Addy's Story Part 11: Humility and Humor

If you missed any part of Addy's story, click HERE to catch up.

Part 11: Humility and Humor

My chapel speech wasn't as scary as I imagined it would be.  My audience hung on to every word… I heard sniffles… I read from my paper in case I broke down and cried or forgot what I wanted to say.  I know my purpose was for these students to know that God is real.  I desperately hoped they would see the connection I saw, that they would "get" it.  For those who were wavering in their faith or had no faith at all, I hoped to shed some light on this whole God/Jesus subject.  Maybe they'd give God a chance…. seek Him and His will.  All it takes is one tiny drop of faith… faith as small as a mustard seed, Jesus said… just a teensy bit and God can handle the rest.

After my chapel speech I received about 400+ hugs.  Students and teachers were in tears… Parents sent me emails thanking me for my strength and courage.  It seemed to be a recurring theme… this wonder at my strength, faith, courage, etc.  I didn't really see myself as strong.  I felt like anything but.  I felt weak in my faith… wondered why I wasn't struck dead for being angry with my heavenly Father… for questioning him, for being selfish and wanting my child for me.  I'm no Abraham… there's no way in the world I could put my son up on an altar and offer him up to God.  I'm not strong enough.

Funny thing is, God gives us what we need, when we need it most. Perhaps He gave me my sarcasm, my dry sense of humor and no filter because He knew people would see me as real.  They may be offended, shocked… but you won't hear them saying I beat around the bush,  that I don't say what I mean and mean what I say, that's for sure. I'm just me. I'm not perfect.  I am a sinner, I make mistakes.

We left school and headed to the funeral home.  Ugh. Definitely NOT something I ever dreamed I would be doing… I posted a prayer request on Facebook.

The pastor and music minister met us there.  Not exactly sure why.  I thought they would walk us through the process, but the funeral director did.  We decided to cremate Addison… went back and forth and back and forth and finally came to the decision to cremate.  I wasn't sure I could handle a mini-casket at all.  I thought I'd fall to pieces. I didn't want a "visitation"… I'm really not big on walking into a room with a dead, dressed up body sitting out on display, and again, not sure I could handle it with a baby. So cremate it was. Looking back, I'm not sure we made the right decision…. I have no desire to visit her grave because, well… to me there's no "body" there…. just a bunch of cat litter (the ash looks like cat litter, in case you were wondering, not like ash from a fireplace like I envisioned). But it's not like I can go back and "un-cremate" her.  It is what it is.  Like my daughter's preschool teacher says, "You get what you get and you don't pitch a fit". We made the decision. It's done.

There was no charge for the cremation, the funeral director said.  They weren't in the business to profit off of a newborn's death, he said.  That was nice to know.  I felt a little guilty, though.  I mean, business is business and it wasn't his fault she died.

The pastor and music minister asked if we'd thought about the service at all, what we wanted, songs, etc.  Really? I wanted to laugh.  Like I plan funerals every day.  Seriously? My daughter's been dead 48 hours and now you want to know how we'd like to honor her memory?  What memory? She was nine days old for crying out loud…. what celebration of life? What glory? What praise?

They seemed uninterested, texting on their phones like they had somewhere else to be.  Shoot, they probably did.  I mean really, who wants to plan a funeral like this? 

I felt alone.  I wanted to go back to school where I was just surrounded in love and hugs… anywhere but here. I had absolutely NO desire to lay my baby to rest, to tell this stranger what to do with the body, to figure out what to write in a newspaper obituary, or how to commemorate her brief moment on earth. My husband kept looking to me… what did I want?

I wanted to run.  Hit STOP on the movie, take the DVD out and smash it into a gazillion little pieces. 

I was angry.

I was tired.  I wanted to go home and go to bed. I didn't want to plan my daughter's funeral.  Who cares anyway?  She's dead. Why do we even need a funeral? Take the stupid urn and throw it in the ground, put it on a shelf.  I really DON'T care.  It's not like it'll be her anymore.

I WANT MY BABY BACK.  I wanted to scream.  Everyone was talking and murmuring in what seemed like super-slow motion.  The memories were just flooding my brain… 

I can't imagine how people work at funeral homes.  I guess they have to… we need them.  But geez… the tragedy they see every day.  How in the world do they come home and say, yep, had a great day at work today? What's a great day?  Good day?  Bad day? Was this a bad day?

I snapped out of my daze and returned to the real world.  My hubby has told the music minister a couple of songs he'd like for the service.  I told him I had a ton of pictures and we could do a slide show, that we had one from the hospital photographer and we could pair that with the pictures I'd taken over the week.  I requested Casting Crown's "Praise You in This Storm"… they said they'd make the "program"  for me.  I text Big Papa and asked if he would do a prayer… such a wonderful man… of course he said yes.  My husband's brother is a minister, and volunteered to speak at the funeral, do a sermon, partner with our pastor, etc.  I wondered for a split second if that would be ok.  Baptist minister, Church of Christ funeral… is there such a thing as a COC funeral versus any other? I was still fairly new to COC, so I wasn't entirely sure… were we requesting a "no-no"? 

Apparently not because it wasn't vetoed. I had no clue so much went into planning a funeral.

Music? Check.
Prayers? Check.
Flowers? On our list.  Mother-in-law wanted to get flowers for the service …. go pick out.
Slide show? Yep.
Time?  Can you believe the school administration decided to close school early so students and faculty could attend… Wow, Addy… you closed school. How about that?
Preachers? One Baptist, one COC… don't think we need more.
Obituary? 

I've gotta stop you on that one.  Those things cost money!  They charge by the WORD.  Now I know…. goodness, not sure I would have put all I did in it had I known…. That was over a hundred dollars… yipes!

Urn? Ugh…time to go pick out Addy's "container". We say our goodbyes to the pastor and music minister and head to the showroom.

I've never seen so many caskets.  Wow.  And good golly they are expensive.  Like thousands and thousands of dollars expensive.  I always thought the point of putting a body into the ground was so it could decompose and return to earth…. but some of these caskets looked roomier and more comfortable than my bed! Wow, just wow.

He leads us over to the urn "wall".  There's two options for Addy.  A small, $45 silver vase looking thing, or a $100 teddy bear with the silver vase thing. It fits inside the bear.

That's it?  My God that's tiny.

I'm told there's not much left when a body is cremated.  I can't imagine my precious daughter being compacted so small and want to vomit.  

What about this wooden box… more like a jewelry box?

That's $300 and it's an adult size.

THREE HUNDRED DOLLARS FOR A BOX? You've got to be kidding me.  You've got to. And whaddya mean, "adult size"?  Do you really think I'm going to open it up and go gee, the box looks half-empty… or half-full…. hmmm, quite the conversation starter… but no.  really? Who cares? And what if we decide to scatter the ashes?  What am I going to do with this urn/box/whatever?  So it's either $45 and tiny or $300 and huge?

My husband gets the giggles.  I glare at him. He is absolutely NO help. Tears are running down his face.  I pick the stupid $45 heavy silver vase/cup thing and call it a day.  I'm ready to go home, and we still have to go to the cemetery. Here's a picture of how small the darn thing is...

We remember one more thing… I wanted to do Addison's hand and feet prints… you know, the kind you see on the stepping stones?  I wanted her prints… maybe do a shadow box or something.  We told the director our idea and he was more than happy to help.  Even offered to do it for us if we'd bring him the kit. (More on that story later…)

So that's it.  That's our funeral home story.  While the staff was warm and friendly, that place still gives me the creeps.  

Are you still wondering what my husband found so funny?  Had he reached his breaking point?  Had he finally lost it?  He clued me in on the way to our next stop.  Asked if I'd ever seen the movie "The Big Lebowski"… never heard of it.  He's in tears again, laughing so hard… as he tries to explain the movie clip "The Bereaved". If you've ever seen this movie, you're probably in stitches too… Here's a LINK to the clip.  I will warn you, there is foul language in this clip.  Turn the volume down… You may find it offensive, but then again you may find it hilarious like my husband….

