I see dead...

... well, babies.  Or baby.  But I actually stopped myself typing that entirely as my heading, because seriously, have you noticed that as babyloss mama's we are so much more "at home" at using the terms "dead" and "baby" in one sentence than the rest of society?  Have you noticed that we "easily" say dead baby and the shock factor just doesn't even register for us, but the look on the faces of those who are innocent around us kind of reminds you of the harshness of reality. 

Not really fair is it?

:::

But what I'm actually writing about is the fact that, well, already I've lived seven weeks of waiting for my child to die.  Because they do.  We know.  Some know "more" than others too and I get that. 

However, I guess in some ways I'm taken aback by just how real the fear of Toby dying is.  Because, although I hate to admit to it, I pretty much expect it.  Always have.  From the moment he was conceived.  I never once really thought he'd make it out alive.  And of course, even if he did, he'd not make it out of the L& D ward. 

I spent the night before he was born in L & D because I was there to be induced.  Thankfully, I didn't have to deal with spending the night in that room.  I also managed to avoid that other room.  The one we spent the night in after Ciaran was born.  And died.  Do I really need to add that?  Anyway, spending the night in the room for Toby I was very much aware of what was behind the cupboard doors that were opposite my bed.  I knew that in that end cupboard was the neonatal crash cart. 

On Toby eve I thought about that, and wondered about it.  It was just a wondering.

Yet, when I was in active labour and early stage 2 pushing I was very much aware of the activity around me.  I haven't posted my birth story yet, I know, but I got to stage 2 very quickly and the midwife was caught unawares, even though I'd warned her!  During those early pushes, when I was busy doing my thing and it felt like everyone else was just doing their own thing around me (how rude and inconsiderate of them..) I took the occasional quick peek from my otherwise squinted closed eyes.  My OB had arrived.  Then my neonatologist had arrived.  She said something about the fact that she had "brought some friends".  Then I noticed that her friends were in that corner.  The crash cart was out. 

Now I know that it's pretty standard practice for that cart to come out.  It's used even when a baby is born healthy.  But I also knew that the reason that her friends had the cart out was because they were there because there was a big risk that my baby, my Toby, could die.  And let's face it.  I figured he would.

Besides all else, it's all I knew.  I knew how to get pregnant.  Whether it was natural or IVF.  Been there, done that.  Three times in fact.  Wheres my medals?  I even mostly knew how to stay pregnant.  Well, I did get an 'F' for that once though.  I knew how to give birth.  I was pretty efficient at it. 

And I knew how to have a baby die.

So, then he didn't.  I floundered around a lot in the past seven weeks, because that's how old he is today.  My Toby.  I have never felt so lost in my life.  So in need of the instruction manual.  Or a list of what to do next.  Or something to remind me to change his clothes every day, even if he doesn't get bathed.  (Yes, I know he won't die of "didn't change clothes" syndrome, so it's a bit irrelevent, but I'm just sayin'!)  My sister has had more than a few silly questions, and she's just lucky that I have managed to save the early a.m. ones until a more reasonable time.

But something that hasn't gotten much better is that I "see" Toby dead.  All the time.  I'm not going to lie and say that I haven't touched him in his sleep to get him to twitch a finger, or something like that.  I have had my heart in my mouth at least probably once a day since coming home, sure that today was the day that he was going to die. 

The one I go through most though is waking in the middle of the night, with my million dollar pillow view into the bassinet beside me.  And in the light of the dark of night, I see Toby.  And his eyes are open.  Because he's dead.  Of course.  My heart stops.  I'm sure it does literally.  I'm getting used to "seeing" this.  It's the look of a dead baby.  I know, because I've seen one. 

I turn on the light.

And Toby has his eyes closed.  Sleeping peacefully.  Oh, of course.  How paranoid of me.

:::

I've been thinking about this post for weeks now.  I do most of my composing in the shower, but the lappie isn't waterproofed yet.  And my baby brain doesn't allow me to remember all of my brilliant posts.

Funnily, or not, enough though, today I find two other babyloss mamas posting the same thoughts.  I didn't realise that I wasn't alone on this one.  I also am not sure whether I'm comforted or not by the fact that it doesn't just end at, say 8 weeks, but rather that the fear and paranoia continues. 

You can read Christy's views here and Angie's views here.  And actually, the other day I posted about the question "are you happy now?"... well, Lori has posted along the same lines here but she also mentions about their prayers that they actually get to continue to raise the one they have.

So there you have it folks.  Rainbows are beautiful but they don't always stay.  We know our vulnerability.  We know mortality from perhaps one of the closest perspectives you can get. 

:::

But to lighten the load a little, I thought I'd mention this.  Since Toby was born I wake in the night, feeling him in my arms, and thinking that I have fallen asleep holding him.

In hospital I woke Shane in the wee hours of the morning. 
What? he asked.  Grumped actually.
Come on I said.
What???
Come and take the baby so that I can get up and feed him!!

Where is he? he asked.
In my arms!  Here!  I said.  I mean... geesh!
Shane stood and came over and said
He's in his crib!!!
At the same time as he said it, I looked at the crib beside me, in the dark.
And saw my baby.  Asleep in his crib.  Not in my arms where I could feel him.  Not screaming as I could hear him.

And I still do it.  Except I've learned that I most probably don't have him in my arms.  And just to double check before waking Shane.  I did it last night.  The feeling is real 

Perhaps it's an angel in my arms.  The one that should have been there for real once upon a time.