Almost December

November has been a sick month for me! The kids were sick, I've been sick - I had a gallbladder attack mid month and for the last five days I have been struggling with a wicked cold. I am hoping for a healthier December.

This most recent cold has me remembering my pregnancy, the last time I was this sick I was pregnant with my boys. Last night while I was laying in bed alone just watching some TV, I got a sudden urge to cuddle Julian's bear. With my busy life and Julian's siblings keeping me so busy, I sometimes forget how much I miss my other little baby. My emotions are all over the place the last few days, I'm blaming cold medication and sickness - but I feel a mess right now.

CAPTURE YOUR GRIEF 2012: Day 31 Sunset, but because I can...

another SUNRISE.

CAPTURE YOUR GRIEF 2012: Day 30 Your Grief

I saw a similar post, and I am paraphrasing another baby loss mama - but her words fit my grief perfectly.

CAPTURE YOUR GRIEF 2012: Day 29 Music -Only a months +1 day late!

I have been meaning to finish this, it is very me to start a project and then not finish it. So one month and 1 day later, I am picking up where I left off.

Music - I heard this song a few months ago and couldn't get Julian out of my head, when ever I hear this song I think of my boy.

1,2,3,4

CAPTURE YOUR GRIEF 2012: Day 28 Memory

It is hard for me to choose just one memory. I have many favorite memories when I think about Julian. I also have many negative memories associated with his birth, care after delivery and death, but my happy memories tend to stick out more than my negative and sad ones.

One of my most treasured memories is meeting Julian for the very first time. It had been almost 2.5 hours since the boys were born that I was wheeled into the NICU to meet my sons. They took me to see Juilan first, and he looked perfect - so perfect that I assumed he was the more "healthy" twin. But he was not. I didn't get to hold him during our first visit, but I did get to touch him. And my favorite part of this memory is that he opened his eyes and looked right at me. He did it a few times, and I am now so thankful that I was given the opportunity to see his beautiful eyes. I also feel thankful for the fact that he got to see me and his daddy - the two people who waited almost nine months for his arrival and were so excited and happy to be his parents.  The short first visit I had with him in the NICU was the first and last time I got to see his eyes, by the time I got to visit him at Sick Kids hospital he was already in an induced comma. But I am so thankful we got to see each other  at least once.

CAPTURE YOUR GRIEF 2012: Day 27 Artwork

I received this gift at my shower from a dear friend. She painted me my pair of bananas - my twin boys. Our nursery for the boys was monkey themed and it fit in perfectly. The piece still hangs in the nursery and I look at it almost every day while I am nursing Jean-Luc. It makes me both happy and sad at the same time. I like that this piece reminds me daily that the sweet boy I get to hold in my arms was once part of a pair. A pair that was unfairly separated far too soon.

CAPTURE YOUR GRIEF 2012: Day 26. Their Age

CAPTURE YOUR GRIEF 2012: Day 25 Baby Shower

This was my shower for the twins. It was fun. My shirt reads "I grow twins. What's your superpower?" - now when I look at that shirt I feel sad. Apparently I can grow twins, but I don't get to keep or raise twins.

Twins. Twins mean two of everything. Two cribs, two car seats, two of every outfit, a stroller to accommodate twins and a toddler - this shower I was showered with two of everything. It was great, but then there was having to part with the extra of everything. And to this day, over 9 months later, I will go to pull the next size clothes out of storage and find a few matching twins outfits. Sigh.

CAPTURE YOUR GRIEF 2012: Day 24 Siblings

Julian has a big sister and a twin brother. Whenever I see pictures of my surviving kids or current family pictures, it is such a very bitter sweet feeling. I am so happy for what I have, but it pains me when I look and remember, there is someone missing and he will always be missing.

CAPTURE YOUR GRIEF 2012: Day 23 Their Name/Their Photo

CAPTURE YOUR GRIEF 2012: Day 22 Place of Care/Birth

I think I will pass on this one. Honestly, when I think of the actual buildings associated with my prenatal care or the birth of my twins  - I get very negative and angry feelings.

I can't help it. Before the birth if the twins, when I would see our hospital where the twins were born I would have very happy and positive thoughts. It was the place our first daughter was born and I had very fond memories. But during my prenatal care with the twins, I had many ultrasounds at that hospital, which I found to be stressful and nerve racking. Then there was the delivery - I am angry about  how things proceeded during my arrival to the hospital, about decisions made regarding my delivery and then there is the delivery itself. I feel like mistakes were made.

CAPTURE YOUR GRIEF 2012: Day 21 Altar/Shrine/Sacred Space

Coming

CAPTURE YOUR GRIEF 2012: Day 20 Charity/Organization

Our new charity of choice is to support Sick Kids Hospital. Sick Kids is where our dear Julian was transferred to, where amazing nurses, doctors and specialists took care of him and did their best for him.

CAPTURE YOUR GRIEF 2012: Day 19 Project

There isn't a project I have worked on yet, but I do want to do something for the NICU in Brampton, the place our surviving twin spent the first few days of his life.

I would like to collect preemie sized clothing to donate. We brought our own clothes and little sleepers, but before our nurses realized that we had our own stuff there, they dressed our boy in the hospital clothing. It was the funniest sight ever, it had only been about 3 days after Julian died and it may have been my first serious giggle after my loss. Our baby was dressed like, what I called a Hobo baby. He was wearing a girls sized 6 month top that looked like a dress, a pair of 3month shorts (it was January) and he was  covered in the tattiest crocheted mini blanket - he looked hilarious, and there were other babies dressed like this. I remember thinking - they need some more appropriately sized outfits here!  

It is going to be slow for a few days

Things are going to be slow for the next few days. I will be staying at my parent's place with VERY slow internet, so my Capture Your Grief submissions may be on hold until after Friday.