And since I was still on the fence with scattering the ashes versus burying the urn…. he tried to describe THIS CLIP to me… It's called "Scattering Donny". Again, language warning, (stop it around 1:48) but you can see why my husband found it hard to control himself.

Yep, that's why I married him.  Gotta love the sense of humor…. so off we go to the cemetery…. and it's pouring rain.

Halfway there, my husband's uncle calls… too wet to go to the cemetery, let's meet tomorrow.  Well good… didn't want to go do that anyway.  But, we've got one more stop to make.  Something of a surprise.

I'm not sure I like surprises at this point.

He turns into a shopping center and leads me into Gary K Jewelers.  Really honey…. I mean, diamonds ARE a girl's best friend, but 1) we're about to spend a lot of money on a piece of marble I never wanted to order in the first place and 2) that's not my daughter.  I said nothing but followed him in, curiosity getting the best of me.

Once inside, I see a familiar face… one of our girl's basketball coaches.  Turns out Coach Kay is the daughter of the owner…. and someone has requested that we go and pick out a special piece of jewelry in remembrance of Addison.

So glad I kept my mouth shut.  I'm again humbled… okay, well not so much at first.  When I was told to "pick something out", of course my mind and my eyes went straight over to the diamonds…. (can you blame me?). Common sense and frugality then won over and I asked to see charm bracelets and cross necklaces.  We picked out a heart charm and had Addy's initials and birthdate engraved on it.  I received a bracelet to go with the charm.  I also picked out a cross necklace.

My first ever cross necklace. It's been 22 months and I've never taken it off, nor do I ever plan on doing so.  It's simple and beautiful.

I'm speechless that someone would do something like this for us.  I now know who bestowed such a wonderful and timeless gift upon us, and I thank that family from the bottom of my heart. I'm pretty sure they wish to remain anonymous, so I'll just say thank you a gazillion times over.  These pieces truly are special to both my husband and me.  He wears his charm on a necklace, attached to a cross he bought on a mission trip to Ecuador.  It means the world to him.

What a way to end the day.  I'm beat.  I'm humbled.  I'm too exhausted to continue shaking my finger and yelling at God. He's brought humor into my day… humility and humor.

Addy's Story Part 10: A Message of Faith

If you missed any part of Addy's story, click HERE to catch up.

Part 10: A Message of Faith

I slept.  At least, I think I did.  I remember people stopping by.  The head coach's wife stopped by, came and gave me a hug.  I think I was in and out of consciousness.  I'm not sure I made much sense to anyone.

Some family friends from Atlanta brought my mom to my house.  They weren't sure she was in any condition to drive, so one drove my mom's car and her husband followed.  It's a four-hour drive…. and they dropped her off and headed back home.

Wow. I have people in my life who care that much? Would I have done the same? I'd like to think so….

I remember they came and gave me hugs too.  I know I babbled something to them… perhaps about God, perhaps about me… I'm not sure if I made sense at all, but I know it didn't matter to them.  They love me, they care about me, treat me like one of their own. Well, as the saying goes… it takes a village to raise a child, doesn't it?

I honestly don't remember when day ended and night began.  My nightmare of the last 24 hours kept replaying in my head.  I kept waking up, realizing it really wasn't a dream and my daughter was actually dead.  I know at one point I was screaming and crying.  My husband did his best to console me…. I think I finally fell asleep out of sheer exhaustion.

Sunday came. Husband and I looked at each other.  Now what?  He asked if I wanted to go to church.

Why in the world would I want to go to church and praise the God that just took my daughter away?  Why?

I was mad.  I was angry.  I was sad. I was upset…. not in any position to walk into church, paste a smile on my face and pretend everything in my life was perfectly normal.

That's what people in "church" do.  They don't really care. They pretend…. they check a box, bring a meal, sign up for meetings…. paste a smile… pretend, pretend, pretend.  And I wanted absolutely no part of it.

I wanted my daughter back.  I hurt. I just had a major operation 10 days ago… I HURT. The incision wasn't closed yet. I still had gooey tape marks and steri strips hanging on…

but no baby.

No "reason" for all my pain. Nothing, absolutely nothing.  Empty hole in my belly, empty hole in my heart. I was empty.  Again, why in the WORLD would I want to go PRAISE the one who made it all happen?

I sit up, grab my laptop and hop on the Internet.  My hubby pulls out his Bible to do his reading.  He said he had a little catch-up reading to do.

I read all the comments and prayers on Facebook. I'm just numb.  I cannot even comprehend the past 48 hours.  It all happened so fast.  She was here, then she was gone.  It was just supposed to be a milk allergy.  It wasn't supposed to end this way.

I hear a "huh" and look at my husband.  He has this surprised look on his face, almost like a shock or disbelief… of course I ask… who wouldn't?  He said "huh"… he made a noise.

He looks at me and says, wow… I gotta read this to you.  The LAST thing in the world I want to hear is God's word. But hey, my husband is actually interested in something biblical, the codependent wife in me said I'd better encourage it.

So he explains that he'd been reading through the book of Romans.  He said he hadn't had a chance to read yesterday's portion with everything going on and listen to this…. 

What if he did this to make the riches of his glory known to the objects of his mercy, whom he prepared in advance for glory - Romans 9:23

Wow.  I was immediately humbled, put in my place, slapped…. however you want to look at it, whatever you want to call it.  That was a straight message from God Himself…. here I was being a spoiled little brat, questioning my maker, questioning Him.  The one who controls it all. 

He answered my question, boy did He. In my opinion, this was God's way of telling me He had a purpose and a plan. 

I looked at the clock.  Church was about to start… there's no way we would make it, and the last thing I want to do is arrive late.  I hop online and go to our website…. we can just watch service online.  How cool is technology?

Well, apparently not as cool as I thought it was because I couldn't get it to work.  It wouldn't connect. Really? Seriously? 

I text someone at church and ask him to call and just keep his phone on… We can listen to service that way.  He calls… it sounds like Snoopy church…

Whuh wah, whuh waaaah…. music music… whuh wah whuh wah…. 

Forget this.  Let's just go.  I know we're late… but really, I think we have a good reason. I throw on a pair of jeans and a tee-shirt. I'm ready. I don't care to impress anyone.  I have clothes on, and I'm sure I look like a pile of poo but I don't care.  God wants me at church.  Not sure why, but I got the message loud and clear.

We pass my mom as we're leaving.  She still has jammies on too.  I told her we didn't have time to wait. She can just drive and join us if she really wants to go. (I know, that wasn't very nice… but I really didn't care to be nice to anyone for any reason…. ) We hop in the truck and head to church.

We arrive, and the three of us walk in.  Yep, three.  I guess my mom drove quickly, because she was fully dressed and right there with us.  (Turns out she actually rode with us… how in the world did I miss that?  Was I really that unaware of my surroundings?)

The service is about half over, but I didn't care.  We found some seats in the back and sit.

Ok, God.  I'm here. Now what? I felt sort of stupid. People behind me were patting me on the back… a few in front turned around and gave me sympathetic looks… I think someone came across and gave me a hug.

Service went on as usual. How weird.

Our pastor began his sermon… I couldn't tell you a thing he said.  I just remember going, how weird is this… so surreal…. do these people KNOW my baby just died?  Well of course some of them knew… I'm not sure exactly what I wanted to happen or what I expected to happen… 

And then it happened.

In the middle of the sermon, someone gets up and walks up to the front… up the couple of stairs and stands next to the pastor.  He stops mid-sentence and gives up the microphone.  

Well, this is awkward.  Definitely not planned.  Or maybe it was, our preacher is a think-outside-the-box kind of guy.

The guy then announces that we are here.  That we've come to church and he thinks everyone needs to surround us in prayer. 

Super cool. Super embarrassing… here's a LINK to the video (of course it works now, right? Fast forward to 25:25 and you'll see what I'm talking about).

God knew we needed it. That big guy in the picture there… the one with the plaid shirt on, grey hair?

