# Disturbed



## alternamama82 (May 28, 2009)

I need to know that I'm not going crazy.... I have these thoughts that keep running through my head every day, they are mostly the really traumatic, upsetting moments of my dd's birth/life/death. I sometimes become so "zoned" out while I get lost in these thoughts and playing all the upsetting moments over and over in my mind that I'm amazed sometimes how quickly time passes when I actually snap back to reality and out of my whirlwind of thoughts.
I think alot about my daughter, as sick as she was and the helplessness that I felt as her mother being unable to help her. I wanted to take away her pain and discomfort. I wanted to comfort her when she cried, like a mother should be able to do with her baby. It felt so incredibly unnatural to be such a helpless mother holding a baby full of a plethora of tubes and wires poking out of every body part.
I picture those final moments of me holding her, when she stopped breathing and her heart stopped beating. I was SO SCARED of the moment it would happen. It was inevitable that it would happen, but the fear of the thought watching my baby die consumed me. Thankfully, when it did happen I was with her, and it seemed to be a peaceful event with (I hope) minimal pain for her. But what does it feel like to die? Can anyone guarantee me that it is this nice peaceful transition, like falling asleep? Did she know what was happening? Was she scared?
I picture myself holding my baby moments after her death. I kissed her head, and she smelled of the sweet baby scent I had longed for months before her birth. I admired her adorable little face that I hardly got to see because of the breathing mask she had to wear constantly. But I was so overcome with my own grief and loss that I wish I would've appreciated that last chance to hold her a lot more. I should've held her alot longer. I should've kissed her alot more. I was so scared when I kissed the top of her head and she began feeling cold. I wanted to run and scream and throw up all over the world because my baby wasn't coming home with me. I was going home without her, to have to explain to my other two children what had happened to their little sister who they were SO EXCITED to have and play with.

Fear. Fear. Fear.

I was so scared to bury my baby. We were trying to make her funeral arrangements over the Easter Weekend and it was hard to get ahold of everybody we needed to. We went to the graveyard on my birthday to pick a spot for her. We met with the funeral director on her due date.

!!!!!

I couldn't believe this was happening to me.

I was so upset that I didn't have an outfit for her to wear that would fit her properly since she was so tiny. I insisted that we go to the city to this preemie store to find her an outfit. I finally settled on a pink sleeper that had two little bows on it. I wish I would've taken a picture of it. I also got her a soft fleecy blanket for her to lay on. DP converted a beautiful oak doll cradle that he had made ODD for Xmas a couple of years ago into a casket. He carved our baby's name into the front of it. DP is a carpenter and loves making toys and things for the kids, and he really wanted our baby to have something that he lovingly made too. We also put in a picture of our family, so she could always have us close.

I often worry about how she is, in the ground. I know it probably sounds weird, and it is disturbing. I get so upset that she's THERE. She should be HERE! Next to me. Warm and comforted. Not across town, alone. I've cried so many nights worrying about this all........


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## philomom (Sep 12, 2004)

I think these thoughts are in the range of normal. Losing our babies is a huge trauma and I think our mind can just race sometimes with odd thoughts. Or the "what if"game.

Be kind to yourself. Try to eat well. Walk or swim daily. Love your partner. Take little steps and breathe deep. Time doesn't heal all wounds but it will get easier to bear.


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## SMR (Dec 21, 2004)

Totally normal. Just take it easy, time will help.. I still go over and over the evens of September 8th and 9th.. all the time. I think giving in to the feelings early on helped a lot. Huge hugs to your whole family.


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## JayJay (Aug 1, 2008)

Well as far as the "wondering what she is like in the ground" part - totally normal. Everyone involved, from children to adults, are inevitably going to wonder what is going on down there. It's helplessness. You wanted her to stay and be pink and bright and alive, but she couldn't and is being reclaimed by mother earth. But that is a natural process, and nothing to be afraid of, mama, okay? Don't feel wrong for thinking about it. It's part of letting go. I do believe that as a child, I asked my mother all about what my brother was doing in the ground, and she knew. Eventually, a few years later, the ground fell a little above his grave - his coffin had finally decayed away and the space was filled with soil. His transformation was complete.