CAPTURE YOUR GRIEF 2012: Day 18 Family Portrait

Our family. We are all there, all 5 of us. Our daughter is holding Julian's Bear - this is our first picture with everyone. It makes me happy and sad at the same time.

CAPTURE YOUR GRIEF 2012: Day 17 Anniversary/Birthday/Due Dates

We aren't there yet. We have not hit the one year mark. I think about what the day will be like all the time. Celebrating the first birthday of one son, while mourning the loss of another on the same day.

The only date we have hit so far was the due date, but now looking back on it, the day just passed us by. We actually held our daughters 2nd birthday party. I do remember  thinking today was the due date, but I don't think I really held much significance in the date of February 17th, as I knew I would never actually make it to that date.

January 12th and 13th will be the next big dates. I can't say I am looking forward to them, which makes me sad for our poor Jean-Luc.

CAPTURE YOUR GRIEF 2012: Day 16 Release

Yesterday, on Pregnancy and Infant Loss Remembrance Day we released 3 balloons for our dear Julian. It was very special for our family as it was the first time we have done something "physical" to commemorate Julian as a family.

CAPTURE YOUR GRIEF 2012: Day 15 Wave of Light

Yesterday we lit our candle for Julian, and we lit a candle for all the other babies gone too soon. I posted our intentions to participate in the Wave of Light on Facebook yesterday and invited friends and family to join us in lighting a candle if they liked - and I was blown away by the number of candles lit for my sweet boy. Thank you everyone who thought of our son and all the other babies and their families.

Pregnancy and Infant Loss Remembrance Day

Today is Pregnancy and Infant Loss Remembrance Day. It is a day of remembrance for all babies who have died too soon, from early pregnancy loss thru infant death.

Today I remember my son Julian, and I remember and think of all the other babies gone too soon. Today we plan on releasing a few balloons for our dear Julian. It is an important day for me and my family. We also have a special candle picked out for out sweet boy, the plan is to light it at 7pm tonight and join the wave of light. 

CAPTURE YOUR GRIEF 2012: Day 14 Community

There are many things about this community that I am thankful for. All I can say is a heartfelt thank you to all the members who have shared, lent an ear, a supportive word or offered a thoughtful suggestion.

CAPTURE YOUR GRIEF 2012: Day 13 Signs

Day 10 Symbols would be the same as Day 13 for me. When ever I see a Mourning Dove I think of my sweet boy.

CAPTURE YOUR GRIEF 2012: Day 12 Scents

Inside the zip-lock bag is Julian's receiving blanket that my husband brought back to my hospital room on the night the boys were born. The blanket was with Julian in the hospital and it smelled like him. I placed it in the zip-lock bag on the night he died in the hopes that it would maintain his scent for as long as possible. And it did. I took that blanket out of the zip-lock bag for the briefest of moments multiple times a day and would inhale his sweet scent, only to return it to the bag so it wouldn't loose that precious scent. Nine months later, the smell is not the same, but I still take the blanket out of the bag and hold it close. The padded rectangle was Julian's IV board in the NICU - it also smelled like my baby for a long time, now it smells of his memory box.

CAPTURE YOUR GRIEF 2012: Day 11 Supportive Friend

I don't think this friend even realizes how special she has been. We met a few years ago in a baby swim class, our casual play dates have blossomed into a very special friendship for me and I am so glad she has been in my life, especially during these last 9 months. Her easy going and upbeat personality has been uplifting for me and she always is willing to lend an ear and lets me share anything and everything with her. So thank you dear friend - and I hope you don't mind I posted your picture here.

CAPTURE YOUR GRIEF 2012: Day 10 Symbol

I have two symbols that make me think of Julian. The Mourning Dove and his teddy bear. Mourning Doves often hangout in my yard and appear in places I don't expect to see them, and they brighten my day every time I see one.

CAPTURE YOUR GRIEF 2012: Day 9 Special Place

In my bedroom with my kids. I keep a lot of Julian's special items in my room and I love laying in bed with my kids looking at Julian's hand impression and pictures.

CAPTURE YOUR GRIEF 2012: Day 8 Jewellery

The bear charm on my Pandora bracelet reminds me of my Julian - it represents the teddy bear that holds Julian's ashes. I also have two baby boy booties on my bracelet, a gift from my husband when we found out the twins were both boys.  I am still looking for the right piece of cremation jewellery. I'm looking at getting a glass bead that is made with Julian's ashes, but I'm not ready to open his bear to separate some of his cremains just yet.

CAPTURE YOUR GRIEF 2012: Day 7 What To Say

There are lots of nice things people have said, but the one that sticks out in my mind the most was, "You need to do what ever you feel is right." - it was exactly what I needed to hear at the time and I still appreciate it. A simple "I'm sorry" is always appreciated, and far better then saying nothing at all (in my opinion). And a heartfelt hug can also be just as comforting than any spoken words some days. 

CAPTURE YOUR GRIEF 2012: Day 6 What Not To Say

A small sampling of the many things not to say. These are a few that really stung the most, especially since they were said by family and close friends.

CAPTURE YOUR GRIEF 2012: Day 5 Memorial

 

Again, this was a hard one for me, because we didn't have a memorial service or funeral and Julian doesn't have a grave site (his bear containing his ashes lives in my bedroom - right where I want it). But I do plan on having a memorial for my little guy, we just haven't found the right way to commemorate Julian yet. But this image represents almost all my physical memories I have of Julian, and I plan on using the contents in this box to create a memorial display in our home. 

CAPTURE YOUR GRIEF 2012: Day 4 Most Treasured Item

My most treasured items of Julian are the special pictures and video clips I have of him. But I love his hand cast. We also have one of his foot, but it didn't turn out as well as the hand. A picture of each of my babies sit altogether in my special place.

