Wednesday, January 6, 2010 I really want to be?

I am back from surgery in my private room the same room in which only a little while go was a war zone and my babies birthplace. I am groggy from surgery, sick from drugs, sick with sadness and complete utter devastation. DH is there waiting for me and the nurses kindly tell him that he can stay the night with me so that he will be there for whenever I need him. I need that more then anything else, something that is painful to this day is that he wasn't with me in that moment of my life when I needed him most. It's not his fault, it's no ones's just one of things that he wasn't there. Perhaps for his emotional well being maybe in the long run it's a good thing he wasn't there.....I don't know, we will never know. So DH spent the night we both dropped off into some type of slumber every now and again, through exhaustion and desolation. It was a terrible night the darkest of my life, broken by nurses checking my obs and me requiring assistance with various things. All the nurses were so sweet and gentle with me and DH, we couldn't of asked for anything better in such a horrible situation.

As morning started to break I had a nurse come in to check on me yet again. I don't know why or what came over me, but there was some calm and sense to what I proceed to ask her. I asked if she would pull back the curtains on the window just enough so I could see the sun coming up. She looked at me strangely but followed through with my request. DH asked how I was and through tears I say to him, "This is so hard to say but today is a new day and laying in a darkened room isn't going to give me hope for the future." That same morning a social worker by the name of Maia comes to see us to discuss what will happen now. She is such a sweet and gentle women and we feel calm in her presence. We are advised that because our babies have fallen just shy of 20 weeks their births/deaths won't be registered and there won't be any formal burial. She advises however that we have the option of cremation and the ashes to be returned to us to do what would like with them or a communal cremation. The communal cremation involves our babies being cremated with the other babies born too early that month and their combined ashes interred at a memorial garden at the local cemetery.

Although we are given time to think about it we didn't need it, DH and I both look out the window at the sun coming up on a new and beautiful day and know that our little ones must be with the other little ones to play free in the garden. Maia sits and speaks with us for ages and provides us information on all sorts of avenues for grief counselling and on going help. She leaves us that morning as the blood collection lady has come for my veins. We have agreed to a whole array of testing on both DH and I and our babies to ensure that there are no on-going chromosomal issues that will effect us trying again for a family. The rest of our day is spent, trying to rest, crying, grieving, aching and waiting.........I want to go home, this place hurts too much, I can hear other women and their newborn babies crying on the ward.......I don't want to be here, let me go home.

Thankfully my discharge is arranged for late that afternoon, although I am very physically weak I don't want to be there anymore. Before discharging several of the nurses who attended to me during that critical moment I lost my babies, pay us a visit. They sit and talk with us and cry with us and somehow amongst it all we try to be hopeful. Karen, my Karen I now call her, what a lady she holds us with no boundaries and speaks with us softly and kindly. She passes us a card and tells me, to wait until I am home and ready to read it.......I guess its too painful for both of us, who wants to of witnessed such an event in someones life. I inform Maia on her final visit to us that day that I can't walk out of this room and be confronted by mothers and fathers roaming the halls with their newborns, it's too much, it's too painful. It is decided that I will be wheeled out in a wheelchair, I put on my i-pod with music blaring in my ears and looking down at my lap of which only 24 odd hours ago I could only see partially. We leave and as I am wheeled nurses touch my arm, offer a hug and kiss on the head, a sorry, a frown.........thank god I'm going home.

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