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We Miss Eamonn
by Janelle, Seattle, WA, U.S.A.

Our son Eamonn was born after a happy and uneventful pregnancy. He came right on time and the birth was "normal" until he was crowning. Suddenly the doctor could not find his heartbeat and did a quick episiodomy and pulled him out with a vacuum that was placed on his head. He had no vital signs when he was born at 10:10 a.m. and the room was filled with hospital personel trying to revive him. He was on a table away from me and I could not see him through the crowd working on him. As is my way, I did what I could, naming him on the spot and encouraging my husband to talk to him so that Eamonn would be soothed and revived by his familiar voice. As they worked on him they would call out the minutes: 5, 11 and he was revived at 17 minutes. Then they took him upstairs to some kind of critical care and prepared him for the trip to children's hospital. Then my parents came in the room and a few friends. My husband, doctor and 2 friends that supported me through the birth were crying over me. I was just numb. No tears. I felt emotionally functional. I now realize that I was in shock. I literally could not believe the weight of what was happening. Someone came in to explain that he would be going the Children's hospital, that he was seriously ill and that they would bring him to our room on the way to the hospital. He came enclosed in a plastic container with small portals that I could reach in and feel his fingers. I had the curiosity of a mother that had just given birth; did he have all his fingers and toes? He did. They rolled him away and I turned to my father, the person I have had the most difficulty with in my life, and sobbed as he held me. The neonatalogist explained to us that he may not survive and if he did he may have considerable brain damage. I remember feeling that we could deal with anything. That our love was strong.

The nursed helped to clean me up and my husband and I went to Children's hospital. Eamonn was hooked up to life support and was continually being poked and prodded in their attempts to bring him back. His eyes were closed, one was slightly open and they did not respond to stimulation. He was having sporadic seizures and as we touched him it seemed that they lessened. After some time we went back to the hospital to sleep. Part of me felt that I should not leave Children's hospital and the exhausted part of me needed to rest. I used to depend so much on what seemed like my inexhaustable energy. I wished that I had the strength to stay but didn't.

As I look back at the birth I need to understand with compassion my exhaustion. Not only were the contractions 3 minutes apart after my first 1/2 hour of labor, but I pushed for over 4 hours. He was facing the more difficult way and I began to feel discouraged after pushing for so long. So we set up a bed next to mine in the hospital and slept after calling my husband's family.

Around 3 a.m. we got a call from the hospital that he was getting worse. We rushed to the hospital and talked with the doctor about our options. He was not getting better as his organs were shutting down and we decided without even speaking to each other to take him off life support. I asked if I could hold him in my arms and we both did while he was still on life support. Our tragedy was lighter as we looked into his face and rubbed his head and face as we held him against us. They then took him off life support. I held him as his lips became drier and his skin tone changed. While my husband held his the gravity of his saddness was too great and he put him back in his bed. The doctor came in and listened to his heart that was still beating. He left and I held him with my husband until he, very peacefully, died.

Every day I think about our boy. He was born on May 2nd and died on May 3rd. We have small remembrances of him; pictures, hand and foot prints. We miss him so much. Grieving is very personal and difficult and we made a promise to each other to learn from his life. To become closer to each other through the loss of our son. We are.

We are hoping to have another child. Please send good wishes our way as we continue to try. Attempting to get pregnant in our forties is an emotional rollercoaster.

As I write the news about the war is blaring in the other room. The gift of life is truly precious. Thanks you all for listening.



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