Monday, December 25, 2006

Merry Christmas?? Merry Sickmas to me!

I must preface this all by saying, desipte the daily gripes and discomfort, I love being pregnant. I can't wait to meet my son when he's born. But damn I'm glad the time until his birth is growing shorter.

Working an overnight shift is a very hard job. It goes against everything natural in the human body. We are not nocturnal animals. Our bodies are programmed to sleep when it's dark and be up when it's light.

So, there's the normal stresses of working an overnight shift... then add in being 7 1/2 months pregnant and the care of a 17 month old TWA* and well, you get the idea!

So I've set the scene... now imagine everyone being sick in this house. TWA*, Hub* and myself. TWA* started with a cold 2 weeks ago, which happened to coincide with a week's vacation. By mid-week, I was sick. By the end of the week, on the first day back to work, Hub* woke up with it. I managed to kick mine quickly. There's not much medicine available to help ease cold symptoms when you are pregnant.

TWA* has held on to a nasty cough, but a trip to the doctor showed it's just a case of post-nasal drip. Hub* refuses to take any kind of medicine. What is with men and this movement against medicine? It's infuriating!

I, however, am right back in the thick of it, but worse. I'm on my last week of vacation of the year. Wouldn't you know it, the very first day of vacation, I started hacking and coughing like a 13 pack a day/30 year habit smoker. By the end of the day, I was running a 102 degree fever and had to call the OB on duty on Christmas Eve. Fevers are a dangerous thing when you are pregnant.

So, I've been diagnosed (over the phone, based on my symptoms) with Bronchitis. I have a pregnancy-approved antibiotic to take, along with Tylenol for my fever and a bit of Robitussin to ease the cough... and I'm so exhausted I can barely move.

I'm just glad TWA* is so young. At 17 months, she won't realize she's missing out on a day of fun at her Great-Grandmother's house today... as we are staying at home. She's got oodles of presents to open from Santa and the Hub* and I... plus all the gifts she received from her AA* and her Grandma last night.

I'll miss out on a big Christmas dinner, but the way I feel, it doesn't matter anyway. I guess I have the rest of my vacation week to recover...


Merry Christmas to all and to all a good night!


Abbreviations:
TWA-toddler with attitude, my daughter, currently 17 months old
Hub- my husband of 9 years
AA- TWA's aunt.

Thursday, December 07, 2006

Santa's Evil Helper?

When I hear the name Santa Claus, I think of a lot of things. The rosy cheeks, the beard as white as snow, the little round belly that shakes when he laughs like a bowl full of jelly. You know, just like the image from those Coca-Cola ads.



Well, that's not entirely true. Sometimes, I think of SantaBot from Futurama. Then I envision something a little more like this....





If you don't watch Futurama (first off, Shame on YOU!), trust me, you wouldn't want to sit on his lap and tell him all your Christmas desires!

Anyway, I digress. So to me, Santa and "evil" just don't go together for me. Until I saw the story about Krampus. In Austrian lore, Krampus is Santa's horned and hairy sidekick. His job... to scare away evil spirits.

Now, I don't know about you, but if I ran into something that looked like this...



it would certainly scare the Christmas Spirit (among other things) right out of me! But evidently, during the holiday season, it's great fun for the peeps in Austria, Croatia, Hungary and other such places, to run around and encounter these creatures in village streets.

"Krampus is for the kids." That's according to one of the actors who dresses up as the devil-like creature. Ok, that definitely deserves a WTF?!?!?!?!

And people think we Americans are twisted? Stay tuned for our next installment, when I introduce you to another of Santa's helpers... one who, if you are bad, is likely to beat you with switches and cart you off in a sack. Ho, ho, ho... Merry Christmas!


Monday, November 13, 2006

Have We Gone Too Far?