That's Big Papa.  My boss' boss.  President of the school.  He has the biggest heart of anyone I know.  We call him Big Papa… trust me, once you meet this man and see the heart he has for ministry, the love and compassion he has for others, you'll get it.  He attends a different church.  Something told him to come to ours that day. 

Interesting.

After service, I think the entire congregation line up to hug us… to offer condolences, support, food, whatever we needed.  We were told there was a spot open in the next weekend's Outback America retreat, if we wanted to get away. (Outback America is a fantastic weekend retreat for parent-teen and husband-wife couples to go and strengthen their relationship… we've been twice now and it truly is a wonderful experience.)

Later that afternoon, I get a text from one of my "boys".  I call them my boys, because well…. they are.  My husband's linemen…. they're my "boys".  One calls me Mama…. I look out for them… I care about them.  I keep up with them, graduated or not. I lecture them and love them.  They're my boys.

Anyhow, one texts me and asks if he and a couple of the guys can bring by some food.  I'm sure a mom was behind that text, but hey, I'm never one to turn down free food, and the company would definitely be welcome.

I forgot that a "few" in guy language means 10-15. Eleven offensive linemen fill up my 10x10 living room.  A huge tray of chicken tenders appears, cupcakes, cookies, and all sorts of "snacks" arrive.

They've packed up the entire Homecoming party and brought it to my house, along with a tray of chicken tenders.  

How sweet.  That's guys for you. Not overly sentimental or mushy, just simple… they wanted to bring food and saw what was available.  I know you're laughing.  Once I realized where the food came from, I couldn't stop laughing. It was so sweet.  I wanted to cry. 

We sat around and watched football.  How normal.  It felt good to be normal. My boys are such a joy, such a treasure. They didn't sit and stare at me and make things awkward… they didn't try and get me to talk about my "feelings".  They didn't cry.  They gave me big, huge, warm hugs and talked football.

I love my boys. I'll never forget how full my heart felt at that moment.  

Later that evening I was talking (well, texting..) with our campus minister, and sharing about the day and everything God had done.  He said it would be a cool testimony to share in chapel one day if I ever wanted to.  I thought about it for a moment and offered to do it the next day.  

What in the world was I thinking?  The next day?  Two days after my daughter died? Speak at my school in front of 400+ teenagers, coworkers, bosses? 

The next day was September 17.  It was the original due date given to Addison.  I knew it meant something. I knew it would hold special meaning for me to share what was happening on that specific day.  The messages, the people brought into our lives… not a coincidence at all.  Nope.  That was God, and these teens needed to know.  I got to writing… and I called it "His Plan".  As I close today's segment, I'd like to share my speech with you.  It impacted 400+ people that day, perhaps it will impact you as well.

His Plan
Today is Monday, September 17, 2012.  This may be just a normal Monday to you.  It’s a typical day for most, the beginning of the work or school week for many. It may even be a special day for you, an anniversary or a birthday. 

Today was my baby’s due date. Now most doctor’s say a due date is just an estimate of time, a day to plan events around, a goal to keep in mind as you move through a pregnancy, and I’d have to agree.  Since I knew I had to have a c-section, I took it upon myself to make a plan of my own that was convenient for my family...It was my plan to have my baby girl before the September 1st cutoff for school. Doc vetoed that. It was then my plan to have her soon thereafter so I could be here at school for homecoming week and go to Friday’s homecoming game.  It was my plan to be at home for about two weeks and then be back in full force, slow moving but back.  It was my plan to try and be in two places at once, being your teacher via video and email while also being mommy to little Addison at home.

It was not in my plan to hold my little girl as she took her last breath Saturday at 11:40 am. It was not in my plan to say goodbye to my baby girl just 9 days after I met her.

I keep on trying to tell God my plan, without much regard to his approval or advice, and for some reason I feel it keeps backfiring on me.  If I could tell you one thing today it’s to learn early on the phrase “Not my will but His”. If you listen closely enough, you’ll see He does have a plan and it’s been going His way all along, even though you thought you were in control. I’ve come here today to tell you how God’s plan has come full circle for me and my family in just a short period of time.

Many of you know I came from Huntsville City Schools.  But I didn’t just come from any school, I came from the Seldon Center.  Seldon was home to all the students who were kicked out of their schools for various offenses, from weapons and drugs to violence and fighting.  Others were there filling a 90 day probationary requirement as part of being released from juvenile jail.  Either way, it wasn’t a pretty place to be or a pleasant place to work.  I couldn’t offer Christ as an option for getting their lives back on track without fear of losing my job. I knew I would not be remaining with the Seldon Center for the next school year, my husband and I had already prayed and made that decision.  We decided that God would have some sort of plan for us, whether it was staying at home with our children, being transferred to a less stressful school, or finding a job somewhere else.  We knew that if we put trust in the Lord, we had options. So we did..... and it came to be that there was a position to fill here at Madison Academy.

I questioned God and his plan at that time... was Madison Academy where he wanted me to be? It was such a different environment from what I was accustomed to.  Would I fit in? Would I be a shining light to others when my own faith was relatively new?

After much prayer we decided yes, MA was where God wanted me to be... we didn’t know why or how but decided we would trust God and his plan, knowing it was the right thing to do.

As I’ve experienced life and death this past 9 days, I’ve seen why God brought me here.  You all put together a beautiful banner of autographs and hand-made cards for me to look at after little Addison was born.  You sent well wishes and food, and some of you even came to see us. Dr. Burton and Mr. Laird were there at the hospital to welcome my baby girl into the world before I even got to hold her.  You all showed me that we’re a family. When we left for the hospital Friday night for what seemed like a trivial, just-in-case, make an overly concerned mom feel better visit, Coach Privett and Blackston were close behind. They almost beat us to the hospital.  As I began going through this nightmare of an evening, the hall began to fill with faculty, staff, and even board members who wanted to be there and lift us up.  I found out that you all stopped your homecoming celebration just to pray for my family. Some of you girls came and prayed with me and my baby girl as I said goodbye to her. You guys brought me cupcakes and smiles Sunday as you filled my house with laughter and football talk.

Yes, God had a plan all along.  He brought me to MA so we wouldn’t have to go through this alone.

I had two friends experience death this summer... one lost her husband to a car crash, the other lost her baby 32 weeks into her pregnancy.  I remember holding my friend the day her husband died, telling her God has a plan and a purpose, and that he had been preparing her during our Bible study these past couple of months, preparing her to be able to weather this storm and maybe one day help someone else.  

I had no clue I was forecasting my own future. But God knew.

Just last Wednesday, I sat in my living room while a dear friend held little Addison and we talked about the lady at church who lost her baby 32 weeks into her pregnancy.  I distinctly remember saying no, I didn’t know why God allowed this to happen to her, only that perhaps she needed to go through this so she could walk alongside someone else.

Never in a million years would I have thought that someone would be me, just 2 and a half days later. God knew that though.

Two weeks ago, a friend recommended we watch the movie, “The Fifth Quarter”.  He told us it was a little bit of a tearjerker but that we would benefit from it.  We had never heard of the movie but figured since it was a “football” movie we would watch it the night before we had our baby girl.Yes, The Fifth Quarter does have a slight football theme but it’s main message was that a family of 6 loses its teenage boy in a car accident and must figure out how to pick up the pieces, come together as a family and move on. My husband and I looked at each other and wondered, why on earth would anyone recommend us watching that movie? Who in their right mind sits down to watch movies like this?  How in the world is this supposed to benefit me?

I found out a week later as I lost my baby girl to the unthinkable.

I sometimes sit back and look at the chain of events that have transpired over the past couple months and I’m just in awe that God’s plan is playing out in my life even at times I didn’t know he was there.  Sunday morning I laid in bed wondering what in the world I was going to do now, what was the point of getting up and doing anything?  Then my husband shared a message from his Saturday bible reading.  He said, you know I’m reading through Romans, and well, yesterday’s reading was supposed to be Romans 9. Well I read it now and listen to verse 23

What if he did this to make the riches of his glory known to the objects of his mercy, whom he prepared in advance for glory?

