Love's Labor, Lost.........

These are, by far, the most difficult words I have ever written. One year later, I find that it still feels like it happened yesterday. I suppose that will never change. And so as per tradition, I am voluntarily choosing to describe what had happened on that day. That day, and those memories that I will now lock away, deep in my heart, where they belong. July 9th, 2011. The day when Little Bird was born.....


I couldn't sleep. And even though the living room sofa allowed for me to remain available to the other five kids for several weeks, it didn't give many options for comfort. At three o'clock in the morning, I decided to relent to total bed confinement, and went there in search of rest. Achy. Tired. Nothing really out of the realm of pregnancy normal. Nothing to write home about. And certainly nothing to get my oh-so-sexy maternity briefs in a twist over. I eventually fell asleep to reruns of Breaking Bad, and with the idea of this is where I was about to spend the next fourteen weeks. Though, I was hopeful that the inevitable, hormonally driven narcoleptic stage would be kicking in any day, and I'd dream my way thru it. When I awoke hours later, I figured I was shit out of luck. I had no idea that we were out of time. 

"Yes, I understand that every life must end....

Upon opening my eyes, my first thought was of the sensation of pain in my hips. I consider myself to be the biggest weenie in the world, but this wasn't enough to warrant anything more than whining. It felt like I'd been on my feet for hours and hours the day before. I flip-flopped from side to side a few times, thinking a change in position and the theft of MFH's pillows would make all the difference in the world. When it didn't, I opted to seek the forgiveness of the couch. Reasoning that at the very least, I'd have the distraction of the rest of the family. Bed rest sucks. But laying around on your ass all day is one thing. Being totally isolated from the rest of the world is something else entirely. 

....As we sit alone, I know someday, we must go....

An hour later, I started to think that maybe I pulled a muscle. Or, perhaps she was laying on a nerve. She wasn't moving much, but then again, the placenta was anterior. Which meant even her strongest kicks still felt like flutters in the midst of what was then thought to be my twenty sixth week. I'd begun relying on a fetal doppler several times a day for reassurance. It was great piece of mind to have, considering that I was still bleeding, and everyday, from the subchorionic hemorrhage my doctor concluded the chaos to be caused by. But, everything was under control. At least this is what he said nine days earlier. He said that the change in color and consistency was nothing more than a lack of iron, and prescribed supplements to replenish what I was lacking. I was relieved. I'd started to think I was leaking amniotic fluid. But he was the one with the medical degree, and years and years of experience. He'd been my obstetrician for sixteen years, and had never steered me wrong before. I had no reason not to trust his word. 

....Oh, I'm a lucky man, to count on both hands, the one's I love....

I decided to change locations, once again. This time, reverting back to the living room sofa, as I'd left the doppler on the coffee table the night before. I needed to hear her heartbeat, and know that she was okay. The indentation left by my ass upon the couch cushions was still there. So I got comfortable, and spent a good while enveloped in the relief that was the sound of my daughter. Steadily ca-thunk, ca-thunking away in there. Though, I did notice that she wasn't very active. Still, not necessarily abnormal. After all, it was morning, and she was known to get giddy after sunset. Besides, I hadn't eaten anything as of yet, either. I was pretty sure that the sugar from a cup or two of decaf would make all the difference.

....Some folks just have one, yeah others, they've got none.....

Pretty soon, I heard footsteps, and my youngest son entered the room. Neither of us are known to be awake anytime before noon on a mid-summer Saturday, and we kind of gave each other the what-the-hell-are-you-doing-up-this-early eyebrow. And even though I assumed as much, I asked him if he couldn't sleep either, and he concurred. I contemplated making him take pity on me by means of him brewing my pot of coffee, but decided to do it myself. The kitchen was only twenty feet or so away, anyway. Besides, Doc said I could return to light duty if I felt at ease enough. Actually, he'd given me permission to swim and bathe so long as the bleeding was controlled.  In hindsight, I suppose I didn't fully trust his advice, because I came home from that prenatal appointment and slid back into the comfortable divot of the living room couch that it took my ass two months to create. It was summer break. I had plenty of help around the house and with our then three year old daughter for me to be able to stay put. We'd made it that far already. Why mess with a good thing? 

....Stay with me....Let's just breathe.....

Two minutes to make a pot of decaf wasn't going to stop the world, and so I did. When I sat up, I noticed that the charlie horses in my hips began to feel more like tugging. As if someone was pulling down on my joints from the inside. Still, it wasn't painful. Just uncomfortable. Sore. As if I'd slept in a funky position. I leaned from left to right for a few seconds on each side, hoping it would wake the baby up and get her to wiggle off of whatever nerve she was sleeping on. I set up the coffee pot and made my way back to the couch. I must have pissed her off, because she Chuck Norris'd me in the va-jay-jay like a champ, and I had to stop and grab the back of the recliner for support. Not even here yet, and already kicking my ass, I thought. Just as I was about to take another step, oooops! She did it again!