Would you let your 5 year old daughter pose like this for a photo? Am I too sensitive? Is this too sexually overt?
I asked these questions not too long ago on a Message Board for a Mommy Group I'm in here in my hometown. I'd like to say the reactions were mixed, but, for the most part... many of my Mommy friends agreed... the picture goes to far.
The photo is that of 5 year old Kaia Crawford, daughter to supermodel Cindy Crawford. It seems Kaia was part of an advertising campaign for a line of children's swimwear by Melissa Odabach. Perhaps in the world of a supermodel, such a photo of a 5 year old is appropriate. I'm certainly no supermodel, but as a Mom and even more importantly, a human being, I never want to see a child sexually objectified like that.
Why are our children in such a rush to grow up? Have I become an old "fuddy duddy" in the almost 16 months since I gave birth to my daughter... does becoming a mother really change you that much? I feel like I'm sexually liberated, I'm open-minded. I guess it all comes down to the age thing. I would hope never to see such a photo of anyone under the legal age. I don't know why I feel it's suddenly ok for someone 18 or older to pose for such photos... but I do.
In an age of Britney Spears, Bratz, Baby Doll Tees, I want my little girl to be a little girl for as long as possible. If that makes me a prude, so be it. I'll wear that title with distinction. If that means I can keep others from making a sexual object of my little girl, fine with me!
I guess that's why I'm joining the "Moms for Modesty" bandwagon. Growing up is hard enough. Why should we allow society to add pressure to our little ones?

Thursday, October 12, 2006

Cryptic... But Needed

It's quiet in my house. Everyone is asleep, except me. Since becoming a mom, I've learned to enjoy these times.


The quiet drone of a fan.

A nearly muted tv set with an old rerun of "Roseanne" running.

The occasional sigh of the toddler sleeping blissfully next to me.

Tonight I am really relishing this time. Because I need to be alone. I don't want anyone to see my tears right now. They don't make sense to me, how could I expect them to make sense to anyone else?

I keep telling myself, I'm only reacting this way because I'm pregnant. It's just the hormones talking... or in this case, crying. Why am I taking it so personally? Why do I feel left out?

Am I taking it too personally?

Am I being left out?

I don't know.

Something happened. Something that upset me slightly. But as time passed, being upset turned to feeling hurt. Should I be angry? Should I be hurt? Should I care?

Maybe I am just overreacting.

The hard part is, I can't talk about it. I mean, I did. The person I chose to discuss it with was so supportive.

So why am I still bothered? Why am I so down?

Maybe it's just a combination of things. I'm pregnant. I'm tired.

But I keep going back to that feeling.

Hurt.

No one intentionally hurt me. I don't think that's the case. No way. So why can't I move on?

Why can't I just say, "Fuck it" and laugh it off?

Because. It hurts.

Because. I'm lonely.

Because.

I have so many wonderful things in my life right now. My beautiful daughter, my wonderful husband, a beautiful house... and another baby on the way. I just got a nice raise, I'm starting a new chapter in my life. I have made some wonderful new friends in the past two months.

Friends.

That's it.

Friends.

I never realized how lonely I was without them, until now. Now, I look back at all the years...so many friendships lost. Fizzled out.

I got tired of losing my best friend. So I quit having one.

That's not entirely true. Tom has been my best friend for more than a decade. I wouldn't change that for the world. Husband, lover, best friend.

He's amazing.

And yet, I've always missed that best "girl"friend. In my almost 33 years I've had a lot of them. Rosemary, Tonya, Miranda, Kari, Kyla, Jennifer, Stefany, my Mom, my sister.

I've never been the kind of person who has to have a lot of friends. Give me a few really close ones and I'm happy.

But even that close group of friends shrank into oblivion for nearly a decade. Everybody gets busy. It happens to us all. We don't mean to lose contact, it just happens.

And so, it did.

Until now.

Now I've started making new friends. Wonderful women. Funny women. Women who I just "fit" with, I feel like they've been a part of my life for years.

So what does this have to do with crying? Well, I promise you there IS a connection. It's just not fair to spell it all out here.

I guess, it all comes down to this... I feel left behind. And it hurts.

A lot.

It probably shouldn't. But it does. I've been lonely for a really long time. It's getting better now.
I keep telling myself I need to get over what happened. I need to let it go. I know I probably will. But not right now.

Not tonight.