God placed that message in our hands the very day he welcomed my baby girl into his loving arms. 

No one could’ve predicted back in May that all these things would come to pass so that I could stand before you today and be comforted. Not one of us could’ve strung it together so perfectly, allowing life to give us little mini lessons as we awaited this ultimate test of faith and strength.

No one except God, the one who plans it all.

So as I join my husband in facing the unthinkable these next few days, weeks, and months, I know that I have a family of loving people behind me, praying with me and for me.  I know that God has put and will continue to place people and events and circumstances in my life that I may not fully understand, but will rest in comfort knowing that I have a 212 family that’s encouraging, comforting and urging me to live a life worthy of God who calls me into his kingdom and glory.

And I can rest on the promise that one day, I will get to hold my baby girl again. Today may have been her due date here on earth, but it looks to be like she was due for an appointment with Jesus instead and she wanted to make sure she got there in time.

Addy's Story Part 9: Now What?

If you missed any part of Addy's story, click HERE to catch up.

Part 9: Now What?

I held Addison for what seemed like forever.  I knew she was dead, but for some reason she wasn't dead until I actually released her from my grip… you know, actually acknowledged and gave her up.

She's with Cristina now… Cristina was a good friend of mine that had lost her battle with breast cancer 4 months earlier.  This was just too much.  Cristina left behind a husband and family of 5… seemed like she was trying to recreate her family up in Heaven.  She had so-and-so's baby boy… now she had Addison.

Oh well.  I couldn't ask for a better caregiver…. if they have those up in Heaven.

Nana wanted to hold Addison.  Either her or my mother-in-law… I really don't remember, I just know I went super-psycho in my head for a split second… this is my daughter… no one can hold her but me.

I passed her over.

I don't really remember walking out of the room.  I felt defeated. A part of me was gone.  In the back of my head I blamed myself.  I wished her gone.  I did this. I prayed that prayer.

I missed something.  I had to have missed something.  I was so caught up in work that I must have missed something.

Stupid new job.  Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.

The doors to the PICU opened.  The hall was packed with people.  People from church, people from work, friends, family.

Packed.

I zeroed in on so-and-so.  She was first in line.  I think I collapsed into her arms. She's with your boy now. They're not alone.  They have each other.

Did I believe myself?  I don't know.  It sounded good.  It sounded "right".  Shoot, I wasn't sure what I believed.

A gazillion people hugged me.  We went back into the family room to speak with the doctor.  She needed to wrap things up.  I asked so-and-so to come with me. I had no clue what happened next, and she just went through it.  Gosh, I didn't even stop to think if she would be able to handle it. How hard that must have been for her.

The doctor looks exhausted.  Drained.  I know she tried all she could.  She expressed her condolences.

What happened doc?  Why did she die?

My best guess at this point is herpes simplex.

WHAT?

I guess she repeated it.

No. No.  HERPES?  My daughter died from HERPES?  No.

Absolutely not. People don't die from Herpes.

She mentioned the cold sore… said she was treating her with medication for it… I guess in my head I knew Herpes I and Herpes II were in the same family, but I guess I never knew you treated them with the same medication. Makes sense though.

But dead? No… I don't think so.  I'm sorry, but I disagree.  People don't die from cold sores.  EVERYONE has cold sores… well, I mean, everyone but me. (I don't have cold sores.)

She said she wasn't sure, that it was just a guess since that's the only known infection she could figure out at the time… more tests were ordered and would come in over the next couple of days.  She listed a lot of symptoms… liver failure, blood wouldn't clot, etc., etc…. but those all happened as a result of something. She said she wanted to order an autopsy and needed our permission.

I looked at so-and-so.  (I think it was her… someone told me this.) She nodded yes…. said something to the fact of an autopsy is a lot of money if we order it ourselves… if the doctor orders it, it's included.  At this point, I didn't really care.  All I know was someone was gonna find out the real cause.

People don't die from cold sores.

Yes, of course… autopsy is fine.  Can we donate anything?

No. Since we think she died of an infection, we can't donate anything at all.

Well, gee… that sucks.

The doc then wants to know if we have a funeral home of choice we'd like to have her taken to.

Yeah, sure…. I keep funeral home on my list of preferred doctors in my wallet.  You know, doc, dentist , eye doctor… OB… funeral home.  Yep, sure do…. NOT.

I look at so-and-so.  Who did ya'll use?

Laughlin.

Ok. We will use Laughlin. (What did I know?  Funeral homes are funeral homes, right?)

The doc gets up to go… she's finished all her last details.  I'm informed that the nurses are preparing Addy's body and making a parting gift for us, that we will have as much time as we would like… she does want to get the autopsy soon, but take our time.

My doctor calls.  He's in shock.  He's like, I just held her yesterday.  She seemed FINE.  What happened?  I told him what I knew.  He just keeps saying over and over, she was fine…. just a normal baby…. she was fine.  I agree with him.  I have no clue.

I start making phone calls.  I talk with my friend Misty.  She tells me someone is going to come and want to take dead baby pictures.  She says as grossed out as I might be, as much as I may not want to, go ahead and do it.  She says her friend regrets not doing it.

I promise they don't call themselves the "dead baby" photographer.  That's me and my lack of filter.  They are part of a group called NILMDTS (Now I Lay Me Down To Sleep).

Yeah… you'd go with dead baby photographer too…

I call my OB and my pediatrician and leave a message with the on-call service. They both call me back.  They're in shock. I guess it wasn't a milk allergy, I jokingly tell my pediatrician.

He doesn't laugh.  He's pretty upset too.

What am I supposed to do?  Cry? I've cried all the tears I think I can cry. I'm not sure any more exist.

Someone from the staff comes and says Addison is ready for us. Husband and I go walking back into the PICU.

I get to the doorway, see her dead body laying their on the table, some outfit and blanket on her and I collapse. My husband catches me.

No, no, no……. no………

I'm hysterical. Can't breathe.  Not sure why.  I knew she was dead… how was this any different?  Because she had clothes on?  Because she had her new blanket on her?  The beautiful blanket she'd only had for 24 hours?

A chair appears underneath me.  I breathe.  Gotta get it together.  I'm making a scene.  Shoot, make a scene girl.  This is your daughter.  She's dead.  Make all the scene you want.

Part of me wanted to just let myself go totally nuts so they would sedate me. Put me in the padded room…. anything but feel the pain and the emptiness. The logical side won over…

The staff hands me a box.  Inside is a scrapbook they make for the parents… with a lock of hair, pictures, hand and foot prints..  There were two beanie baby angels, one for Bryson and one for Abigail, to help them "cope" with the loss.

They're still at the aunts house.  They have no clue what's going on.  They're 2 and 3… absolutely no clue.

I'm told the dead baby photographer is at a wedding and can't make it until after the autopsy… I'm sure I can get another photographer friend here.

Someone comes in and says three girls are here to see me.  They say they're my students.  I remember getting a text from one of them asking if they could come. Sure, they can come in.

I'm greeted by warm hugs and tears.  They don't seem weirded out that there's a dead baby in the room.  They gather round us and say a prayer.  How sweet.  Someone raised these girls right.  I want my kids to be raised like this… not afraid to face a tragic situation and to turn to God in prayer.

One of them has a phone number I'd been trying to find.  I call her and she agrees to come and take the pictures. That must have been an interesting phone call, now that I have the time to think about it.

I didn't have a chance to get newborn photos done yet.  Sure, the hospital took some pictures but we didn't buy any… we bought the slideshow but no pictures.  Well, at least I have something.

She and her daughter arrive and begin snapping photos.  They're very professional…. told me their ideas for different shots, etc.

I can't imagine people actually take the time to think up good dead baby shots…. I have no clue what I want… shoot I just know my friend said I needed to get them and it seemed like a good idea.  Now… not so much.