.....Practiced are my sins, never gonna let me win.....

Like I said, I'm a weenie. And I was feeling pretty whiny. So I sent Number Three to summon MFH. Not that I was anywhere near worried. But if I can't sleep, then neither could he. Misery loves company, and I figured it might be worth a shot to connive a little massage out of him. If I played my cards right, it was still early enough to guilt him into fetching breakfast from McDonald's. But I knew that wasn't happening after he bolted down the stairs like a bat out of hell and half asleep ten seconds later. I assured him that yes, I was fine, just feeling icky, and no, I didn't need to call the doctor and become the laughing stock of the local maternity ward. I'd been pregnant enough times to know better, and it simply did not feel enough to cause any unnecessary drama. 

....Under everything, just another human being......

So, while MFH logged onto the interwebs to kill the time that he would have much preferred to have spent sleeping, and admonished me for not telling him that the coffee was decaf instead of high octane, I played with the doppler again, and picked up her heart beat right away. One sixty five. Perfect, and always lovely to hear. I still wasn't feeling much in the way of movement from her, but hearing her set my mind at ease. MFH asked me if there was any changes regarding the bleeding, and actually there was. It seemed lighter. As in, not as dark. Nor was it as heavy. We both hoped that this was a sign that it was starting to subside. I remember telling him that if I could have gone a solid seven days without any, I would consider taking Doc up on his offer of no lifting, no stairs, but possibly sitting on the deck with  my feet in the pool. As I said so, Number Five overheard me on her way downstairs, and immediately rejoiced at this prospect of splashing each other in the hot, July sun.

....I don't want to hurt, there's so much in this world to make me bleed.....

Just as I was about to explain to her a concept of one week in terms that her three year old mind could relate to, another twinge. No big deal. I was sitting upright, and took it as a sign to stretch out. Again, MFH asked me if I thought we should take a ride and at least confirm my paranoia. But again, I declined. I've had back labor before. And front labor. I've had girl labor. And boy labor. I've even experienced standing-on-my-head, pregnant-with-twins labor. This wasn't it. Though, I did agree to timing when these pangs occurred. I knew what contractions felt like, and they felt nothing like that. If they proved to have a pattern, I'd call the Doc and interrupt his golf game. A little while later, I felt it again. 

....Stay with me....You're all I see......

I asked MFH for my laptop. Surely I could find at least a thousand websites that might explain it. And I did. According to, ironically enough, The March of Dimes, dehydration could wreak havoc on a pregnant woman's body. I read instructions that said to try drinking some water, and rest on my left side. Better blood flow to the baby, less ligament strain that way, and if it went away? Voila! They weren't lasting any longer than  ten or fifteen seconds, and weren't coming in any type of regular intervals. Nineteen minutes, twelve minutes, twenty five minutes. Motion seemed to make it stop. Three tall glasses later, I fell asleep to the intro music of Ni Hao Kai-Lan. 

....Did I say that I need you? Did I say that I want you?......

I awoke a half hour later, to the show ending, and more crappy, crampy aches and pains. But they became suddenly and noticeably stronger. On a scale from one to ten, they were an okay-let's-go-see-what's-going-on. I asked for the phone so I could put out the bat signal to my niece. As MFH handed it to me, I tried to sit up but could not. Very unmistakeable pressure. Kryt lives two blocks away, which so happened to be a blessing in that moment. With one eye opened and barely conscious, she answered the phone call from me telling her that I needed her immediately. "Something's wrong. I think I might be going into labor." She walked thru our front door literally two minutes and seventeen seconds later. In the instant that I made eye contact with her, everything went from driving to the hospital ourselves to me begging, in bated breaths, for someone to call 911. 

....Oh, if I didn't I'm a fool, you see. No one knows this more than me...As I come clean....

The kids were all awake, and downstairs by then. MFH relayed info from the dispatcher as Kryt began shuffling our other five out of the room. She directed the boys to take the girls out of eye and ear shot right away. The operator wanted to know how far the contractions were, but even in that moment, I wasn't feeling labor pains. It wasn't contractions. Pressure, and lots of it. Unlike anything I'd ever felt before. They directed me to do nothing to try to stop it.  By the time the paramedics walked thru the door a few short minutes later, I felt what was later confirmed to be the remainder of my amniotic fluid rupture. And suddenly, the world began to fall away around me.

....I wonder everyday, as I look upon your face......

 The medics asked me if I could stand, but I refused. To do so would have meant her surely coming out. I don't remember very much from that moment on. Bits and pieces. MFH moved the coffee table away from the couch, but when he attempted to help me with my slippers, I remember thinking, "Please don't touch me! Don't make me move!"  But they had to assess me, and immediately discovered that her legs were already present. As the four men who answered our call were carrying me by hand, out the door, and to the awaiting rig at the curb, I could do nothing more than apologize. Over and over again. I'm so sorry. How could I have been so naive? How did I not know? 

....Everything you gave, and nothing you would take......

