vehemently swore that I was not in denial, I was coping the best way I could. But I was/am.<br /><br />I don't think i've ever taken the time to totally process. When Alex was born and got sick, those weeks were such a constant roller coaster. There was never any downtime to think. I never had the chance to really say "Ok, my child was born gravely ill, this is our reality"<br /><br />After he died, we threw ourselves into things, we got pregnant with Nathan, again, never taking the time to process. To really accept that our child died.<br /><br />Now that things are leveling out. I find myself realizing that my child was born, he was critically ill, and he died. HE DIED! I read stories of other kids who have died and I feel such a deep sympathy for thier families, it's like I don't realize sometimes that I am one of them. <br /><br />I remember the Monday before Alex died, the day when the inate "knowing" took over and without being told, I knew he was going to die. I remember making the kids lunch and crying that whole day. Hailey asked what was wrong and I just blurted out "I think Alex is going to die"..... I felt SO bad about saying that, watching the tears well up in her eyes. Yes he had taken a turn for the worse but there had never been a time when anyone said to me "you know, Alex probably isn't going to pull through". I started to question myself. Why would I say that to her?! A child!<br /><br />That afternoon at the hospital I talked to the child-family life specialist and I didn't tell him that I had told Hailey that, but he said something to me that made a ton of sense. He told me that the worst thing I could do is hide from my kids. They KNOW when something is going on without being told and if you don't say anything, they get scared and upset. If you say it, then at least they know what's going on. You see, kids have a great way of making other people's problems about them. Not that they are selfish, they just always think that if an adult is upset it's somehow thier fault. So by saying what I said, Hailey knew that I was upset about Alex, and it wasn't her fault. <br /><br />This grieving process. It's hard to get a handle on. There is no right or wrong way to do it and that makes it extremely difficult to know if the things I do, my coping mechanisms, are they normal or abnormal? Am I grieving in a "healthy" way, or not?<br /><br />I suppose I'm greiving in my way. And that makes it the right way. I just wish someone would come along and tell me how I can put this behind me....how I can understand. <br /><br />He's been on my mind a lot more than usual lately. It struck me odd the other day when I saw a kid who had a feeding tube and the mom was tending to his needs. I got sad and thought how I wish I had the opportunity. Who WISHES for a sick child? It's so strange, like I was robbed of being mom to an Alex who would have been normal and healthy, but then I was robbed of an Alex who was sick and needed such indepth care. I had prepared myself for spending the rest of my life tending to his needs with medications, doctor visits, surgeries, procedures. And I'm grieving THAT too. I guess anything you prepare for and dont' get is a loss.....</strong>awalkthroughthevalleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08373728137187547382noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5952417315131938147.post-80339733522873099242007-08-08T15:33:00.000-07:002008-07-23T15:34:55.463-07:00The death monster<strong>Today I'm struggling. I'm fighting back the tears. I have sat here all day feeling like there was something I needed to do but I can't figure out what it is. Slowly it has crept up on me, the sadness.<br /><br />I feel like I missed my opportunity to grieve. I shoved it all away for so long and now the people who were once there don't even know I still struggle as much as I do. I can't bring it up to Craig,. I can't make him sad.<br /><br />So I deal with it alone. It isn't fair that I have to live every day in panic. Have you ever had a panic attack? Try having one for a year and a half straight and not telling anyone. I really don't know how physically I can keep going on like this, honestly. Stress isn't good for anybody and the constant unrelenting stress all day every day............ oy.<br /><br />Yesterday we were at the grocery store. Nathan was in his new shopping cart cover (I've become a germ-a-phobe) andhe got tired so I laid him down it in on h is little matching pillow. Craig was pushing and I looked over from my shopping list and in my mind....... he was in a coffin. <br /><br />I feel like there are these death monsters beating down the door all the time. Just waiting for a chance to come in and steal me, Craig, or one of the kids away forever. Nathan is sleeping.... is he breathing? Jacksen has a leg cramp.... is it cancer? Christian is tired today...... is he gravely ill? I have a headache...... is it a tumor? I have to go to the store, but I can't go because it's Saturday evening and there might be a drunk driver. I need a filling, the lidocaine makes my heart race..... will I have a heart attack? Craig has a cold....... is it lung cancer?