Sad Today
One of my friends gave birth to an extremely premature baby last October: he was only 24.5 weeks or so. As you may imagine the little guy has struggled ever since. I don’t believe he’s ever been out of the hospital, and his short life has been nothing but heart problems, pulmonary problems, and breathing problems. In the efforts to save his life, the kid has been jacked up with everything from sedatives to morphine to Viagra (I’m not kidding on that last one).
He’s had his ups and downs (the understatement of the year when you’re born at 24 weeks and you’ve been hooked to a tangle of tubes and a ventilator your whole life), but last week things took a permanent turn for the worse. Today, his parents, both truly wonderful human beings, have the terrible and hideous responsibility of taking their poor little baby, who’s been fighting like a motherfucking champ, off life support. I’m not going to link to their site right now, nor am I going to name names: it’s heartbreaking enough as it is without attention from strangers, and even though I’m essentially violating their privacy by writing about it here, I’m going out of my way not to identify them by city, town, state, or region.
My friend, I have discovered over the course of this bitter ordeal, is a writer, and so I’ll share a sample with you.
April 25, 2007
So many of the inhabitants of our nightmares have just been wrapped up in a bow and dropped on our doorstep. Not only is Wee Boy on the oscillator, heavily sedated and at very high settings, but we’re being presented with options … all of which we hate. Abruptly we’ve watched our fears coalesce into the one we’ve dreaded most from the beginning—the need to make decisions without the path being clear. This cup among the whole dinner set is the one we wish with all our hearts to have taken from us.
Once we hitched a ride in the Sinai Peninsula. The friendly Egyptian man who picked us up quickly accelerated and soon was “driving like Jehu” down the empty desert road at speeds in excess of 90 mph. After some 10 minutes he casually reached between the seats, pulled out a bottle of whiskey, and took a loooong pull. A moment passed as we slowly registered what had just happened, but he must eventually have noticed the look of we don’t even know what on our faces because he flashed us a grin in the rearview mirror and quickly reassured us: “Don’t worry, I strong for this.” And on we flew.
Well, we’re not strong for this. Nope. This makes us want to curl up into a mewling little ball or skitter away into the deepest recesses of our minds.
Yet here we are. And here he is. And he’s such a dear boy, and he’s been so very strong. And he lays there, with his chest bouncing and jiggling from the oscillator, and despite all the efforts to keep him calm and relaxed he fights through the sedation, opens his eyes and looks at us. And we melt and we weep.
And we’re not strong. Not for this.
I can’t imagine, even considering my own parental heartaches which send me reeling for days, what it must be like. Just writing these few worthless words here at the blog, my eyes just fill up with tears for them, the way they have all day.
I forwarded a link to my dad, not a man prone to displays of emotion, and he wrote back that it broke his heart. It’s been breaking mine for the past two days.
Sad today.
2 Responses to “Sad Today”
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April 28th, 2007 at 10:42 am
We lost twin girls who were born prematurely at 20 weeks. It was the worst experience of our lives. We still visit their grave every week (they died in 2003). My heart goes out to your friends.
We were lucky that there was an infant loss support group in our area run by the local hospice. Going to the group and talking to other people who lost babies helped us through the grieving process. When the time is right, I would suggest looking for a similar group in the area. Unfortunately, infant loss is doesn’t always get the attention it deserves. The group we were lucky enough to attend doesn’t exist anymore.
I wish I could offer something more concrete but that’s impossible when a child dies.
April 28th, 2007 at 11:40 am
{{{{Heartfelt tears for your dear friends}}}}