With Josie, knowing about how what is happening to her body was hard at first. Very hard. but as time went on, and I knew she was reaching the end of the process into nothingness, it was almost as though a big sigh was let go out of my body. It's hard to talk about this process with someone who hasn't suffered child loss, but I think on this board, you will find we're all very open







*HUGE hugs*

Now, as for the dying part, I can help you there as well.

When I wandered - well, staggered into the ER that morning on the 10th of October, the placenta had completely abrupted. Blood was flowing out of me, down my legs and across the floor in a trail. Everything was very hazy. I think I staggered a lot. My blood was leaving me and my consciousness escaping. By the time they got me on the gurney, my hearing was fading away. They put me under general and everything was very quick. Another thing, by the time I started to slip away, the pain was numbed somehow. I was dying but my body had taken over and was producing a lot of numbing chemicals to help me at that time.

I woke up and was in critical condition. I didn't even know it. They had the emergency cart parked outside my door so not to scare me, because they were worried that my heart might stop. They had my family calling me throughout the day to try to keep me hanging on. I will tell you, it would have been easy to die. Painless, not scary. I cried for everyone around me then - for Harry who didn't get to be a Dad to living baby; for my parents who didn't get to be grandparents. I apologized over and over. Dying would have been easy. I existed in the moment.

For most of the afternoon my oxygen saturation was about 88-90%. My lips were white and I had intermittent hearing loss. Kept fading in and out. Got a transfusion that afternoon and hemmhoraged again that evening, all over the floor. At the time, I could have died again, but I just felt sorry for the nurses cleaning up the mess - I didn't want to be a nuisance.

So dying, well, it's not so bad. Not for the person dying. Peaceful, really. My mother died and had to have her heart started three times when she had a placental abruption with my brother Finn. She remembers it much like me. Had a cup of tea and a biscuit (English hospital) to try and raise her blood sugar after the first crash, then started hemorrhaging again and just kind of fell over sideways and her heart stopped.

Bodies do incredible things when we're about to die: they compensate so much for the pain we feel and kind of numb it, because at that stage, our brains know that we're not going to get better, and the pain that is meant as a warning signal is no longer needed.

*HUGE hugs* mama. You are so totally normal. XXXXX


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## Sonnet (Mar 4, 2009)

Lovely lady... I'm so sorry.

I don't think babies know to be afraid of a transition like death; that's for the rest of us. For little ones and animals I think it's much easier, because it's a natural thing that hasn't been tainted by whatever breeds our fears as we humans grow up. I can't imagine what you've gone through, but what I can say is that I believe with all my heart that she wasn't afraid.

BTW, I can't imagine that anyone reading this would interpret what I've said as comparing babies to animals or losing a child to losing a pet, but just in case, that's not what I meant.


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## Jules09 (Feb 11, 2009)

I also replay everything over and over in my head. Everything reminds me of Lachlan and of Lachlan dying. I think it's totally normal. I also sometimes worry that Lachlan was scared or that he was in pain, but when I think about it he just looked like he was sleeping - I don't think he was panicked or feeling anything, or even thinking at that time. I think that he'd gone from us long before the actual moment of his death.

Fear is something that we learn from others - our babies had no reason to know fear of death. Our babies were so young, I don't think there's any way they could know what was happening.


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## alternamama82 (May 28, 2009)

Quote:


Originally Posted by *JayJay* 
Well as far as the "wondering what she is like in the ground" part - totally normal. Everyone involved, from children to adults, are inevitably going to wonder what is going on down there. It's helplessness. You wanted her to stay and be pink and bright and alive, but she couldn't and is being reclaimed by mother earth. But that is a natural process, and nothing to be afraid of, mama, okay? Don't feel wrong for thinking about it. It's part of letting go. I do believe that as a child, I asked my mother all about what my brother was doing in the ground, and she knew. Eventually, a few years later, the ground fell a little above his grave - his coffin had finally decayed away and the space was filled with soil. His transformation was complete.

