Finding Self Care on the Journey of Grief — Part Five
A World Of Hurt, A World Of Pain, A World Full Of Sadness, A World Of Unforgettable Memories
I remember everything about the remainder of June 5thand June 6th. I remember labor sucking. I remember asking for all the drugs in the world because I did not want to feel a thing and knowing they can give me a ton because there was no need to worry about the effects on the baby. My baby had died.
I remember getting an epidural and it not working on half of my body. I remember asking over and over for the anesthesiologist to come back because I could still feel everything on my left side on my body. I threw up. I felt contractions. I cried. I yelled and swore at people.
I was angry.
I was sad.
I was broken.
Nothing anyone could do to change that. I wanted it to be over. I wanted it to just be a nightmare and that I would wake up.
At 8:42 pm, I pushed out a breech little boy. Remember when I thought he moved into the breech position with his feet towards my back, well, I was right. Out he came butt first feet towards my back and a long cord wrapped tightly around his little 13-inch 2 lb. body. Everything was perfect about him, except that he did not have a heartbeat. He would never breath this air. He would never take that first cry. Nothing.
I secretly hoped for several hours that his little heart would start beating and this nightmare would be over. I held and snuggled him. We had professional photos taken. We got locks of his tiny, thin hair. We got his foot prints and hand prints and a memory box was created. We got everything we could get and everything we could gather to collect into this tiny box. The box that held every memory we would ever have of our son, Lucas John Kallio Boucher. We were down to 2 names with Lucas being a high contender because we both really loved the meaning “light giving”. Who knew that he would truly be our light.
We spent a couple of hours with him. Holding him. Kissing him. Telling him that we love him. We slept as a little family of 3 together in a tiny hospital bed. Both sets of grandparents in the room across the hall. At some point my husband left me. He told me he just need to stretch his legs or something. I did not care. I love my husband but all I wanted to do was spend time with my boy. Never letting him go.
My husband completely left the room. But he had a destination and a purpose — across the hall to get my mom. He told me in the days following that he needed my mom’s help because he was afraid that I was never going to let our baby go. And since it had been so much time since delivery, his body was starting to change. I delivered my son at a time before the new technology of cuddle cots. If you are curious, about these amazing things, here is a link (http://flexmort.com/cuddle-cots/) or you could just search it.
Together, they returned to talk to me about when would be the best time to let him go. Let the doctors and nurses take him. And all I could do was cry. I did not want to let him go. I had to make a lifetime of memories in only a couple of hours and in reality, that was not enough. It would never be enough. This was it. This would be the last time that I would ever, ever hold, touch, see, smell my son. And it was just not enough time.
And in that moment, I said my last good-bye.
Gave that last kiss.
Held my baby boy for the last time ever.
Tried to take in every last bit because this was it, forever.
We were discharged the next day. And the weather was so vastly different from the previous 2 days — sunny and hot. I felt gross and not because of the weather. We worked to get all the vehicles back to the house. I remember being curled up in one of the vehicles, buckled in, hoping that I would just wake up from the nightmare.
Waking up from the nightmare would be great because I was just not sure how to live inside it.
The Completion In Part Six