<br /><br />Can you imagine living life like that? That's an ALL DAY thing for me. <br /><br />I'm tired. Physically tired, emotionally tired. <br /><br />UPDATE a few hours later:<br /><br />I think I just need to continue to use this journal sometimes just to rant and vent and cry. Then I can pick up and dust off .I have felt a lot better since I posted this entry. I am going to make an appt in the morning with a counselor. Maybe they can't help me, maybe they can't understand.... but maybe I need one place where I can just be REAL for an hour a week..</strong>awalkthroughthevalleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08373728137187547382noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5952417315131938147.post-3732137646665213372007-06-29T15:30:00.000-07:002008-07-23T15:31:57.671-07:00A new beginning<strong> I stopped by to check the guestbook entries and saw Trista's entry and cried. Some days I yearn for that moment of healing........ that moment that the hole in my own heart closes just a little and then I realize that it closes a little every day. I don't have a "superman" scar that people can see, but some days the scars are covering my entire being.<br /><br />I always knew that our experience was for a reason, I think that I thought that one day someone would just knock on my door and tell me what I was suppose to do with it. God and I have many conversations about that. I have trouble reading between the lines and seeing the rainbow for the clouds sometimes.<br /><br />Every day that I have lived since the day Alexander was born has been a new day to do something with my life. In the past year and a half I have had to rebuild myself and I still sometimes wonder if I ever will be a complete person again. I have gained confidence, I have gained tremendous knowledge and compassion, yet I have lost such a part of me that I can't get back. I am just now realizing that maybe I don't need it back. Maybe Alex's illness and death was my rebirth. Maybe I got the opportunity to start new in life, that's a very liberating idea.<br /><br />I'm different now. At first I resented the stares, the saddened looks as people glanced my way. Now in a way I cherish that. When Alex died all expectations that I put on myself of what I thought I needed to be melted away and I was given a chance to become anything I wanted to be. <br /><br />I think I have come a long way in that venture. I think I'm a good person now. I didn't always feel that way. I can look at myself in the mirror and although I've aged physically this past year, I like what I see. I see a woman who has finally become something. I have finally gotten my career where I want it to be, I have finally become the mother I wanted to be. <br /><br />I don't think I've dealt with it all in ways that were expected. I think you have a choice, you can lay down and die or you can realize that quite honestly the death of your child is the worst that life can do to you..... I've survived it and that means I have the strength to do anything. I refuse to lay down and let my spirit die.......</strong>awalkthroughthevalleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08373728137187547382noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5952417315131938147.post-11050032178375420292007-06-26T15:31:00.000-07:002008-07-23T15:33:51.640-07:00Every mother's nightmare<strong><br />Every mother pushes the thought from her mind. The thought that something could happen to her child. It wakes us from our sleep, we think we would fail to survive it.<br /><br />Some of us have for whatever reason have to live it. Somehow we do survive it but how much of our soul is still intact isn't always certain.<br /><br />It started with the vasectomy, kind of strange isn't it? Then the reversal. Then by the grace of God the positive pregnancy test. An uneventful pregnancy, perfect in every aspect until at 36 weeks my water broke.<br /><br /><br />He was born in January 2006 at 2:32am. A petite 4 lbs 14 oz. The next 16 hours were pure exhausted bliss. Until he stopped breathing...<br /><br />That night we heard the dreaded words that would change our lives. Heart defect. We traveled to one hospital to stabalize him, then another to fix him.<br /><br />We lived in a Ronald Mcdonald house for over 6 weeks.<br />Our lives turned on it's nose. Normal became a thing of the past. Our lives were dictated by every breath of a ventilator, every blood test, every ultrasound, CT scan. They say it's a roller coaster. It is. Imagine that feeling as you are going up the track.... the anticipation. Then imagine going over the hill to the first big drop. The track could well derail and hit the ground.... or it could be fine and climb another hill only to drop again. There is no certainty. So many days and nights I would sit in his room, 3 or 4 chairs aligned in a row with doctors and me just sitting there with baited breath waiting for Alex to show us all what to do next.