CAPTURE YOUR GRIEF 2012: Day 3 After Loss Self Portrait

This was a hard one, but I chose one with myself and both my surviving children. They were and are my strength and motivation to continue to find ways enjoy life everyday.

CAPTURE YOUR GRIEF 2012: Day 2 Self Portrait Before Loss

This is the last image I took of myself while pregnant with the twins. It was the morning before I delivered, I was uncomfortable, but excited and full of joy. I love this picture and I'm so glad I took it.

CAPTURE YOUR GRIEF 2012: Day 1 Sunrise (or something else)

I don't want to lie to you or myself - I.am.NOT.a.morning.person. I don't do sunrises (and both my surviving children love me enough to sleep in most days). I want to find or create an image for everyday this month, so I will find something for this post and edit the entry when I do.

Day 1 Sunrise:

So my children have been waking up a little earlier this week. And I caught the sunrise two days in a row, but today (really day 5) I ran to grab a camera. This is where I see the sunrise most days, that's when I manage to actually catch it. It's been a long time since I took a picture of the sun coming up for the day, it is really quite a beautiful sight. I know I have two specific sunrise pictures from the past that I love, I am going to try to find them and post them.

CAPTURE YOUR GRIEF 2012 & Pregnancy and Infant Loss Awareness Month

I've been taking a break lately. But I've decieded to make an effort to take part in the "Capture Your Grief" project for Pregnancy and Infant Loss Awareness Month. I can't promise that I will have a picture for everyday, but I will try my best to find or take one for the days that speak to me.

As for October being Pregnancy and Infant Loss Awareness month, we are 3 days into the month and today is the first day I have mentioned it, out loud, to anyone. I talked about it with my dear friend who suffered the loss of a pregnancy today, and I briefly discussed some possible plans for the 15th with my husband - but nothing definite yet. We will see, but I do know I want to do something special to remember Julian on the 15th.

Changing it up...

I thought I would try to change it up a little. I just posted an entry I started a few weeks ago, and noticed many of my post focus on my downs and lows. There are also many happy and positive things happening in my day to day life, so I think I am going to "try" to balance out my happy vs. sadder posts.

We had a fun family week at the cottage. The weather didn't really cooperate with us, but we still had fun. Julian's absence was felt and acknowledged  many times, which allowed us to discuss some happy and sadder memories of our little man.

My husband and I celebrated 6 years of marriage on August 19th. We had another low key family day, it was relaxing and funto hangout in our pj's with the kids for the day.

I am not the same

Lately I have been thinking about the "before me" versus the "me I am today". I am not the woman I was before Julian died. I wouldn't have been the same woman if he had lived, but I wish it didn't take losing my son to realize how much I have changed. I'm sure I could have lived in a quite blissful  state of naivety in regards to the feelings and pain associated with the death of your child. But that is not the case.

Julian dying changed me as a person in big ways, as well as in small ways. I think about the world differently now, as I have mentioned before, I have a new appreciation for life. I have come to realize how fragile it can be, and I really try to enjoy things more. I try to enjoy the good and the bad and I don't think I take life for granted, something I think I did more before my son died.  I might think I can appreciate life more now, knowing how fragile it is - but I still know I would have preferred to have my Julian here now, instead of feeling like I can appreciate things in life more. In the end I know the constant back and forth I have with myself, about how I have changed since Julian died, is out of my hands and control. I can't do anything to bring my baby back and I slowly need to get used to the "me I am today".

The "me I am today" is":

More paranoid, I worry about my kids even more now. I worry that if something happened to one of them I could not return from my grief a second time. I worry that it may be my breaking point.

The more paranoid me worries so much that Jean-Luc sleeps on his Angelcare monitor EVERY night and most naps, because I can't relax unless I know he is safe and BREATHING.

I care less about things I used to think important, like laundry, house and yard work. If things don't get cleaned for a few days, who cares - I spent some extra times with my kids.

The new me also feels more alone. People who used to talk to me (including: family, friends, neighbours  and acquaintances) don't come around or talk to me as much as before. I don't know if it is because they don't know what to say or do, but I do know that a few specific people who I  once considered very close, have shown their true colours and have proved themselves as pretty horrible friends. (I might have to dedicate an entire post regarding this subject.)

The new me has good and even great days, and then something will happen and I can have a few horrible hours or even days of grief. I don't know how I will get used to a pain and hurt that will NEVER go away. It may lessen over time, but it will be with me until my dying day. Until this point in my life, nothing has effected me in this way, and some days I find thinking about dealing with my grief unbearable.

I have changed, it is undeniable - I am still learning to live with the me I am today. 

Dwelling on the past kind of day

Today I just miss Julian. I feel in a slump. We are supposed to be going on vacation tomorrow and I can't gather the energy to get things packed. The last time we were at the cottage I was pregnant with twins. This year I will be returning with only one of my twin boys, and thinking about it is beyond sad. I am trying to be happy and I know I should be enjoying the two beautiful children playing right in front of me, but I can't get Julian out of my mind today. There are days I feel so happy and full of joy. And then, there are days like today, when all I can seem to do is think about the past and dwell on what should have been. I just miss my boy.

I miss you

Part 4: The last day with Julian

On January 13^th as I watched my hospital room get brighter as the sun rose, I was thinking and day dreaming about my boys. I was picturing my little Jean-Luc sleeping in his incubator in the NICU and I was trying to imagine what Julian’s hospital room might look like. I was also hoping, with all my might that he was going to pull through. I remember getting up and pulling myself together. I went to see Jean-Luc, and then my husband called Sick Kids to get an update on Julian. The night before, things were looking better and we were hopeful after receiving good news. However, this one phone call changed my life forever. Watching my husband’s face as he talked to the doctor and listening to his voice crack informed me of what was soon to come. I didn’t need to be on the phone listening to the update, I just knew what was happening and I lost it. That was my moment of utter despair – at that moment I knew I was going to lose my son. My husband got off the phone and told me that Sick Kids wanted us to both come to the hospital, despite me having a caesarean only 24 hours prior. They said they would send an ambulance for me if our hospital wouldn’t discharge us. I knew we were going to say good-bye and it was killing me. I called my parents to tell them we had to go to Sick Kids but the words would not come out of my mouth. The only sounds I could let escape my lips were deep agonizing moans of pain and grief. It felt as if my world was crumbling and I was losing control. My husband conveyed the message to my parents and then set off to begin the process of my early discharge from the hospital.

