Friday, April 15, 2016

Half a year has passed...

I didn't realize that my life had a rhythm until Rylan was born. Now that he's here, I realize we are starting over, again, at how to "do life" without Matt here. 

Rylan's arrival was nothing like I ever expected. I decided to have him induced on March 20th. There are several reasons why: needing to have some control in my life, I was insanely uncomfortable, and the stress and anxiety about being in the hospital were just a few reasons. Also, my doctor was on call that weekend and if Rylan wouldn't have been born before 5:00 PM on the 21st, I risked my doctor not being there. 

I went in around 7:00 AM that Sunday. I was having contractions every 3-5 minutes, I was dilated to 5cm, and I was 90% effaced. Rylan was coming that day even without being induced. Around 8:30 that morning, I was given Pitocin to move things along. My mom, sister, Matt's mom, and my sister-in-law were in the room with me as we waited for Rylan to come. My nurse told us Rylan would be coming "that afternoon." Around 10:30 AM, my doctor came in and broke my water as the nurse turned down the Piton knowing that my water breaking could intensify the contractions. I started having intense contractions very soon after my water was broken. They were so painful that I quickly asked for an epidural, thinking I was only at 5cm and I couldn't imagine them getting any worse. The nurse gave me Fentanyl to prepare for the epidural. Within minutes, I was groaning and writhing in pain, and needing to push. My nurse checked where I was at-already 9.5cm. The room turned to chaos as the nurse hurried to find my doctor, more nurses, and a "receiver" for Rylan. I kept saying I couldn't do it and that I needed the epidural. I heard my sister tell me she could see Rylan and he was coming fast. Without time for an epidural, and after 2 more pushes, Rylan was born at 10:56AM. He came so quickly. The nurses laid Rylan on my chest where I noticed that he was blue. In my daze, I asked if he was ok and then he was that quickly taken from me. 

During labor, every contraction was literally a painful reminder that I didn't have Matt there with me. I remember when I had Olivia and how I was so surprised that despite the immense pain, I never cried. But with Rylan, the tears came quickly because of the heartache I carry with me. I had my family there. I had great support. But it wasn't Matt. It wasn't Rylan's daddy. 

It wasn't long after Rylan was born that the nurses told me he was going to go to the "Special Care Nursery." I was clueless as to what was going on but felt confident that he would be ok. He was full term, 7lbs 11oz, and a healthy baby. It didn't take much time for me to realize that the "nursery" was really the NICU. I was quickly faced with the reality that Rylan being in the NICU reminded me too much of Matt in the hospital. There were too many similarities-his oxygen, the smell of the tape, watching the monitors, having to visit him in a different room, sleepless nights, and constant watch by nurses. I blamed myself for Rylan being in there. I kept believing that I shouldn't have been induced. I told myself it was my fault for wanting the epidural. Or that it was because he was going through withdrawals from my antidepressants. 

Rylan had fluid in his lungs from not being pushed very long to squeeze it out. The nurses believe he was also a little dopey from the Fentanyl and he never made a big cry. He had to be on oxygen and IV during our time there. I was told by his nurse when I could hold him, feed him, and visit him. Most of the time we were there, my motherly instinct told me that Rylan was totally fine. But it was also terrifying to hear his nurse say "he's in there" (neurologically) after a day of sleeping the majority of the time. Hearing her say this to me, I wondered how I could leave the hospital without him. I even wondered how I could face more heartache and loss or how I'd bury my husband and son within 6 months of each other. 

After three days we were blessed with a night nurse who changed everything. She saw this healthy baby who needed to go home. She heard my self-blame and reassured me that it was NOTHING I did, and she told me over and over that Rylan was going to be perfectly fine. She sent me back to my room to sleep. She didn't want me waking up to pump or to worry about feeding him. By the next morning, Rylan was unhooked from all his machines, out of his isolette, and ready to nurse. 

I was so happy to leave the hospital that night with my baby. I couldn't wait to get home and squeeze Olivia and introduce her to her brother. And as happy as I was about my babies, I was overcome with grief as I watched mine and Matt's parents hold Rylan for the first time. I sat, watching them, and cried uncontrollably. In the same moment, I loved and hated my life. I didn't want to live but couldn't imagine missing a second of it. 

Since Rylan was born, my emotions have run extremely high but also extremely low. I avoided Matt's passing because it was hurting me too much. Anytime Matt came to mind, I'd force myself to think of something else. I was becoming incredibly angry at Matt. After talking to my therapist, I learned that my body was trying to protect itself with anger. After all, it's easier to be angry because it hurts a little less. But she also taught me that biologically, my emotions are running on the extreme. She's educated me that in order to connect with Rylan, my hormones have changed and shifted making everything surface. My grief has been intensified. My heart aches so much. 

I often find myself looking at Olivia and Rylan and I see Matt like I have never seen him before. I notice the blessings they are and recognize that they wouldn't be here if it weren't for Matt. While this brings me a lot of happiness, it also brings pain. Because my wounds are so fresh, when I think of Matt I often visualize the last few days with him when we were at the hospital. The memory of that time will stay with me forever. I don't want to forget it but I also want to remember so much more about Matt. We had 13 years of memories together before he passed. I want my mind to go to those moments before remembering the hospital. With therapy and time, I am reassured it will happen. 

I am in awe of the last 6 months. Half a year has gone by since Matt passed and the pain is still as fresh and deep as before. Some days it hurts more than I can imagine, and other days I can see growth. Losing your other half means having to put yourself back together again. I may never be whole again. But I do know that Matt is helping me and showing me he loves me. 





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