<br />Alex showed us strength far beyond anyone's comprehention. So many times he pulled through from deaths door. He taught us to live in the moment, because you never know what the next may bring.<br /><br />Alex showed us patience. He endured so much to stay with us until the moment we were strong enough to live without him.<br /><br />The day he died changed my already changed world. My children now knew that children die. My husband and I now completely understood the uncertainty and precariousness of life. We learned to take each day as the gift that it is and never let one day go by where you are not happy with the way you lived it. It might be your last. <br />The day we put his tiny body in the ground made me realize that in an instant, life is over. It's that quick. You live, you die, you are put in the ground, and people walk away. All that really matters is what you do between the day you are born and the day you die. How many lives you touch, how many lives you make better in some tiny way.<br /><br /><br />So, from that day forward, I have tried and will continue to try to make each day count. I will try to live without regret. I will try to teach others the lessons that my son taught me. I learned more in 6 weeks than I will teach in a lifetime</strong>.awalkthroughthevalleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08373728137187547382noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5952417315131938147.post-9146698257292849672007-03-16T15:29:00.000-07:002008-07-23T15:30:09.264-07:00That day<strong>I always thought that today, the first anniversary of Alex's death that I'd have something extremely profound to post here. I don't. So I'd like to just remember for a moment. Remember a day that will be hard for me to remember and hard for you to read.<br /><br />I knew. I knew days before. I don't know how I knew but I did. I talked to my friend Brandy on Monday about it. I kept telling myself that I was being stupid, he'd be fine. <br /><br />I saw so many other babies get better. I saw their chests closed, I saw thier mothers hold them. <br /><br />I felt the need for the other kids to come and see Alex. That didn't happen because they got sick. I so badly now wish they had. <br /><br />That day, that phone call. Hearing those words "Alexander has taken a turn for the worse, please come" I knew then. There's something strangly frightening in those things you know without being told. <br /><br />I ran. I ran through the snow until I couldn't breathe. I ran some more. I ran into the hospital and waited for an eternity for those stupid elevators. I ran through the halls....... I wanted to run the other way. I got to the unit and I took the back way to his room, subconciousely I knew if I ran past the desk someone would try to stop me. I needed to go in there, I needed to see. <br /><br />I ran into the room and saw 2 of our doctors standing on either side of Craig. I'm not sure if the room was silent or if I just wasn't hearing the chaos that was going on, I don't remember hearing anything. It must have been loud though because I had to holler Craig's name 3 or 4 times before one of the doctors heard me, I was standing right next to him.<br /><br />I didn't look at Alex's bed. I asked if he was coding and was told yes. I had always envisioned breaking down hearing words like that, I was running on pure adrenaline I guess because I was very matter of fact about it. <br /><br />They wanted more tests. We all knew it was futile. I'm glad we did those tests though.<br /><br />We go back into Alex's room. The nurse is doing chest compressions. I look down at his little body and see his chest ripped back open. I can see the metal clips holding his sternum together. The mama bear in me took over, stop hurting him! I looked at the nurses teary face and told her to stop, she looked at the dr who nodded his head and lifted her hands off his chest. I kissed Alex and told him I loved him, so did Craig. He was already gone, his soul was gone to heaven long ago. Someone turned the monitor off. That monitor had been my lifeline for so long, my information station. The only real consistant thing I had, that was probably the most real thing, seeing that monitor go black.<br /><br />I sat down and she put Alex in my arms. The most primal emotions took over and I cried like I have never before in my life. I wailed, I couldn't breathe. So many thoughts filled my head and then were replaced by new and sometimes conflicting ones in seconds. I was strangely relieved. I kept saying in my head "it's over, it's finally over" and then guilt for thinking that would come. For once his peace didn't come from a medicine pump, his chest didn't forcefully move up and down in the unnatural way a ventilator breathes. He was at peace, for the first time ever.