After a mess of much unnecessary drama from the on call obstetrician, I was discharged by 11am from the hospital, without any medication but Tylenol. I had to leave my other son in the NICU as we headed down to Julian at Sick Kids. On the drive we were pretty silent, we were sick with pain and sadness and the unknown. At one point of the drive, my husband asked me how far we were willing to take it with the extraordinary measures the hospital was currently using to keep our son Julian alive – we were on the same page and we continued our drive in silence. As we pulled off the highway there was a billboard that read ‘BasicFunerals.ca’ – it was like a slap in the face. I was going to have to make those plans and decisions and I didn’t need to see that stupid billboard to remind me of it.

We arrived at Sick Kids and made our way up to Julian’s room. There he was, hooked to monitors, tubing and IV’s. I couldn’t believe how covered in lines he was. There were also teams of doctors constantly attending to alarms alerting, two primary nurses, as well as numerous specialists assisting and monitoring his case. It was horrible. All I wanted to do is hold my little boy and smell his sweet hair. But I could barely touch him as he was so fragile.

We were directed to a small room to discuss his case with his lead doctor and a few other members assigned to him. His doctor explained that things had become progressively worse throughout the night and morning. Julian began having multiple seizures and his tiny body was shutting down. They would give him a medication for a specific issue only to have another problem arise immediately. His kidneys were also in complete failure, despite having a catheter he had not passed any urine since arriving, his body was getting puffier and puffier from all the fluids going into his body but none coming out. Our doctor also explained that what was happening to our dear son is often what they experience in cases similar to ours. She told us that the outcome was bleak if he managed to survive the horrific trauma he was experiencing, and she gave us her honest opinion on what she would do if it was her son or grandson. We already knew we were losing him, we chose to spend the rest of our time with him alone and together.

We were unable to move him while he was ventilated, there were far too many lines and tubes – so we cuddled him right where he was. The nurses put up screens around us and brought me a rocking chair to sit in and hold Julian. I can’t even describe the short time I spent with him. I was trying to squeeze a life time of cuddles into a few short minutes. My husband and I inspected every part of his tiny body – he was absolutely perfect. My husband took video of me holding him and lots of pictures. My husband held Julian and got to spend some time cuddling him. After his ventilator was removed we took Julian to a private room and held him in our arms until he was no longer with us. Again, I just don’t have the words to describe the time we got to spend with our son, every moment was so special and is etched into my memory.  

That evening we bathed our son for the first and last time. I changed his diaper for the first and last time. And I dressed him in his coming home outfit, which I had brought with me to the hospital. We called our parents and told them what had happened from our private room while we still were holding Julian. We spent a few hours in that room, just the two of us and Julian – I often long to return to those hours after Julian had died and we were still with him. I would have taken more picture, cuddled him more, smelled him hair and skin more. I would have videoed his bath, redone the mould of his foot in my hand, taken more hand and foot prints – and the list just goes on.

When I think back to the evening, I have no idea how we were able to leave Julian that night. I think the only thing that gave me the strength to hand Julian’s tiny body over to the nurse was the fact that I had another very tiny and fragile baby in the NICU that also needed his mommy. Somehow I was able to say my final goodbye to my son. My husband and I kissed him and told him how much we loved him and were going to miss him and then we called the nurse.  She came to the door, and I told her I just needed to say goodbye one more time. I looked at Julian’s beautiful face, I took one final sniff of his sweet scent and kissed him goodbye. I then handed him to the nurse and watched her walk away with a piece of my heart in her arms. My husband and I cried in the little room we had just spent the evening in with our son. We pulled ourselves together, gathered our belongings and prepared ourselves for the trip back to the other NICU, where Julian’s twin brother, Jean-Luc was waiting.  As we made our way to the car, we walked pass where the nurse was taking the final measurements and weight of Julian – it took all my might to not go in and grab my son. I so desperately wanted to be bringing home my baby, not leaving him at the hospital, alone and dead. All I left with that evening is a receiving blanket that smelled like him, not nearly close to what I had dreamed of for the past nine months.

We left the hospital and drove to see Jean-Luc. We arrived just before midnight, and for the nurses who asked, we explained what had happened. I was able to hold Jean-Luc that night, something that was so bittersweet.

We made the decision to have Julian cremated. With Jean-Luc still in the NICU we felt there didn’t seem to be time to hold a funeral for Julian, and we were just so overwhelmed with emotions and stress. I now regret not holding a service for him, I don’t know how we would have done it or if I would have been strong enough to handle it, but it is one of my many regrets. We had said our final goodbyes to Julian at the hospital and that was the last time I saw or held my son.

It has been such a difficult journey, one full of extreme lows mixed with intense highs. Losing one twin, while one still survives is just something nobody should have to experience.  I don’t think one could truly understand it unless it happened to them, and nobody should ever have it happen to them. I’ve spoken with other baby loss mamas and they have similarly explained it like “it’s like being in a club that nobody wants to be in, but unless you are in that club, you just can’t fully understand it.” It's horrible, losing a child is just completely unfair and horrible. In the end it doesn't matter who or how or when it happens -  nobody should have to experience the hurt the loss of a child brings. 