We pick Addison up and pose with her.  It's sort of surreal.  She feels like a baby doll, heavy and stiff… just like a baby doll.  I'm posing with a baby doll.  A dead baby doll.

Is she going to look dead in the pictures? Do I want a dead baby face in pictures?

I have no clue… It's been 21 months and I still have yet to look at the pictures.

It's time to leave.  They really want to do the autopsy.  My husband and I get into the car… feels like a million years ago that we threw our bags in there to go to Birmingham, but it's only 4, 4:30pm.

This morning seemed so long ago.  Everything is a blur.  I'm in a daze. I'm told my mom is on her way from Atlanta. Not sure why.  Addy's dead.  There's nothing to see.  I'm sure there will be a funeral or some sort of service later this week.

We get home and grab bags out of the car.  Hubby grabs the infant carrier.

Our eyes meet.

It's empty.

Oh My God it's empty. The realization hits me again, and I nearly lose it.

Hubby helps me inside and into bed.

A million gazillion thoughts are swirling through my head… it's like a movie, replaying part by part.  Maybe it's a dream…. maybe I'll just wake up.

My daughter is dead.  Dead.  Finito. Dead. Gone.

Addy's Story Part 8: It Doesn't Look Good

If you missed any part of Addy's story, click HERE to catch up.

Part 8: It Doesn't Look Good

Ok, it doesn't look good….

I'm stunned.

My husband is sobbing. Others are crying.

I'm in a daze.  Die? Really? I mean, she basically said yes…. she definitely didn't say no.

Die?

Nah.  My daughter can't die. No way.  We're just going to be in the hospital for a while.  Struggle a little, maybe… run up a huge bill.

But die?

No.  There's absolutely no way this can be God's plan.  Absolutely not. No way, Jose. My family can't handle a death.  That's not the way it's supposed to happen.  I die first.  She buries me.

A movie starts playing in my head…. that STUPID movie. That movie we watched the night before she was born. The Fifth Quarter….

Maybe God was getting us….. NO. NO. NO.

Absolutely not.  Pure coincidence.  I will never ask that person for a movie suggestion EVER.  No correlation whatsoever.

A TV show starts playing in my head… 19 kids and counting… Michele Duggar just found out her baby has passed away at 20 weeks…. I watched the funeral.  I watched her go through that.

Maybe God was preparing…. NO.

Not me.

A conversation I had with a sweet friend starts replaying in my head…. I hear my own voice saying "Maybe so-and-so went through this so she could walk someone else through it…."

God?  No.

Never.  Pure coincidence.  I'm a math girl… a stats girl.  Correlation does NOT imply Causation…. just because things SEEM to be linked mean absolutely nothing.

Nothing. Nothing, you hear me?

Gotta keep it together.  Gotta hold it together.  My husband needs me. Must be strong.

Ok, doc.  What's the plan?

We have her on the strongest antibiotic we have.  We're pumping her full of everything we can think of.  We're running every test imaginable. Her liver isn't working.  Her blood won't clot.

She asks me about the cold sore again.

Why in the WORLD are we talking about a stupid cold sore?

She's not accusing….just trying to cover all her bases. She says Addison is being given acyclovir (Valtrex - herpes medication).

Ok, sure, sure. Whatever you think she needs.

She asks me to go back through the entire week. I have a book. We write everything down.  Every pee, every poo, every bottle, every dose of Mylicon…everything.

I've given her everything I can.  Every iota of information.  I wish I had more to tell her.  I wish I could give her the magic information to go with the magic cure.

Can we see her?  Yes, two at a time.

Funny, we weren't told to wash our hands… it' sorta funny how you remember some of the little things.  Maybe they figure we would do it automatically… or they have Addy on so many drugs it doesn't even matter. Either way I found it sort of amusing.

Yes, I still have my sarcastic sense of humor even in times of crisis.

But this isn't a crisis.  She's gonna be fine.  Yes, she's sick.  But she's fine.

Addy doesn't look much different than she did before.  Peaceful.  She's sleeping. Of course she's sleeping. I told you she could sleep. Maybe it's the drugs…

The nurse is pleasant.  Gives us the run-down on all the machines.  Tells us how well Addison is doing. Everything looks good.

Well that's a stark contrast to the doctor…. Mrs. Gloom and Doom didn't seem to think everything looked good.  Hmmmm, strange.

I go back to the waiting room, confused. I thank our school board president for coming.  I call him Mr…. he hugs me and says we're all family, no Mr. needed. I post a prayer request on Facebook.

I sit.  I text.  I wait.  I talk to Deedee.  It's her son's birthday tomorrow…. what are the party plans? Not that I think I'll be able to come now.  but her boys are like sons to me.  I hate missing his birthday party.

I tell her she needs to go home.  Get some rest.  Doesn't look like much is going to happen quickly.  We're just gonna be here for the long haul…. it's just gonna be awhile.  She'll have plenty of time to come back and visit.

Doc comes back.  Numbers don't look good, but Addy herself doesn't look so bad. She's not peeing. Urine output not good.  That raises an alarm in my head.  

Liquid in must equal liquid out. Liver failure.  Body shutting down.

No. No. No.  She's just very sick.  That's all.  Just sick sick.  Ok doc, do all you can.  Thanks for the update.  I go see Addy.

The nurse is extremely positive.  Calm and caring.  I don't get it.  She's not acting like Addy's very sick.

I post another update on Facebook.

People begin leaving.  It's just a waiting game, so it seems.  I need sleep.  It's 2am.  There's one little pull-out chair.

Hubby offers to go home and let me stay with Addison.  We live right down the street. He'll be back in the morning.

No.  not ok.  If something happens to her, he won't forgive himself for not being there.  Worse yet, what if something did happen and he's so distraught he does something stupid?  He doesn't need to be driving.  No, no. I'll go.

I know I can handle it.  She's just really sick. She'll be fine.

My mother-in-law and her husband take me home. It's close to 3am and I think I just fall into bed.

I wake up to the phone ringing.  It's 6am and it's the husband.  He says they want to move Addison to Birmingham.  They think she either has a genetic disorder or need to be down there where they can get test results back more quickly. After all, they're sent down to Birmingham… and then we have to wait a day for answers.  Makes sense to me.

He says her urine output is better.  Numbers still don't look great but she's not worse.  He's going to come home and get me, and we're going to head to Birmingham. His sister will stay with Addison until the Med-flight team takes her.  She'll call us when they take off.  We are to meet them in Birmingham.

My boss calls.  I update him and he says he has friends down there.  He'll make sure we have a place to stay.  It's so nice to have people in your life that care.  Connections rock.

There's a knock at the door.  It's my friend Stephanie and her husband, Jay.  They brought breakfast.  I think someone updated them.  I can't figure out why else these two would be at my door around 7am.  Where's their son? With grandparents… he's fine.  They start tidying up and tell me to go get a shower. Stephanie will get clothes and stuff for Bryson and Abigail.

Oh yeah.  Bryson and Abigail.  Wonder how they are.  Hmmm… I didn't think about who was going to keep them while we're in Birmingham.  Maybe I need to figure that out.  Completely escaped my mind.  Yes, there are two other small people that require my attention.

I pause and look at my phone, not even sure who to call.  Stephanie gently takes it away… she's already figured it all out for me.  She can keep the kids and take them to school with her son.  No problem.  Go get in the shower.

What nice friends.  Nice that I don't have to figure out everything.  She was a step ahead.  How kind.

The shower is nice.  I'm not even sure I feel tired.  Just in a daze.  Hubby arrives, and things start moving faster.  I just throw stuff in a bag…. no clue what I'm gonna need.  At some point, I need to get my prescription filled…. my "issues" still hurt.

Do I pack for Addy? Sure why not… throw in a couple bottles, diapers and outfits.

Husband wonders why his sister hasn't called yet.  They should have left by now.  He walks back in the door and says we need to go back to the hospital.  His sister called and they haven't left yet.

Ok.

We head back to the hospital.  I update Facebook.

