We didn't plan for this to happen

There are good days and bad days...

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This is Cadence under 2 pounds! It was taken in the Neonatal ICU in early August.

Journal entry from August 13, 2007


My daughter is currently in the Intensive Care Nursery at the Children's Mercy Hospital in Kansas City. I have not been able to hold her. I've only looked at her through an incubator. If I want to touch her, I have to put my hands through these two holes in the sides of the incubator. She's breathing on her own, but there are tubes and wires all over her. One is for feeding, others monitor her life signs, like respiration, blood pressure, etc. Her diapers are about the size of a pack of cigarettes.

I toss and turn at night worrying about her health. I'm still recovering from the C-Section so I can't be at the hospital as much as I would like right now. I feel guilty that my body literally almost killed my child. I miss her. I feel totally disconnected from her. I see other little infant girls in public or on tv and I get depressed.

I'm still on the blood pressure medication. The toxins that my body produced while I was pregnant are still in my system, though the doc says the amount has greatly reduced. I am at risk for a stroke (or worse) if I don't take my medication. I have nightmares about the day I almost died. I remember what it was like, when I first went into the seizures. I don't trust my body anymore. I fucked up and read about what happened to me. How my eyes bulged from my head, how I convulsed, how I frothed at the mouth and then lapsed into a comatose state, and stopped breathing. I think about what might have happened if my husband hadn't been home when this struck. I think of what might have happened if my screams for help hadn't awakened him.

I know it makes no sense to torture myself like this. To feel the guilt for what happened to Cadence, to wonder about how things might have been. I think about what it was like to wake up in the ICU and to find out that my daughter was gone, and that I could die. For some reason it's worse late at night, maybe because there are fewer things to distract me.

The only thing that keeps me going is the hope that Cadence will make it, that we will be able to take her home in just a few weeks. (hopefully nine weeks) Otherwise I'm pretty much a wreck. I've never wanted a beer so much in my life!

I thought I knew what pain was, but life just had to go and show me that I had no idea how profound pain can really be. There's a special kind of love a mother has for her child, it's a pure, untarnished love that cuts deep.

My husband is the most positive and strong person I know. He refuses to even think that something will happen to our daughter. He refuses to let the situation sap at his spirit. He's too fucking stubborn. I have good days and bad days. If it wasn't for him, I'd probably be in a mental institution right now. Or on hard drugs. Or maybe worse.

I guess time is on my side right now. I suspect things will get easier as the days and weeks bleed by. Once my daughter is home with me, safe in her crib, then I will release a massive sigh of relief and start my life again. Until then, I'm in a fucked up sort of limbo.