 

I miss Julian every day. I think I will always miss Julian every day. He was part of me. I created him. I carried him and I loved him with the most intense kind of love. I grieve everyday for Julian's existence. I grieve for what could and should have been. I also grieve for his brother. I grieve for the bond they should have shared, the friends they should have become and for the life they both lost.

6 months...

Today was 6 months since my boys were born. I got a few "happy six months" comments from family members for our Jean-Luc, but only my husband, mum and grandmother acknowledged I gave birth to two babies 6 months ago today. I wish I could have celebrated with both boys today.

Julian, you were missed today. You are missed everyday, but today, the absence of your presence weighed a little heavier on my heart. I love you my sweet forever baby! I wish I could have scribbled your name on our 1/2 birthday cake (even though my writing was barely legible). I wish I could have taken pictures of both you and your brother in your matching Bumbo  chairs. I wish I could have covered you in 6 month birthday kisses and raspberries too!

Today we celebrated as best we could. Despite not having Julian with us, the last 6 months have been amazing. We have enjoyed every minute with Jean-Luc and his big sis.

Jean-Luc 6 months 

Tomorrow marks 6 months since Julian died - my plan is to stay busy, but still think of my sweet boy often.

Pictures

Yesterday I went through pictures and video of Julian. I love and treasure the memories and images I have of him - but there are never enough.

I go through the pictures often and every time I question why I stopped taking pictures. I have about 300 pictures, not all great shots but there are at least a 100 good/clear ones. I take pictures of other people's babies,children and families, and get paid to do it. Often after a 2 hour shoot I will have well over 300 images to go through and pick out my favorite and best shots. So why, when it was my own son, who I would never see again, did I stop taking pictures that evening? The only answer I can give myself is I guess I wanted to be in the 'there and now' not stuck behind a lens. But I still regret not taking more pictures almost every day. I wish I had of called a life photographer and tried to get someone down to the hospital to capture more special moments and more of Julian's cuteness. I just wasn't thinking and I hadn't planned on fitting a lifetime of pictures into one short evening.

If I had the chance to go back and do it again I would take more pictures. Pictures of everything. Pictures and video of the bath we gave our son, his first and only bath. Julian's bath will always be one of my most treasured memories with him, I really felt like his mum. I was taking care of him, dressing him and doing something that seemed almost normal. It is also something I did for him that I was not able to do even with his twin brother who was in the NICU and bathed by a nurse for the first time. I really wish we had video taped Julian's bath - just one of my regrets in a very long list. 

I dream of this...

I never got to hold both of my babies at the same time. It just wasn't something I was able to do. They were both born at the same hospital, but Julian was taken to Sick Kids and Jean-Luc remained in the NICU at Brampton for 11 days. Once they were born, they were separated. They never saw or were with each other again. They spent almost 9 months growing together and I dreamed of holding both of my baby boys in my arms. I waited patiently for the moment I could look down at both their faces at the same time - it never happened. I feel terribly sad that I not only didn't get to hold both of them at the same time, but that they never were with each other again once born. 

I have been having a hard time the last few weeks, at times I feel like I am hanging on by a very thin thread. I have been having mini panic attacks while trying to fall asleep at night. I start thinking about Julian and my chest starts to hurt, to the point that breathing gets hard and I have to remind myself to calm down and focus on my breathing.

I miss Julian. I am mourning his absence from our family, he is missing and I feel it ALL the time. My daughter, who is 2, was looking at pictures of the babies with me. I was trying to explain that Julian is not here anymore, but Jean-Luc is here with us. She remembers that there were TWO babies in mommy's tummy, but doesn't always understand or care that we only have one baby now. She is two years old and her brother Jean-Luc is the best to her. Anyways, when I told her we don't have Julian, she said "Mommy, we need to find him" - it broke my heart. She thinks he is not here because he is missing or we didn't bring home. I wish I could find him and bring him home for her, we all just miss him in our own ways right now.

Life

Losing Julian has showed me how life is such a precious balance and demonstrated how easily it can come to an end. I miss the days when I felt invincible. When I thought mothers had children, grew old and watched their children have children, and then died peacefully of old age. I knew people died before growing old everyday, but until it touched me personally, I just didn't think it could or would happen to me. But it did, and now I find myself thinking about death all the time.

I feel like I am just waiting for the next tragedy to hit our family, that something will go wrong and we will lose someone else. All it takes is a wrong swerve of a car, one single cell in the body to begin to divide abnormally, anything really - anything can happen.

I found out yesterday that a friend of the family lost her baby at 6 weeks due to SIDS. The funeral is today. I feel the mothers hurt, I feel her pain, sorrow, loss and sadness. This just shouldn't happen to any mother.

Hearing the news of another baby dieing has me on edge. I thought I was doing better, but it has made my memories of losing Julian fresh again. I'm also, once again, paranoid about SIDS. I was worried about SIDS long before I lost a baby. With my first born I was always worried when she was sleeping too peacefully or sleeping for what I felt was too long and was quiet in her crib. I can't count the times I thought the worst and ran into her room, only to find her fast asleep and just fine. After Julian died (and his death had absolutely nothing to do with SIDS) I was so nervous that I would bring Jean-Luc home and something would happen to him. I insisted on using an Angelcare monitor in his bassinet. It helped me sleep at night, just knowing that he was breathing and if he stopped for any reason I would know almost right away. I will be keeping him on that monitor at night for as long as I can.

The baby that died this past week died when his mother put him down for a nap. Jean-Luc often naps in his playpen, swing or car seat - so I have been paranoid about checking him like every 5 minutes since I heard the news. I know I can't keep him on a breathing monitor all the time, but I sometimes wish I could. This kind of news makes me crazy with worry. Like I said at the beginning of this post - life is so very precious.

Mother's Day

Last night while trying to fall asleep (it was already past 2 am), I realized Mother's Day was on the 13th this year. May 13th will also be 4 months since Julian passed away. I don't know how I will feel on the day, but last night when I realized Mother's Day was on the 13th I had a silent sob fest into my pillow.