It's not a long drive to the hospital.  Ten minutes, tops.  At some point, this feeling comes over me and I feel the need to hurry.  I feel like we're in labor and having a baby.  Go quickly, I said to the husband.  Something doesn't feel right.

We screech into the parking lot and quickly walk in.  A sense of panic takes over.  I hit the elevator button.

Tears are running down my cheeks.  Why?  Where's the stupid elevator.  Bam, bam, bam… I hit the stupid button like it's going to tell the elevator to come faster.  I feel like I'm in a movie.  Where's the stairs?

Shouldn't there be stairs around an elevator?  I could run by now.  Sure, I had a c-section a week ago.. but I can run.  Pure adrenalin, baby.

The elevator comes.  FINALLY.  I can't hit the button fast enough.  Why is my heart pounding?  Why am I so anxious? Why am I crying?

The doors open.  We RUN down the hall.  I don't remember the doors opening.  I just remember running.

There's people everywhere.  I see my sister-in-law.  Her eyes are sad and she's shaking her head no.  It's like super-dee-duper slow motion.

My head swings left.  There's a guy in a flight suit with one of those little pump CPR things… and he's squeezing it.  There's another one giving her CPR.

I kiss my girl and start praying.  Come on girl, you can make it baby.  You're strong, you're a fighter.  Come on Addison. You've got this.

I hear snoopy talk in the background.  I cannot comprehend anything at all.  It's just me and my baby. I'm praying.  They're squeezing and pumping.  We're a team. We've got this.

I feel like the room goes silent.  I'm telling you, it's like super slow motion.  The doctor has walked up to me.  I know she's talking, but I have no clue what she's saying.  Her mouth is moving but I don't hear what she's saying.  There's gestures and murmurs….

I look behind her.  The crowd looks sad.  They're all watching me.

I look back at Addison.  The guys are still pumping.

I look at the doctor. Finally I speak.

Is there any hope?

She shakes her head.

I look back at the guys.  Still pumping. I look at Addy.  Looks the same as she did last night.  I look at the doctor.

Why are we doing all of this then?

We were waiting until you got here.

Oh.

OH. Whoa. Wait a sec. Wha…

It finally hits me.  When the guys stop pumping, she will die.  My baby girl will die.  I am about to watch my little girl die.  Actually die.  Like take her last breath die.  Like dead.

I tell the doctor that none of this pumping stuff is necessary.  There's no point. Stop. She asks if everyone is here that I want to be there.

I'm here. (What in the world is she talking about - everyone?  Who cares?  My husband and I are there… no one else matters.  I know, selfish…. I didn't think. I didn't know.  Really, who thinks about these things?)

Do you want to hold her?

Oh dear Lord. Watching her die is one thing… watching her die in my arms is something totally different.

I can't do this.  I can't watch my daughter die.  It's not supposed to be this way. I can't. I won't.

You will…. a voice in my head says.  You can.  You can do all things through Christ.

Do they even know what they are asking of me?

My mother-in-law arrives.  She has Nana with her….

If I don't hold her, if I chicken out… someone else is going to do it.  Do I want my daughter to die in my mother-in-law's arms?

No.  I must gather the strength.

I tell the doctor I'm ready.  A chair is brought over.  My husband is to my left.  Nana is to my right. I post on Facebook.

I call my dad and stepmother so they can say goodbye to Addison.  They haven't even gotten the chance to meet her.

I open my music folder.  She must go home to Jesus with a song.

My song of choice?  Hillsong's Jesus, Lover of My Soul. Here's a LINK if you want to listen to it.

Addison takes her last breath.  She's gone.  I kiss her sweet forehead and say the only thing I can think of.

God gives and God taketh away.  Blessed be the name of the Lord.

I post on Facebook.

That's the story. Her birth, her life, her death. What happened?  Why? How? It's taken quite a bit to get this far…. the worst is yet to come.

Addy's Story Part 7: Hospital or Not?

If you missed any part of Addy's story, click HERE to catch up.

Part 7: Hospital or Not?

So my friend Deedee and I look at each other… surely that's not blood…. Yes, it's blood, she says…

And just in case we didn't think it was blood, she starts "going" again while we're changing her.  Now there's a string of "fresh" blood.

Call doc now.  No ifs, ands or buts.

I call the doctor.  He's nice and calm, asks about her diet for the day, etc.  Different questions.  I really like our pediatrician.  He doesn't jump to conclusions, he's not overly dramatic, panicky or anything.  He's a researcher, more like an engineer…. So he says hmmmm, could be a milk allergy, I've seen that happen with babies who are allergic to milk.  You can always take her to the ER, just to be safe.

I hang up with the doctor and hop on the internet.  I search everything possible for blood in diaper.  Milk allergy.

Milk allergy.

Milk allergy.

Oooooook. So, do I take my newborn to the Emergency Room and expose her to all those germs? Do I wait a little while and see if anything changes?  Maybe it's a fluke.  I mean, the first was dark blood and it wasn't much… and the second was fresh but well, maybe it was a milk allergy.  That's always possible.

Deedee (best friend/babysitter) leaves.  I have all three children.  I'm hurting from my other "issues", I hadn't picked up my prescription yet, I'm tired, I'm overwhelmed, I'm sore… I'm all alone.

I call my mother-in-law and ask her to keep Bryson and Abigail for the evening.  She's more than happy to help out.  I give her a quick synopsis of Addison and her issues.  She's concerned too, but like me also wonders if we should take her to the ER and expose her to all those germs.  I told her that I would give it a little more time.

A friend from church stops by with dinner.  Ahhh, dinner.  I'm so tired and that's just awesome.  I have dinner already ready.  She looks at me and says is everything ok?  I try not to burst into tears, knowing most of it is just pregnancy hormones.  I take a deep breath and quickly fill her in, telling her my mother-in-law was coming to get Bryson and Abby, that I was probably just going to take a hot bubble bath and go to bed early.

She lingers at the door for a minute.  I know she has to go, but you could tell she wanted to be there for me too.  I urge her on, saying we would be just fine. Later on she would tell me how completely awful she felt when she found out what happened.  She was so upset for leaving me, she had that "feeling" and didn't listen to it.  I remember reassuring her that at the time I did not feel like Addison was in any danger, that it was most likely a milk allergy like both the doctor and the internet said, and who would have ever thought it'd end up the way it did?

She leaves and I do exactly as I told her I would.  I took a bubble bath.  Addison is in her rocker/ napper (that thing is awesome - a must have for every parent) sleeping peacefully.  I pull it into the doorway and take a bubble bath.

I notice that every so often, Addison does this weird little cry out… like a gas pain or something.  When I say every so often, it wasn't often enough that I timed it or noticed a pattern, just noticed a few times.  I wondered if I should take her to the ER.  I really had no desire to go to the Emergency Room and sit there for 6 hours just to have them tell me my baby has a milk allergy.

So you're probably wondering by now, where's the husband? What's his opinion?

He didn't know. I hadn't called him.

Before you rush and judge me, let me explain.  It's Friday.  It's game day.  It's Homecoming.  My husband is a football coach, and a darn good one at that.  I knew if I called and said I was taking Addy to the ER that he would leave the game.

It's just a game, right?  This is our daughter. And she could be sick.

No, it's football. If you're a coach's wife, you understand.  Most of the time, you take a backseat during football season. You understand the sacrifices a family makes.  You understand that weekends are full of meetings and trainings, holidays and vacations are worked around schedules, if a child is sick, everyone calls you first because he has football practice.

We got married during football season. He missed a game because of the rehearsal dinner.  That was a big deal. We did not go on a honeymoon.  It was football season. It's understood.

It's not JUST a game.  It's a way of life.  And apparently it was a way of life that certain people did not think I supported.  I met with another couple about two weeks prior to that, seeking help and support for my husband in balancing some of the things going on in his life.

Watch out.  When you reach out for help, be prepared for it to backfire.  And oh did it backfire.  I was accused… no, not even accused… I was TOLD that I did not support my husband's football career, that I constantly made it difficult for him to do his job and he always seemed torn.