With Josie, knowing about how what is happening to her body was hard at first. Very hard. but as time went on, and I knew she was reaching the end of the process into nothingness, it was almost as though a big sigh was let go out of my body. It's hard to talk about this process with someone who hasn't suffered child loss, but I think on this board, you will find we're all very open







*HUGE hugs*

Thank you for sharing your thoughts with me.







I think you hit the nail on the head with the description of how you felt once some time had passed. That's very much how I feel, and I just wish I could skip ahead to next year. The pain will still be there, but maybe it won't be as raw. Her grave won't be fresh and I'll have had more time to wrap my mind around everything and know that she is truly GONE and her beautiful body isn't suffering (though, I know her spirit and life are at peace.)

I'm glad that you are okay after your near death experience. I haven't ever been that close to death, but I try to think of when I had my emergency c-section and they put me out with gas. Everything faded so quickly into blackness, and it was deeper than sleep. This must be something like what death is like.







mama. I'm glad you made it through your experience and are here to help us who are still trying to work through ours. You truly understand me, and it means alot.


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## alternamama82 (May 28, 2009)

Quote:


Originally Posted by *Sonnet* 
Lovely lady... I'm so sorry.

I don't think babies know to be afraid of a transition like death; that's for the rest of us. For little ones and animals I think it's much easier, because it's a natural thing that hasn't been tainted by whatever breeds our fears as we humans grow up. I can't imagine what you've gone through, but what I can say is that I believe with all my heart that she wasn't afraid.

BTW, I can't imagine that anyone reading this would interpret what I've said as comparing babies to animals or losing a child to losing a pet, but just in case, that's not what I meant.

No, no... I totally understand what you mean by that. It makes sense that she wouldn't have had the ability to understand, but it still something I wonder about from time to time. I just hope she was comforted by being in my arms, I'm sure that was probably all that she was aware of at the time.


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## mermaidmama (Sep 17, 2008)

Just wanted to say that I am so sorry....no one should ever have to go thru that.

You are in my thoughts and prayers







:


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## JayJay (Aug 1, 2008)

I think if I had gone under from the placenta abruption, which I was about to when we reached the hospital, it would have been a bit like fainting, you know? I was almost out when they put me on the gurney - got briefly kind of mentally shocked back into awareness when they did the rather harsh internal exam but then after that everything was...well kind of misted over with light gray.

I firmly believe I wouldn't have felt a thing.

*HUGE hugs* mama XXX


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## namaste_mom (Oct 21, 2005)

(((HUGS))) mama, it is only her body that is there, not her. My little one is buried 800 miles away. But, I searched for her and she is near me. Not there. Here. And I know your girl is with you also. It is just when we are grieving we don't have a clear path to feel our loved ones.

I also struggled as to whether Norah felt pain or not. In the end, I decided not that she just went to sleep and didn't wake up. I know it is hard not to replay the events over and over and over again. Try to journal or write here or do something to where you can get it down and maybe that will lesson the replay of events. I did it. All. of. the. time. Until one day, I didn't do it anymore. (((HUGS)))


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## Cheshire (Dec 14, 2004)

My son's birth was traumatic and he died 12 hours later. I suffered from PTSD and now almost 10 months later I am working my way through it and doing much better than before.

For the first few months I would wake up at night and run it all through my head for a couple of hours before I could go back to sleep. It was first going over and over again the birth itself and watching them have to resuscitate him. All I wanted was for him to start crying and then to have them hand him to me. I had pushed as hard as I could and it seemed we got him out so fast. At the time I thought his cord had been compressed and we had gotten him out in time. Just before I pushed him out he gave a great big kick so I kept thinking he would be okay. Now I know that his cord had torn and he had lost most of his blood before we could get him out. It took a good while for them to get him stable enough to move to the NICU. Seeing one of the response team member's hands shake as she worked on him did not bring me comfort and I knew it was very serious.

Then, I started processing his death the next day, rushing to get to the children's hospital they had transferred him to. Seeing the huge change in him over the 12 hours - he was so incredibly swollen, hooked up to every machine you can imagine. Like you, I wish I could have had more time. I wish I had held him closer. He opened his eyes and looked at me - that was the first and last time he saw his momma.