<br /><br />they asked if we wanted a private room. I couldn't bear to move from HIS space. I felt like if we moved then that started the change and I wasn't ready for the change just yet. I needed to do it slowly, one step at a time.<br /><br />Telling the kids was excrutiating. Watching their hearts break in two. Watching them hold his tiny body. Shaylin's words "momma he's cold" will ring in my head forever and ever. <br /><br />I wanted to stay forever and hold him but I coudln't. The physical changes were setting in and I didn't want to remember him that way. I said goodbye and laid him on the bed that he had laid on for the past 6 weeks, in his little blue pajamas and hat, the only clothes he'd ever worn. I turned around and walked away. I walked away from him. I had always refused to leave the cities without him, and now I had to. <br /><br />I left a peice of my soul there too.</strong>awalkthroughthevalleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08373728137187547382noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5952417315131938147.post-61102973577045778372007-01-27T15:27:00.000-08:002008-07-23T15:29:03.203-07:00Happy Birthday Alex<strong>One year ago at this very time my body began the process of birthing you. As I sit here holding your brand new brother in my arms I still hold a hurt in my heart. All the hope and joy we felt one year ago still haunts me. We had no idea what a roller coaster ride we were in for and today it's all very surreal. <br /><br />Thank you Alex for helping your brother into this world safely. We can see your spirit and determination in him already. Thank you for the gift that you and god gave us. A part of you lives on...<br /><br />Happy birthday sweet boy. I love you and miss you to the depths of my soul.</strong>awalkthroughthevalleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08373728137187547382noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5952417315131938147.post-27556039764932046722006-07-09T15:25:00.000-07:002008-07-23T15:27:17.907-07:00A poem from mommya little something I wrote.<br /><br />Sometimes........<br /><br />Sometimes I am scared, scared that I will lose again, scared that my memories will slip away.<br /><br />Sometimes I am angry, angry that such a beautiful person was taken too soon, angry that I didn't get to watch you grow up.<br /><br />Sometimes I am grateful, grateful that we had those weeks with you, even though we couldn't hold you, you were there within our grasp showing us wonders that we had not yet been worthy to experience.<br /><br /><strong>Sometimes I am sad, sad because I miss you so much my heart hurts. <br /><br />Sometimes I am guilty, guilty because I might have been able to change things if I had only known<br /><br />Sometimes I am happy, remembering how your strength and spirit filled the room, seeing you do it your way regardless of the "rules".<br /><br />Sometimes I cry, I cry tears of sadness, I cry tears of heartbreak, and every now and then I cry tears of gratitude.<br /><br />Sometimes I hope. I hope that I was a good mother to you even though the obstacles made it difficult for me to be a proper mother. I also hope that I can be half the person you were.<br /><br />There are a lot of "sometimes". But there is one "always" and that is...... Always I will love you. <br /><br />I know that time in heaven goes so fast, by the time you turn around to see if I am there with you, I will be. You feel no pain, you feel no fear. When I look up at the night sky and see that one brightest star, I imagine you sitting on it looking down on us and giving us your strength that we can go on without you. I may never understand, but at least I can wake up each morning knowing that nothing can ever take you from my heart.<br /><br />I love you Alex, and I misse you terribly. For once in my life I'm not afraid to die, when it's my time someday I know that I will forever be with you again.</strong>awalkthroughthevalleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08373728137187547382noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5952417315131938147.post-9649737564324358242006-07-07T15:23:00.000-07:002008-07-23T15:25:05.108-07:00One direction or the other please<strong>Things seem to be getting harder for me and easier at the same time. I don't know how or why. Yesterday we went to our first midwife appointment and since it was my birthday the midwife agreed to let us take a quick peek with the ultrasound machine since it's far too early to hear the heartbeat with the dopper. The machine they have in the office there is ancient, and not very good and for a while we could see the baby, but no flicker of a heartbeat. I stared at the screen, willing that little heart to show it's presence.......... and then it did! Such a relief. <br /><br />So why do I feel sad? I feel sad that this isn't Alex. I feel bad that I find myself thinking that another baby couldn't possibly ever be as special as he was. I feel bad that I don't know if I can bond with this baby because I'm afraid he or she will be taken too. <br /><br />I don't feel good physically. I feel weak. I feel like something is wrong inside my body and I find myself always fearing for my own life. Something IS wrong with my body...... my heart is broken and I'm not sure it will ever really heal.