I've been debating for almost two weeks whether or not I should really post this. Turns out I should. I can't think about much else and I definitely haven't been able to blog. It's not pretty, but it's real.
A conversation that I had with my dad brought a lot of emotions and memories to the surface. Most of them dark and difficult. I have the feeling that now is the time to write them all down. I don't know why - I've written about it in bits and pieces before - but now I need to do the whole thing. It will be dark and I"m not going to beat around the bush. I won't apologize, either. So here we go.
The day Hannalyn was born was the best, most perfect day of my whole life. I was beyond happy. It was the birthing I'd only dreamt of, hardly believing that it would actually happen. And when it did . . . ! I couldn't believe I was so blessed. The week that followed was bliss. Not perfect - sleepless nights and occasionally rough feedings make it hard for me to say "perfect", but it was close. I was happier than I'd ever been. Everything felt so
right. Ironic that after months of planning and a week of pure joy, it took minutes for me to fall like a rock and enter my own personal hell.
When Hannalyn pooped blood the first time, I knew somewhere deep down that something was wrong. Very very wrong. I tried to stay hopeful and alert as I called Daniel, my mom, and my midwife, but I knew there would be no "quick fix". Looking back, I realize now that my hopeful outlook was a charade. I was devastated. I was sure I had done something wrong. I was already on a steep spiral downward through despair and on to misery. I questioned everything I'd done - had I eaten the wrong thing? Handled her too roughly? Exposed her to some illness? I racked my brain and could find nothing satisfactory. It only got worse each time she bled. When we finally made the decision to go to Primary Children's, I was torn between a flimsy and half-hearted hope in doctors (whom I've always mistrusted since I was little - doctors = needles = pain - unfair, but true) and wallowing in grief that we would lose our baby before we even made it to Salt Lake. When we walked in the ER and weighed Hannalyn, it was as if all of my supposedly eradicated fears and nightmares came back to haunt me. Not just haunt - they all hit me at once like a brick wall being thrown at me. Hannalyn was immediately taken away from me and surrounded by a team of doctors working furiously to save her. I was in the same room, but she was surrounded and I couldn't see her even though I could hear her screaming. When she was taken from me, I retreated into myself. AS she cried, I cried and screamed inwardly at the nightmare this had become. It was my fault. I knew it was. I was her mother. If my education had missed something on infants surely my mother-instinct wouldn't have? But maybe I don't have that instinct and so I shouldn't be a mom and now Hannalyn is in pain because of my lack of . . . whatever I lack. These were my thoughts as people rushed in and out of the room, Hannalyn was attached to monitors, and doctors asked the same questions over and over and over about her birth. I gradually turned off my feelings. I stopped crying. I just existed. I tried to pretend that I was at peace. That I shoved my feelings away because I had faith and knew God would do the best thing. Really, I was in turmoil. Tortured and suffering and scared. I didn't tell anyone my thoughts - including Daniel. He was being so strong and supportive and I didn't want him to concern himself with me. I would deal with my failure on my own.
As the days progressed and Hannalyn slowly improved, I stayed in the dark hole I found inside myself because I wouldn't allow myself to hope. Not until we were home. There were so many conditions placed on our leaving that I began to doubt it would ever happen. During this time, a few of the doctors decided to take it upon themselves to educated me. Tell me what went wrong and why. I recognize they were only doing their job and trying to help, but oh how I hated them. It started when a new doctor came in with the shift change and asked all the usual questions. Questions about the pregnancy, birth, and week before arrival. When we got to the part about "Yes, we really did do a home birth" and "No, there really weren't complications" and "No, she really didn't get shots", the doctor stopped us. I can't remember her name, but her face is forever etched into my memory as she said, "Wait, you knew the risks of not getting a Vitamin K shot and you still didn't get Hannalyn one? You must not really understand. This is why she is here. Let me get you some literature on why it's important and I'll explain it to you." Then she walked out. I was FURIOUS. When she came back, I told her that my education was in infants and young children, I knew exactly what a Vit K shot is for and was going to get Hannalyn one when we went to the pediatrician. the doctor said, "If you would have done it at the birth, you probably wouldn't be here." What little hope and faith I had left was sliced through as neatly as a hot knife through butter. I knew it. It had been my fault. Through all my undergrad studies and all the research I'd done during my pregnancy, I had STILL chosen to forego a Vit K shot for Hannalyn. I believe the doctor completely. I was a monster. I had almost killed my child through my stupidity. I didn't even have ignorance as an excuse. The doctor didn't need to show me the literature she'd brought (even though she did, pointing out all the pros and why people who don't give their child shots are stupid, sorry, uneducated is the word I think she used) - I'd read it all. I knew the benefits and stats. I'd studied it! As a last-ditch effort I said, "You're telling me that despite a perfectly healthy pregnancy and birth, because Hannalyn didn't get a Vit K shot, she became the ONE out of hundreds of thousands that will bleed out? That it's
my fault that we are in this mess and my baby is suffering?" The doctor looked at Hannalyn, back at me, shrugged her shoulders and said, "It's very likely." I think Daniel asked her to leave after that. I hated that doctor, but I hated her because I knew she was right. It was my fault. I accepted it as fact. I closed my heart. I refused to feel. I stuffed all the hurt and anger so far down that it felt like I was burning. I had entered hell and locked the door. I couldn't get out. Wouldn't if I could because I deserved it after what I'd done to Hannalyn. I passed much of my time in careful silence, afraid to say something and unleash the raging monster inside of me. It was a couple days later when someone heard it breathe, recommended an ENT listen, and her laryngomalacia was discovered. When it improved dramatically after surgery, I felt better. I was able to talk without worrying about the emotions I'd buried breaking through and I told myself and everyone else that I was fine and grateful to be done. And for the most part, it was true. But I didn't let Daniel touch or hold me afraid I'd get comfortable and release a torrent of emotions and thoughts. And every time I pumped, I felt guilty that I couldn't nurse Hannalyn the way she deserved to be. And each time Hannalyn cried, my heart raced til I was certain it was a small thing and we weren't going back to the hospital. My midwife told me I looked better after 8 hours of labor than I did after those 10 days in the hospital.