I know...but then I remember...

I know Julian isn't here. I understand that Julian is dead. I see his twin brother everyday, and I know I don't have my other precious baby. But sometimes it still doesn't seem real. It's like it never happened - like I never carried twins, gave birth to twins or held both of my boys, yet ended up with only one boy.

I think it doesn't always seem real because I have Jean-Luc. He is such an amazing baby and he makes me thankful everyday for all my children - and he does an amazing job of temporarily distracting me.

But there are times, when the the house is quite and my kids are sleeping, I'll glance at the photo display of ALL my babies and remember I have another beautiful baby boy. A baby boy who will always be my baby. And I remember (really remember) how I was supposed to have "my boys" - two babies.  I remember how I set up a nursery for two, bought matching outfits for two, and dreamed of my three children growing up together - but now I only have two children I can watch grow up.

It is when I am alone, I remember what I have lost. I look at Julian's pictures and realize I will never get to hold or touch my beautiful boy again. My heart starts to break over and over again. I start to feel guilty for almost forgetting (I never really forget, but some how I have long periods of feeling happy) and then I feel broken and sad. I hold his pictures and quietly sob and weep for the baby I will never be able to hold again, never be able to watch play with his lovely siblings, never be able to watch grow up and see the man he could have become. And then I get angry. I get furious and start to play the whole scenario over in my head, and I question the decisions I made the morning I delivered, I question the decisions the hospital made before and after the delivery - I just question and question. I know there is nothing I can do now to change the past, but I am not over what has happened and I will never be over what has happened.

I miss my boy everyday.

Tomorrow...

Tomorrow will be 100 days since my babies were born. Where did the time go?

I am so happy to be celebrating Jean-Luc's 100th day tomorrow, but as I sit here thinking about what tomorrow will be like, I'm suddenly starting to feel a bit overwhelmed with sadness. Something very important will be missing tomorrow - our dear Julian will not be here to celebrate 100 days with his lovely brother.

Losing one of our twins has been a roller coaster of sadness and happiness for me. I am constantly amazed, happy and smiling with my little Jean-Luc. And then I remember, something is missing - Julian. (Insert heavy sigh...life is so not fair sometimes.)

Happy 100 days Jean-Luc - we love you so much, thank you for making us smile every day for the last 100 days!

Julian - we will be thinking of you often tomorrow. We have loved and missed you for 100 days and will continue to do so forever more!

Part 3: My First Day as a Mother of 3

Once I arrived in postpartum I was greeted by the same nurse who looked after me when I had my daughter just two years prior. The nurse and I didn’t really mesh well the first time and I was a little disappointed that she was my nurse once again (I delivered in a pretty big hospital and the odds of getting the same nurse two years later seemed crazy). As I was wheeled into my room sans baby (in my case babies) I told my nurse I was going to rest just a bit before I went back to see my babies. She obviously was oblivious as to what had just happened and stated that I needed to rest and I could get up and see them in 8 hours. I was quietly furious and I silently cried alone in my room.

My parents had arrived as I was leaving recovery and my husband was taking them to try to see the babies as I was being settled in my room. Once they got back to my room, I burst into tears and told them that the nurse said I wouldn’t be able to see the babies for at least 8 hours and I was very upset about it. Either my husband or my mom went to the nursing station and must have said something to my nurse and the nursing staff, because once they knew our situation they were all a lot nicer to me.

We went through the whole ordeal with my parents multiple times. We were waiting for the team from Sickkids to arrive to take Julian to Sickkids hospital. My husband went back and forth between the babies and me while we waited. We were updated on Julian’s condition, he was alive but his blood pressure was still unable to remain stable, even after the special team from Sickkids arrived. They decided to move him to Sickkids despite still not having him in stable condition. They began prepping him for transport. As promised, they wheeled him to my room before he was taken downtown. He already looked less like the baby I had seen just a few hours before. When I first saw him he was alert and looking around, we made eye contact a few times and he was responsive to noise and my voice. The tiny baby they wheeled into my room looked even smaller, puffier, and absolutely covered in wires and monitors. I was in terrible pain from my c-section, but forced myself to sit up and lean over to touch Julian’s face and tell him I loved him. I once again said my goodbyes to my little boy. I was stuck in the hospital, I had just had a c-section, I had another baby in the NICU in the hospital I was in and I felt torn between my situation and my two babies. My husband was going to stay with me and Jean-Luc for the time being. The Sickkids team told us we would be updated on Julian’s condition when they arrived at the hospital and then we could call as frequently as we wanted to be updated by his nurse. I said my good-bye to Julian and told the paramedics to drive safely with my baby.

Julian leaving for Sickkids.

When I think back on everything, all I can feel is devastation. Our dreams and hopes for our two boys were crumbling before our eyes. We both knew deep down that Julian’s situation was bleak, 8 minutes flat line is not a good thing. We were clinging to the hope that we would receive a miracle. We hoped that while he was flat line for the 8 minutes he was still receiving oxygen while they were trying to resuscitate him, and hoped that he had not been without oxygen too long before he was born. When we first saw him he was looking at us and acting responsive – we just really hoped his brain was going to be ok. Because we both knew his survival depended on that as the main factor.

