Stories of Lost Children
Angel Wolf
by Amber, Lafayette, Louisiana, U.S.A.
On Halloween my fiance and I took my two girls to their Dad's house to go trick or treating and to celebrate the youngest's birthday. The trip was wonderful. We all had a wonderful time and the kids enjoyed the whole thing. We left on Saturday and headed back here. The rest of the weekend was pretty much uneventful until Monday the 3rd. That evening, after the kids were put to bed, Doug was in the kitchen fixing our plates and I washing clothes when my water broke. I was just standing there and all of a sudden I felt warm stuff running down my legs and I freaked. At first I just thought I was peeing on myself. Having never experienced my water breaking before I was admitted in full labor, I had no idea what it felt like. We were a mix of panic and excitement after that. We knew it was way too early, but, thought that everything would be OK and we would soon meet our very much anticipated son. If we had only known. We called some friends to come over and sit with the kids since I needed to get to the hospital and they were already sleeping. When I finally got everything settled and got to the hospital, I got the wonderful news that I could very well be there stuck in my bed for another six weeks or so. This was disappointing but, I was sort of ok with it since I knew if anything happened the doctors would be right there. They did ultrasounds and bloodwork everyday to check on us both. I got two doses of a mega steroid administered to get his lungs ready for the outside world in a hurry. On the 5th the ultrasound showed that he was not moving like he should have been or practicing his breathing like he was supposed to so they decided to wait four hours and do another ultrasound. I knew when they took my dinner away from me and told me not to eat or drink anything that something was going to happen. The second ultrasound wasn't good either so they decided to prep me for surgery. I was more afraid at that point than I ever remember being. I was only 28 weeks pregnant and my son could very well die as soon as they delivered him. I was also afraid that he was already dying inside me and that was why they were in such a hurry to get him out. I remember my whole body shaking so hard that the table vibrated. Through the procedure, Doug sat near my head watching my body jerk all over the table as they tried to hurry and get him out. They wouldn't let him watch and didn't even tell us when they got him out so that his daddy could cut the cord. We just sat there looking at each other and trying not to panic then we heard him cry. So long as I live I will never forget that sound. It was easily the most beautiful thing I have ever heard. We didn't expect him to be able to cry yet, but he did and it was wonderful. Faolen Tacker Rozas was born at 28 weeks gestational age, 2lbs, 5.3oz on November 6, 2003. He effectively timed his arrival in order to usurp his rather territorial big sister's birthday. I wanted so badly to hold him, but they had to rush him away to NICU so that he could be hooked up to everything that would serve to keep him alive. I DID get to kiss him on the head right before they took him away. The doctors warned me as they were sewing me up to let my future doctors know about him being early and the way they had to cut me to get him out because I would never be able to have a baby vaginally again. I was OK with that because I decided that I wasn't having anymore babies after this one. I finally got my boy and that's all I needed. I FINALLY got to see him two days after he was born. He was so tiny. My hand was bigger than his whole little body. I remember crying when I got back to my room because I was so afraid for him. He was covered in all sorts of tubes and wires and he looked like a shrivelled up, hairless, little monkey. I realized then just how fragile he was and fear set in. They discharged me a day later but, told us that he would be there until within two weeks of his original due date or until he was at least 4.5 lbs. After two weeks I got to hold him. They let me do something called "kangaroo care" where you give the baby skin to skin contact against your chest so that he can feel your body heat and heart beat. It also allows him to better regulate his temp outside of his little isolette because your body adjusts it's temp to keep his steady. I loved it! It felt so wonderful to finally have him in my arms. He was nearly weightless and I could barely feel him against my chest. Everytime I think about it I can see him lookig up at me and his little hands curling against my skin. I can still smell the mix of antiseptic and baby wash on my shirt. I will never forget watching his vitals on the monitor become more stable than they were before I picked him up as he relaxed and let himself feel safe. From the first day he was a little fighter. By two weeks old he was breathing on his own and eating through a tube. He was almost three pounds already and just two weeks from being able to eat through a bottle or breast feed. The nurses joked about how grouchy he was. They would all laugh because he was so easy to take care of. All he did was sleep. If they dared to wake him he threw such a fit! Even so they thought he was the most comical and sweet little thing. They would tell us that they were so happy to get to take care of him because he was so good. I couldn't wait for him to come home with us. His daddy would be out of school on break abou the time he came home and so we would get specialized time with him. We were about to start getting his nursery finished up. Everything was perfect. On the 5th of December we got a call saying that he was very sick. That he had a nasty infection in his bowel called NEC and that we should hurry and get up there. So, we did. The next night we were called into the nursery to watch him die. For two hours I watched doctors work on him, trying desperately to keep him here. After they had exhausted all of thier options, they unhooked him and handed him to me. I held him while his heart stopped and I think mine stopped with it. The last eight days have been surreal. I cannot feel anything. When my little man left I think he took the last little bit of heart I had. I can't seem to get past the numbness to the grief I should be feeling. Every now and then a little bit of it surfaces and I nearly break or I get so angry that it takes everything I have not to find some random asshole and take out all the rage I feel him. I'm so glad we buried him in Villeplatte because I want so badly sometimes to go and dig him up as sick as that sounds. I want to go and look in the little blue shoebox they burried him in and make sure there's really something there that this wasn't some horrible dream. I prayed that before we left the hospital some poor teen mother would come and give me her baby. Nothing could take his place in reality, but, maybe if I tried real hard I could pretend and the pain would go away. As I sat through the funeral listening to the priest go on and on about God's great plan all I could think of was how much HIS plan sucked. Over and over we were told to be happy beacause he was in Heaven and ya know what...I just can't find it in me to be all that freaking happy. Yes, I'm glad my son is free from pain, but I would so much rather he was here with me where he belongs. I miss him so badly that my body literally aches. I need to hold him and I just can't make my body believe that he is gone for good. I keep hearing babies cry as I drift off to sleep. I started producing milk again. I think I'm going crazy..well..ER..crazier. I love you little man. I miss you more than you could ever comprehend. Short as your little life was, the month you gave me was worth every ounce of pain I feel. Just being able to hear that first cry was worth it all, but, dear god I wish you were here with me. I will never stop missing you and I will cry forever. Wait for me in the stars honey, Mommy will be there soon. If anyone tells you it gets "better" they are lying..it gets worse. If anyone tells you time heals all wounds, they haven't experienced this one. If anyone tells you to just keep going and take things day by day, they are NOT a genius as we have no choice.
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