Sometimes a girl just needs a good cry.

And a good friend.

I need both.

Tuesday, June 20, 2006

News Release Rogers Incorporated

Rogers Inc. is proud to announce the company is in the development stages of a new release.Baby Rogers, version 2.0 is set to make it's debut in early February 2007. The initial release date was set as February 15, 2007. But we've heard from the head of labor it will probably be released on February 7th or 8th.

When asked about the upcoming release from Rogers Inc., Baby Rogers, version 1.0, also known as Googie said, "Na na ba ba digum."

Baby Rogers, version 1.0 has been available for 11 months and will celebrate her 1 year anniversary on July 21. Baby Rogers, version 2.0 is predicted to be the final release from Rogers, Inc.

"We will be ending production of this line sometime in mid-2007," said Rogers Inc., CEO The Hub.

Rogers Inc., is a privately held company located in Mobile, Alabama.

Wednesday, June 14, 2006

Butterfly Kisses for Daddy... I Miss You

Sunday is Father's Day. I'm excited because its my husband's first official Father's Day with Googie.

But I can't help but feel a tinge of sadness. It will be the third Father's Day since my Dad died, unexpectedly.

There's not a day that goes by that I don't think about him. It weighs heavy on me at times. Sometimes, the sense of loss is suffocating. I talk to him all the time. Though my beliefs aren't traditional, I talk to my father the way most people would pray to their "God".

I dream about him often. Sometimes, in my dreams, I know he's dead. I tell him he's dead. He knows it too. In other dreams, he's very much alive. I wake up excited, ready to talk to him. Then the realization sets in. Then I wake up to the nightmare.

My Dad died September 25, 2003. I remember it like it was yesterday. I had a cold and had left the station on my dinner break. I decided I would go home and take a little nap on the couch. I was hoping it would make me feel better. The Hub was cooking our famous Andouille Pizza for dinner.

The phone rang and I saw on caller id it was my sister. I was annoyed. Why in the world was she calling me when she knew I felt like shit? Still, I answered. Immediately I knew something was wrong.

I cant even write about the phone conversation. Its still upsetting to me, even now, almost three years later. Essentially, my stepmother had called my sis. Dad had a heart attack while on business in south Florida. He was in the hospital.

While I waited for more information, I frantically searched the Internet for plane tickets. The next minutes were a blur. It could have been five it could have been 30. All I remember is the phone ringing again and my sisters tearful voice Get here now.

I knew. I knew at that moment Dad was gone. The Hub and I raced to my car. I kept saying, Hes ok hes ok. I know hes ok. I tried so hard to convince myself it was true. As I drove to my sisters house, its all I could repeat to myself.

I only wish the words could have brought him back. My Dad died surrounded by strangers in a hotel lobby in south Florida. I later learned Dad had gone down to the lobby to get help. He was having chest pains. He was able to tell the front desk clerk he needed help before he collapsed. He was gone.

Despite all the pain associated with losing a parent. There was even more pain for my sister and I. Included in this blog; you will see a letter to my stepmother. It was written December 2003. I warn you, its not nice. It may show many of you a side of me you wont like. I wont apologize for that.


B.,

Hurtful, cruel, malicious, spiteful, unkind, venomous. Remember those words Theyre all words I would pick to describe the letter you sent to A. last week. I know you feel you were simply letting her know how you feel, but I wonder did you really think about it before you sent it? Were you careful of the words you used, the things you said?

I know I dont have to defend my sister, shes old enough to take care of herself, and she does a fine job of it still, I wonder. Did you spend as much time with your letter? Were you as careful in writing yours as she was with hers? From reading them both, Id say no, which is why youre getting not only a letter from her in response, but a letter from me as well. Since were all airing out our feelings, I wanted to take a turn.


Acceptance

Ill begin by addressing your claims that A. and I never accepted you as a step mom. First off, you are right. I wont answer for A., but when it comes to me, and our relationship, or should I say lack of relationship, you are mostly to blame. Allow me to explain.

