Friday, September 4, 2015


Sometimes it's odd how things come full circle. Just over six years ago, my life was hell. My baby girl was fighting for her life, and there was absolutely nothing I could do. No one understood. No one could. No one still does to this day. I was alone, spinning, trying to catch my breath any chance I got.

Now I find myself in a position to be able to help some of those moms in a similar (yet completely different) situation. See the NICU that we were in for 150 days has been running a support group for about a year now. I was asked to be one of the graduate parent facilitators. At first, I thought no way. The anxiety I'd feel any time I even thought of that place was awful. No way I was going to go there in my free time, right?  I was wrong. So wrong.

About once a month, I get to sit down with parents who currently have a baby in the same NICU. I tell them our story in the hopes that they feel a little less alone. I let them know that it's ok to get angry. It's ok to be upset. It's ok to cry, to yell, to feel numb. Because I did all of that. But like any parent, I got up and did what I had to do for my children. I judged myself for these feelings, not knowing that probably more NICU parents than not went through the same emotions, even if only momentarily. They get to tell me their story. They get to show off their little miracle to someone who understands how bittersweet it is. They get to ask questions, to which most of the time I have no answers. But they still get to ask, which is something I wasn't sure was ok when we were in their shoes. They get to vent. They get to cry. They get to be parents with worries they never imagined. And they get to see that somehow they will make it through. Maybe not in the way they dreamed. Maybe not in they way anyone thinks. Maybe against all the odds possible. No matter how long and how dark the tunnel, there is an end.

Friday, March 13, 2015

6 years

Yes.  I've been slacking.  Life happens.  I blog when I feel the need.  Or when I have time.  Grad school has been getting in the way and taking up lots of time.  Get over it.

Must vent.  I hate today.  It is this utter visceral reaction to Friday the 13th, but this one in particular.  I was admitted to the hospital with M on Friday, March 13, 2009.  Exactly 6 years ago.  Today.  On a Friday the 13th.  I want to punch everyone in the face.

Everyone wants to tell me to "focus on the good" or "be thankful for how things turned out."  That makes me want to spit fire in your eye.  Yes, I have my daughter.  Yes, she is perfect in every way possible.  No, I wouldn't trade her for the world.  And one day, maybe that is all I will be able to feel on days like this.  But there is still this black cloud.

You don't know what I carry around with me.  You don't know what it's like to basically hear "if your daughter is born now, we will let you hold her until she dies."  You don't know what it's like to have your body completely and utterly fail not only you but those you love more than life itself. You don't know how it feels to know your body tried to kill your own children. You don't have those memories of needing someone with you at all time, because if she was born now, you wanted someone else to witness her life, no matter how short.  You don't know the guilt of the little nervous laughter because it was the only way you could avoid a complete mental breakdown.  You don't know the pain when you think of how you will have to explain all this to her one day, praying she will understand and be able to forgive you.

So if you are looking for a way to help today, and other, for your safety, don't tell me to look on the bright side.  Give me a hug.  Pass the tequila.  Hand me some chocolate.  Buy me a coffee.  Just sit.  Knowing that you can't possibly understand what I've been through or where I'm coming from.  And you don't want to.