When he arrived at Sickkids we received positive news that while on transit to their hospital they were able to get his blood pressure up and keep it relatively stable. This was amazing news for us and our little guy. A few hours later we were able to talk to the head specialist on Julian’s case. She reported that by no means was he anywhere out of the woods, but things did look better. His blood pressure was up, he was breathing better than expected, and although still ventilated, he was breathing above the vent settings. She explained to us that cases, specific to Julians, need more time to determine the full extent of damage done. When a newborn loses oxygen at birth or prior to birth, they have a diving reflex. They protect their most vital organ, the brain, by directing all remaining oxygen and blood flow to that organ. If the brain is protected, brain damage can be avoided or if minimal brain damage occurs, often a newborn’s brain is able to compensate and find new ways to function. Our hope was that Julian’s brain had been protected. His other organs if damaged could heal with time and help, but if his brain had been compromised things would rapidly start to go downhill. At his admittance to Sickkids, his brain functions seemed ok. He was not experiencing any seizures and we still had hope, but only time would tell so we just had to wait it out. We decided my husband would go to Sickkids hospital to see Julian that evening. We were both very upset that he was alone there. So as soon as we could sort things out where we were, he was going to go downtown to be with our other little guy.

Sometime during the day (it may have been in the morning) we were told that Julian had suffered a full placental abruption. Another blog I follow has a good description of placental abruption so I’ll post the link here: http://brodysfrogblog.blogspot.ca/p/placental-abruption.html . I suffered a class 3 separation. (I am sure I will write about this again, there are so many things about the placental abruption that infuriate me, haunt me and make me question “why?”) Essentially, Julian bled out. By the time he was born he had lost more than 50% of his blood. As Julian’s tiny body continued to lose blood, inevitably his body no longer had enough blood circulating in his system to carry fresh nutrients to his cells and organs. His body began to shut down because his organs were starved of oxygen, and because there was no blood supply to carry away toxins that built up, his organs suffered further damage. Although he was alive, we were waiting still waiting to see the extent of damage done to his little body.

My parents brought our daughter to the hospital to see me in the evening on January 12^th. Throughout my pregnancy, although not yet 2 years old, she seemed to understand there were two babies growing inside of me. She would correct people when they asked about the baby in mommy’s belly and say “babies, there are 2 babies”. But when she arrived at the hospital I didn’t know what to tell her, would she remember or even understand? We decided to just take her in to see Jean-Luc in the NICU, and wait to tell her about Julian. It seemed as if she forgot there were 2 babies when she laid eyes on her little brother, so we left it at that for the moment. It was sad that I was unable to be with her when she saw her brother for the first time. I was still in my hospital room and hadn’t even seen him since the morning myself. The whole situation was not at all how I envisioned introducing my boys to my daughter.

Our daughter meeting Jean-Luc.

By the time my husband was able to get downtown to Julian, it was close to midnight. He was getting very upset that he couldn’t be there with Julian and was torn about leaving us, but he finally got to Sickkids to be with our other little boy. He spent time with him, touched him and talked to him. He took pictures to bring back to me and told our little guy to hold on and be strong. He also got an update on Julian’s condition. I recently found a note in my husband’s bedside table of the health update he brought back to me.

The note reads:

Glucose – down but better, may be due to liver, upped glucose

EEG – normal, no seizures, slightly depressed

Brain Monitoring – a few slight blips, may be nothing, given an anticonvulsant just in case

Heart – Normal, just weak (may be due to chest compressions), on an epi drip not close to max dose just to keep blood pressure up

Blood Pressure – Normal range

MRI – maybe tomorrow

Intubated – Likely unnecessary but comfortable so keeping it in for MRI, out in 48 hours

Other notes – pooping up a storm, very active and responsive, breast milk as early as Saturday, kidneys ok so far

My husband visiting Julian at Sickkids.

This information was very positive and I was able to get some sleep that night. I knew he wasn’t out of the woods, but we both thought things were improving and we were hopeful.

Meeting my little Julian and saying good-bye to follow.

Part 2: The Delivery of the Twins - A Living Nightmare

Once I was on the operating table I knew it would only be a short while until my boys were born. I was getting really uncomfortable from my contractions and I couldn’t wait to get my epidural so the pain would stop. The anesthesiologist seemed to be taking FOREVER, I don’t know if it was forever but it sure felt like it. I had had an epidural with my first delivery and the first time the anesthesiologist was really quick, this woman was just taking so long. I also remember there were alarms going off in the room, one of the baby warming beds was alarming and the nurses and doctors were joking about it. Again, everything in the room projected a pretty calm atmosphere, yes they were moving quickly, but there didn’t seem to be any indication that anything was going to be wrong or go wrong.

I remember drinking some kind of liquid for stomach acid, laying down, having the separation curtain raised, feeling something cold being spread on my abdomen and then the doctor cutting. I remember saying “where is my husband” and a nurse saying “her husband isn’t in here doctor”. The doctor replied that it was too late and he had already started. I could feel the doctor cutting and I told him I could feel it, he asked if I could feel pain and I couldn’t so he kept going. I felt layers of tissue being cut and separated and then pulling and pushing and then some pressure. While the doctor was working on taking baby A out I felt baby B kick me in the ribs.

At this point I was pretty scared to be laying cut open on a table all alone (it was nothing like caesarean sections on TV with the dad or support person by you). I didn’t even have a nurse holding my hand. I had arrived at the hospital scared because of the amount of blood there was when my water broke. They had detected two heart beats and seemed not to be overly rushing my section – so at this point I can say I honestly thought things were going to be ok. But they were not ok. The next moments changed my life in the most devastating way forever. Baby A was delivered at 5:18am and I listened for a cry – nothing. Nothing from my baby was followed by the dreadful words that will haunt me forever, “Baby A is flat line”. My first thoughts were ‘great my baby is dead, now what?’ At that point I was given something to pretty much numb my mind, I was there but at the same time I was not there. A brief glimpse of a paper white coloured baby flashed beside me, followed by a room full of chaos. All I could see was a sea of legs, people rushing over to the baby warmer and crowding around my baby. I kept hearing “push (amount) of epinephrine”, followed by “push another (amount) of epi”, there was no crying in the room just panic and chaos. During the chaos I know a code pink was called, someone was asking about the cord clamp and where it was or if it was there – I still don’t know what that means.