Then, I started thinking about what he went through in those short 12 hours. I have copies of his medical records and he went through so much. No one told us at one point his lung collapsed and they had to stick a needle in his side to fix it. I wondered where the little hole on his side that kept weeping blood had come from but didn't know until weeks later. The doc tried to tell me he didn't suffer but I don't buy it. I, too, hate that I couldn't have protected him from going through that. One of the things that I can't think about much is the pain he suffered and that I couldn't be there to comfort him. That he didn't have me there and I really can't think about how he felt - how abandoned he felt, the pain and wondering WTH just happened to me.

There are many other things that have rushed through my mind uncontrollable. But, I found that eventually the thoughts have slowed down and as I've gone through all of the different parts of the whole event it seems my mind needed to process it that way.

You will eventually find that you'll be able to control them. I found that if I went with the flow it worked best but there were times that the grief was so overwhelming that I would send up a quick prayer and I was able to let go for a while to regain my sanity.

I'm so sorry you're having to go through this. It sounds very "normal." If you find that many months from now you can't stop it when you feel that you should be at the point where you can then think about talking to someone.

You are in my thoughts and prayers.


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## MI_Dawn (Jun 30, 2005)

((((((((((Alternamom))))))))

and

((((((((((Cheshire))))))))

There just aren't words. I wish I had a time machine.

Big big HUGS.


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## Manessa (Feb 24, 2003)

I don't have the words, but wanted to give you all a







.


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## mischievium (Feb 9, 2003)

*


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## mischievium (Feb 9, 2003)

*


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## philomom (Sep 12, 2004)

Quote:


Originally Posted by *namaste_mom* 
My little one is buried 800 miles away.

This is one of the reasons I cremated my son. I knew that I might not stay in the city he was born in and didn't want a little grave to visit. His ashes are in an urn, on a shelf in my bedroom. We'll scatter his ashes with mine someday.

Everyone does what feels right for their family.


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## alternamama82 (May 28, 2009)

Quote:


Originally Posted by *Cheshire* 
My son's birth was traumatic and he died 12 hours later. I suffered from PTSD and now almost 10 months later I am working my way through it and doing much better than before.

For the first few months I would wake up at night and run it all through my head for a couple of hours before I could go back to sleep. It was first going over and over again the birth itself and watching them have to resuscitate him. All I wanted was for him to start crying and then to have them hand him to me. I had pushed as hard as I could and it seemed we got him out so fast. At the time I thought his cord had been compressed and we had gotten him out in time. Just before I pushed him out he gave a great big kick so I kept thinking he would be okay. Now I know that his cord had torn and he had lost most of his blood before we could get him out. It took a good while for them to get him stable enough to move to the NICU. Seeing one of the response team member's hands shake as she worked on him did not bring me comfort and I knew it was very serious.

Then, I started processing his death the next day, rushing to get to the children's hospital they had transferred him to. Seeing the huge change in him over the 12 hours - he was so incredibly swollen, hooked up to every machine you can imagine. Like you, I wish I could have had more time. I wish I had held him closer. He opened his eyes and looked at me - that was the first and last time he saw his momma.

Then, I started thinking about what he went through in those short 12 hours. I have copies of his medical records and he went through so much. No one told us at one point his lung collapsed and they had to stick a needle in his side to fix it. I wondered where the little hole on his side that kept weeping blood had come from but didn't know until weeks later. The doc tried to tell me he didn't suffer but I don't buy it. I, too, hate that I couldn't have protected him from going through that. One of the things that I can't think about much is the pain he suffered and that I couldn't be there to comfort him. That he didn't have me there and I really can't think about how he felt - how abandoned he felt, the pain and wondering WTH just happened to me.

There are many other things that have rushed through my mind uncontrollable. But, I found that eventually the thoughts have slowed down and as I've gone through all of the different parts of the whole event it seems my mind needed to process it that way.

You will eventually find that you'll be able to control them. I found that if I went with the flow it worked best but there were times that the grief was so overwhelming that I would send up a quick prayer and I was able to let go for a while to regain my sanity.