They placed me on the litter and wasted no time. Clothing was cut, leads were placed, and someone told me to go ahead and push. My brain heard this, and understood it, but it refused to comply with my body. Even as they were telling me that her arm and head were lodged, I just couldn't do it. I knew in my heart that it was too soon. Moments later, I needn't have to. My body essentially took over. And suddenly, silence. 

....Stay with me.....You're all I see........

There was no sound. It was as if somebody pressed a world-wide mute button. Nobody said a word. She did not cry, yet I couldn't stop. As the medics fervently worked on her, willing her to live, I refused to look. I kept my head turned away from her direction. For the six weeks prior to her birth, and from the day we learned that we were expecting our third daughter, I'd held onto a mental image of her in my head. Blue eyes, brown hair. The brightest smile that could light up the darkest room. I thought she was gone. And I did not want to remember her in any other way. Not broken. Not bruised. Not struggling. Not hurting. Not like that. I couldn't bring myself to look at what I'd done to her. 

...Did I say that I need you? Did I say that I want you? Oh, if I didn't I'm a fool, you see....

Someone asked if we were going to the closest helipad. Somebody else replied that we were not, and gave instructions to drive directly to the hospital. We knew what that meant, yet we were powerless to say or do anything about it. It was out of our hands, and far beyond our control. And then, all of a sudden. The most precious sound, coming from the tiniest force of life to my right. All of a sudden, one of our Guardian Angels very directly commanded the driver to get to the chopper. All of a sudden, there she was. A miracle, in the flesh, and right in front of me. 

....No one knows this more than me, as I come clean.....

Everything beyond that point was and always will be too emotional to speak of with anyone else besides those of us who've lived it. I honestly can't go any further into it. But I can tell you that the nine minutes that it took to get her to a Level IV NICU felt like an eternity. So many prayers were begged of God in such a short amount of time. And so many more were said every single hour since. 

......Everything you gave.......

It took a very long time for me to write this entry. Everytime I tried to, I would get to a certain point, and press delete. Little Bird's birth is something I've only ever been able to speak to MFH about, and even then it took several days afterward for us to come anywhere near the topic without breaking down. For all intents and purposes, it was, quite frankly, the single worst day of either one of our lives. Even now. Today. As she officially becomes a year old. So much of it hurts so badly to even relive in words. And there are still so many unanswered questions. Questions, beyond what her actual time of birth truly was. Because we will never know. In the midst of the struggle for her life, certain things became lost in translation, and that was one of them. None of us were concerned with marking the minute in that particular moment. Questions, like how far along into that pregnancy was she actually? One of the first to be asked, and repeatedly during her first ten days of life, was in regards to how my due date date was determined. Because a twenty six weeker's right eye isn't typically still fused shut. Questions like why? Why Little Bird? I'd just seen my obstetrician nine days earlier. Why? Why did I not see the signs sooner? Why didn't I fight harder for my daughter? The psychotherapist that treated me the next morning told me that hindsight is twenty-twenty. He said to stop searching for answers, because what's done is done, and we can only move forward. But I will spend the rest of my life carrying this weight in my heart. I know I will. Even if one day, she could ever find it within herself to forgive me, I never will. It was my job. My duty. My responsibility to protect her, and to carry her safely into this world. My failure to do that will always be my biggest regret. 

........Nothing you would take.......

The last twelve months have been wrought with so much raw emotion. They call it a roller coaster, but it felt more like bungee jumping. Even so, they were spent with her, and there is no denying that even the darkest days were blessed because of her presence. The last four months have also had their up's and down's, but again, she is here, and she is so loved. Much of our lives now revolve around her continued recovery, but it is no longer doom and gloom. Days like her accomplishing coming off of the ventilator make the emotional wounds of her birth fade to almost nonexistence. Her specialists tell us that her turning six years old will be the milestone of all milestone. The point in which she will truly be declared out of the woods in terms of simply the severity of her prematurity. We know full well that her being home grants us no guarantees. But what we don't know, just as we didn't one year ago, is what the future holds. And in it's own way, that is a blessing, too. I'd rather not know. Because it makes me appreciate her, in each moment, that much more. 

.....Hold me 'til I die......

There are days when I wake up and think, wow. I can't believe that this is my life. I must have done something right somewhere along the way to be a witness to this miracle. Late last night, I stood next to her crib, and watched her sleep. And for a split second, I thought, "It was all a bad dream. It didn't really happen. She's right here, and she's safe and sound." And then, the pulse oximeter beeped. The reality that what happened to us on July 9th, 2011, is painfully true. But today, one year later? We celebrate. Not a year's passing. Not a year older. Today, we will honor Little Bird's life. Her spirit. Her courage. Her strength. Her lessons. Her everything. The sun is shining. The birds are chirping. The bees are buzzing. And my daughter is smiling so brilliantly that it literally makes me cry. A smile even more beautiful than I'd imagined it to be so long ago.


......Meet you on the other side. 
                                                 ~Eddie Vedder 


 




 
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