Conversations.

Warning! Parts of this post might upset you.

Tonight we were looking at Doodle's baby book. We came to a page with hospital photos, including several of Crusty wearing a mask and gown in order to visit in the NICU. Doodle opened up an envelope and pulled out several photos of himself being held by Crusty. As we looked at them he gave each one a title.


This is me "borned"


This is me safe.


This is me scared.



This is me being dead.


We have never really talked to him about his hospital stay and we have never looked at these photos before. That last photo was taken an hour after he stopped breathing the first time. You can see the telemetry lines and oxygen monitor strapped to his foot. Looking at it now, I can clearly see that his lips are blue. Knowing what I know now I can also see that his head is in the same position that it was in when he stopped breathing in my arms while we were waiting to be discharged. He was dead in my arms. If we had not still been in the hospital within seconds of resuscitation he might not have survived. Crusty is holding him because I couldn't. I was a sobbing out of control mess. I didn't go back to the nursery for several hours. I just kept hoping that it was all over, that I had made it all up and we could go home. With or without a baby. I just wanted to go home. I remember screaming at the social worker that all I ever wanted was to go home, that I didn't want him, I didn't want any baby I just wanted to go home and pretend none of it had ever happened. All of this came after three years of trying to get pregnant, two miscarriages, three solid days of labour, a failed induction, an emergency c-section and the first dash to the NICU when I thought I saw blue around his mouth. ( Turns out I was right about that.) We spent nine more days in the NICU.

I know he is just reacting to the image. But still it makes me wonder how much we really do remember. Does he remember slowly suffocating in my arms? Does he remember that his mother didn't help him? Does he remember the nurse running down the hall with him? Does he remember that I was sick and couldn't touch him for days. Does he?

I can say with utmost certainty that at that moment, when I held him and watched him turn blue, that I was sick. Sicker than I had ever been in my life. Five days after he was born my whole world came crashing down. I was already exhibiting classic signs of Post Partum Depression. I knew what they were and I knew I was doing a pretty good job of hiding them. After he stopped breathing I couldn't hide it anymore. The hospital assigned a social worker to me 24/7 and I was sitting in a therapists office less than 24 hours later. If it hadn't been for that moment, that terrible moment when I watched it all happen like I wasn't even there, my PPD might not have been caught for weeks or months. I don't know what might have happened. But I suspect he saved us both.

My Mother sat by my bed for hours that first day. I had sobbed myself into exhaustion unable to comprehend what had happened and unsure if he was still alive. ( I believed they were all lying to me.) The first thing I remember is stirring in the bed and hearing my mothers voice. "I'm here Carmen". It's all she said, it might have been the most honest moment in the history of our relationship. She was there, waiting for me to come back. Between her and Auntie Jane's traveling circus waiting outside I did come back. It took a long time.

Four years later I still feel it. I can handle it now but some days those same feelings come right back. I am not the person I was before, but I suppose any parent can say that. On the days when I believe in a greater design and a universe that is not born of chaos. I believe that my Mother did not die when she should have, the April before, because she had to be there to bring me back. She only had six more months and they were not all happy. But she and I had that one moment. And we had the moment when I let her go.

I am happy to say that hearing Doodle talk about being dead, while creepy and uncomfortable, also allowed me to let go of a little bit of guilt. He is here to talk about it.