Surely you understand that my parents divorce came as a huge shock to my sister and I. Granted we were aware of the problems our parents had, but I dont think A. nor I ever truly expected them to break up. Mom and dad did a good job of trying to keep most of their problems out of our sight, at least a good deal of them. Everything in our lives seemed fine. A. was approaching her graduation. T. and I had just announced our engagement and just about a month later. BOOM. Our parents were splitting up. After 25 years.

Surely you can understand what a complete and utter shock that was for us. Our entire lives were upended. So forgive me if I didnt embrace you, or my mothers now husband, at the time.

The first time I believe I met you, or at least spent any length of time around you, was just before Christmas 1997. I believe I had come over to my fathers apartment in Lafayette Square, perhaps to exchange Christmas gifts. Shortly after our introductions, I believe we discussed your upcoming birthday, which happens to be on the same date as my mothers. You began talking about how you wanted to change your birth date, so as not to share the day with my mother. Though I dont remember your exact words, I do remember the negative tone you used in discussing my mother. And that then set the tone for the relationship you and I went on to have.

You see, I never appreciated the fact you said those things. Whatever your thoughts and opinions of my mother, and whatever my father and you discussed about her was something you should have kept to yourself. Ill admit in the beginning, it would have taken an absolute angel to get me to accept anyone on the heels of my parents divorce.
At a time in my life when I was DEVASTATED from the break-up of my parents marriage, I certainly didnt need to hear this new woman in my fathers life badmouthing my mother. So you see, you did yourself no favors in my eyes. And thats just the way it began. Remember, hurtful, cruel, malicious, spiteful, unkind, venomous.

Something thats almost humorous to me this woman you so gleefully bashed for lack of a better description, was the same woman who constantly told me to give you a chance. In the time you were with my father, I dont think there was ever a negative word said about you by my mother. She instead, always asked me to give you a chance that you couldnt possibly be as bad as I said.

Even throughout the trying time of my fathers death and the memorial and even weeks after, my mother, the same one you loved to speak about in a negative manner continued to support you. When Angela and I were upset about something that was happening concerning you, my mother continued to give you the benefit of the doubt, telling us to be patient with you. To consider YOUR feelings, even if it meant almost ignoring our own.
Thats something you couldnt even do.

The rocky relationship between you and I continued when you seemingly took every chance you got to belittle me in some way. Theres a long list of examples things not only I saw, but T., A. and R. as well. Ill never forget the cookout at A. and R. house in Hillsdale for Dads birthday. I remember cooking him a German Chocolate Cake from scratch, something my mother had done for him every year for his birthday and something I wanted to do for him. It was the first time I had ever attempted to bake such a cake and I was struggling. You took the opportunity to be very negative to me, to ridicule me in the kitchen while Dad was outside with T. and R. A. was there and heard it and when you walked out she remarked on what you said.

You claim you tried to be kind. And to some extent you were, when Dad was around. The minute he was out of sight, your claws came out and you exhibited that same hurtful demeanor weve seen over the past few months. Remember, hurtful, cruel, malicious, spiteful, unkind, venomous.


You always resented A., and especially me because we were number one in Dads heart and you were well below us.

To me, you never deserved the title of stepmother. That would mean I should use the term mother in association with you, when I never considered you anything of the sort. You see, a mother cares about others... they aren't selfish. They look out for their children and in some way, for the children of others as well. You don't know how to do that. You like to fool yourself in to thinking you are a mother and even grandmother. The sad fact is... you are not and never will be.

Leaving His Service

Im curious how you have twisted the fact that I left the chapel during the memorial service as a show of animosity toward you. Perhaps you didnt notice, because you were certainly quite self-absorbed during the entire ordeal, not that its really any change from your day to day behavior, but not only was I dealing with the loss of my father, I was also extremely ill. I was taking a myriad of antibiotics and other meds prescribed by the doctor just the day before. I was weak and overcome with emotions during the ceremony and felt physically ill and dizzy. I certainly didnt want to pass out in the chapel and I definitely didnt want to throw up during the service. I told A. I needed to go to the bathroom. She went with me to make sure I was ok. You say it was disrespectful for us to have left. Would you have preferred the alternative?