Let's get something straight.  I did everything I could to support my husband's coaching career.  I was so incredibly mad that this couple, a couple I loved and respected, that had known my husband and I for years, would actually say those words to me. I arranged babysitters when needed, I moved and shuffled things around, gave up my free time and my days anytime impromptu meetings were called. I was mad.  I was hurt. It stung.

Stung so much that when the choice came to pull my husband from a football game to take our daughter to the ER or wait it out, I chose to wait it out.

I made the choice.

I pulled up the game on the Internet.  I watched the score as I hemmed and hawed over what to do.

I spoke with my sister-in-law a few times… sent her pictures of the diapers.  Yes, I know, TMI… but she's in the pediatric medical field, so shoot… this is her business… her area of expertise…. she was expecting blood blood… not the little amounts we had. So she was a little on the fence too.

The diapers continued.  I wrote the time on the outside and bagged them up, thinking we would go to the ER after the football game.

I check the score.  The score is outrageous….. I think it was like 34-7 or something like that.  I call hubby and leave a message… something doesn't seem right and I think we need to take Addy to the ER.

My sister-in-law calls back… says why not just be safe and take her… I agree with her and told her I had just called hubby.  She offers to call the ER and find out who's on call tonight, let them know we're coming, etc.  (They know her… so maybe if I name drop I can get in and out without even being there too long).  I tell her no…. thanks, but that's ok.  I don't want to use her name for something as simple as a milk allergy.  I already felt stupid for pulling my husband from his football game.  I still had no desire to go to the ER.  I still thought we'd sit there for 6 hours and pay $200 just to find out she's fine.

I don't like wasting money.

Hubby calls and says he is on the way home to get me.  I fill him in, tell him not to rush because I'm sure it's just a milk allergy like the doc said.  I apologize profusely for taking him away from the game and hope the head coach isn't upset with me.  I didn't want him to think I wasn't supporting my husband's coaching career… that hurt was still so fresh. (Codependency, anyone?)

I pack a bag for Addison and throw my Gap fleece on over my scrub pants and slip my feet into my hubby's camo Crocs.  Shoot, if I'm gonna sit in the ER I'm gonna be comfortable. My fleece is like 12 years old and incredibly soft… the shoes are comfy.  I grab a book to read, and I'm ready to go.

On the way to the ER, my pastor's wife texts me.  She tells me he and another Coach just left the game and are headed to the ER, to keep her updated.  I'm so embarrassed.

All this fuss. For a milk allergy.  So embarrassing.

We get to the ER, sit down, start filling out the paperwork.  I can just see the dollars ticking away… I look at Addy.  She's fine, absolutely fine. She's asleep, of course.

I hate myself for bringing her to the ER, exposing her to germs, disrupting everyone's evening.

We take Addison into the little triage area.  They check her vitals, etc.  The nurse does a lot of clickety-clackety on the keyboard and scribbling on the clipboard.

Seems normal to me. I'm tired.  I want to go home.

Another nurse comes in, starts getting stuff… she asks the triage nurse if she took Addy's temperature.  The next thing I hear… "seriously?". My ears perk up.  That didn't sound like a normal "seriously" to me.  The girl says, well, I'll check it again when we get in there.  She tells us to pick up Addy and follow her. I was like, what's her temperature?  97.1, I'm told.  Oh.  Hmmm…

That's bad?  Isn't 98.6 normal?  Shoot, what do I know? I just figured we were getting the royal workup - figured someone name-dropped.  I'm impressed that my sis-in-law has that much pull.  I'm embarrassed that either she called or my hubby name-dropped.  Especially for a milk allergy.

We follow the nurse back into an ER room.  What happens next is like a scene out of ER or Grey's Anatomy.  This little baby cubby thingy is raced into the room, forcing hubby and I to step back from each other.  Scrubs are everywhere, doing everything, calling out all these acronyms and medicines and things I don't understand. Hubby and I look at each other.  I'll never forget the oh crap look in his eyes. Not quite terror.  Not concern.  Oh crap. Is it really this serious?

I can't take my eyes off of Addison.  I felt like screaming wait wait, what the hell is going on? Will someone please tell me what's going on? Why isn't my baby crying?  You're sticking her with all these needles and she's not crying.  Shouldn't she be crying?

I say nothing.  I've gone mute. I can't speak.  I'm trying to text my sister-in-law every time I hear something.  She offers to come back down there… I tell her no.  I'm still embarrassed at the royal treatment we're getting.  I don't understand why they keep asking me why she was so cold. Did I know she was that cold, they asked? I felt like they were accusing me of shaken baby or something.

I said she was fully clothed with a blanket around her.  My hubby keeps the house pretty cool… that could be it.  I was about to feed her when we got to the ER so I had started to unwrap her.  Perhaps that's why she was a little chilled. I didn't understand what the big deal was.  After all, 97 is one degree away from normal.

Well, either I heard the nurse wrong or she mixed the numbers when telling me.  Her temperature was 91.7.

Is that bad?  Yes. They have her in a baby warmer trying their best to warm her body up.

My sister-in-law arrives.  I finally asked her to come translate, because I had no clue what they were saying and it was getting harder to type.  They were saying so many new words so quickly I couldn't keep up.  I needed a translator.

She arrived with the ER doc.  Doc introduces herself… seems pretty calm.  Everyone seems calm, just doing a whole lot at once. Doc says, how long has she had the cold sore on her chin?

Cold sore?  Oh, you mean the blister?

Yes, the cold sore.

Almost a week.  We thought it was from her pacifier… you know, moisture from her mouth and the constant sucking.. rubbed her raw.  But ok, cold sore.

Hubby has cold sores, daughter has cold sores.  No big deal. I guess it runs in the family. What's the big deal?

My sister-in-law mentions my skeeter bite/sores/blisters on my chest.  The doc looks at me… this look like oh, is there something you're not telling me?

I wave it away… I tell her about the blisters… explain the week as quickly as I can…. but it feels like they're healing…

They do every test imaginable on Addison.  I see this nurse holding her hand.  Aww, so sweet.  I figure maybe he can tell me what's going on.  I asked why she wasn't crying… shouldn't she be crying, I said?

He nods yes, a sad look on his face.  He's holding a gauze over a needle prick on her wrist.  It won't clot.  I wondered why he wouldn't just put a band-aid on it, but I figured he was comforting her and offering me moral support, so he just wanted to hold her hand for me.

They tell me we're moving upstairs to the Pediatric ICU, where they can run further tests and see what's going on.  I still haven't been told what's wrong…. I've been told she's cold and they're trying to warm her, and that her blood won't clot.

I don't understand at all.

We're directed to a family room.  It has a tiny two-person couch and like 4 or 5 chairs.  My mother-in-law and her husband arrive.  Her sister is watching the kids. Deedee arrives. My brother-in-law arrives…. coaches begin arriving.  We fill the hall. Students are texting me.  They've stopped their homecoming party and are holding a prayer vigil.

Our school has an e-newsletter… and anytime there's anything happening, that newsletter goes out.  They sent out an email saying we were taking Addy to the hospital….

I look out in the hall and it looks like the entire coaching staff is out there.  School board members are out there.

What a caring, loving family.  I'm so glad I work at this school. What support we have.

Still don't understand what the fuss is all about.

Why are they taking so long?  What's going on with her?  My sister-in-law, AKA "translator", says they do a full work-up and get her settled, try to come up with a game plan and then come and communicate that plan to us.  She knows the doctor working the PICU and likes her a lot.

She's good.  She pays attention to every single detail.  If I had to pick anyone, it would have been her.

Sure, she could've just been saying that.  But I felt so much better knowing this doctor had my sister-in-law's stamp of approval.

The doctor comes in and shuts to door. I'm sitting on the tiny couch with my husband. She starts going into detail on all the tests they've run and medicines they're using on her, the antibiotics, etc., etc.  Her blood isn't clotting (why in the world is THAT such a big deal?), something about liquid plasma, treating her with cold sore medication, etc.