Cheshire!!! I am so, so sorry that others have been through a similar situation.. Our thought processes sound very similar.
I cried so much last night, thinking about Freja's 3-d ultrasound picture. She was smiling, her eyes closed, those perfect round chubby cheeks not knowing pain and what was to come. She looked just like her sister. How horrible it must've been for her to be torn out of her warm safe haven and be poked and prodded. I am forever grateful to the doctors who did resuscitate her and stabalize her, and to the wonderful caring hands of the nurses in the NICU who treated her as their own, because without them we wouldn't have had those days with her. I just feel horrible that she had to go through so much. We kept being faced with the decision of keeping her on life support, or taking her off. I couldn't fathom watching her struggle for breath, but I felt selfish for continuing to make her endure what she was going through, especially as her health was deteriorating.
I am so sorry that your little guys life was too short. I cried for you and your son last night like he was my own, I *know* your pain and grief.
I've been taking sleeping pills at night. I could not sleep without them. Like you, everything keeps playing over and over in my mind and I find that night is the worst. Everybody is sleeping, and the house is quiet, and all I have are my thoughts to torment myself with.


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## Amy&4girls (Oct 30, 2006)

It's so difficult. I still replay my son's short life and all the what-ifs. I'm so sorry for your loss.


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## Cuddlebaby (Jan 14, 2003)

Quote:


Originally Posted by *philomom* 
This is one of the reasons I cremated my son. I knew that I might not stay in the city he was born in and didn't want a little grave to visit. His ashes are in an urn, on a shelf in my bedroom. We'll scatter his ashes with mine someday.

Everyone does what feels right for their family.

this is my decision as well. bury Micah's ashes with mine.

I'm SO sorry for your loss.....


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## NullSet (Dec 19, 2004)

I replay things too.


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## calmom (Aug 11, 2002)

I'm sorry, I think I've messed up the quotes. I hope you can read this.

I think alot about my daughter, as sick as she was and the helplessness that I felt as her mother being unable to help her. I wanted to take away her pain and discomfort. I wanted to comfort her when she cried, like a mother should be able to do with her baby.
***First of all, I"m so sorry for your huge loss. My baby was already dead when he was born so I can't completely understand what you went through, but I"m so sorry.

Can anyone guarantee me that it is this nice peaceful transition, like falling asleep? Did she know what was happening? Was she scared?
***My baby died from having the cord wrapped around his neck 3 times so I have been obsessing about this too. One of my midwives told me she thinks dying is a lot like fainting. You stop being so aware of your surroundings, you feel lightheaded and start to drift, unaware of any pain. I like that description so that is what I'm going with.

I picture myself holding my baby moments after her death. I kissed her head, and she smelled of the sweet baby scent I had longed for months before her birth.
***I too replay over and over holding my baby to my chest and smelling his head. Over and over.

But I was so overcome with my own grief and loss that I wish I would've appreciated that last chance to hold her a lot more. I should've held her alot longer. I should've kissed her alot more. I was so scared when I kissed the top of her head and she began feeling cold.
***This is what I've been struggling with the most and after talking to several people, I have realized that it will NEVER be enough. there can never possibly be enough time to hold our babies, never.

I wish I would've taken a picture of it. I also got her a soft fleecy blanket for her to lay on. DP converted a beautiful oak doll cradle that he had made ODD for Xmas a couple of years ago into a casket.
***oh, mama, that sounds so cozy. i too chose a sleeper and a soft, fleecy blanket. the casket sounds just beautiful.

I often worry about how she is, in the ground. I know it probably sounds weird, and it is disturbing. I get so upset that she's THERE. She should be HERE! Next to me. Warm and comforted. Not across town, alone. I've cried so many nights worrying about this all.......
***I haven't gone through this yet because our burial is tomorrow but I'm already starting to worry about my baby being in the ground too.

I'm sorry to write so much about myself but you were worried that was something was wrong with you and I think it sounds like you are perfectly normal.

Again, I'm so sorry for your devastating loss. (((Hugs)))


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