While were on the subject of being disrespectful, what about you and your actions? Don't you think it's disrespectful the way you IGNORED the children of your dead husband? HIS FLESH AND BLOOD? Thats exactly what you did during the visitation. You went to great lengths to introduce Ty., C. and S. to visitors, while flat out ignoring A. and I.


McLane Employees.

You say A. and I did not speak to the employees. First off, we didn't know or really remember any of them. Our interaction with McLane employees had ended years earlier, once we quit going to the yearly Christmas parties in Brookhaven, MS. We were children then... I think the last time I went to one was when I was 15. So explain to me how I'm, 14 years later, supposed to remember these people on the day of my father's memorial? In case you hadn't noticed, and I'm sure you probably didn't because it's always been ALL ABOUT YOU, my sister and I were in mourning as well.

My mother stressed how important it was for A. and I to introduce you to anyone you may not know who came to the service. I did that as best I could under the circumstances, only to essentially be slapped in the face with your animosity towards myself. I don't remember meeting any of the Goldwing people who came, but I'm sure Ty, C. and S. sure do.

Remember, hurtful, cruel, malicious, spiteful, unkind, venomous.

And while were on the subject of McLane, Im curious. Why did you wait until your letter to A. to even let us know there had been a memorial for dad at the company? Why did you not think to mention it when we drove to your house to pick up the box of things you so graciously passed on to us?

Im also curious. Why would anyone ever think, when time to get something as personal as a loved ones ashes, that a Wal-Mart parking lot would be an appropriate meeting place? Am I missing something here? Or was it all about convenience for you? I cant for the life of me understand it. But then, no one who has learned about that can either.


My relationship with Dad

There is no doubt Dad and I had a rocky relationship, at times. But sometimes he twisted the fact that I worked odd hours, etc in to the fact that I just wouldnt return his calls. It took time for him to understand, but we had worked past those differences. I will not allow you to put me on some kind of guilt trip for the past. No matter what, my father knew how much I loved, knows how much I still do, how much I miss him everything. But Id like to say just how very nice of you it was to bring it up. Remember, hurtful, cruel, malicious, spiteful, unkind, venomous.


Dads Gift To Us

Id like you to understand something. When it came to asking about a will and beneficiary designation, we were simply doing what we were told to do. My attorney advised me to contact McLane to simply give our contact information. What I find so disturbing was the way you seemed to take pleasure in stressing to us that you were 100 eneficiary on everything. Comments like, Your father took very good care of me. I was surprised Tell me, what purpose does a comment like that serve? We asked the questions because thats one of the many unfortunate things that have to be discussed when someone dies, not because we were money hungry. Based on your reaction, Im guessing you either thought that, or you were just displaying how important certain things are to you. Remember, hurtful, cruel, malicious, spiteful, unkind, venomous.


I understand you are having a hard time letting go of things of Dads. But please dont treat us like gold-diggers or grave robbers when we ask for things belonging to him. Surely you understand the things we ask for are items that either, belong in our family or are simply personal belongings. They are just things, you are right, but surely you can see how hurt we are that some items could simply pass right out of our hands, without us first having the chance to have them.

Of course wed love to have more of his personal belongings. Of that there is no doubt, but whether we get another shirt of dads another tie a piece of clothing, its not important. You can have his money. You can have everything, but in reality, you have nothing. A. and I have the greatest gift of all from him. We are living, breathing memorials to him. And thats something NO ONE IN THIS WORLD can take away from us and something you can never have.

At one time, there is no doubt my father loved you. You were there when he was at a very low and lonely point in his life. You filled a void for him... one that my mother, his true love, left when she could no longer take his alcohol abuse. You filled a void for him when I, his oldest daughter, got married and began a life of my own. You were there for him when Angela, his little girl, started growing up and staking out a path of her own. That's all you were to him... a void filler. You were just able to cash in on it.