She finished her looooong speech.  I feel overwhelmed with medical jargon.  I need English.  For those that know me, I'm pretty direct.  I don't like to sugarcoat things.. I don't like beating around the bush… I want to know what I'm up against.  I want to know what to prepare for.  And if you haven't figured it out by now, I have absolutely no filter. I just say what needs to be said.

So I said it.  I asked it.  THE question.  The question that was in the back of everyone's mind.

Is she gonna die?

We brace ourselves for what seems like forever.  Why is she taking so long to answer?

I don't know.  But it doesn't look good.

Holy Crap.

Stay tuned for Part 8: It Doesn't Look Good.

Addy's Story Part 6: Something's Wrong

If you missed any part of Addy's story, click HERE to catch up.

And now… as the story starts winding down….  or beginning...
Part 6: Something's Wrong…

So as the week went on, we noticed that Addison could sleep…. Boy, could she sleep…. But really, who complains about a sleeping baby?  We began to jokingly call her the Narcoleptic Baby… did we think anything was wrong?  No.  We (hubby and I) discussed calling the doctor but felt sorta stupid.  All babies are different, right?  No one-size-fits-all mold? We also thought calling the doc would jinx it… that Addy would then become colicky and never sleep… who wants to chance that, right??

So let's make that Lesson Number 1 learned…. don't ever worry about feeling stupid with your question.  Call. Even if you're a parent of 8… when you get that "feeling", call.  Don't ignore it.  Don't let pride and the I-can-handle-it get in your way.

Not that calling would have done anything.  But we'll never know, will we?

So anyhow, it's Thursday, September 13.  Addison must really like her Ducky pacifier, because the sore on her chin still hasn't completely healed. See it? (This picture just looks creepy anyway...) Mental note: she can go to bed without her ducky, and if she does have her Ducky, don't wrap it in the blanket with her so her mouth moisture creates a blister.  Yep, mental note.

I was at the kitchen table, working.  Yep, working. Guilty.  Working.  Resting? No. Working.  Like I said before, new job, new pressure, new expectations and I wasn't strong enough to say no and just Let it Go.  I had to handle it all… I had to keep everything functioning smoothly…. Notes, lessons, videos, whatever.  Gotta keep everyone happy. Yep, Codependency 101…

Addison was in her bouncy seat, sharing a HUGE kitchen table with me.  No, she wasn't going to bounce off and no I wouldn't have left her there to go use the bathroom or anything, she was just sitting here, chillaxin, taking it all in.

Then she started choking. Almost like the little cough you do when you choke on your own spit… you've never done that, you say?  Liar.  You know what I'm talking about.

Tiny little choking sounds.  Color was normal… I grabbed her up, weird sounds stopped.  Put her down…. a few minutes later choking sounds…. that was weird.  Ok, so it's the bouncy seat… every baby is different, right?  No bouncy seat for Addison, nope.  Don't know why but she doesn't like it.

I'm not sure how the rest of the day went or if she ever did go back to that bouncy seat.  I just know she looked unhappy and pitiful in it.  Just not right.  But not "not right" enough for me to think anything was abnormal.  She's a baby, and they're all different.

So either I picked Bryson up from school or someone brought him to me, not sure… all I know is I was alone with all three… and tired…. and all I could think about was if my students had whatever lesson it was they needed to have for the next day or this or that, and probably a gazillion other things… overwhelmed doesn't even begin to describe it.  I thought I was going to lose it.

What did I do? I asked God for help.  Asked him to take it away.  Told him I didn't know what I was thinking with three…..

I immediately took it back. I was just overwhelmed… new mommy again, jeez how guilty would I feel if something happened to one of them after I just asked God to relieve me?

Famous last words.

Guilt doesn't even begin to describe how I feel about that innocent prayer. Be careful what you wish for, right? Guilt.

Big. Huge. Guilt. Regret.  Anger.

I got my head screwed on straight after that.  Hubby came home, we gave Addison her first bath, thinking that might help her some… she just seemed a little fussy.  Maybe she had the tummy issues like Abigail did.  Dunno.  Just seemed fussy.  But not "abnormal" fussy.  Every baby's different, right?

How was I?  Physically, I was a little sore. I had a few other pregnancy "annoyances" that made life miserable, but I was surviving. Emotionally? Wondering what I just got myself into with the new job and child number three, not to mention all the other things going on with my family.  Pressure is probably the best word I can use to describe it all…. lots and lots of pressure.

I stayed up until about 4 in the morning holding Addison.  Seemed like every time I put her down she got fussy, like gas pain or something.  I gave her Mylicon… not sure if it was helping, but when I held her she settled right down and went to sleep.  That was fine because I had plenty of schoolwork to do.

Yep, still doing schoolwork now.  Everyone's asleep and I'm working on lesson plans… and lessons, and tests, and everything under the sun. Work-a-holic?  Yep.  That's ok.  I claim it.

Friday morning, September 14…..  I feel awful (impending doom?)  I went to bed around 4 and it's 7, so I should feel awful. My other "issues" were bothering me to the point of tears… time for me to call the doc and ask for help. I'm hurting, and a little pride is not going to stand in the way of getting relief. What do I have that a doctor hasn't seen, really? So I make an appointment for 2pm. Ahhh.  Relief.  I feel relieved just knowing I have an appointment.

My sitter/best friend arrives. She immediately picks up Addison.  She opens her eyes and we grab the camera… and catch an open-eye picture. Remember, she sleeps all the time and barely has her eyes open.  Beautiful, isn't she?  This is my last live picture of my daughter.  Does she know she'll be dead in less than 24 hours? Does she know it's her "time"? She looks peaceful, doesn't she? I think she knows….

The phone rings.  It's the pediatrician's office.  They need to reschedule my two-week appointment because something with one of the doctors or something.  I don't know.  We reschedule or shuffle or whatever it was they wanted.  How's the baby, the nurse asks?

Well….. I hate to complain…. but she SLEEPS.  A LOT.  Like a LOT LOT. More than the other two. Is this normal?

She asks a few questions… how much sleep, how much formula is she getting, etc. She calls me back after consulting with the doctor.  Their verdict?  She's not getting enough calories… we think she isn't eating enough and therefore isn't getting enough energy to keep herself awake.

That makes sense.

So they say wake her up every 3 hours and offer her food instead of waiting (at most) 5.  Unwrap her, wake her up.  Whatever it is I have to do.  Keep track of it and if her sleeping/eating and bring her in Monday if there's still no difference.

Sounds good.

So I bundle up Addison and head over to the doctor's office.  While there in my little exam room, she makes this weird cough and spits up.  Well that's new.  Uh-oh.  Do I have a puker on my hands like Abigail?  I'm a little embarrassed because I only have one bib with me (who forgets an extra bib?).  So what do I do?  Flip it over.

Doc comes in.  He oohs and ahhs over Addison (yes, he washed his hands).  The nurse oohs and ahhs and coos and whatever other sounds you make to a newborn.

My baby disappears while I'm getting checked out.  She's in good hands… they're playing pass the baby.  Not a problem.  I'm a proud, tired mama. Doc checks me out, gives me a prescription, and we are good to go.

I pick up Bryson from school, and head home.  There's a package hanging on our doorknob, and it's a beautiful baby blanket from my sister-in-law.  She's in charge of the niece/nephew blanket.  That's her thing.  Any new children come along, and Jade gets the blanket.  She picks the greatest blankets and cute embroidery. I wish I could show you a picture of the blanket... but the only one I have does not have a live baby in it.

It's going on 4:00, just about time for my friend to go home (she was watching Abigail).  Addison needs to be changed, and of course my friend wants her "Addy time".  We head to the changing table and go to change her diaper.

We unsnap the onesie. Unwrap the diaper.  There's blood in it.

Oh my God.

Something's wrong.

Stay tuned for Part 7: Hospital or Not?