Monday, July 19, 2010

Mom to Chris
December 17th, 2002-March 1st, 2003
Lost to SIDS
Waterville, Maine

I woke up on March 1, 2003 to knocking on my front door. Still sleepy eyed, I walked to the door without checking the time. My mother had come over to drop some things off. I let her in, still not aware of the time. She sat down and asked where Chris was. I looked at the clock and realized he had not been awake in 7 hours, and that is so much longer than he'd ever gone before without eating. I immediately went to his room to check on him and as soon as I saw him, I knew something was wrong. He slept on his tummy, and instead of being in his normal sleeping position, he was face down, with his arms stretched out at each side. I didn't check him but instead picked him up right away.

He wasn't breathing and he was luke warm, his skin was very ashen. I ran him out to my mother screaming to her that he wasn't breathing and she took him from me and began CPR. I called 911 and in between begging them to help us and pleading not to let my baby die, I gave them my information. They stayed on the phone until the first responders, fire fighters, arrived. They took him from my mother and stated that he was in full arrest. They took over CPR and as soon as the ambulance arrived, they ran him out of the house, leaving my mother and me behind.

I went outside and sat in my driveway, crying. They did not let me into the ambulance, or tell me anything. The Sherrif's deputies arrived an had to question me. Silly questions like where I worked and what my social security number. Nobody told me a thing. The ambulance left while I was still being questioned, and I still knew nothing.

We were finally able to leave for the hospital, 5-10 minutes after the ambulance left. The drive seemed to take forever. I watched everyone else out on that Saturday, going about their shopping, with their families. I felt so angry at them, how dare they drive around so happy and carefree when my world was crashing in. We got to the hospital and we were escorted to a private room, where my father met us. We still knew nothing, other than they were working on him. A nun came in (Catholic hospital) and tried to console me, but ended up making things worse by telling me that I was still young and I could always have more children. I still didn't know if my baby was alive or dead. I just nodded silently. She was interrupted by a nurse coming in to speak with us, and she left.

I was asked if I wanted to go in and see him. I said yes, and as soon as I walked in, I had hope. He was no longer the ashen color, but he was pink again. I was scared, his tiny body had wires and tubes, and there was a needle sticking out of his chest. As soon as I got close enough to see his face, the hope disappeared and I knew he was gone. His eyes were open a tiny bit, and I could see them unmoving, just a fixed, blank stare. I saw the way his mouth looked with the breathing tube down his throat. I've never been able to erase that look from my head.

They took us out and within a few minutes, the doctor came in. He explained that they had been working on Chris for some time, with no response. He never started breathing again and his heart never started beating. They needed to know when to stop breathing for him. I wanted to be in there when they stopped so I could say good-bye. I went in and there were only two nurses now, everyone else had cleared out. They were still pumping his oxygen. I walked to him and told him how much I loved him. I stroked his cheek and held his hand. They stopped pumping and began to unhook him from everything. I looked up and saw one nurse with her head turned, crying, and trying not to show me. They asked if I wanted to hold him. I did. They wrapped him in a blanket and I sat in the rocking chair in the room, and rocked him. I patted his butt and kissed his head, as if I were putting him to sleep. I told him I loved him over and over.

It wasn't long before my father came in and told me I needed to go. I still regret agreeing with him. I handed him to my father, who is a hospice nurse and familiar with the hospital, and I left. I walked down the hall, crying, without my baby in my arms. I was walked to my mom's car and my first thought was how I needed to call into work. I did actually call them and tell them I couldn't come in that day, and when asked why, I flat out said that my son just died.
I walked around in a daze. I went to Wal-Mart and to Walgreens that day. I carried his blanket and often cried just walking through stores.

The next several days were a blur. I had to go to the funeral home and make decisions, I had to write his obituary. I managed well through the visitation, because I felt like I was with him. When we left that day, I felt so bad, leaving my baby behind. I was afraid he would be scared and lonely. The funeral was much harder for me. I think the hardest part was knowing I'd be leaving him forever at the end of that day. Even though it was just his body, I felt better being with him.

An autopsy was performed and they couldn't find a thing wrong with him. He had never been ill, there were no problems and his body was just perfect. They ruled his death SIDS, which is a fancy way of saying they don't know why he died.

To this day, we have no reasons, and we never will. I hate not knowing why my baby died. I hate passing each birthday without having him here to grow. I hate missing him, and I hate the pain that will never go away. There is an empty spot in my heart without him.


Post a Comment

Related Posts with Thumbnails