See, what you don't know about are all the times he talked to A. and I and about how unhappy he was... how much he missed it here... how much he missed us. You weren't there to see him roll his eyes when his cell phone rang and he saw it was you on the other end. You weren't there all the times he talked to K., his best friend, about how unhappy he was with you and how he really just wanted out. You werent aware of the times he talked to my grandmother (moms mother) and my aunts and told them how he wished he could come visit, but your insecurities were in the way.

For someone who claimed to be loved by my father so much, and who claimed to love him in return I dont think you really understand what love is. I think you talk about it so often to reassure yourself, perhaps to even convince yourself. Love is give and take. So why were you always the one who took? Did you ever give?

My fathers life and legacy will continue through A. and I through C. through A.'s baby due in July and through the baby I hope to conceive in the next year. Unfortunate though it is for these children to only have photographs and stories to remember my father by, those memories will be plentiful. A. and I will make sure of it. At least they wont have any memory of you. You can bet we will make sure of that as well.

I have no doubt you have gone and portrayed us in a very negative light to people who dont already know us, and probably even to people who do. Thats fine. For myself, I rest assured knowing that your actions speak much louder than any words I could say to someone. Friends and family members who met you and watched you and have since heard about the Wal-Mart/ashes exchange and read your letter in response to A.'s see you for what you are. Remember, hurtful, cruel, malicious, spiteful, unkind, venomous. You reap what you sow and I certainly dont want to be around when your garden blooms. If you think Im a bitch, wait until you meet Karma.
I will forever be, my fathers daughter,

Tuesday, May 23, 2006

A Time for Reflection

The birth of a child is one of the most important and often happiest times for a parent. Holding that newborn just minutes or even seconds after giving birth must be an amazing feeling for a mother.


I say must, because, although I am a mother... it was nearly 24 hours after her birth before I was able to hold my little girl. Even then, I could only hold her for a couple of minutes.

Googie was born on July 21, 2005... 10 days before her actual due date. Her birth was induced, because my doctor was concerned she would be too big to deliver if we waited until the due date. The Hub and I were very impatient about meeting our little one, so when the doc said let's do it early... well we jumped at the chance.

I was induced on July 21. I spent hours on a pitocin drip to bring on labor. My body didn't respond and it was decided I'd need a c-section to deliver my little one. I won't bore you with the details of how my epidural didn't work properly, so I felt every bit of the c-section. (Seriously, just ask my sister. I'll never forget the look of horror on her face as I screamed every single expletive ever known to man... and probably a few new ones!)


All of that was unimportant the moment my daughter was born. I remember the Hub bringing her over to me so I could see her. I remember looking at her perfect head, her sweet face... and I remember them taking her away. Then the pain medicine they were unable to give me during the operation kicked in. I don't remember much else for about 30 minutes or so.


Googie was born at 7:03pm. She weighed a healthy 8 pounds, 2 ounces and was 20.5 inches long. She was perfect... except for one thing. Her lungs. They just weren't doing their job properly. When the staff in the special care nursery tried to take her off oxygen, her sat levels would drop.


When I was being moved to my regular hospital room from labor and delivery, the nurses took me by to see my little one. I touched her little hand and whispered to her how very much I loved her. I was still a little out of it, but I remember thinking how weird it was to be going to my hospital room without my daughter.


The next day, I had friends and family come by to visit me at the hospital. Still, there was no newborn in my room with me. Googie was still on oxygen in the nursery. I remember feeling nothing. I didn't feel like a new mom. I felt like I was recovering from an operation. Now, I look back and I'm a little angry at how "complacent" I was with the hospital staff. I'm not sure why I was that way... why I didn't ask more questions... push more. I felt empty. I felt sad. And today, more than 10 months later... I still feel so very guilty. Maybe if I had pushed more, asked more... maybe Googie would have never gotten so sick. Maybe...


I held Googie for the first time, when she was nearly 24 hours old. I was only allowed to hold her for a few minutes. The nurses didn't want her out from under the oxygen hood for very long. I remember hearing her cry and fuss. She was hungry but she couldn't be fed.