At 5:21am baby B was delivered, I didn’t know it because nothing was ever announced due to the chaos surrounding baby A. I was laying there just wondering what the hell had just happened and what was still happening. Everyone in the room was focused on something. Although I had physically not been forgotten as there was a doctor up to his elbows in my abdomen, I was definitely mentally and emotionally forgotten about. I knew I had been kicked by baby B while baby A was being delivered, so what about my other baby, was he alive or dead? I remember calling out “what is going on, can somebody please tell me what is happening?” It was the anesthesiologist who explained to me that baby A was delivered and was not breathing and his heart had stopped beating but they had his heart beating again and they were helping him breath. Then she told me that baby B was born and other then needing a little help breathing, he was doing fine. So both babies were alive – good. I don’t remember much from being told this news to arriving in recovery, to talking to a nurse and seeing my husband.

While I was in recovery, both babies were taken to the NICU. I hadn’t seen either of them. My husband came in to see me and we were told that baby A was born flat line. Was flat line for 8 minutes before they were able to get his heart beating again and that he was now in the NICU with a team of nurses. He was ventilated and he had lost more than 50% of his blood at birth. He needed a blood transfusion and they were waiting for special infant blood from Sickkids hospital. They were also waiting for a special team to transport him to Sickkids hospital. Because of the blood loss, they were having a very difficult time getting his blood pressure up and they were unable to keep it stable. I listened to the news, I knew what they were saying, and I knew it was bad, but he was alive and I didn’t know what to think. I honestly didn’t know if he would survive or die, but I was so happy to hear he was alive and that he was going to get the best care possible.

We were also told that baby B was doing fine, that he was on a c-pap machine – just in case he needed some help breathing. My husband was told he could go see them and I would be able to see them when I could move my feet and be moved out of recovery. I had also lost a lot of blood during the delivery and my body temperature had dropped. I remember shivering profusely, but willing my feet and legs to move so I could see my babies. It was torture laying in that bed, waiting to see my boys. Especially not knowing if one of them would survive or not, not knowing if I would ever get to see him alive. My husband went into see the boys and took the camera so he could take pictures and bring them back to me. While I was waiting, one nurse (the one who said she had detected two heartbeats when I arrived) came in, the look on her face made me feel like everything was NOT going to be ok, she couldn’t even make eye contact with me. Finally my husband came back. He looked horrible, like a truck had hit him. I asked him what was happening and he told me that Julian (baby A) was having a really hard time with his blood pressure and they were unable to wait for the infant blood, so they started the blood transfusion with regular blood. He showed me the pictures. Julian looked very pale in the pictures. He was ventilated and had bloodshot eyes. Jean-Luc (twin B), looked even scarier to me. The c-pap machine (which is really just air over the nostrils) was strapped on his head and just looked really scary.

About two hours after my c-section, I was able to be wheeled into the NICU to see the babies. They took me to see Julian first. I thought he was the “ok” baby, he looked prefect. I was told that he was in fact baby A, I couldn’t believe that my little guy, who looked so perfect could be struggling so hard to stay alive. I was able to touch him and talk to him. My bed made a loud noise and he startled to the noise and looked at me. I was so happy to see him respond to the noise, it meant his brain was functioning. I said my hellos and goodbyes and they promised to bring him to me in my room before he was taken to Sickkids.

My Julian - looking at mommy and showing me his beautiful eyes.

They then took me to see Jean-Luc, he was also perfect. He was crying and mucus was bubbling out. He was pink and squirming. He was perfect and warm. I was able to touch and stroke him. The nurses told me he was doing great and I was so happy that my little Jean-Luc was so strong and doing so well.

Jean-Luc meeting mommy.

I was then taken to my room in the postpartum ward.

I will post the first day in the hospital after the delivery of the twins in another post.

Once again another Friday the 13th

The days and weeks following Julian's death passed very quickly, yet also very slowly. I don't know how to exactly describe what it felt and still feels like, but it always feels like he just died but at the same time like it happened a long time ago.

At first I counted by how many days it had been since Julian died, then it was how many weeks, which has turned into months. I think about him everyday, but the last few weeks I have been paying less attention the the dates since it happened. Just as I have been loosing track of time with how many weeks/months old his brother is (it is a bit sad - until now every Thursday has marked another week older for Jean-Luc and then I remember that the next day means it will also be another week since his brother, my other sweet baby has died).

Today kind of hit me hard unexpectedly. Today is the last day I will count in weeks from the birth and death, from now on I'll remember in months, until the two year mark, then it will be remembered in years. Today also happens to be another Friday the 13th, not that I believe in any superstitions in regards to the date - but it still sucks. It sucks that my baby died on a Friday the 13th and that every Friday the 13th will be another reminder of this.

So yesterday my little Jean-Luc turned 3 months old - where does the time go? He is such a good little man.

At three months he is:

• smiling
• ohhhing and awwhhhing
• still breast feeding exclusively
• sleeping from 12am-6:30'ish pretty consistently
• batting at toys
• napping like a champ
• hating tummy time (like his sister did)

Jean-Luc you are an amazing, happy and joyful baby. We love you so much, you and your sister bring a smile to us multiple times a day, every single day. I have loved every night feed, every poopie diaper and even the time you spit up in my mouth. We are looking forward to every moment with you.

Jean-Luc at 3 months.

Julian, it has been three months today since you died. We miss you everyday and think of you often. I tell you sister and your brother about you, they have no idea what I am talking about right now, but one day they will and they will know you were here and you were loved. You brought me happiness and I loved every minute I got to carry and then hold you. Some days I am still very sad that I can't have you here with me, you showed me how precious life is. And your sister and brother continue to remind me of how special life is everyday, and how we all need to live our lives to the fullest and enjoy our time together.

Julian

We love you sweet boy.

Love your Mommy