This was very poetic, I actually started counting syllables to see if it could be a haiku at the end (it's not). But in all seriousness, screaming that you can't do this may make you feel better, even just for a moment.
Friday and Saturday: September 2 – September 3 Everything happened so suddenly. One minute it seemed as though Rory would be breaking records for getting out of the NICU early and the next we were forced to face the possibility of losing her. Sheldon and I had gone home Thursday night after Sheldon had held Rory for the first time. I wanted to get my nails done quick Friday morning and get back to her. It sounds so trite now, but I wanted my nails nice and short because I was handling her more. Changing her diaper, wiping her face, and giving sponge baths. Friday morning at 7:30am I got a phone call. Rory wasn’t acting like herself. She was irritable and seemed to have a tummy ache. With a sigh I relayed the message to Sheldon, saying it looked like Rory was going to have “one of those preemie bad days” and I probably wouldn’t be able to hold her that day. I went to my appointment and called the nurses a couple of times to see how she was doing. They told me they were taking her off ...
Friday, September 9 It felt like we were getting our miracle. At rounds today the doctors told us Rory was stable enough to be moved to the UofA and she would probably have surgery within 24 hours of arriving. My stomach churned. “Do you think they’ll let me ride with her in the ambulance?” I ask Sheldon “Hopefully.” He says and wraps an arm around my shoulders. We were having breakfast in the cafeteria of the hospital. We had called our parents to let them know the good news. The transport team had been arranged for. Rory would be on her way sometime today. Or at least that’s what we thought. Nothing could have prepared us for the news we received when we walked unsuspectingly back into Rory’s room. A doctor we had never seen before was standing over Rory. He walks over to us and introduces himself as a surgeon from the UofA. And then proceeds to tell us he will not be doing the surgery and Rory isn’t going anywhere. Because the small bleed in her brain turned out to be not so small. ...
October 17 Confessions of a Grieving Mama • I don’t know what to do without her. The past three years of my life have been all about her. Trying to conceive, getting pregnant, trying to stay pregnant, early labor, early delivery – all these things were all about her. Rory. My Rory. She was my life before she was even born. • There are still days when I simply don’t care that I don’t know what to do. I don’t want to think about it. I don’t want to care about it. I don’t want to look ahead to tomorrow, to next week, to next year, when I can barely make it through the minutes of today. • I am okay with how I am grieving. I am a person of intense emotions. Feeling things in extreme measures is not new for me. I need to feel. I don’t want to be drugged to make the emotions more manageable, the days more bearable. Yes, many times life is unbearable. But that’s the way it should be. That is the correct response. Rory is gone. For now, I need to be allowed to feel despair whenever I...
This was very poetic, I actually started counting syllables to see if it could be a haiku at the end (it's not). But in all seriousness, screaming that you can't do this may make you feel better, even just for a moment.
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