The next few months passed with me being grateful every day for Hannalyn and me doubting every day if I should have her. We spent a lot of time with my parents because I didn't trust myself. I felt sure I'd hurt her again if left alone for too long and I was terrified. I avoided talking about anything related to the hospital or my feelings. I think Daniel knew something was wrong - actually, I know he did, but he didn't push it. He gave me time and space. For a while anyway. One night, he called me out - told me he was tired of being shut out and avoided and asked me to tell him what was wrong. I finally realized my silence was hurting him and so I told him everything. My fears, doubts, insecurities, and guilt. He listened marvelously and for the first time in months I let him hold me as I cried on his shoulder. He said something that stuck out to me, not at the moment, but later. He said, "Nashelle, we prayed about how to do our pregnancy and birthing. We made the right choices." I was not completely repentant and thought, "Whatever. Then why did it happen this way? Why was my child allowed to suffer? Why did I make bad choices?" So I brushed it aside. It wasn't until our last appointment at PCMC when Hannalyn was given a clean bill of health that I remembered what Daniel said. And I realized I'd been asking the wrong "what ifs". I'd been doubting if I'd received revelation about how/where to birth my baby. Suddenly, those what ifs came back in a new light. What if Hannalyn
did get a Vit K shot? Maybe she wouldn't have bled, but would we have known something was wrong? What if she was born in a hospital? Maybe they wouldn't have known anything was wrong or maybe they would have taken her away from me from the beginning. Basically, I realized I needed to "doubt my doubts" before doubting my faith. (That talk by President Uchtdorf was given at the following General Conference). Daniel and I HAD received revelation about how to birth our baby and proceed through the pregnancy. We had done it the right way for us. God led us through it all, even though we still don't know why. But I have a hunch. Actually, I am convinced that IF Hannalyn was born in a hospital and IF she would have had a Vit K shot - she would have died because she would not have bled and we'd not have known there was anything wrong. She would have died because we thought all was fine. I don't know if that's true. Maybe there's another answer. I DO know that we will have our next baby like we did this one- by seeking God's direction throughout. If that means our next is born at home - great, at a hospital - great, in the car - awesome. But we will do it with God's hand guiding us the whole way. I don't know why things happened the way they did. But I do know that God was in control the whole time. Because of Him I have a healthy one-year old and I have been able to let go of the fear and guilt. I am closer than ever to Daniel and my Heavenly Father and have been able to let all my insecurities about that time fade away. I'm not perfect and I still worry about Hannalyn, but I believe in prayer and revelation. We were guided and directed to do the right thing, we ARE being guided, and if we keep praying we will CONTINUE to be guided. I have hope. And I look forward to having many more children. ;)
I have a testimony of the Gospel of Jesus Christ. I know that He lives and He loves us. He talks to me when I pray to Him and open my heart. He directs my life and blesses me when I follow His teachings. I know the Atonement is real. Christ died, not only to pay for our sins, but to take away every hurt and heartache and injustice we experience in life. when we turn to Him, He enfold us into His arms. He took away my pain and my guilt. He gives me hope and strength to make it through today and tomorrow. He is my rock and my Redeemer. "I know that my Redeemer lives. What comfort this sweet sentence gives." I love my God and I love my family. I know that we will be together forever. God is real. He loves me - and He loves
you.
This testimony I bear in the name of Jesus Christ - my Savior and my friend. Amen.
day one above & year one below :)
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