Memories I haven't thought about

As we are nearing the 1 year mark of Alex passing away, I've found myself inundated with memories of his final night. These are memories that I've tried not to think about. Memories that I've skated over when describing what happened, but never really looked at with any detail. But considering in a week and a day it will have been a year...and that I keep being reminded of that night, I'm going to follow God's lead and write down what happened. Don't read any further if you do not want to read about that night.

The day started out like any other. I got up and fought with myself about going into the hospital, but I reminded myself that every time I see the little guy, my stresses and my worries and my "I don't wannas" fly right out the window. So I got ready and headed out. I was expecting to see him bouncing back from his surgery at this point. After all, this surgery was not as big of a deal as some of h is previous ones. He should be closer to his non-sick, non-recovery from surgery self. In fact, part of me expected the nurses and doctors to have started dialing down the O2 to try and switch him to CPAP.

A 45 minute drive later, I walk into his room to see it dark and the nurse telling me that he had a rough night and that the docs don't want any hands on. Okay, not what I was expecting, but not unusual for Alex. I sat in his darkened room all morning, watching as his oxygen levels dropped and his heart rate got in the upper 100's...close to 200. And I started stressing. After all, this looks like classic Alex when he has pneumonia. That was the only thought I had. He has pneumonia. Or something similar. How could it be any different? We were bringing him home in 2 weeks. Nothing else could be happening. I went down to lunch and was eating and reading, trying to get my stress levels down, when one of the nurses from upstairs found me.

She had been sent down to tell me that Alex wasn't doing well. That he was struggling more and they were doing an x-ray to figure out what was wrong. She helped me to carry my tray up to the NICU waiting room, where I started to finish my lunch, but then one of the neonatal nurse practitioners came in to give me an update. She told me that Alex wasn't doing well and that maybe I should call DH. I had the NNP call DH because I couldn't handle talking to him. He called me on my cell phone when he was walking out to his car (luckily, DH's office was only about 15 min. away from the hospital). He asked me what was going on and I told him that I only knew what the NNP told us, because I was too afraid to go back into Alex's room. I couldn't go in there and deal with the stress of seeing his numbers jump all over the place. DH said that was fine because he would be there soon. About that time, the social worker came in to the waiting room and wanted to know if there was anything I needed. I told her that I was tired and I wanted to rest.

The rest of the afternoon is kind of a blur. DH got to the hospital and saw me briefly before going back to Alex's room. The social worker got me a recovery room to rest in. I remember I napped for a bit. Mostly, I remember just sitting in the room and kind of staring into space. The social worker was really nice and hugged me and told me she was praying for us, but I think it was she who reminded me that what happening was all part of God's plan. She did that by telling me of an Amy Grant song called Breath of Angels. The song itself is about Mary, but some of the parts of it fit with what had happened and what was going on.

Right around shift change, DH came into my room cautiously ecstatic because Alex was improving. His heart rate was down and he seemed to be more comfortable. I agreed that it was time I go back and see Alex, so we decided after shift change, we would go back and see him. We sat there and talked a little about this "scare" and that God answers prayers. At eight, we left the room I had been in and went back into the NICU.

When we got there, they were moving Alex around, trying to do a depth x-ray, to see if there was something else going on. We were taken into the back room and shown that it looked like there was something between his lungs and skin...something that may have caused his actions that day. We went back into Alex's room, told him that we loved him, rubbed his feet, gave his feet and hands kisses. About 15 minutes after we got there, his heart rate jumped to 300 then plummeted to 0. They pushed us to the back of the room and started CPR compressions. We left the room when they called for a code cart.

Sometime during this madness, we were shown that he had a pocket of...something...that the NNP and docs all thought was sepsis. In other words...Alex had a leak in his GI tract and was leaking fluid and air and bacteria into his abdomen. We were told the surgeon was on his way, but they didn't even know if he could do anything for Alex. DH called our families and they all rushed out to the hospital. The nursing staff called Alex's primary nurses and got them out there. As his heart continued to fail and be revived and fail and be revived again, the nurses and NNP all brought couches around for Jason and I to sit on and surrounded us and Alex's door with screens so no one else could see what was going on.

As we were sitting on the couch, clinging to each other DH kept telling me that it was alright. That the sensor wasn't working, that's why it was reading 0. He told me later, he said that so I wouldn't worry. I knew though. I knew what it meant.

It was at this time, that I called out to God. For the most part, this is what I prayed,
"God, if it is Your will, please, please heal Alex. Let him live. Oh God, let him live. I don't want to lose him. But Lord, if it is not Your will to let Alex live, give us the strength to get through this time. Let us have the strength to handle it if he dies."

A few minutes later, Alex's primary NNP came over to us and said, "I think it's time to decide if we are doing things FOR Alex, or doing things TO Alex." DH and I looked at each other and I decided it was time to let Alex go. I don't know how DH felt, but we told the NNP to stop. We stood up and they wheeled the couch into Alex's room. We sat back down and they gave us Alex. They didn't stop using the AMBU bag until we told them to. We sang to Alex. I sang his lullaby to him (words I made up to the traditional lullaby tune). We kissed him, hugged him. We told him we loved him over and over again.

I watched his chest, waiting for him to continue to take breaths. Watched as his little chest rose and fell. And I thought he was gone. I started sobbing only to have it rise and fall again...his true last breath. Then my in laws rushed through the door and the look on my MIL's face was horror. The only thing I could say was, "he's gone," before I started sobbing again. Then my family arrived.

The surgeon arrived about ten or fifteen minutes after Alex was gone. I'm glad. If he had come before, we might have chosen to try and have the surgeon do the surgery. This way, Alex didn't have to die alone, on an operating table. Instead, he got to be held, surrounded by our love when he died.

After that night, I didn't cry again...really cry...until the following Monday. After the funeral...after the dinner...after our friends and family left us. It hit me then that Alex was gone. That all the little details that we had come to accept as part of having Alex, as part of Alex coming home, no longer applied. It didn't matter anymore. I cried harder then than I have ever cried before. But not since. It doesn't happen often, but when I really let go of myself and let myself feel, I get into the state of crying so hard I can't breath.

That is usually when I fall on my knees for God to lessen the pain. Not the memory, not the event. Just the pain of the memory, the pain of the event.

Thank you, for letting me get this off my chest.