After a while of sitting next to her and talking to her, taking photos and just holding her hand, The Hub and I walked back to my hospital room. I remember walking down the hallway, hearing the other mothers in their rooms with their babies. I remember the emptiness I felt in my heart... in my arms. Still, the nurses said everything was ok. Googie was just taking her time. She'd be fine. I was told I was welcome anytime in the special care nursery.


Late Friday night, I sent The Hub home. He was exhausted. Our dogs and cats needed to be fed. He needed some rest. I settled in for the night... well, as much as one can settle in when you have nurses coming in every 4 hours or so to take your darn vital signs! Around 2 or 3 am, I got up to go to the bathroom after one of the afore mentioned nurse visits. Now, if you've never experienced a c-section... or major abdominal surgery for that matter... let me just tell you... trying to do ANYTHING is extremely painful. Walking, sitting up, lying down, rolling over, getting up, breathing, coughing, sneezing. It all hurts.


Anyway, I was finishing up in the bathroom when I heard a knock on my door. It was one of the special care nurses. Through the bathroom door she told me there was an emergency. Googie had turned blue. She was barely breathing. A NICU transport team had been called. They were taking my baby away. The neonatologist would be in very soon to tell me everything.


I remember frantically calling the Hub, my sister and my mother. I remember trying to be calm as I woke them from a dead sleep. My Sis actually had to drive to my house and use her key to get inside to wake the Hub up. I remember sitting alone in my hospital room when the doctor came in to tell me Googie needed to be put on a ventilator to breathe. I remember him saying that had to be done at the NICU. I remember thinking my baby girl was going to die. I remember the feeling of my heart breaking at that moment, both because I was so sure she was going to die... and because I was so sure it was all my fault.


I sat on the edge of my bed, alone, for what seemed like hours. By the time the NICU transport team from USA Children's and Women's Hospital had arrived, the Hub, my sister and my mom and step dad were with me. I had to sign forms to allow them to take Googie. They let me give her "Lola the Cow", a stuffed animal that was a gift from one of my best friends. I remember telling Googie I loved her... and I felt in my heart it was the last time I would get to see her alive. Then, they wheeled my little girl out of the room. My family left after awhile, promising to come back a little later in the morning.


I remember I just laid on my bed and cried. I held a photo of my dad and prayed to him to stay with Googie, to keep her company, to keep her safe, to keep her alive.
When the doctor on call made her morning rounds, I remember begging her to discharge me from the hospital. She refused. I remember being in tears as I asked her if I could simply leave for a few hours to go see Googie. Again, I was told no. The Hub went to see Googie in the NICU. He said she was resting comfortably and her breathing seemed better. My mom, stepdad and sister went to see her too. They gave me words of encouragement. But words can't help when you are miles away from your newborn.


I was released from the hospital Sunday afternoon. I wanted to go straight to the NICU to see Googie, but it was almost time for them to close for shift change. So I waited. Part of me was relieved to wait. I wasn't sure I was ready to see my little girl on a ventilator. I still remember how much my body shaked as I walked into the hospital.


I remember my hands shaking as I washed and dried them at the "decontamination station". I remember barely breathing as I put on the yellow gown. I remember how weak my knees felt as the Hub led the way to Googie's bed amidst what seemed like a sea of tiny baby bassinets made of plastic.


Googie's NICU nurse came over and introduced herself and gave us an update. There were IV's, tubes and wires everywhere. But I remember how caring the nurse was. I have said this since the day I met the staff of the NICU and I'll say it until the day I die. It takes a very special person to work in a neonatal intensive care unit. It's amazing.


Googie, because she was a c-section baby, did not have the fluid squeezed out of her lungs during delivery since she did not travel through the birth canal. Her lungs were not quite fully developed so they could not handle the fluid. She developed pneumonia.
The NICU nurses assured me what Googie was experiencing was not uncommon. They promised there would be no lingering effects, that when Googie had finally recovered... it would be like nothing had ever happened.


They were right. After 10 days in the NICU, Googie was finally released from the hospital on August 4, 2005. Three days after her scheduled due date.
It took me a long time to have the courage to put my feelings into words. More than 10 months, to be exact. I feel better for writing it.

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