<br /><br />Grieving my child is something I could not prepare for. Initially not even as much as now. See at first people expected me to be a basket case. Now.... it seems people expect a person to just kind of get over it in a way, move on. It's so difficult to do that. Part of me never wants to move on, to get further and further from our lives with Alex. I am losing my memories, a little at a time and sometimes it just feels like it never really happened at all. I mean in so many ways it's like this past year never happened, because our lives by all outward appearances are exactly the same as they were a year ago. 5 kids, expecting another, Craig working his tail off, me trying to keep things running smoothly and struggling with the constant changes that having children brings. The only difference really is we have pictures on the wall of a baby who we never got to know, we live day to day with loss on the inside, while being "normal" on the outside. </strong>awalkthroughthevalleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08373728137187547382noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5952417315131938147.post-7554780827882770092006-07-02T15:22:00.000-07:002008-07-23T15:23:50.061-07:00Kids and grief<strong>Wow, what a pity party that last entry was eh? Jeez Kat. I'm told I'm allowed to have pity parties now and then so I guess I should just take advantage of my right to whine and do it every so often.<br /><br />I really am unsure if I've accepted things though. I've decided that after the holiday I'm going to call and make an appointment with the family therapy services. There just isn't any reason not to. If not for me, for my kids. <br /><br />It seems that the kids' grief is rearing it's head now. It's really a learning experience. Kids do grieve differently than we do. Christian has been pretty teary lately and when prodded he admits he misses Alex. It's hard for Craig and I to ask the questions we need to and get to the bottom of things with them because our kids hurting so much is pretty hard for us to bear. So it's time to talk to someone. <br /><br />It's really strange how the grief changes and evolves. In the early weeks you are under this fog and it's difficult to remember, to think, to process thoughts at all let alone difficult ones. That fog very very slowly lifts and then I've had a period of "I'm ok" You feel a bit empowered, because you know you have just experienced the worst emotional hurt possible in this world, and you survived it.<br /><br />Now, the fog is gone the acute pain has gone. But now the questions rear thier ugly heads. Replacing the acute pain is a dull ache that won't go away. You don't feel quite so empowered anymore because you aren't entirely sure what life is for you now. <br /><br />It's all just impossible to put into words because I struggle to understand it myself.</strong>awalkthroughthevalleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08373728137187547382noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5952417315131938147.post-10707141633645820322006-07-01T15:21:00.000-07:002008-07-23T15:22:50.691-07:00Nothing makes sense<strong>Sometimes I wonder if I'm just not in a huge state of denial.... I don't visit the cemetary and I'm starting to feel insanely guilty for that. Maybe it's because although I think I've accepted it, I really haven't. In so many aspects I'm still living Alex's life........ maybe I have yet to realize his death?<br /><br />Lately the whole thing has just seemed kind of surreal. Like there's no possibly way all this has happened. I feel like it was this crazy dream, one of those dreams that haunts you long after you wake up even though you know it was only a dream.<br /><br />Maybe none of this makes any sense. I don't even thing anyone reads this journal anymore so I'm thinking about discontinuing it. Why should they read it? The adventure is over. The excitement is over.......... all that is left is............ I'm not sure what.</strong>awalkthroughthevalleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08373728137187547382noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5952417315131938147.post-85070228037827137182006-06-30T15:20:00.000-07:002008-07-23T15:21:27.219-07:00A real baby<strong>Last night I had a dream that I was running around this big city and I couldn't find my way. I was afraid, lost, but refused to give up. I woke up and kind of chuckled how that dream so truly reflects the past 5 months. <br /><br />It's hard to beleive that Alex would be 5 months old now. He would be a "real baby" as I like to call babies that are no longer lazy newborns, but are playing and learning. I cannot picture him 5 months old. He is truly forever a newborn to me. <br /><br />I've been very busy. The parade preparation is taking a lot of my time. Bears had to be shipped yesterday, summer in a tourist town is hectic anyway. The kids have been running from one summer school activity to another. <br /><br />Wednesday I had lunch with another heart mommy. The first I've met in this area. It was so nice to just talk and have someone actually GET what I was talking about! Thankfully her sweet daughter is a survivor, but it seems she still went through some feelings of loss, loss of the child they excpected maybe. No one ever really thinks thier child will be born sick, especially when the pregnancy doesn't indicate anything like that. Anyway, we are going to work on implementing a support group in our area. <br /><br />Well, the work is never done! </strong>awalkthroughthevalleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08373728137187547382noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5952417315131938147.post-39657684071195277822006-06-25T15:19:00.001-07:002008-07-23T15:20:22.629-07:00The blame game<strong>I'm finding myself asking some hard questions today, questions that I don't have the answers for. Questions that I'm not sure I WANT to answers to.<br /><br />Did my baby die because of someone's mistake? I'm sure every bereaved parent asks this. You want to blame somebody, you want it to be someone's fault so you have a place to direct your hurt and anger. But...<br /><br />Last night I had a dream. I dreamt I was walking in a beautiful field full of daisies and in the distance I saw a red haired little boy, no bigger than the tallest flower running. I ran to him to realize that I was standing face to face with my son. I scooped him up in my arms and cried the tears that have been dormant for so long. I asked him if he was happy and he said he is. I asked him if there was anything we could have done to save him and he said that Craig and I had done everything we could have, but that he had planned to stay until he had his bleeding problem. After that he got sicker and finally God asked him if he wanted to go home and he said he couldn't stand the pain anymore and went.<br /><br />I know it was a dream. But did the heparing "incident" kill my child? He was doing so well before that, SO well. Sure he had his complications, but he really was improving. Did someone KILL my child? I have the surgical report from that incident, it doesn't jump out at you, was it correct? <br /><br />That dream really upset me. I has knocked down my resolve. I always just convinced myself that he wasn't meant to be here, from the start God had planned to take him back. But what if that wasn't the case? What if he would still be here if someone hadn't screwed up and given him too much heparin. I still don't know the specifics on that, it was all very hush hush and I still remember that evening was the ONLY time, in 6.5 weeks that I had EVER been asked to leave the room during nursing shift change. What were they hiding?<br /><br />In the days that followed that I heard tiny bits at shift changes and what not....... I heard "heparin incident" "got too much heparin". At the time Craig and I, we were too scared to ask. We had no options for Alex at that point besides right where he was at. We had to keep our faith. I even admit I went so far as to tell people things that weren't true about the situation being investigated when it wasn't. Part of that was probably because of my own guilt, I felt a duty to look into it, but I couldn't stand to know. It's something you can't understand unless you are there, your child laying in that bed with nowhere else to go. You just have hang on to any thread that it might have not happened the way it appears. <br /><br />I guess a case could be made that he DID live that night. With a lot of hard work from the docs and nurses he DID live. But did he? That morning everything worked, after that, he never peed again. I remember Dr D telling me that night "if he hadn't bled, I think we could have gotten him closed, so we want to try again asap" but after that, he was just too weak to withstand it. So if that hadn't happened would he have been closed? If he had been closed would he have gotten septic? I don't know what to do. I want to know the answers, I want honesty....... but if no one could be forthright with me before, why would they now? I'm angry. Why didn't anyone just come to us and say "this happened, were sorry?" Because we aren't lawsuit happy people, you know what we would have said? "humans make mistakes, thank you for being honest". But they weren't honest. That's what makes me angry. I think someone may have made a horrible mistake and no one had the decency to tell us.</strong>awalkthroughthevalleyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/08373728137187547382noreply@blogger.com0